Why not…?

I opened the doors to The Prandial Playground on February 2 2023. 

“This is still very much a work in progress,” I wrote, in my very first post; “but here I am, in my ramshackle, unpolished state”.

While ‘ramshackle and unpolished’ could be my middle names and I still firmly uphold the opinion that diamonds in the rough have much more value than even the most highly-polished fakes, The Prandial Playground has slowly but surely gathered traction over the past coupla years.

Okay, so it’s not one of those whizzy-bang-bang sites with banner ads, curated reels, ‘sponsored’ content and shout-outs for ‘cool collabs’ — and neither will it ever be. But in its own culty little Betamax way it’s working well, with my restaurant reviews attracting an average of 840+ views on publication and most visitors lingering long to browse my back catalogue too. 

It was — and still very much is — my aim to use The Prandial Playground to promote all that’s good about Bath’s independent food scene at a time when our hospitality industry needs it the most, free of the kind of commercial copy that increasingly dominates food-related sites and instead populated with honest, genuine reviews. It was familiar territory to me; having written about the Bath food scene for various publications for some 25+ years, I was never going to stop just because a publication went bust, or a business plan failed… so off I went, on my own.

But my keen-eyed social media followers know another me too: theatre critic me, or Bath Echo Food and Drink columnist me, or Bath Magazine journalist me,  or Liverpool Post contributor me. And while that me has her own, dedicated Twitter feed (that’ll be @TheAnimalDisco, then) and a portfolio Authory page that constantly reloads and refreshes, I got to thinking… why not season The Prandial Playground with a sprinkling of my other stuff too? 

Dipping my toe in such waters, I recently drew the attention of my social media followers to my most recent contribution to the Liverpool Post. and bingo! Hit after hit after hit, and rafts of positive feedback in the ‘comments’ section on the LP site. I followed it up with another of my Liverpool Post rambles, this time focusing on the history of Liverpool’s Cafe Society, and basked in the same positive response. 

Was I flattered? Immensely! Grateful? More than! To know that even one person out there has read my blah-blah and actually enjoyed those words is the greatest gift anybody could offer to a freelance writer with aspirations to publish a novel (yup, yet another ‘other me’).

So a bullet has been bitten!

In, out and shaking it all about in between the restaurant reviews that will continue to dominate The Prandial Playground’s pages, you’ll find slices and snippets from the point where several of my worlds collide for your — I hope? — delectation. If you don’t like them, tell me! But if you do… shout it out loud on my behalf; after all, shouting my opinions out loud is second nature to ramshackle, unpolished me.

Enjoy?

Emberwood, Bath

Queen Square — created by Twerton-born revolutionary architect John Wood the Elder in the early years of the 18th century — was the first Georgian square created in Bath. Wood the Elder lived at the epicentre of his visionary, speculative design plans at 9 Queen Square from the first phase of construction in the late 1720s until his death in May 1754, when his son John Wood the Younger took over where dad’s plans for building the rest of Bath into one of the most important and significant cities in Britain left off.

Today, 9 Queen Square is the front door to The Francis Hotel, which opened in May 1884. 

In 2012, The Francis Hotel underwent an extensive transformation that transformed the gently imposing row of seamlessly interconnected Georgian townhouses on the south side of Queen Square into an elegant, Regency-inspired residence for visitors to the city. And now, it’s undergoing another contemporary transformation (oh come on, we can’t let an iconic Bath address age disgracefully, can we?) that promises to transform it into… well, see here to read about all that; for the purposes of this particular timeline, we’re here to eat.

Emberwood opened its doors in The Francis Hotel in May of this year (there’s an awful lot of May dates in this potted history, aren’t there?). 

Refreshingly eschewing attempts to channel all the pomp and ceremony of a Georgian era vibe (if we want that, we’ve already got this) in favour of creating modern history all of its own, Emberwood has bought something fresh and new to the Bath restaurant scene in a way that’s totally unique to the Heritage City right here, right now; take an imaginary flight from Hollywood’s Musso & Frank to Mayfair’s Guinea Grill with a brief stopover at the original Ivy along the way and you’re on the general ambience journey with me.

Smart, friendly doormen dressed in refined versions of Peaky Blinder-esque vintage gangster chic (without, please note, any trace of actual ‘gangster’ vibe) meet you at the door. In the stylishly spacious dining room, acres of polished wood and gleaming brass are softened by potted palms and velvet banquettes. Sparkling chandeliers twinkle overhead, bespoke low lighting flatters the whole space… and an exciting open kitchen offers exciting open views into a massive, rather dramatic charcoal-fired open hearth; “Ember” from that hearth, “wood” after the guy who built Queen Square – geddit?

Flame cooking is the Emberwood kitchen’s USP, with seasonality and impeccable sourcing writ large across the menu. Coal-roasted scallops almost took my attention away from the Cornish crab on the starter selection and I thought my satiation search was over when I spotted whole monkfish tail on the ‘From The Hearth’ section… until I noticed a very promising red mullet dish swimming alongside it. 

It’s a bit of a shame, though — and this is honestly my only tiny Emberwood niggle — that the beefy main event on the feasting section of the menu (that’ll be the restaurant’s already legendary ex-dairy South West Côte de Boeuf, then) isn’t readily available for a table for two. Yes, there was a Bavette steak on the main course selection but please, please, Emberwood God: can you throw a single-suitable Ribeye or a T-bone on there too, just to keep everybody happy? But oh, what do I know about such logistics? We’ve already vowed to return for the Côte de Boeuf and anyway, it’s not like we weren’t happy with the options we settled on; to the contrary, we were both beyond delighted.

We started with Martinis made to order at our table by a lovely man with a dedicated Martini trolley (gotta love a Martini trolley!) and a little board of rare breed Mangalitza coppa from the British Heritage Cured Meats selection — a rare treat indeed. When we managed to tear ourselves away from the cocktail/grazing combo, we tore into a silky beef tartare accompanied by uber-beefy beef tallow crisps, and the crab dish that kicked the scallops to the kerb: a generous pile of soft, sweet, chic crustacean delicately muddled with crab oil mayonnaise, tarragon and pickled lemon; heavenly, both. 

For mains, *that* rich, creamy red mullet resplendent on a super-luxurious crab and saffron risotto and topped with vibrant spears of just-about-al-dente asparagus; I doubt that even monkfish tail could have reached such giddily foodie heights. And oh, the delicate Cornish hake perfectly teamed with nutty, anise-tinged caramelised fennel, smoky charred potatoes and briny samphire: Bring. It. On! 

Both were the kind of dishes that you live in hope of finding in a restaurant in Padstow, or a Mediterranean quayside bistro, or an Amalfi Coast cucina — and I say “live in hope” because, regardless of where I’ve roamed, I’d yet to find the seafood dishes that lived up to my seafood dreams as much as the two I found on Queens Square, Bath, at Emberwood… and I mean that from the bottom of my fishy little heart.

For dessert, a deeply umami miso custard tart for Him and for me, a fragrant yuzu curd, matcha and white chocolate choux bun from the Dessert Trolley — who doesn’t love a Dessert Trolley, especially when it has ‘secret’ drawers that are opened to reveal a beautiful array of perfect petits fours hiding in plain sight? 

Throughout our dinner, service was friendly and seamless, the ambience exuded subtle, laidback exuberance and the overall experience was as contempo-elegant as a contempo-elegant restaurant experience gets; if you want to feel special, you’ll feel very special here.

John Wood the Elder’s plans for Bath were ambitious; he aimed to create a city that reflected both classical grandeur and ancient British history to shape and reflect the city’s modern identity. Today, Emberwood is keeping the flame at the epicentre of Wood the Elder’s vision burning brightly.

Siam Yim, Saltford

You know where Siam Yim is; you pass it every time you navigate the Bath Road to/from Bristol at roughly the halfway point. 

It used to be called the Thai Cafe, takes up no more space than your average shop front and doesn’t do anything in particular to make it stand out from the handful of average shops that surround it. So far, so very suburban takeaway? Wrong! 

At 7pm-ish on a Thursday evening, this tiny, unassuming, more-or-less roadside restaurant — more of a bright, breezy cafe/canteen really, decorated throughout in vibrant shades of pistachio punctuated by Thai-themed knick-knackery — is buzzing with cheerful locals who all seem to be on first name terms with the friendly staff. The lady doing all the hard work in the open kitchen pops out front from time to time to meet’n’greet regulars, confirm attendance at a forthcoming party and generally check that everybody’s okay. I can smell garlic frying, and fresh chillies seething, and fish sauce splashing around with soy. The air is heavy with the promise of Good Stuff; it’s the kind of place that TV travelogue chefs (Rick Stein, John Torode, Jamie Oliver, etc) rock up to when they’re touring any given region in search of great kitchens that shouldn’t be overlooked. 

As one would expect from a Thai menu, there are starters including spring rolls, sweetcorn cakes, Tom Yum soup, things-on-toast and crispy battered doo-dahs on the deceptively straighforward menu. Good! Why reinvent the wheel? From the classic array, we opted for succulent, perfectly-seasoned Thai fishcakes, smooth chicken satay served with a bangin’ satay sauce… and duck pancakes too, because one should never overlook an opportunity to roll up to a duck pancake party, and it would be rude (let alone unforgiveable, given the result) to overlook the invitation here.

On from that, eight main course options offer the choice of beef/chicken/duck/king prawn/tofu/lamb etc as a base for four Thai curries and four stir-fries (all of which come with your choice of rice or noodles as standard), turning what appears to be a limited selection into a major decision-making conundrum. We eventually settled on a classic Green Thai Curry (chicken) that did that tantalising spicy/sweet/salty/creamy thing that only a properly complex Thai curry can do, and an utterly captivating Pad Krapow laden with huge, fat prawns, the liberal presence of oyster and soy sauces creating an almost fruity chemistry with lashings of fresh herbs (basil; mint) while a handful of vibrant, al dente green beans brought yet more energy to the plate. 

Every dish is cooked to order in that lady’s open kitchen (I think her name might be Nikki) and that freshness burst through in every mouthful of both dishes, lifting the quality up, up and away from too many Thai restaurants who leave too many sauces waiting around in the background for way too long. In summary, it was all so, so good — and I mean, really, properly good.

The bottom line? We paid circa £80 (with service) for our 3 starter/2 mains feast and a bottle of excellent Sauvignon Blanc. We will henceforth be making the 7km journey from Bath to Saltford on a very regular basis — perhaps one day with my own TV crew in tow; who knows? For now, you should make the most of Siam Yim before anybody else’s TV crew discovers it.

Sarthi, Walcot Street, Bath

And so it came to pass that Sarthi recently magpied its way into the premises recently vacated by Pomegranate (née Aqua – keep up at the back!) on Walcot Street – and already, it’s a welcome addition to the Bath independent/plant-based restaurant scene.

At first glance, 88 Walcot Street looks like a rather formidable stone-fronted chapel nestled amongst the jumbly, tumbly surroundings of Bath’s ‘Artisan Quarter’. Venture within, however, and you’ll find it’s more of a mini-cathedral: cool, chic and infused with an understated sense of drama (if, that is, you consider the huge, attention-grabbing chandeliers to be ‘understated’) with tables/plush booths for all party sizes and occasions and a pretty little alfresco courtyard outback. 

So in many ways… yes, the restaurant is indeed a rather grand affair. But Sarthi has softened and suffused the imposing elegance of the surroundings by putting a genuinely warm and friendly ethos at the heart of the matter in line with a mission statement that puts heritage, tradition and life-affirming optimism at the epicentre of a magnanimous eat, drink and be happy vibe. 

From the glorious aromas that lure you through the door before you even set foot in the restaurant itself, there’s something in the Sarthi air that makes you feel you’re suddenly exactly where you should be, and all’s right with the world. And all is certainly very right when it comes to the food…

Sarthi specialises in well-priced, beautifully-presented vegetarian/vegan Indian sub-continent cuisine including a lively range of lesser-spotted dishes and specialities. It’s an interesting, extensive array that captivates the attention at every turn, with novel little flourishes such as Bang Bang Cauliflower, Garlic Mogo Chips and groovy Dosas happily sitting alongside traditional spice route raves (kormas; masalas; et al) along the way.

We started with Hara Bhara Kebab – minced spinach, peas, lentils, potatoes and a gentle hum of spice formed into four neat little patties, crunchy on the outside and moist within, served with their own little pot of rich, creamy sauce – and the fascinating crispy spinach/chutney/yoghurt/chaat masala combo that is the Palak Patta Chat, an Indian starter that I can’t get my hands on (or mouth around) often enough and exceeded my high expectations here, with extra bonus points added for super-pretty presentation.

And ooh, look what’s just landed on our table! Four Dahi Puri that fully live up to the menu’s “flavour bomb” description delivering texture, sweet/spice balance and all-round tastebud titillation in one bite. Oh go on – do it!

For mains, an earthy Saag Paneer laden with silky spinach and milky paneer, rich in earthy spices, thrumming with personality and perfectly complemented by our second sharing dish: a smooth, creamy, tomato/cashew-laden “Chicken” (or rather, a really, really good vegetarian ‘version’ of chicken) Butter Masala, fragrant and confidently complex. 

A slow-cooked, smoky/sweet Makhani Daal brought extra dimensions of luscious complexity to the party, Cashew Saffron Pilau Rice further upped the aromatic ante and a perfect peshwari naan sweetened up the whole affair. Talking of sweet… 

While you know – you just know – that a classic Gulab Jamun, a kulfi or a chocolate brownie won’t let you down here (this kitchen clearly knows all there is to know about Indian sub-continent classics), don’t overlook the Mango Delight with Coconut Crumble on the dessert menu. One part mango milk shake/lassi, one part almost-an-ice-cream-sundae and all parts grown-up kiddie treat, it’s the creamy, fruity, coconut-topped gift that keeps on giving.

And Sarthi is, overall, its own little glorious little gift that keeps on giving, to all of us. 

Magari Pasta, Milsom Place, Bath

In a city that’s currently struggling to digest the restaurant world version of a modern Roman invasion, Magari Pasta have taken a bold step in opening the doors to their second venture in Bath. The original Magari thrives in Bristol’s hip street food destination Wapping Wharf, a mere 14-ish miles from Bath but world’s apart in terms of — well, all kinds of everything the tale of two cities can tell us, really. 

But just a handful of weeks since opening in the Escher-style enclave that is Bath’s Milsom Place, Magari is already proving that not all Italian restaurants in the city are equal — and Magari is ahead of the curve in terms of all the good stuff that an authentic ‘modern Italian’ eating out experience offers.

For a start, the vibe on MP’s upper level terraces feels more Bergen than Bath… and the same could be said of Magari itself. The attitude is Scandi-style seductive (blond rafters raising the roof; clean-cut tables in a clean-cut layout; big windows letting big light in), and the décor as smart, fresh and uplifting as the restaurant’s ethos: “We have chosen to do as the farmers of the past,” I learn; “if an ingredient is not there, we adopt a similar one, and we often discover that it fits, thus creating a new variant…”

And thus we embark on a journey around a confidently concise menu that puts locally sourced produce (currently including Sussex Charmer cheese, CackleBean eggs, Ruby and White sausages and OddKin Coffee — something tells me there will be many more suppliers to come) at the heart of a small, self-assured selection of Italian classics from bruschetta to tiramisu by way of a neat line-up of saucy pastas. And who doesn’t swoon at the very mention of saucy pastas, especially when they slink along to a chilled out beat that forthrightly eschews elaborate descriptions and thankfully avoids promises of the dreaded “like mamma/Nonna used to make” platitudes? 

To begin, a neat duo of beautifully-presented bruschettas, one laden with a super-umami, super-piquant tapenade of leccino olives and capers, and a second topped with intensely-flavoured sundried tomatoes and bright, herby basil oil. We tried a luxuriously rich burrata too, oozing that burrata-specific, creamy curds’n’cream combo (stracciatella, don’cha know) and served with more of that basil oil, more of those slinky tomatoes and scrumptious bread. A carafe of rosé, a jug of water, views into a remarkably calm-under-pressure open kitchen that made me want to get in there and cook but in all honestly made me glad that I didn’t have to: stop right there and go no further, and all’s already well with the world. And then…

Silky carbonara made with golden egg yolks and dotted with depth-charge flavoursome nuggets of Guanciale, all pleasantly gritted by nutty-fresh Pecorino Romano. More of that Guanciale, this time in a spicy, chilli- and black pepper-laden Amatriciana sauce. And then…

What do you get if you muddle anchovy-infused butter with breadcrumbs, white wine and lemon zest and tumble the whole lot through pasta? If you’re in the wrong hands (or trying this one at home, which I strongly advise against), you get a watery puddle of raw wine, gritty fish, soggy crusts and oily pasta held together by chewy pith. If, however, you order Magari’s Alici, you’ll be instantly transported to a magical place where the essential components of so many classic pasta sauces can, in their own right, create one of the loveliest pasta dishes you’ve ever eaten — guaranteed.

The pasta itself (you can’t miss seeing loads of the fresh stuff neatly displayed in glass drawers at the entrance to the restaurant) is sturdy and confidently al dente. The prices are inordinately down-to-earth, especially when you consider the quality of the ingredients. And overall, the whole experience is a paean to How To Eat Out Today, quietly resetting our where and how we do that principles by serving thoughtful, generous, feel good food rooted in tradition but cheerfully waltzing along to a contemporary beat.

In a city that’s currently struggling to digest the restaurant world version of a modern Roman invasion, Magari is spearheading a much-needed revolution.

Picnic in the Park pop-up: Braai/Bush Trek BBQ

Last Friday night, I ate Prawn Mozambique for the very first time in my life. I discovered Smoortjie too – and Espetada Trinchado, and Milho Frito, and Hominy Corn; y’know, the kind of dishes that set your tastebuds wild with excitement, push your spellcheck to the point of combustion, and – usually – you have to make a long, expensive, arduous trip across and around the globe for?

Ah, but I didn’t have to travel any further than the corner of Lark Place and Upper Bristol Road (almost adjacent to the massive Victoria Park play area) to indulge in this unique-to-Bath experience.

Picnic in the Park has earned its rightful status as one of the best little cafes in the whole of Bath, serving boisterous (or light) breakfasts and languid (or grab’n’go) lunches, with excellent coffee and cake, cake, cake flaunted at every stop along the way, and super-friendly service guaranteed throughout; honestly, it’s just lovely… and so is PitP’s ‘best kept secret in Bath’ foodie-haven alter-ego. Say wha-a-aaaat? Well, read on…

PitP’s daytime service usually ends at 2pm. But on Friday evenings, the sausage rolls are put out to pasture, the candles are lit, the fairy lights are set to twinkle, the fabulous Camerton Wines list (a very special speciality side hustle for PitP owners Julie and Andy) comes into its own… and myriad superchefs including, this summer season, local legends Chai Walla (Friday 23 May), vegan Caribbean delights courtesy of Janifa’s Kitchen (Friday 13 June) and MasterChef Professionals 2023 finalist Kasae Fraser and her partner Vincent Gatay (Our Table, Friday 2 May and Friday 4 July) pop up to work their magic in this tiny, magical space. 

Last time we popped-up at a PitP pop-up, we went on a Korean adventure courtesy of Leona’s Bespoke Catering – a highly recommended experience on all levels. This time around, we revisited for an up-close-and-personal encounter with chef Anton, a PitP pop-up regular specialising – and I mean, really specialising – in Braai/Bush Trek BBQ South African/Mediterranean fusion feasts, the live action-drama of Anton’s astounding menu supplemented by chef himself slaving away on a live-action barbecue that (safely!) sparked and flamed on the pavement outside the cafe bringing extra-added drama to proceedings.

Fasten your seatbelts, foodies! We’re in for an exciting ride – but you’re not going to want those seatbelts fastened too tightly, as we’re set to ride through an abundantly generous feast indeed. 

Just after take-off (well, a gin and tonic), Prawn Mozambique: massive, juicy tiger prawns liberally doused in a spicy/smoky/sweet peri peri shower, with layers of confit garlic and citrus all dancing along to the south-east African disco beat. And then… huuuge Durban samosas – rich in oozy, generous tamarind-infused cheese – swiftly followed, before oxtail cooked so slowly that the soft, soft meat couldn’t be bothered going through the fuss of being cut with a knife and only barely mustered up the energy to cling to a fork; if you ever wondered what the term ‘velvety texture’ translates to, in food terms, this dish offered the textbook definition.

A pile of fluffy, nutty, subtly complex hominy corn accompanied our oxtail centrepiece, while corn in a different guise – crisp, sweetly savoury Milho Frito – fought for domination over the silky-rich, depth charge umami blast of the Espetada Trinchado sauce that came with skewers of deeply caramelised ribeye steak – who won this particular food fight? We the diners did.

Sausages arrived along the way too: spicy Ouma’s Boerewors, a jewel in the South African sausage-crown for very good reason, supplied in this instance by Bath’s own jewel in the butcher’s crown Larkhall Butchers (and, just to add to the properly local theme of this very special evening, there was an actual Larkhall butcher assisting Anton in what can only have been a very busy little kitchen while we lounged around stuffing our faces). And oh my word, the Cape Malay Pickled Fish! Mild curry spices, sharp pickling liquor and super-soft fish flesh bought together in teasy, skittish, vibrant harmony.

Just when we were starting to wonder if we’d eaten too much to manage even getting up from the table, along came the decadent, Peppermint Crisp Tart: decadently treatsome caramel and peppermint chocolate on a decadently treatsome Biscoff base that we vowed to box up and take home for breakfast but pretty much downed in one on the spot (oh come on, don’t tell me that you wouldn’t have done the very same).

Oh Anton, I’m in chef lurve! Oh Picnic in the Park: you’re doing amazing things, in your amazing little space. Thank you!

Anton’s Braai/Bush Trek BBQ will be popping up again at Picnic in the Park on Friday 6 June and Friday 25 July; please don’t miss out. And while you’re making that all-important reservation, do yourself a favour and book every other available Friday evening PitP pop-up sitting too; I guarantee you won’t regret it.

The Old Crown Inn, Kelston

One of the joys of living in Bath is the almost instant access we have to a whole host of glorious pastoral enclaves that surround the glorious little mini-metropolis at the centre of proceedings. 

The tiny little village of Kelston 4 miles/6-ish km north-west of the city is a case in point. Ancient origins (an ancient barrow dating back to prehistoric times; a church — St Nicholas — with its 13th century tower and Saxon remains hidden in the chancel), stunning Cotswold Way walking routes, an iconic soft cheese empire nestled in the nearby fields… heck, even the drive along the route from Bath to the village is a standalone experience in itself, all swoonsome views and cutesy cottages. And then, when you reach journey’s end…

Ah, the Old Crown Inn. The owners call it “a traditional country pub with a contemporary twist,” based around a belief in taste, style and time well spent. “Escape the city with us,” they say; “life tastes better here”. And d’you know what? Unlike many pub website mission statements, this one is not only 100% honest — it’s also an understatement. 

The Old Crown is a place where olde worlde charm meets thoroughly modern merrymaking expectations without either parties tastes impinging on the others’ preferences. Higgledy-piggledy nooks and crannies, flagstone floors, ancient beams, cosy fireplaces and subtly updated comfort-flourishes (jewel-coloured velvet cushions on heavy-hued oak benches; fresh flowers to soften stern stone corners; etc) dictate the innately characterful theme inside the multi-faceted 400-year-old inn itself, while a beautiful eco-friendly garden, recently refurbished to impeccable standards and featuring easy-access stone pathways and subtle lighting, is supplemented by the Garden Lodge: a spacious, bouji cabin-style affair that brings the outdoors in or the indoors out depending on the weather. 

Oh, it would be so easy to imagine yourself moving into the Garden Lodge; it’s the ideal contemporary countryside retreat. And indeed, we did ‘move in’ — well, for dinner at least, to a corner table where the chirrupy smatterings of birdsong I said I could hear over my shoulder turned out to be nothing to do with the “over-vivid imagination” that Mike said was playing up again, nor a result of me guzzling a gin and tonic too quickly; as it turns out, a family of robins live in the Garden Lodge — so there. Anyway!

The Old Crown’s regularly-changing a la carte menu keeps both fans of classic, classy pub grub familiarity (pork terrine; fish/ham, egg and chips; burgers; steaks; etc) and those in search of ‘right here, right now’ attention-grabbers very well catered to. We straddled both categories, starting with a distinctly non-bouncy chilli/salt/pepper squid perfectly paired with a lively garlic and lime mayo, and a satisfyingly plump beetroot arancini that came with more beetroot in both puree and pickled format, feta cheese, a sublime cashew yoghurt and a sprinkling of dukkah for extra-added crunch — simply wonderful, but not that simple to get this right. 

For the main(s) event, for him, a gert big juicy, well-aged sirloin steak with huge, frangible onion rings, proper fat chips, creamy peppercorn sauce and an exceedingly well-dressed salad and, for me, a plump, rich, pan-fried Cajun salmon fillet, the smoky, spirited flavours of the Bayou-inspired seasoning uplifted with a vibrant roasted corn and tomato salsa, the whole affair anchored by a very generous tumble of roasted new potatoes. 

Our whole feast was, all, all told, properly good real food: super-seasonal, generous, and clearly laden with care and attention to detail — and a neat wedge of smooth, creamy lemon and lime cheesecake that hit the perfect citrus/sweet balance upheld that ethos as the sun set over our lodge getaway bolthole and the robins settled down in their nest. 

One of the joys of living in Bath is the almost instant access we have to The Old Crown. 

Footnote: deals currently trending at The Old Crown! Order any two main courses from the a la carte menu from 4-9pm every Wednesday/Thursday and receive a complimentary carafe of wine to share. Every Friday 12 noon-9pm: enjoy a fish and chip feast plus a pint house ale/cider/lager/glass of house wine/soft drink for just £19

Aradaella, Moorland Road, Bath

The results of the mini refurb that’s been going on behind the scenes at 49 Moorland Road have been revealed and Aradaella (previously A N Other rather prosaic Mediterranean restaurant that somehow never managed to establish itself on the lovely, lively Moorland Road scene) is open for business. 

Fast, fresh, friendly and unselfconsciously funky, Aradaella has bought a blast of Mediterranean sunshine to a cornerstone of a high street neighbourhood that, despite all manner of ongoing struggles to contend with (traffic regulation/parking zone controversies; dodgy bus timetables; chain invasion attempts; etc) continues to thrive and boldly fly the flag for independent businesses and traditional high street charms… and Aradaella is a perfect, effortless fit.

On the evening we visited, a laid-back mixture of families, post-sports field student groups and loved-up couples (there’s clearly no such thing as a slow Sunday on Aradaella island) created a mellow thrum of activity without being overwhelmingly kinetic.

Banks of gleaming ovens firing up against the walls behind a massive front of house counter that flaunts all manner of vibrant, fresh mise en place; booth seating vaguely reminiscent of classic American diners; cool radio station toons wafting through the speakers: we’re on clearly on downhome casual rather than upmarket fine dining territory here, and service is fast on its feet with both eat-in and takeaway orders. 

From the massive roll call of made-on-site hot and cold mezze dishes (y’know: hummus, fattoush, falafel, moutabal, arayes, sambousek et al – seriously, you could feast on the mezze alone here and still not get through the whole array, let alone make much of an indentation in the bank balance), we shared a plate of silky, garlic-laden, depth-charge smoky baba ganoush and, from the half-dozen pastries that enjoy their own little section of the menu (all rather remarkably priced at £2.99), a lamb incarnation: a flatbread, really, rather than a filo-wrapped/borek affair, topped with soft, herb-laden minced lamb. 

For our main courses, two chargrilled skewers of chunky, herb-marinated succulence (one lamb; one chicken) and a whole half-chicken blowout as lusciously juicy as the skewers. Both carnivorous centrepieces came resting on featherlight flatbreads to soak up all those glorious juices and laden – and I mean, laden – with glossy rice (our preference over chips) and a super-generous fresh vegetable/pickled this-and-that salad; classic Mediterranean/Middle Eastern comfort food in all its vibrant, harmoniously herbaceous, plentiful, satisfying glory.

It’s not only the aforementioned booths that bought the classic American diner to mind in Aradaella – all told, there’s something New York neighbourhood-ish about the whole affair: it’s the kind of place you can decide (and easily afford) to ditch your at-home kitchen for on a whim, a deux, solo, or with friends; the kind of place you’ll return to again and again because it’s straightforward in its “we can feed you really well without any fuss” intention… the kind of place that’s pretty rare in Bath, but now exists on Moorland Road. 

The Hop Pole Inn, Limpley Stoke

More oooh! than the backdrop for a Richard Curtis romcom, more aaaah! than an illustration for a Beatrix Potter storybook: that’s the vibe that seduces you as you make your leafy-lined way from Bath city centre to the pastoral paradise that is Limpley Stoke, the historic little village nestling on the outskirts of the equally picturesque villages of Freshford and Midford, a splash away from the banks of the Kennet and Avon Canal and laden with ancient landmarks. 

At the epicentre of Limpley Stoke life lies The Hop Pole Inn, a merrymaking zone with origins that probably date back to the mid- to late-1500s and, if used as an ale house from its earliest date, could be one of the oldest surviving public houses in England. What we do know for sure is that The Hop Pole has been in operation on the same site since 1580… until it was closed down in 2018 and earmarked to be sold to housing developers. 

In a grand act of defiance, the Limpley Stoke Community Benefit Society took the pub over in 2022, and were given six weeks to raise almost £400,000 to keep it in safe hands; a challenge that the local community ran with. It’s been a long, hard task, but scroll forward to January of this year, and the results of The Hop Pole’s £1.3m renovation were revealed; today, the inn is making modern-day history all of its own. 

Now thriving again under the confident, considerate and cheerful curatorship of on-site tenants Hannah Randall – a hospitality queen with years of experience – and her chef-partner Charlie Rawlings (who grew up on a farm just up t’road from the pub and trained at the illustrious Le Gavroche before further honing his skills as a head chef in the super-yacht sector), The Hop Pole is a paean to the unique charms of a properly good country pub.

Beyond the impressively handsome stone architrave/heavy oak front door, the pub’s interior tells its own story without any contemporary flimflam to detract from the beauty of its venerable heritage: steadfast flagstones underfoot, original beams overhead and stone walls softened by flickering candlelight dictate the linger-long vibe in both the bar and dining room, with classic chunky farmhouse furniture throughout turning the whole affair into an inviting oasis of traditional inn hospitality and a gorgeous garden-in-progress out back.

The menus, meanwhile, are as seasonal and subject to change as the newspaper headlines that only a proper pub like this one can offer respite from, flaunting a commendable farm-to-fork policy and using many ingredients that have travelled a far shorter distance to reach Charlie’s kitchen than we had, at downhome prices that make all of it accessible to all.

“We’re in a Vermeer painting!,” Mike observed as our wine landed on our corner table in the understatedly atmospheric dining room along with four generous slices of perfect focaccia to complete the evocative tableau. Vermeer? I was thinking, this is what a night out in Nell Gwynn’s local might have been like – similar difference, but you get the general idea. 

A starter of Beef Scrumpet – similar to a Bath Chap, but with yet more umami complexity further complemented by a lively Sauce Ravigote –  kept us on the strumpet/crumpet debate for a little while, before two more starters-to-share (a beautifully-balanced Prawn and Crayfish Cocktail modernised and reinvigorated by the simple but clever addition of sesame prawn toast, and a Crab Cake absolutely laden – and I mean, laden – with fresh, sweet crab) fast-forwarded us bang up-to-date again; if you’re after a taste of proper pub grub 2025 style, you’ve come to the right place.

The pie of the day (chicken, on the evening we visited) tasted like a proper pie should taste: super-soft chicken wrapped in rich, perfectly-seasoned gravy tucked under a flaky shortcrust pastry lid and served with a cloud of super-velvety mash. We shared a massively flavoursome sirloin steak too, which proved that ‘cutting like butter’ isn’t just a careworn cliché and came with a softly peppery, refreshingly non-overwhelming peppercorn sauce and fabulously frangible proper chips. 

We had a taste of lemon and lime tart too – posset-y indulgence neatly sliced from the thinnest, crispest pastry case – and a featherlight caramelised chocolate mousse French-ed up with ‘boozy prunes’ (brandy soakage, I’m guessing?), candied pecan nuts adding snap and crunch to a perfect pudding.

And lo, our feast was over, the moon had risen in the vast open skies over the Limpley Stoke Valley and it was time to hop off – with a firm promise to hop back soon at our earliest opportunity.

In summary, The Hop Pole wraps both the past and the present up in one glorious ancient-meets-modern parcel. Its most recent history tells a tale of the power of community spirit and triumph over adversity; its right here, right now modus operandi represents a flawless example of a quintessentially English country pub with a brilliant future ahead of it… and who wouldn’t want to say cheers! to that?

Noya’s Kitchen, St James’s Parade, Bath

Noya Pawlyn’s Vietnamese cookery heritage runs deep and her back story is fascinating – and please, I urge you, do click on that link; it honestly is the most essential reading you’ll ever find on any restaurant website. 

There’s a lot to digest between the lines on that bio. But right here, right now – over 6000 miles away from Vietnam and eight years on from opening her kitchen to the public – Noya’s gorgeous little bistro easily tops the “loveliest, most characterful, vibrant restaurants in Bath” charts while the popularity ratings are through the roof. Spaces for Noya’s legendary Friday evening Supper Clubs (£65pp for a full-on 5-course feast) are booked up literally months in advance, and if you’re thinking of eating here on a whim on any other night of the week you’d better hope that there’s been a table cancellation.

Why? Well, there are multiple reasons. Even before you peruse the menu (which is, by the way, best perused with a quirky cocktail in hand), the environment is captivatingly seductive, elegantly higgledy-piggledy and artfully wonky in a way that only a restaurant based on the first floor/lower ground floor of a Grade ii listed Bath townhouse can be. Floral wallpaper, polished wood and heritage hues dictate the decor; friendly staff and a patchwork of tables snuggled in to all available nooks and crannies complete the genteel neighbourhood diner vibe. It’s skillfully shambolic in the very best possible way: cleverly cosy, efficiently intimate, welcoming in a refreshingly unpremeditated way.

Concise menus waltz along to the pho (rich, satisfying, fully-laden Vietnamese soup)/noodle/curry beat, every dish flying the flag for the fresh herbs, far-flung spices and depth-charge dipping sauces that make Vietnamese food the harmoniously fragrant, deeply satisfying, super-sensual voyage to foodie Funky Town that it is.

As a result, we go to Noya’s Kitchen on a fairly regular basis but our most recent visit was a coupla weeks ago now. I don’t take notes in restaurants, and menus change here faster than a bird’s eye chilli assaults your senses. But I fondly recall that our Prawn Summer Roll starter tasted of a fresh, uplifting summer day, laden with fresh, juicy prawns, and lemongrass, and mango, with mint and coriander vying for maximum attention. We had crispy pork dumplings too, served with one of those impossible-to-recreate-at-home, umami-rich dipping sauces and sticky chilli jam. 

We went on to share two curries: a soporific, coconut-rich Vietnamese Chicken (An’s Chicken Curry, to be precise – gosh, I’d love to meet An in person just so I could say thank you) served with pickles, spring onions, yet more coriander and superb rice, and a richer, more complex bowl of fascination involving soft, unctuous pork belly, personality-laden aromats and a generous tangle of slippery noodles just made for slurping. 

Sesame seeds here, lemongrass there. Pickles and ferments all over the place, peanuts dotted hither and thither, fresh herbs everywhere. Texture and heat, sour and sweet, citrus and sauce: our feast was as multi-dimensional as a dynamic opera, as beautifully produced as a really good ballet, as melodious and evocative as your favourite love song.

And in many ways, Noya’s Kitchen is a love song: a paean to heritage, and pride, and history, and… well, a love of all of that, and more. 

If you want to eat on a whim at Noya’s Kitchen tonight, you’ve probably left it too late to bag a table. But it’s never too late to make a booking…