Yes, it’s been a long time coming! And yes, it’s still very much a work in progress, so there’ll be lots of tweaking to digest as the days, weeks and months roll along. But I firmly uphold the opinion that diamonds in the rough have much more value than even the most highly-polished fakes… so here I am, in my ramshackle, unpolished state.
It’s my aim to use this website to promote all that’s good about Bath’s independent food scene at a time when our hospitality industry need it the most, free of the kind of ‘advertorial’ and ‘sponsored’ commercial copy that increasingly dominates food-related sites, and instead laden with honest, genuine reviews, news and opinions about the food scene in the city I know and love. Coming soon: a brand new review of much-loved fave rave The Scallop Shell, a Moorfields revisit, fresh takes on both Yak Yeti Yak and Chez Dominique, a catch up on all the exciting pipeline plans from The Grapes/Budō Bā’s imminent unveiling on Argyle Street and my thoughts on the brand new branch of Pieminister (Westgate Street). Phew!
But where does the ‘… and Beyond’ part of the new name fit in to that remit? Well, have words, have thoughts, have opinions – will travel! Liverpool (my second home) is a regular pit-stop, and I’m eagerly anticipating making reservations to finally meet superchef Porky Askew at his fabulous Art School, plus dinners at both Antonio’s in Knowsley Village and Lu Ban in the not-too-distant future. Who knows where else my travels may take me? You will, when I get there!
For now, thank you for reading my very first PP post. Got something to say? Tweet me @ThePigGuide (ah, I couldn’t let the name go completely, could I?) or drop me a line; after all, I’m all yours!
You want something really good to eat without the pressure of a big menu to navigate. You want to stay in Bath but you’re not in the mood for city centre thrum. You want a neighbourhood vibe that doesn’t make you feel like you’re an outsider, a traditional pub environment that doesn’t feel fusty and a great beer garden to chill out in if the sun comes out to play. In short, you want The Claremont: the history-laden hostelry at the epicentre of characterful, higgledy-piggledy Camden, high up on Bath’s northern slopes.
It’s clear that many of the residents of the charming byways leading from, off and to Claremont Terrace treat their local as a second home. It’s a Thursday evening and the pub is gently buzzing with a mixture of date night couples, pint-clinking regulars and a group of friends reunited with teenagers in tow all supporting the neighbourhood vibe that I’d hoped for. A pianist tinkling away on the upright Joanna in the corner adds to the mellow merriment, and chalkboards dotted hither and thither promote forthcoming events (regular quiz and live music nights; community sing-a-longs; big screen sporting action).
What with The Claremont being this much of a properly good boozer, you really don’t need to be hungry to find an excuse to drop by. If, however, your drink proves to be too wet without a ‘little something’ for soakage, grazing options along the lines of hummus and pitta bread, chicken wings, veggie nuggets and skin-on chips are on hand to pick at while you sup. But the real stars of the Claremont food menu show make their presence felt before you’ve even hit the bar: is that proper pizza you can smell? Yes indeed! And the massive, fully-laden beauties here (also, by the way, available in takeaway format) prove that pub pizzas don’t have to be prosaic.
All hail the Somerset Meat: salami, pepperone, mozzarella and cheddar combining to create the ultimate carnivore/cheese dream with a flourish of rocket adding a fresh texture uplift (and, perhaps, a nebulous sense of righteousness regarding your five-a-day quota). Want to turn the heat up? Head straight for the aptly-named Firecracker, replete with Roquito drop peppers with a fiery personality that belies their dinky dimensions, soft, smoky ‘nduja and liberal drizzles of sweet/savoury hot honey bringing heated complexity to the mozzarella/smoked cheddar party.
The sourcing of all those ingredients, meanwhile, represents an exceedingly well-considered tour of produce from some of Bath’s best doorstep artisans: Westcombe cheese, Somerset Charcuterie and Fior di Latte Mozzarella from Brue Valley, a Glastonbury-based dairy I’ve never come across before but would go out of my way to make a date with again… a sentiment which brings us back full circle to the start of this review.
If you’re in the mood for eating properly good pizza in a proper neighbourhood pub far (but not too far) away from the city centre’s madding crowds, you’re in the mood for The Claremont.
“Wow, this is exactly how I want our new kitchen diner to look!”
Okay, so that’s not a typical start to a restaurant review. But perhaps it should be; after all, loving the environment you’re in before you even settle down to eat is surely a Very Good Thing, while going out-out for your dinner while feeling right at (plans for a new-look) home makes it an even nicer experience.
It may be relatively new to the Bath independent hospitality scene, but William’s Table Pub and Kitchen — which magpied into the space recently vacated by Town+House, which itself made a home in the iconic London Road/Thomas Street corner pub formerly known as the King William back in 2019 — is a very out-out but at home kinda place, seamlessly blending proper pub/bar personality with dining spaces both upstairs and down that offer broad appeal to gastropub denizens and folk who simply want to extend a night down the local with a coupla plates of upmarket, affordable but beyond thoroughly decent grub.
Chef Radek Ostrowski is no stranger to serving thoroughly decent grub; having served his time at the hob in several Bath neighbourhood hotspots including The Scallop Shell and The Moorfields, he knows what he’s doing. Radek’s business partner Justyna, meanwhile, runs front of house with the kind of smooth, welcoming efficiency that gives the overall venture a calm, confident, long-established vibe.
Having taken personal inspiration notes about the environment around our gorgeous little rear-of-ground-floor table for two (silky, grey-tone paintwork: tick! A little vase of fresh flowers on the table: tick! Cool artwork; sturdy wooden furniture; comfy, colourful cushions: tick, tick, tick!), we started our kitchen supper with super-moist, subtly spicy Tandoori Chicken Bites accompanied by a velvety, herbaceous, garlicky dip, and intensely flavoursome Larkhall [note to selves: local sourcing goes large here] Pork Rillettes, the decadent richness of this classic French-inspired treat offset by lively pickled shallots and sweet mustard. Yum!
For mains, for me, Herby Lamb Goulash: slow-cooked, supremely tender lamb melting into a thick, herb-infused sauce/gravy, uplifted by pickled red cabbage and levelled out again by perfect mash. For him, super-fresh seabass fillets teamed with aromatic red lentil dhal, crispy potatoes and an invigorating cucumber salsa — an unexpected combination that, as it turns out, works exceptionally well.
As I suspected, Radek knows his stuff… and he further proved that point with the deeply satisfying, beautifully-balanced Sticky Toffee Pudding that went straight to the top of our very carefully considered, well-researched STP charts at first bite.
Quiz nights, live music nights, board game nights and beer deals: there’s a lot in the pipeline for this stylishly lively neighbourhood merrymaking zone that’s already setting tasteful tongues wagging in Bath. But really, you don’t need any bonus excuses to cosy up at William’s Table — just turn up for lunch or supper (prices are, by the way, are reassuringly down-to-earth) and your out-out/at home needs are beyond met… and new kitchen inspiration interest piqued to boot.
It takes a tonnellata of brave entrepreneurial chutzpah to open a new Italian restaurant in a city that’s already home to around 40 ventures that lay claim to serving the pizza/pasta/risotto/gnocchi/tiramisu/etc in the South West.
From glitzy high street attention-grabbers to a fair few elegantly flamboyant, contempo-trad trattorias by way of a handful of promising pasta purveyors with cult followings and a solid array of pizza pitstops good enough to give Naples, New York or even a Nonna a run for their money, the restaurant world version of a modern Roman invasion continues to dominate eating out options in the Heritage City.
But not all of those options are equal in either style or standards… and this is where the story of PrimaVista not only begins, but is already creating its own legend.
If the Bath restaurant scene was in need of a bit of a shake-up, PrimaVista has triggered a little earthquake: shiny and vibrant from the get-go, with a subtly exciting vibe. But despite the restaurant’s novelty factor its charms are timeless, with cross-generational appeal; it isn’t hard to imagine Sophia Loren and Pierfrancesco Favino enjoying a long, lazy late lunch here, both of them finding both the environment and the menu molto gradevole.
While you’re certainly not required to do so, you too might want to use your PrimaVista booking as an excuse to dress up nice and party on. It’s glamorous in a distinctly modish way, with several subsections adding intimacy to the overall spacious environment and thoughtfully smart décor flourishes (sparkly bar; chic wall art; iconic Italian moped parked up in the centre of the big picture window) adding interest throughout, and a range of gorgeous cakes/desserts/dolci given the beautifully-lit spotlight they deserve behind a shining glass counter.
Diversions digested, the cocktail list opens with a heady range of proper Italian muddle-ups before smoothly gliding us through classics both ancient and modern. But having brought that fascinating flag-up to your attention, you definitely don’t need a stiff drink before perusing the rest of a menu that at once excites, soothes and tempts at all bases. As a result, PrimaVista’s promising-looking pizzas were kicked to the kerb in favour of new (to me, at least) dishes that demanded discovery.
Starter one, Polpette and Pecorino: distinctively beefy meatballs resting on an intensely tomatoey bed of San Marzano sauce and topped with a glossy lake of indulgent Pecorino Romano cream. Starter two, Sauté di Mare: an opulent melange of fat mussels, tender clams and plump prawns in a classy version of a classic tomato, garlic and parsley combo served on a slice of fragrantly nutty Altamura bread that I’ve never met before but want to forge a lifelong partnership with from here on in.
For my main course, I couldn’t move past the intriguing ‘Chef’s Favourite 5P’ — and I’m very glad I didn’t: five elements, one dish and multiple flavour hit variations in every forkful, with sweet, vibrant Piselli (basically a pea sauce), buttery, deeply umami Prosciutto Crudo Essiccato, smoky, crisp Pancetta, salty/fruity Parmigiano and nutty, beautifully-textured rigatoni all playing their own part in a perfect partnership. It takes an intelligent chef with a great palate to create a dish like this; Jack is clearly that chef.
Meanwhile, if you think you know Spaghetti Bolognese… you don’t, but Jack does, and he calls it Una Bolognese in Calabria: velvety, slow-cooked beef and pork ragú fired with a subtle blast of fennel-, paprika- and chilli-infused Calabrian sausage, hit with a nudge of smoky, spicy ‘nduja and tangled up in the kind of smooth but still robust tagliatelle that, if you were a Bolognese sauce this special, you’d want to wrap yourself up in too.
Leave without a Dolci? You definitely can’t. Return? You will, for sure.
Chef Jack and his business partner Kelvin’s tonnellata of brave entrepreneurial chutzpah was neither conceived nor built on unstable foundations. They opened their first branch of their modern trattoria concept in Bury St Edmunds to great acclaim less than a year ago, and are clearly already so confident in their mission to “celebrate the authentic flavors of Italy reinterpreted with a contemporary twist where tradition and innovation come together in every dish” that introducing a second branch to a city that shares similar personality traits with Suffolk’s historic tourism/cultural/foodie hotspot was a natural way forward… for them and for Bath.
If French actor, cultural icon and all-round cool guy Alain Delon was still with us and visited Bath today, I reckon he’d land at Chez Dominique for a late lunch and refuse to move until he’d drunk the last drop of Fleurie from behind the bar; it is, quite simply, “that” kind of place.
This quintessentially French/European bistro experience has, since 2016, played a major role in turning Argyle Street into a distinctive modern Bath arrondissement all of its own, made for modern-day flaneurs.
Off the street, the Chez Dom environment exudes a calmly confident vibe, intimate enough to be described as cosy yet decorously spacious. The walls are painted in 50 shades of sage/duck egg blue, the understatedly striking modern chandelier demands attention without dominating the space and an atmosphere of easy-going conviviality dictates the overall pace. Head chef Sam Lewis’s menus, meanwhile, thrum along to a self-assured, confident rhythm, weaving seasonal ingredients into a classic contemporary bistro array with flair and imagination.
From the get-go, our starters exemplified Sam’s modus operandi: a beautifully seasoned, super-savoury, distinctly non-dry Pork Terrine rich in textured contrast, with fruity/tart golden raisins adding spritzy points of interest along the way; plump Brixham scallops paired with a sublimely smooth cauliflower puree, chubby little morsels of bacon, smoky hispi cabbage and creamy new potatoes.
On from those soothingly gratifying openers, the subtly gamey aspect of my sweet, tender Creedy Carver duck breast came perfectly complimented by earthy beetroot and delicate wild garlic that welcomed the arrival of spring to the dish, a light but complex red wine sauce bringing the whole ensemble together. But would Sam mind if I ordered a side of black pudding mash with that, nicked from the chicken dish elsewhere on the menu? If he breathed a sigh of exasperation at a diner disrupting his carefully considered combinations, I didn’t hear it – and oh, that mash can only be described as deeply umami bliss. Meanwhile, across the table…
Chez Dom’s steak frites have earned a reputation that seriously challenges the legendary incarnation served at long-established Parisian brasserie Le Relais de l’Entrecôte. If you’re craving the enduringly popular partnership that is superb, high-grade steak (from a selection of carnivorous options that ranges from the humble onglet to the grand Chateaubriand, all flaunting heritage and the benefits of maturity) served with the kind of fries that can only be described as addictive, book a table here today.
After all that, we were comfortably, satisfyingly sated. But why battle with a sudden downpour when the dessert menu offered a rich, warm, oozy Chocolate Fondant harmonised by a toasted toffee-esque salted caramel ice cream? And regardless of the weather, why deny yourself a neat slab of silky Basque Cheesecake (no base – all delicate, custard treble), the aromatic roasted apple compote and soft tumble of crumble that came with it good enough to create a third, stand-alone dessert in its own right?
Heart, charm, integrity, personality, authenticity of purpose: are we talking about Alain Delon again? Nope; they’re the well-deserved superlatives that combine to create the Chez Dominique je ne sais quoi.
Pulteney Bridge was completed in 1774. The former Empire Hotel in Orange Grove was built in 1901. The Bath branch of Browns, also on Orange Grove, made a home for itself in the city’s former cop shop almost 30 years ago. The restaurant now known as Solina Pasta on Grand Parade used to be Frampton’s Bar and Kitchen, and before that a tapas restaurant, and before that a short-lived French brasserie affair.
All this and more (who remembers Marmaris? Gosh, I used to love that place!) I know about Orange Grove/Newmarket Row/Grand Parade (Bath’s “Weir Quarter”? Probably!) without consulting Google, or ChatGPT, or a bot who knows less than I do. But I can’t remember a time when Joya Italian Steakhouse wasn’t on the corner of the Newmarket Row/back of the Guildhall Market snicket, all warm lights and bustling Italian trattoria action beyond its pretty little windows and cool grey façade.
Joya used to be a pub called the Rummer until 2009 (there I go again) and before that it was probably, I dunno (wow! Really, Melissa?) a townhouse, or a lace shop… or a brothel? Whatever it was, it is today one of Bath’s most characterful, elegantly higgledy-piggledy independent restaurant hotspots. But I wonder if, in amongst all the brouhaha around the city’s new kids on the (restaurant) block and the ongoing battles for hippest menu supremacy, we’re guilty of taking Joya for granted?
Okay, so Joya certainly wasn’t being taken for granted at peak time on a Tuesday evening. Any space for a table for two? For sure — as long as we didn’t mind killing time for half an hour first (we didn’t mind at all — and, as it turns out, Browns does an excellent Spicy Marg).
The pace hadn’t dropped when we returned for our impromptu reservation either. The two lovely guys running the floor cheerfully juggled plates, drinks orders, big groups, little groups, card payments and all the general hustle and bustle that keeps a busy service flowing smoothly while still offering us a relaxed, “old friend” welcome… and straight away, we were definitely on sul territorio italiano in Joya’s charming dining room, the decor (chunky wooden tables; soft-shade neutral paintwork) consummating a convivial, smooth operation that fully lives up to the restaurant’s name.
On the menu, a classic antipasti/prima piatto selection gives way to pasta for all, risotto for some, decent fish, good old faithful chicken. But the Hotstone Steak Experience dominates the array: locally-sourced, well-hung steaks flash-seared on the chargrill and served alongside a searingly hot volcanic stone for you to play chef with. Choose your cut, choose your salt, choose your butter, choose your sauce; it’s the steak dinner version of an interactive DIY store.
After our thoroughly decent incarnations of Calamari and shimmering, jacketed king prawns in the garlic/white wine/chilli/parsley/butter combo that should never disappoint (and it certainly didn’t disappoint here), we went for a ribeye and a sirloin with rosemary salt, truffle/red wine and garlic butters and Béarnaise/mushroom and brandy sauces. Sides? Fries (of course), roast vegetables, creamed spinach.
Wow, those hot stones live up to their name! White heat, intense temperatures, campfire aromas, one (tiny) part terrifying, all parts drama, drama, drama. But the novelty is tethered by an intelligent USP based on innovation rather than flash in the pan (pardon the pun) faddishness. Just stop yourself thinking about what could happen if you pressed your hand onto the hotstone, or stressing about what the heat might be doing to your hairspray and you’ll be okay.
Personally, I’m happy to eat any steak vampire-style (aka blue). But who can resist a live, tabletop fidget? As it turned out, even my almost-charred nuggets of beautiful beef (mea culpa — you can’t blame the chef for any wrongdoings in this instance) tasted divine, while he declared that his hot stone “worked magic” on his ribeye. As for the creamed spinach, those sauces and even our little pot of rosemary salt: no stone (again, pardon the pun) has been left unturned when it comes to making sure that the angels have kicked the devil to the kerb in the attention to detail here.
Given the long-established pedigree of Joya’s proprietor (also in the same family: The Herd; The Real Italian Pizza Co; Casa de Tapas), it’s easy to see why this smooth operation works, works and works again, for long-term fans and fleeting Bath visitors alike.
I can’t remember a time when Joya wasn’t Joya — but I’m never going to let myself forget that it’s there.
Friday evening, and Bath’s George Street “strip” is buzzing. The pleasure-seekers are out to play in force. Uber drivers, reluctant to stray too far from the peak fare action, are idling on every available kerb, and girls in too-high heels are doing a grand job of pretending to ignore the boys in too-tight jeans. And in the midst of all the big bar/little bar action, the fast-fix/linger-long food refuelling pitstops and the general brouhaha, there sits se7en.
se7en is cool in a way that feels more downtown NoHo than uptown Bath. Beyond the chilled-out pavement terrace, there’s an instantly seductive bar with lighting bright enough to lift patrons out of a demi monde deadzone but soft enough to flatter. The aural backdrop is an elegantly modish mix of chilled-out toons; the artwork on the walls stylishly sassy.
Jewel-coloured velvet armchairs and banquettes invite you to allow yourself time to peruse the very grown-up cocktail menu or a wine list that focuses on the best examples of tried-and-trusted classics and fascinating discoveries, while a range of upmarket beers maintain an uptempo pace for bar flies. And if all that’s not enough to capture your attention from the get-go, a tantalising strip-lit corridor leads to an understatedly chic dining room that looks straight into an exciting open kitchen, beyond which there’s another urban merrymaking zone outback.
Dropping food into such an artfully vivacious yet serene environment could, in less competent hands than the proprietors at the helm here, bring the whole affair tumbling down; too many complicated menu options and the stress factor starts to kick the X-factor to the kerb; too few, and punters move along too quickly in search of solid satiation.
But the se7en team are clearly masters of the art of “we’ve got this”. They’ve ignited the flames beneath a live indoor charcoal grill/barbecue and complemented a selection of magnificent meats with a range of super-seasonal small plates packed with big promises: seared fresh fish, lively slaws, vegetables fresh from the season’s allotment catwalk. There’s whipped ricotta over here; fennel, cucumber and wasabi over there, and even a mac + cheese that you just know will arrive at your table elevated to something far removed from nursery food in the ‘Crispy’ section. Quietly, subtly and without grand fanfare, there really is something for all tastes and appetites here.
You could, for example, sit at the bar and accompany your Patience 15 cocktail (from a unique range of muddle-ups based on the Seven Deadly Sins) with a plate of Pork Puffs. Or maybe you’d care to opt for a dish of tiger prawns to make your glass of fizz feel less lonely? Perhaps, though, you’re in the mood to sit (comfortably) tight and hole up for an evening of haute excess — and okay, you know which direction we headed in.
If Miles isn’t in the Do Not Disturb chef-zone in the heat and intensity beyond the pass, catch his eye and ask him to double-up as a tour guide for your journey. He’s friendly, approachable, and as enthusiastic about his menus as his menus led me to believe he would be. He’s fluent in the language of good taste, and confident his dishes will captivate — and my goodness, his dishes captivate.
Beef Tartare: a neat tumble of glistening, tender beef, the supporting cast of creamy egg yolk, truffle mayo, briny pickles and sharp pecorino all doing their supporting cast thing in rich, punchy, deeply umami harmony. A second dish of lesser-spotted gurnard in all its sweet, delicate, super-fresh glory, meanwhile, balanced the intensity of the tartare, the lively kick and tease of pickled ginger uplifting the senses with verve and sparkle.
And then…
All hail the arrival of the showstopping sharer that is the Tomahawk steak: massive, buttery, intensely flavoursome; robust, smoky, powerfully characterful — cor! We drenched ours in kickin’ Cowboy Butters and vibrant Chimichurri and snaffled perfect fries on the side. We picked our way through a beetroot and butternut squash duo too, the earthiness of the roots luxuriated by whipped ricotta. But oh, Miles’ wild garlic gnocchi! Puffy pillows of bliss, featherlight but satisfyingly bitey and basking in the uniquely aromatic aura of the most heavenly “blink and you’ll miss it” taste of British springtime. By the time you read this review, this dish might have disappeared from Miles’ menu… but it’ll remain deeply embedded in my foodie memory bank for a very long time to come.
Fortunately, se7en isn’t as transitory as many of Miles’ super-seasonal ingredients are. It may have only opened its doors around a year ago, but it already feels mature, confident and established enough to be a dynamic, vital key player in Bath’s independent restaurant and bar scene… and cool in a way that only a place that isn’t trying desperately hard to be cool can be.
Occupying prime leafy neighbourhood position just past the Royal Crescent on the edge of Royal Victoria Park, the Marlborough Tavern effortlessly brings proper pub and upmarket contemporary bistro together in perfect harmony, an appealing blend of friendly familiarity and a fresh, smart outlook in both decor and menus giving both locals and visitors alike good reason to keep on keeping on here.
And there we were the other night, nestled into a cosy, candlelit nook table for two just on the edge (but still very much a part of) of typical Tavern Time proceedings: a birthday celebration, a family get-together, a reunion party and several other romantic twosomes all happily going about their merrymaking business without anybody impinging on anybody else’s personal space.
Calamari, from the starter array? There was no decision-making struggle there, what with the frangible little fishy fritters being one of our MT must-have choices since one of our earliest visits almost 20 years ago, and still as sprightly and appealing today — just like the pub itself. But as reliably good as the calamari is, it came up against stiff competition on this visit. If you’ve never thought that creamed mushrooms on toast could be described as sensational, prepare to have your preconceptions challenged; it’s a substantial portion, to say the least… but you’ll never want the dish to end.
For mains, soft, slow braised pork belly, satisfyingly fatty but not overwhelmingly so, served with an earthy, perfectly balanced black pudding mash, mineral-rich cavolo nero, a complex red wine and apple jus and shards of perfect crackling. I, meanwhile, swooned into my dish of super-tender chicken breast that itself swooned into a pool of creamy polenta, a nutty walnut dressing tethering the sweetness of a tumble of honey-roasted butternut squash to a deeply umami foundation.
All our dishes were cleanly confident in execution, and the pairings exceedingly well-considered; this is really, really good grown-up food that exudes the flair of a highly-skilled chef (good work Filip Tencer and team) without attempts to be flashy, or snooty, or jarringly on-trend. Service was as personable and effortlessly efficient as personable and effortlessly efficient gets throughout and prices comfortingly accessible, while the overall vibe lulled us into a “do we really have to go home when we feel so at-home here?” state of contentment.
So what’s the best way to tear yourself away from the Marlborough Tavern when you really don’t want to leave? Book again for dinner next week, of course! Which is exactly what we did. Will I go for those mushrooms again, if they’re still on the menu? Definitely; as long as somebody else orders the calamari, I know I’ll be right at home at the Tav.
Honey-coloured stone cottages, leafy courtyards, lamp-lit windows glowing in the dusk. Tranquil fields, wide-open skies, a gentle river flowing beneath an ancient bridge. Is Freshford — around 6m/10km south-east of Bath — the ultimate picture-perfect English village? That’ll be a yes, then. And, at the epicentre of village life, the historic Inn at Freshford.
As you’d expect from a hostelry that’s thrived on the same site for around 500 years, the Inn at Freshford has undergone plenty of changes of ownership down the decades. And so it came to pass that in December 2025, the pub reopened under the conscientious curatorship of William and Marianne Cartwright-Hignett of the acclaimed Iford Manor and its magical Cafe and Kitchen.
Anybody who knows anything about Iford Manor (and if you don’t, you really should) will know that heritage, community and sustainability are at the epicentre of what William and Marianne do. Their Executive Chef Matthew Briddon, meanwhile, maintains and upholds William and Marianne’s ethos and puts creativity, imagination and a clear passion for his vocation in the spotlight in every dish on his Inn at Freshford menu, while the environment itself couldn’t offer a more agreeable backdrop against which to indulge your senses in the whole Cartwright-Hignett/Briddon experience.
The Inn’s gorgeous gardens are undergoing a work-in-progress revamp in readiness for less murky days to come. But if you fancy escaping the murk before the sun joins the fun, take a trot around the pub’s interior flagstones where smart rustica meets contemporary expectations and offers a proper pub welcome to all, from dog-walkers (yeah, you say you’re taking the dog out but we all know you’re pausing for a pint or two mid-stroll) to mellow parties and reunions by way of loved-up couples and regulars for whom the lure of what’s probably the most perfect pub pork pie in history is well worth forgoing their waiting-at-home supper for.
We settled in for the long-haul from the off with a menu that led us to choose then change then choose again then go back (etc, etc) creating the most delicious dithering/bickering session. Even the Grazing section reads like a paean to seasonality, local sourcing and innovation: Cornish Scallop ‘Quavers’ with Caviar Mayo or Pickled Devilled Quail Eggs? Lamb Belly ‘French Fries’ or Iford Cider Rarebit?
Eventually, gracious (and patient!) Front of House supremo Alaina graciously (and patiently!) soothed our feverish brows and shared her advice.
If you’ve never had a plate of scallop ‘quavers’, go here and put your order in RIGHT NOW, before scallop season ends. Wafer thin but still packing that intrinsically briny punch, super-crisp but still melting on the tongue, and accompanied by a creamy mayo topped with a mahoosive dollop of caviar, I guarantee that this is the best £10 you’ll ever spend on a ‘grazing’ dish, anywhere. Lamb Belly French Fries? Get in! Crispy, juicy, deeply umami and just-the-right-amount-of-fatty, nudged hither and thither with Cheddar cheese and laminated by a teasy little aioli. As for the pork pie…
Now I mentioned earlier that indulging in what’s probably the most perfect pub pork pie in history may lead to the necessity to forgo supper proper completely — and to be honest, we could (and probably should) have stopped right there, as portions here are generous to say the least. But after I’d eschewed my initial craving for the Pie of the Moment (pie after pie might not have worked out well), the Basque-style mussels in a garlic/white wine/saffron broth/reduction laden with creamy white beans and accompanied by both Iford bread and new potatoes had my name — or rather, Matthew’s signature style — written all over them, while Mike’s slow-cooked belly pork, balanced on a huge pile of mustard mash and partnered by the richest, earthiest black pudding known to man, was the stuff that elegantly macho man-dreams are made of.
Again, we could (and probably should) have stopped right there — but we didn’t. Having agreed to choose just one dessert between us, we had an airy, featherlight Dark Chocolate Mousse that cleverly straddled the bridge between playful pudding and sophisticated dessert topped with shards of honeycomb that took these two grown-ups back to their childhood days… and whoops! A Coffee Crème Brûlée too, smooth and velvety beneath its glass-like caramelised sugar lid and accompanied by a super-short shortbread biscuit for dunking into the silky custard (yes, I am a very messy eater).
William and Marianne have worked a very special kind of magic on the Inn at Freshford; it’s as unselfconsciously unpretentious as you’d hope a proper country pub to be, while Matthew’s foodie fireworks light up classic, proper pub food with aspirational yet distinctly non-ostentatious flair.
Is the Inn at Freshford the ultimate perfect English pub? As of December 2025, that’ll be a yes.
I’m not sure which one of us arrived in Bath first: Yum Yum Thai or me.
What I am sure of, though, is that we’ve both been very happy here for around 26 years, which probably earns us both Bath institution status… and could lead to discussions about which one of us has aged best. To answer that latter question: Yum Yum Thai definitely has fewer wrinkles than I do.
We’re blessed, in Bath, with myriad Thai restaurants — and when I say blessed I really mean it, as Thai food ranks very highly on my go-to choice for food I crave, want and need on a very regular basis.
I’ve got my favourites Thai hangouts, you’ll have yours, and opinions are subject to fluctuation on a regular basis; yes? But this pristine, efficient little canteen/diner-style haven of classic Thai yum yum has hovered at the top of my Thai charts ever since I first stumbled across it in my earliest days as a wannabe ‘proper’ Bathonian, probably because, unlike me, it hasn’t changed much down the years.
There’s a bit more colour dotted hither and thither to lift and soften the restaurant’s erstwhile plain white countenance and menus are definitely more ‘sprawling’ than they used to be back in the day, with daily specials and complex specialities supplementing the classic stir fry/curry/sides format. But the overall recipe for menu success here remains pretty much the same: most dishes can be assembled around your choice of tofu, chicken, beef, prawn, pork or vegan options, and few soar past the £16.95 mark. You’ll pay a bit more for certain ‘speciality’ dishes, but my guess is they’ll be special enough to justify the hike.
Sides, however, are a bit more prosaic than than the rest of the menu might suggest: the pork and prawn dumplings are really tasty, but they’re hidden amongst an array of mostly crispy or deep-fried this and thats alongside barbecued spare ribs, chicken satay and a coupla salads. Apart from the soups that we always tend to opt for there’s little to capture your attention in this section, which comes as a surprise on a menu that, elsewhere, reads like a foodie tour of Kho Samui or Chiang Mai.
One Thai Matcha Iced Tea (think, a creamy, pistachio-laden milkshake — lovely!) and one glass of Shiraz Rose duly delivered and we were off on a whistlestop exploration that moves at a speedy pace. Service at YTT is brisk without being brusque; expect your food order to arrive in around 7 minutes max, with sides served simultaneously unless you eschew Thai tradition and strongly specify your preference for the British starter/main course format.
Knowing that, I attempted, this time around, to do the ‘British’ thing when I put my order in: “I’ll have the Tom Kah Kai followed by the Prawn Rendang, please”. But I must have been too meek about it, ‘cos both dishes still arrived at pretty much the same time, as did his (also soup — Tom Yum Kung — and Prad Kra Praw).
As it turned out — and am I surprised, given that British people still very rarely ‘know best’ when they veer away from British pub menu format? — both my vibrantly fragrant chicken and coconut broth and his hot/sour/spicy prawn variation proved to be a satisfyingly agreeable enhancement to both my rich, thick, deeply savoury Favourite Thai Curry in the World (that’ll be the Rendang, then) and his boldly aromatic, Thai/holy basil-centric stir fry, the generous heap of steamy rice that accompanied both positively yelling out to be souped up. So, don’t even attempt to ‘do British’ here; the kitchen definitely knows best.
Overall, we enjoyed a cheerful, speedy refuel in cheerful, gently buzzing surroundings, the view across Kingsmead Square and its imposing London Plane tree — fairy lit, post-sunset — always a pleasure, and the total tally for our feast hovering around the £70 mark: not bad for a city centre supper these days… and not too far removed from what it would have cost back in the days before my ‘proper’ Bathonian status application was still pending approval.
Occupying prime leafy neighbourhood position just past the Royal Crescent on the edge of Royal Victoria Park, the Marlborough Tavern effortlessly brings proper pub and upmarket contemporary bistro together in perfect harmony, an appealing blend of friendly familiarity and a fresh, smart outlook in both decor and menus giving both locals and visitors alike good reason to keep on keeping on here.
But like many hostelries in Bath whose origins date back to the 18th century, the pub has a big backstory… with its biggest shakeup to date happening in the last two decades.
In the early zeroes, the Marlborough Tavern languished in the file marked ‘neglected, tatty and unloved’. But in 2006, the then newly-formed Bath Pub Co recognised the potential beyond the Tav’s distinctly down-at-heel countenance and reinvented it for whole new generations under their enlightened curatorship.
The MT was the first pub in what became a Bath-based mini-empire for the BPC; they went on to work their magic on the Locksbrook Inn, the Moorfields and the Hare and Hounds (and Chequers too, for a decade-long stint up until 2020). But when the company sold three of their pubs to the St Austell Brewery in September 2023, BPC co-founder and commercial director Justin Sleath chose to continue to maintain MT operations and remains at the helm today.
So! Here we are. And there we were t’other night, nestled into a cosy, candlelit nook table for two just on the edge (but still very much a part of, it you get my drift) of typical Tavern Time proceedings: a birthday celebration, a family get-together, a reunion party and several other romantic twosomes all happily going about their merrymaking business without anybody impinging on anybody else’s personal space.
Calamari, from the starter array? There was no decision-making struggle there, what with the frangible little fishy fritters being one of our MT must-do choices since our very first visit and still as sprightly and appealing today, the accompanying lemon and garlic aioli as smooth and uplifting to the tastebuds as a Kiehl’s balm is to your lips. But as reliably good as the calamari is, it came up against stiff competition on this visit. If you’ve never thought that creamed mushrooms on toast could be described as sensational, prepare to have your preconceptions challenged; it’s a substantial portion, to say the least… but you’ll never want the dish to end.
For mains, soft, slow braised pork belly, satisfying fatty but not overwhelmingly so, served with an earthy, perfectly balanced black pudding mash, brassy, mineral-rich cavolo nero, a complex red wine and apple jus (kinda, gently tannic meets softly fruity) and shards of perfect crackling. I, meanwhile, swooned into my sweet, moist chicken breast that itself swooned into a pool of creamy polenta, a nutty walnut dressing tethering the sweetness of a tumble of honey-roasted butternut squash to a deeply umami foundation.
All our dishes were cleanly confident in execution, and the pairings exceedingly well-considered; this is really, really good grown-up food that exudes the flair of a highly-skilled chef (good work Filip Tencer and team) without attempts to be flashy, or snooty, or jarringly on-trend. Service was as personable and effortlessly efficient as personable and effortlessly efficient gets throughout, while the overall vibe lulled us into a “do we really have to go home when we feel so at-home here?” state of contentment.
So what’s the best way to tear yourself away from the Marlborough Tavern when you really don’t want to leave? Book again for dinner next week, of course — which is exactly what we did. Will I go for those mushrooms again, if they’re still on the menu? Definitely; as long as somebody else orders the calamari, I know I’ll be right at home — again.
The Prandial Playground, Bath and Beyond... 