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When was the last time you feasted at a restaurant? I mean really feasted. Walked into some swanky establishment and coolly announced that you will have one of everything. Thanks to VAT, the cost of living crisis, and the fact that the English view any level of self-assurance as gauche, I imagine that the answer is ‘never’.
Feasting in the modern age is something we do behind closed doors, if at all. We eat with abandon so long as it’s within our own homes, where it’s cheaper, unobserved, and where we can scoop spoonfuls of Nutella directly into our mouths without judgment. At home, all restraints are gone. There is no need to choose between having a starter or a dessert, to take hummingbird-sized sips of your £14 cocktail so it lasts the full ninety minutes. You don’t need to work out how many small plates it will take to fill the void.
When I think of what it is to truly enjoy a meal, I picture a medieval scene. An apple stuffed in the mouth of a suckling pig, fire-roasted swans, turkey legs clutched in ham-handed fists, all washed down with the blood of your enemies. While I’ve never been able to recreate this dream, Pinto is the closest I’ve come.
Pinto Thai Street Food is a tiny restaurant in Bristol’s little Chinatown, nestled between 168 Oriental Supermarket and a massage parlour. The interior is about as far away from a Tudor banquet hall as you can get. Sitting on the second floor of Nelson Street, Pinto shares its space with a butcher’s, a dim sum restaurant, and a dessert bar, ill-considerately named ‘Cream Lovers’. A wind chime tinkles in an artificial breeze, and streams of bunting sag in half smiles from the ceiling — Pinto is where I go when I want to feel properly sated.
Northern Thai cuisine is Pinto’s speciality, and it does the classics well. If you are looking for ingenuity, Pinto is not the place for you, but if you want authenticity, ineffable charm and a five-pound BYO policy — this is the place.
Being on the second floor, the window seats will appeal to the people watchers among you. A nearby rave appeared to be scheduled that evening and so during the course of our meal we saw a wizard, a man-baby, and a dominatrix all on their commute to the party. Bristol, please never change.
Always start your visit with a trip to the Tesco down the road. Buy white wine, a dry one if you can, but it’s more important that it’s cold. Your waiter will give you glasses and a cooler when you arrive.
I’ve become somewhat of a regular and I must admit that the service is as varied as the ensembles of the partygoers below. Sometimes it’s lightning, other times it’s glacial. Either way, you have the company of a bottle of wine, and while ordering may be slow the food comes quick.
We began with the papaya salad (£9.95) at spice level two. The restaurant functions on a one-to-three spiciness scale. One is boring, two is authentically Thai and three is for the sadists. Consider yourselves warned. No matter what else you get, always order the salad. It’s fresh and crunchy in an eminently drinkable lime and fish sauce dressing. It is violently delicious, which, as the dominatrix would have told you were she invited, is an addictive combination. The chilli will hurt you. You will say thank you.
The banquet continued with a beef Panang curry (£14.95), tender chunks of beef simmered in a thick lemongrass sauce, followed by a chicken khao soi (£13.95), a coconut-based noodle soup dish topped with pickled carrot and crispy noodles, which help stop your teeth from feeling redundant.
I should note here that between our humble party of two we managed five dishes, but Pinto works best when you bring a group and order recklessly. After an evening passing plates of noodles between friends, spilling sauce across yourself and the table, and laughing over unfortunate stains and glasses of wine, you begin to picture yourself somewhere between the War of the Roses and the Spanish Armada.
We also ordered a portion of pork pad ga prao (£11.95), a deeply savoury mince stir fry with bamboo shoots and green beans. If you go, make sure you order this dish with a fried egg on top. I forgot on this occasion and it’s a mistake I’m struggling to forgive myself for.
Our night ended with a plate of mango sticky rice (£7.95). I’m usually wary of tropical fruit in England. They seem to get homesick somewhere over the Suez Canal and make a grief-stricken promise to never ripen. This mango was good. Sweet, fragrant and paired well with the glutinous rice.
Is Pinto going to change your life? Unless your life goal is to buy a steak, a cake, a massage and a massaman curry all in one place, then no. But it is an experience. Maybe in a past life I was Henry the Eighth, maybe I’m just a bit of a glutton, either way I want to feel indulged at a restaurant, well fed and well drunk. I want to order without qualm and eat without care, I want to flick between spoons, chopsticks and fingernails. To tear and dip and spill with abandon, Pinto is the perfect place to let out your inner Tudor monarch.
All words and photos by Emily Coplestone
Pinto Thai Street Food, 2nd floor, Little Chinatown, BS1 2BJ
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