Sonny Stores - The Hatch: 'A snapshot of what this beloved neighbourhood restaurant can do'
The sandwiches are superlative, but are they a sign of something more worrying?
I had a proud parent moment yesterday. Dan from BANK & Lapin, who wrote a really excellent piece for us last week entitled ‘What makes a restaurant critic?’, sent me a link to today’s Observer food monthly newsletter, which contained a link to said piece. The Observer!
We’ve made it. I expect we’ll be front page news next week. If you want to jump on the bandwagon before it really takes off, become a Saucer now by hitting the link below. Thanks! ~ Meg
It was the doughnut that did it.
A plump, heavily-sugared bombolini, a quiff of gelato spurting proudly from its centre, clutched tightly by its owner as a small curly-haired child in the background forlornly clutches his box of Weetabix — not even Crunchy Nut Cornflakes, for God's sake. No doubt he’s already contemplating the inescapable unfairness of life. A scene worthy of the Uffizi Galleries, but in fact published on the much more vapid, transient landscape that is food Instagram.
Or maybe it was the domed, golden-brown milk bun stacked with slabs of heavily-lacquered pork rib, so good said creator proclaimed: “I'm gonna sack off running a restaurant and just make pork rib sandwiches from now on.”
Given the restaurant in question is Sonny Stores, the critically-acclaimed, Italian-inspired darling of south of the river, that's one hell of a threat. Luckily no such thing has come to pass at the time of writing, but you can see why chef-proprietor Pegs Quinn might be tempted to try to make an easier life for himself and co-owner Mary, given the continual battering of VAT, rising national insurance contributions, inflation, consumer confidence crises, global warming, unpredictable weather, unpredictable men in charge, rapacious landlords, Trump, Putin, World War III, unpredictable men in charge, Raducanu exiting Wimbledon early again, and all your customers being at Glastonbury — that hospitality is facing.
Anyway, whether it was the doughnut, the piggy roll, or, indeed, a similarly Turner-esque ex-dairy beef-packed number, one thing was clear: a trip to Sonny Stores was in order. More specifically, the newly-opened hatch round the side from where Pegs and team dole out a reassuringly diminutive menu of buns and soft serve from noon ‘til five on Thursday to Sunday.
Sadly no bombolini were on offer on the day we visited, and so the soft serve was handed over naked and afraid. The dulce de leche variety (£4) was velvet smooth, tasting gently of caramel and barely able to hold itself up in the tub, its peak flopping over into its whorls like Michael McIntyre's fringe. There was also talk of a potential zeitgeisty olive oil version, drizzled with more of that grassy nectar, which did indeed materialise the very next day; a Mr Whippy for the River Cafe generation, although too late for my benefit.
But first: bread. After a not inconsiderable wait — a welcome reminder that this is no Subway assembly line operation, no matter how much Pegs wants to be referred to as a Sandwich Artist, and hardly a problem on a balmy early July Friday — an orb of tin foil appeared. The thing glistened temptingly in the Bedminster sun, weighing about as much as a small dog. Or a large aubergine if you're veggie. Because that is exactly what the veggie option was. Albeit parmigiana-d, not just plonked raw inside some bread with olives, gherkins and Lite Mayo. As I said, this is no Subway. Like a bottle of Chablis poorly disguised in wrapping paper at Christmas, it didn't take long to guess the contents. A cartoonishly puffy, tanned bun, even more rounded than the ones I had been ogling, was quickly released from its rustling cage.
A sizeable puck of pork loin, almost an inch deep, juicy, with proper piggy heft and replete with a thick rim of crackling was tag-teamed by a cooling, creamy garlic crème fraîche and the enlivening zing of pickled chillies (£8.50). Not one for the faint-hearted, perhaps, but a snapshot of what this beloved neighbourhood restaurant can do, and at barely more than the price of a Tesco meal deal.
The generosity, rusticity, tactility and focus on pure deliciousness of eating reminded me of another al fresco Bristol institution: Chez Candice. There are few higher compliments.
But it also led to a nagging feeling of unease about the future of our best restaurants. We all know how tough it is at the moment. And it makes sense that operators start offering a more accessible route into their brand; Little Shop and Pantry’s salt beef Reuben has its admirers, and Wilsons Bread Shop’s bacon butties are small miracles in and of themselves. But does it all point to a race to the bottom, where hard-up punters can barely afford more than a sandwich, and the most sensible thing a restaurant can do to maintain a semblance of margin is to pop some roast meat between slices of sourdough?
I would happily have a sandwich for every meal — in fact, given the opportunity, I do — and maybe that’s where hospitality is headed. But, without wanting to denigrate the best food known to man, is this a true reflection of the hard-earned skills our best chefs have, honed from time, training and dedication? When you can nip round the corner from the hatch to Sonny Stores restaurant and indulge in crisped middlewhite pork chop with Sorrento tomato panzanella, or thin tangles of taglioni with peas, parmesan and pancetta? Yes, it is more expensive. And, no, I'm not blaming the customer. But until we can get this government to sort themselves out, let alone start sorting out the previous lots’ hospitality fuck-ups (a VAT reduction would be a good start), if it is within your means, please visit your favourite local restaurant.
To paraphrase Bourdain, “Eat at Sonny Stores tonight. Get the pappardelle. Have a negroni. Have two.” Or you may just be eating sandwiches for the rest of your life.
All words and photos by PXandTarts
Sonny Stores - The Hatch, 47 Raleigh Road, BS3 1QS
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The bits toward the end about sandwiches reminded of this stand outside Cardiff Market where you could get a hog roast sandwich with apple sauce and enough crackling to put a dentist’s kids through private school. It was the best of times.
It’s a very good point about affordability, coinciding with the rise of bakeries. Affordable treats (even if we might baulk at the current price of a slice or a pastry).
Also it’s generally alcohol that whacks up your final bill and there’s less temptation (or indeed option) outside of a restaurant setting.