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…

Review: The Redan Inn, Chilcompton

The Redan Inn (Chilcompton, just 10 miles/16 km south of Bath) has sat on the Fry’s Well/Wells Road junction for… ooh, centuries. Like many of the hostelries around these yer parts, it was once a coaching inn. But in recent history, owners have moved on faster than the stagecoach that shunted mail twixt Bath and Wells. 

At last, however, The Redan can relax. Today, it’s thriving in the capable hands of the Somerset Pub Company, a lively, fairly new enterprise headed up by people with masses of impressive experience in running modern proper pubs on their CVs. 

As one would expect from such experience, the SPC’s Redan represents an outstanding example of the point where downhome tradition meets smart contemporary expectations: have a pint at the sparkly bar, lounge on a banque or cosy up at a table for two, on solid farmhouse furniture painted thoughtful shades of heritage hues and softened by plumped-up cushions. Roaring fires and cheerful vintage advertising paraphernalia add to the warm welcome, while fresh flowers here, a stag’s head on the wall over there and contented dogs lounging at the feet of their contented owners all combine to bolster the linger-long environment. And you could linger for much longer than it takes you to finish off that last orders pint, too; seven stylish rooms above the pub offer respite for travellers who want to explore Somerset in style. 

We weren’t staying over on the evening we visited The Redan Inn, but by the time it came to bid farewell we wished we were. 

The food menu here (currently in the process of being given a seasonal makeover, so keep up at the back via the pub’s website) includes time-honoured gastropub classics along the fish and chips/burger/perfect pie/pizza theme – exactly what you’d expect from a hostelry such as this; we couldn’t help ordering a Black Pudding Scotch Egg bar snack just because it was there (and I’m so glad it was, and we did). 

But the foodie flourish dishes set alongside the classic array are seriously, properly fascinating. Take, for example, a starter of barbecued tenderstem broccoli served with a silky satay sauce and a revitalising cucumber and sesame salad: beautifully constructed, perfectly balanced. Or what about gin cured smoked trout with lemon fennel, pickled cucumber and chive creme fraiche? Like the broccoli, it was the sort of intelligent, self-assured dish you’d expect to find on an upper-crust tasting menu but without the faff, over-formal ceremony or hefty price tag.

My main course waltzed to a similar beat: buttery pan roasted salmon, velvety creamed potatoes and an impressive Beurre Blanc sauce teased with capers to cut through any hint of over-richness; the Redan Inn kitchen has bought Classic French Cordon Bleu cookery to Chilcompton.

Meanwhile, his sturdy dish of the day – while equally as gracious in execution as my salmon – put a strapping smoked pork tomahawk (see pic) into the spotlight, served with the creamiest, nuttiest, neatest potato dauphinoise ever and a local cider sauce that I have it on very good authority was good enough to be “swigged from a tankard, with proper pork scratchings for dipping” (ask nicely, and The Redan would probably rustle that very combination up for you – it’s that kind of friendly place). 

We shared (or rather, politely fought over) a Triple Chocolate Brownie too – a treat so decadent, fudgy and chocolate-laden that it led me to demand head chef Rhys to sit down and share his brownie secrets with me which he very kindly did, alongside all-kinds-of-everything both ‘chef tip’ related and his general kitchen inspirations; trust me when I tell you that this is a young chef who’s going places and taking the The Redan with him – and, or course, vice-versa.

All this and more made me vow to become a Redan regular – after all, it’s less than half an hour’s drive from Bath (slightly longer by stagecoach). But what of the ‘more’ part of that promise? Well, there’s a gorgeous split-level terrace/garden to explore, all twinkly lights, lounge-around furnishings and manicured brambles, which whispers promises of sun-to-come. There’s a kitchen garden currently being thoroughly revitalised by a team of committed locals, and talk of film nights, festivals and barbecues when that sun finally comes out to play again.

And underpinning it all, there’s a genuine, welcoming conviviality at the heart of everything that The Redan Inn is doing that makes you want to be part of it too.

Napulé Ristobar Pizzeria, Bath

The last time we visited 16 Windsor Villas was back in 2021, just after the third national Covid lockdown put the UK into ‘an enhanced national tier 4 situation’ which basically translated as stay at home (again!) unless you’ve got very good reason for leaving the house, as in popping out to pick up a takeaway. 

One bleak, chilly evening, we masked up and meandered over to Lower Weston to get pizzas from what was then the Indian Pizza Company; I vaguely remember one of us having the New Delhi Feast which felt slightly incongruous on top of a thin crust, stone baked base but hey, who cared? Somebody else was cooking for us.

Three years on and I’m reliving a scene from Groundhog Day. It’s another bleak, chilly evening and we’re setting off to grab another pizza (to eat in somebody else’s kitchen this time around) which, what with the name of the restaurant that’s magpied into the premises vacated by the Indian Pizza Company being Napulé Ristobar Pizzeria, I’m guessing will be far less incongruous than the previous, short-lived funky fusion mash-up. Then suddenly…

What the hell is that noise that both our phones are making? Ah, it’s our good friends in the government issuing an emergency alert and almost causing several car crashes by telling us to stay at home; Storm Darragh is, it seems, the new lockdown. Our response? Keep calm and carry on! We’ve done it before, have we not? And anyway, we’ve almost reached our destination and so far, it’s all quiet on the Weston front. 

Napulé looks like the kind of downhome Italian diner that you’d find in a suburban neighbourhood on the edge of Naples, or Brooklyn, or Hackney: a brightly-lit little beacon of cosiness lighting up the corner of an erstwhile prosaic neighbourhood junction. You can smell what’s cooking as you approach the front door: that heady mix of freshly-cooked dough, oregano and melting cheese calls you in from the cold. But baby, it’s warm inside: a smart, fresh cafe-style set-up with cerulean blue furniture, an open kitchen and a huge, muted TV on the wall screening an Italian prime-time TV channel. Owner Claudia greets us like we’re old friends; her co-owner husband Alfredo takes a break from his duties beyond the pass to nod and smile.

We chat about the weather, and the storm alert, and how so many restaurants in Bath are closing early tonight, and how we might as well stay put where we are now we’ve made it to the restaurant and hope we can get home afterwards. Personally, I don’t mind if we don’t; as long as the heating’s left on, I’m happy to hole up until the storm passes, for as long as that might be.

We order a glass of fizz and a Negroni and start our Napulé feast off with massive, oozy balls of Arancini Siciliana and fat, frangible Calamari Fritti. Both dishes are good – very, very good. 

We order a bottle of Syrah and forge on: a proper lasagne for him, which comes laden with silky-soft, herb- and tomato sauce-laden meat wedged in between gratifyingly perfect pasta and loaded with cheese. I opt for the La Lorena pizza, a Special writ large on the dinky little chalkboard on the evening we visited: smoked cheese and generous slivers of smoked Italian ham on a white base (“Bianca? Nessun problema!”), the all-important dough crisp, charred and puffy in all the right places. Our dishes are wholly satisfying incarnations of the homemade, authentic Italian ristobar/pizzeria genre, free of attempts to show off anything other than what they claim to be: generous portions of really, really good classic Italian food.

Claudia and Alfredo are, as it turns out, seasoned aficionados of Bath’s Italian restaurant scene, with decades of hospitality industry experience between them – and that experience shows. They know what we want from a casual Italian supper, and they know that that isn’t always about the sparkling chandeliers, flashy grand designs and complicated reconstructions of classic Italian dishes that increasingly define the wave of new Italian restaurants currently dominating the Bath restaurant scene. 

By the time we reluctantly waved goodbye to Claudia, Alfredo and a merry band of cheerful current or former Italian restaurant owners who, like us, weren’t going to let a weather warning rain on their parade, the winds had properly whipped up, the rain was lashing down and Darragh was gearing up to be devastating. 

But as Lord Byron – a man who was as big a fan of both Italy and over-wordiness as I am – once (sorta) said, “find the rainbow in the storms of life: the evening beam that smiles the clouds away, and tints tomorrow with prophetic ray.” 

We found that rainbow at Napulé. 

Review: new menu at The Mint Room, Bath

Indian restaurant life in Bath, 2012. The Boojon Tandoori on Charles Street was the place to go for a decent midweek curry, the cavernous Rajpoot (the one with the doorman who used to stand, in full Raj regalia, on Pulteney Bridge) represented special occasion exotica and Bath chefs craving a butter chicken on their night off used to flock to the Bengal Brasserie (Milsom Street). Those were the days? Well, kinda… but not really.

Slowly but surely, our tastes and expectations were a-changin’. While the concept of ‘going for a curry’ was as popular as it ever was and ‘Indian’ food topped the takeaway charts over Chinese and even fish and chips across the UK, our understanding of the massive cultural diversity of cuisine originating from the largest subcontinent in the world was gathering momentum; the perfect time, then, for The Mint Room to open its doors.

The Mint Room turned what was ostensibly a breeze block box a stone’s throw away from a garage forecourt into an urbane, subtly glamorous and Very Grown Up alternative to ‘the curry house’ and brought a taste of upper-crust Modern Indian food to the erstwhile barren landscape of the Lower Bristol Road. Heck, it even featured a rooftop cocktail bar and terrace offering cityscape views that felt closer to uptown NY rather than downtown BA2; suddenly, Bath’s Indian restaurant scene was, in the best possible way, all shook up.

12 years on, and The Mint Room hasn’t rested on its laurels. A host of dinner events hosted by legendary chef Saurav Nath (Benares; Gymkhana) proved to be the hottest supper club tickets of 2024, and a raft of new menu items that add yet more intrigue and fascination to an already fascinating, intriguing menu have recently landed, to be enjoyed in twinkly-lit, elegant surroundings (grab a plush booth if you can), served to you by friendly, knowledgeable staff who glide rather than bustle you through the whole experience, and supplemented by a wine list that reads like an oenophiles dream.

You could, should you so wish, remain on the familiar path of least resistance and order an onion bhaji followed by a chicken tikka here; I guarantee that both dishes will shake up all previous perceptions of such tried-and-tested, familiar choices at prices that belie the quality on offer. But why would you do that when smoky, slightly bittersweet, tamarind- and mint-laden Karsoori Chicken Tikka (you too can enjoy a taste of Gymkhana, here in Bath) rules the chicken roost? 

We tried the Banarasi Aloo Tikki Chaat too: an upmarket spicy potato patty artfully muddled with crispy spinach, wriggly moong dal, smooth-but-crunchy nylon sev (no, not a spelling mistake: super-thin crispy-crunchy noodles made from gram flour. Who knew? Not I, until now!), sweet yoghurt and pomegranate jewels; party ON, in my mouth!

But oh, the Tandoori Dil Salmon! At first menu-description glance, it seemed kinda outta place in a modern Indian oasis: dill, honey, garlic… mustard mayo? Isn’t that more gastropub and less – well, Indian? Not when those big, gleaming fillets have been marinated with roasted red pepper and dustings of cumin and garam masala (am I right, Mint Room kitchen?) before being subjected to the fierce heat of the tandoor for the perfect amount of time to make it crispy on the outside and softly slinky within; indeed, few gastropubs could attempt to scale such dizzy heights. And if tandoor magic’s your thing, you must try, like we did, the Chatpata Chicken Kebab too: robust but tender chicken thighs laden with rich, smoky Kashmiri chillies and pungent caram seed (think, oregano or thyme, perhaps, punching well above their weight).

Did we end there? We could have done – and, probably, should have done. But neither the roar of the Lamb Rarrah Gosht (glazed, tandoori-spiced lamb rump, keema masala, rogan jus – ROGAN JUS!) or the gentle whisper of the Classic Old Delhi Chicken Tikka Masala (chicken, tomatoes, green cardamom, ginger – it’s called ‘classic’ for very good reason) could be ignored… so we gave them our full attention, and didn’t for one moment, on any level, regret our actions. 

Whether you mourn, celebrate or remain merely indifferent to the passing of the likes of the Boojon, the Rajpoot and the Bengal Brasserie will depend on your personal experiences of those restaurants at the time (mine, I’m lucky enough to say, were all good). But having The Mint Room on our doorstep is cause for celebration for all; competent, confident and inspirational, this is modern Indian cookery at its very, very best.

Review: Festive Feast at Bandook Kitchen, Milsom Place, Bath

“Happy happies! Go forth and feast…”

I’m very open about my love for Bandook Kitchen, the highly-acclaimed Mint Room’s playful little sister at the heart of Bath’s Milsom Place ‘Quarter’. 

You can read all about how much and why I love BK in this review, published last year: “I love the restaurant’s style, audacity and overall vibe,” I wrote; “I love how it’s filled a big gap in the Bath eating out scene by blending upper-crust modern Indian dining with a casual, welcoming, affordable ethos that’s effortlessly uplifting, and unselfconsciously soul-soothing.”

Clickety-click on that review link and you’ll also get a bit of Bandook Kitchen history, and its sense of place on the Bath food and drink scene — oh go on, take a look, if only to save me repeating myself here.

I revisit BK on a regular basis: on date nights (yes, we still have date nights, almost two decades on from our very first date night), or with friends, or simply on those evenings when I just can’t be bothered to cook. As of fairly recently, I can even go there for breakfast; why have a bacon buttie when you can have a Kolkata Breakfast Roll?  

So, while Bandook Kitchen is most definitely for life and not just for Christmas, there’s currently yet more reason to be cheerful here as the restaurant has supplemented their a la carte menu with a Festive Feast (£45pp) that kicks traditional festive formats to the kerb and thoroughly revitalises jaded British palates in a way that only BK can; heck, they’ve even worked their magic on turkey! Meanwhile, if you’ve yet to wise up to the fact that BK is also one of Bath’s best cocktail hotspots, this is your moment — and if you make the most of that moment with a Mumbai Winters (Single Malt Talisker, Campari Liqueur, orange and lime juice, sugar syrup) from the Christmas Cocktail menu, I guarantee that you won’t regret it.

If Christmas is all about the glam, the glitter, and the sparkle, BK has it nailed from the get-go. Milsom Place itself is a winter wonderland right now (there’s even a proper Christmas Grotto at the epicentre of the beautifully-decorated proceedings) and BK’s dishes go large on presentation bling. 

We started our Festive Feast with Pani Puri: crispy little semolina shell baubles ready to be filled with tantalising Jal Jeera water (there’s definitely mint, cumin, ginger, chilli, salt and something fruity in the mix, and cumin, and maybe citrus too?) and downed in one… or broken midway between plate and mouth, sending shards of shell all over the table and Jal Jeera all down your top (or maybe that’s just me.) 

Etiquette crisis over, we moved on to a lively, vibrant, Mango Salad: slivers of mango, peppers and carrots muddled with onions and chilli and topped with a mango and lemon dressing. You know how we all tend to think that Christmas menus have nothing to do with salad? Think again.

And oh, behold the glorious prettiness of the Samosa Chaat: a ‘deconstructed Punjabi vegetable samosa’ topped with lightly curried chickpeas and thick yoghurt, drizzled and dotted hither and thither will all manner of jewel-coloured dots and drizzles including pomegranate seeds that always, always make me go “oooh!”.

We slid in a plate of squid too, because we just can’t ‘do’ BK without ‘doing’ the Squid Koliwada: crisp mollusc morsels tossed around on waves of spice, onion and peppers, a dish with which a drink (by this time I’d moved on to the French 75 cocktail) really is too wet without one.

Now I’m not saying that any of the build-up dishes were stocking fillers — far from it. But we were poised to fill our boots with the main event, Awadhi Lamb Shank Biryani: a huge, glorious medley of pastry-topped, long’n’slow lamb shank (a turkey version is also available, trad-fans) falling off the bone into a rich broth of soporific spice-infused gravy and aromatic rice. As if that’s not enough in itself, the decadent dish is served with a supporting cast including a thick, creamy Hyderabadi-style Burani Raita, Daal Panchmel, Kurkurit Bhindi (aka super-crispy okra), Jakhiya Aloo (that’s the spuds taken care of, then), nutty, spicy, tamarind-infused Mirch Salan, saffron-infused Sheermal Paratha and garlic and chive naan. Complex, attention-grabbing and dramatic; fascinating, filling, fabulous: phew! 

No really, we couldn’t possibly have pudding. Yes actually, we really did: moist Christmas Pudding, laden with fruit and spices; light and creamy Ginger Creme Brulee, that I thought I wouldn’t be able to manage but lapped up like a cat who discovers where the cream has been hidden on Christmas eve.

Bandook Kitchen has the kind of effervescent sparkle that makes you feel as though it’s Christmas every day all year round courtesy of menus that are just as uplifting on, say, a drizzly lunch time in March, or a balmy summer evening. But at this time of the year, it ups the festive ante with unique, magical flavours served in fairytale surroundings.

Happy happies indeed! Now go forth and feast…

A weekend at Montigo Resorts Somerset at Charlton House – and the Tiigo Bottomless Brunch

We’re sitting on a plush sofa in a historic walled garden surrounded by mature apple trees that cling to the 17th century stonework and squirrels who occasionally take a break from their scurrying, squirrelly business to peep at us from behind the hedgerows on the rolling lawns beyond our little courtyard.

The sun is thinking about setting behind the soft, hazy clouds of an unseasonably warm British autumn, and a stylish fire pit embedded in our table is chasing any hint of chills away.

I’m totally blissed out following a sublime facial and massage in the hands of an expert, and slowly sipping a classic tart/sweet Mojito while he’s opted for glugging (he can’t help himself! And I don’t blame him…) a complex Oaxacan Negroni: smoke, citrus and spice working together in perfect harmony.

Our Pan-Asian fusion feast arrives: a fragrant Gai Pad Krapow teeming with aromatic Thai basil; a sweetly spicy Sri Lankan chicken curry; a little dish of deeply umami kimchi rice; a second little dish of softly punchy Kottu Roti. Mid-feast, I’ll experience, for the first time, the deep thrill of a Spicy Margarita while he gets lost in his Lost in Asia: a vodka martini, twisted up with lychee, grapefruit, grenadine. Oh, we’re in heaven… in Shepton Mallet, some 16 miles/26km southwest of Bath and around 5 miles/8km east of Wells.

If you’re local to Bath, you’ll already be aware that the historic little market town of Shepton Mallet is nestled in an area of outstanding natural beauty that acts as the gateway to the Mendip Hills. Montigo Resorts Somerset at Charlton House takes that ‘outstanding natural beauty’ vibe and maxes out on it: a county house hotel and spa set within and against an elegantly sprawling backdrop of manicured lawns, water features and magical historic flourishes, featuring a collection of characterfully stylish bedrooms and suites, restaurants, bars, a striking orangery and a recently-refurbished thermal spa to explore… and spa pet-pampering services too.

Our exotic Saturday afternoon adventure took place in the hotel’s Tiigo: a flexible indoor/outdoor space with its own dedicated Tiki Bar and kitchen, perfect for pop-ups, private events… and the 2-hour bottomless brunch, which puts a range of wholly authentic Asian-themed dishes with a playful twist in the menu spotlight, accompanied by a limitless selection of expertly hand-crafted signature cocktails for the all-inclusive, ‘bottomless’ price of £60pp (but you can choose to go a la carte, should you be less indulgent than we are.) It’s a vibrant, sensual, fun experience, the like of which you’re extremely unlikely to find elsewhere in the surrounding countryside – or even, perhaps, anywhere else in the south west. And the same could be said for the hotel itself…

We checked in on a Friday evening, having driven through the kind of weather that doesn’t really make it clear where the heavy storm clouds end and the road begins. The house acted as a beacon of inviting relief looming above the fog before we’d even set foot in reception: a grand fusion of Baroque flourishes, classic Regency-era renaissance vibes and cutesy Jacobean brickwork, the sound of a waterfall calmly tinkling in the background defying the clatter of rolling thunder as we left the car behind for the weekend.

Our bolthole for the following two nights was Orchard View: a stylishly quirky, super-pretty wood-panelled room on the first floor, complete with its own little private balcony surrounded by greenery and overlooking part of the hotel’s grounds. The bathroom? A smart, gleaming paean to contemporary luxury with a massive roll-top bathtub and a huge walk-in shower. The bed? An antique four-poster, hoorah! The room had a fairy tale vibe – and we felt like the king and queen of a magical castle.

We had dinner in the hotel’s restaurant: an elegant, window-lined chill-out zone surrounded by several plush, opulent bar areas and a big alfresco terrace, the whole area bathed in softly-lit sparkle. Menus skip along to a confident modern British/Asian fusion beat; over two nights, we happily skipped along with that beat, with dishes such as Pressed Braised Ox Cheek with Celeriac Puree, Asian Steak Tartare, Tandoori Monkfish Tail, Cider-braised Pork Belly and Chocolate Delice standing out for particular acclaim. It’s an accessible array, exceedingly well-priced for the quality on offer and beautifully presented, supplemented by a bistro menu (all-day brunches; classics on a burger/steak theme) for those in search of a less formal bite… and superb breakfast options the following morning.

After sampling one of those superb breakfasts, a little slice of Saturday morning was All About Me – well, me and Yaya, an Indonesian massage therapist with apparently magical powers in her fingertips. While He occupied himself in the whirlpool, sauna, steam room, indoor/outdoor pool and Roman-inspired Laconium adjacent to the calm, softly-scented surroundings of the Charlton House Spa sanctuary itself, Yaya took years off me – literally! – with a gently-intense facial, shoulder, arm and lower leg massage that left me floating on a cloud of wellbeing after which I was capable of doing nothing but fall into a deep sleep on our fairytale four-poster bed, the sound of a gentle wind whispering through the leaves that surrounded our little balcony my lullaby – bliss.

Renewed, refreshed and reinvigorated, I was ready to visit Tiigo and get worldly again… which brings us back full circle to the point where this review began, on that sofa in that historic courtyard sipping those perfect cocktails before our pan-Asian foodie adventure.

Montigo Resorts Somerset at Charlton House is a rising star on the Somerset country house hotel scene, offering loved-up couples, friends reunited, wedding parties and families (including those with their four-legged friends in tow) alike a very warm welcome whatever the occasion – or on no particular occasion at all other than the fact that you should Just Do It. It’s a charming, accessibly luxurious, fashionably elegant away-from-it-all haven, staffed by a team of lovely, genuine people.

It is, overall, genuinely lovely.

The Walled Garden Restaurant at Lucknam Park Hotel and Spa

Even when the SatNav tells you that you’ve arrived at the gate, take your time.

“The scene is set from the moment you turn into the driveway of the luxury Lucknam Park. A magnificent, mile-long lime- and beech-lined avenue stands like a guard of honour gently guiding guests to the graciously restored Palladian mansion set within 500 acres of glorious parkland…”

And even when a subtle signpost points you in the general direction of the car park, pause for thoughtful reflection and take in your surroundings before you turn left.

“Enveloped within its own classical gardens and paddocks, the relaxed elegance of the quintessential English mansion is perfect for unwinding and escaping from the pressure of life to find balance and reconnection; our 5-star country house hotel is your home away from home…”

Everything it says on the Lucknam Park website says reflects exactly what the Lucknam Park ‘experience’ is: undeniably, extraordinarily beautiful; handsome and historic, and as grown-up seductive as a Bendick’s Mint Fondant. And if you think there couldn’t possibly be yet more to swoon over here, think on: Lucknam Park is also home to superchef Hywel Jones’ eponymous Michelin-starred restaurant – an “innovative culinary experience” that, for most of us, can only be a very special occasion treat.

But in April of this year, Lucknam Park unveiled their brand new Walled Garden Restaurant on the site of the hotel’s former brasserie, set within the walls of the magical, uber-pretty LP estate itself. The new diner is, if you like, Restaurant Hywel Jones’ less formal little sister; while Beyoncé may opt for a full-on Jones Tasting Menu, you’d probably find Solange tucking into a pizza here. A pizza? At Lucknam Park? Yes indeed.

Chilling out in the Walled Garden is an easygoing, accessible experience, in terms of both the adaptable nibble/sharer/small/large plate menu selection and the price point, too – which is amazing, really, when you consider the 5-star environment, overall vibe and the fact that the menu reads like a red carpet who’s who on the British autumn catwalk: walnuts, game, pumpkin, mackerel, pear; brown shrimp and blackberries, wild mushrooms, plums and artichokes – not, you understand, altogether as one outfit, but writ large throughout the collection without foams, feuilletes or dust devils to distract us from the angels in the detail.

While it was just-about-still-warm-enough to linger long(ish) at our courtyard terrace table, we started our garden tour with a triplet of flavour-packed bites from the Nibbles section of the menu: creamy, kedgeree fishcakes, the inherent richness of the filling offset by just the right amount of lemon; neat, super-short horseradish scones topped with velvety pulled brisket in a spicy honey jus; smooth, smoky butter bean hummus with crispy kale and fresh, buttery flatbreads… a tantalising trio indeed.

Oh, we could have stayed put at our table for the whole evening, the scent of rosemary wafting around us on the breeze, the squirrels busily doing their busy thing in and around the verdant hedgerows. Squirrels, however, aren’t as pernickety about cold weather as we are. And anyway, the Walled Garden’s smart, calm, elegantly-lit dining room and bar – all clean-cut natural stone walls, polished wooden floors, lush fronds of foliage and floor-to-ceiling windows – subtly brings the outside in, with a distinct tinge of Scandi-cool adding a fresh, contemporary twist to Lucknam’s quintessential Elegant England theme, with views into the open kitchen beyond the pass further advocating convivial informality. Overall, there’s a smooth, welcoming confidence about the whole operation – and that confidence is not misplaced.

Settled at our table after the thrill of spotting Hywel himself working his magic in the kitchen on the night we visited (be still my beating heart!), our first starter of rich, subtly sweet beetroot cured salmon arrived as a succulent, glistening slab rather than a parsimonious sliver, with horseradish and whisky quickstepping an outstanding dish to stellar heights. Similarly, the Pumpkin / Goats’ Curd / Pear / Pecan put all and only the descriptive ingredients into the spotlight: maple-sweet pumpkin; fresh, tangy goats’ curd; soft pear just ripened to its honey-rich best; buttery-floral pecans – a loud’n’proud celebration of right here, right now, blink-and-you’ll-miss-’em autumn season superstars.

Next stop: venison that exuded a subtle aroma of roasted acorns, cut like butter and tasted like real red meat should really taste: uniquely rich, deeply umami, laden with earthy personality. A whole, fat, pearlescent plaice that slid off the bone at the very mention of the word ‘fork’, liberally scattered with robustly-flavoured brown shrimp that, had I closed my eyes, I would easily have mistaken for nuggets of lobster, with capers negating any need for further seasoning and bubble and squeak bringing playful familiarity to the plate. And on, and on, towards journey’s end: a Sundae dressed up to a Sundae’s best advantage, with apple, salted caramel, pecan and popcorn pushing all those ‘childhood memory’ buttons in the most delightful, grown-up way, and the smoothest ever chocolate mousse that I’ve ever met, partying on with soft, sweet pear and toasty malt ice cream.

By the time the moon rose high in the sky and the call of owls had taken over where the rustle of the busy squirrels set off, a love affair that began 20 years ago, when I was as new to this immaculate pastoral paradise as Hywel Jones was, had been revitalised, refreshed, rebooted.

In opening the doors to the Walled Garden, Lucknam Park has quietly, calmly, elegantly moved with the times. As a very wise man once said (Roman philosopher Caecilius Statius, to be precise) once said, “gardens are planted to benefit another generation”. Today, dinner (or lunch, or drinks, or just coffee) at the epicentre of gardens that were planted over 300 years ago is a thoroughly modern English heritage experience.

Ponte Vecchio, Spring Gardens Road, Bath

It’s Thursday evening and Ponte Vecchio – the elegantly flamboyant contemporary trattoria set in a singularly unique, stand-alone location right on Bath’s bubbling weir – is buzzing. I know this even before I’ve set foot in the restaurant because, as I approach the sparkling, fairy-lit cabin (a former storage hut for boats, would you believe), I can see people raising toasts to each other through the big upper level windows, and busy waiters dashing between tables bearing bottles of yet more cheer.

While I’m standing on the ancient cobbles to the front of the restaurant perusing the menu, a friendly American couple offer me their advice: “don’t even read the menu, just go in – it’s all wonderful!” he says; “we’ve been in Bath for almost three weeks now and eaten out every night, but this is the best meal we’ve had since we’ve been here!” she enthuses.

Watching the couple wander off hand-in-hand in the moonlight, the weir in full bubble behind them, I want what the American lady has clearly just had: a life-affirming, sensual reboot experience. It turns out I was set to get exactly what I wanted…

You want pretty? Ponte Vecchio does pretty. You want glam? Ponte Vecchio does glam. You want authentic, grown-up Italian food served up in a contemporary trattoria ambience? Tickety-tickety-tick, with a side order of Roman Holiday-esque escapism vibe thrown in for good measure and style, style, style infusing the whole, substance-infused experience from aperitivi to dolci.

An intimate courtyard paves the way to a street level bar that oozes confident glamour, while the upstairs dining room is a theatrically agreeable paean to refined élan, offering a dramatic view of one of Bath’s most famous vistas framed by huge windows and alfresco veranda seating that makes the very most of that view when the weather complies.

Menus waltz effortlessly around Italian classics with a handful of contemporary twists thrown in for good measure. An open kitchen towards the rear of the dining room offers eagle-eyed foodies the opportunity to watch each and every dish being rustled up to order and the wine list is an impeccably-curated Italian regional dream. The staff are as friendly and knowledgeable as you could possibly wish for, and a subtle celebratory vibe is writ large from the get-go; you may not think you want a Campari Spritz, or a Bellini, or a glass of fizz (in this instance, a Franciacorta, Brescia’s very own ‘champagne’) while you read the menu… but suddenly you do, and suddenly it would be ridiculous not to do.

And suddenly, I’m rather inelegantly starving.

For him, the Wild Boar Polpetta on the Specials menu were an instant grab that proved to be an instant hit: a classic, luxurious combination of juicy, gamey, subtly nutty meatballs resting on a classic, luxurious pomodoro sauce, the little ball of oozy cheese hidden inside each neat, meaty dome bringing further taste and texture.

For me, a far more complex combination that I couldn’t resist because (a) I can very rarely get past the words ‘smoked duck’ on a starter menu, (b) I had to know if pairing smoked duck with brandy-poached peaches, dried apricots, fresh berries, roasted hazelnuts and peach-infused mayonnaise (phew!) would result in a marriage made in heaven or a partnership created in hell, and (c)… I admire any restaurant that names a dish Duckordo, which I subtly Googled while sipping my fizz resulting in the lesser-spotted response of ‘it looks like there aren’t many great matches for your search’. But if I was out on a limb, I was in safe hands: fruit with duck? What’s not to like? And despite my reservations about the ensemble as a whole, the supporting cast list failed to detract from the silky, smoky game in the spotlight. Give it a go!

We followed a similar trusted classic vs “wow! How will that work out?” approach to our main courses too. That’s not to say, however, that his Porchetta (the second Special on the board on the evening we visited) lacked any “wow!” factor; to the contrary, PV’s Porchetta – slow-cooked, creamy, milky pork (I’m guessing belly?) rolled around a generous amount of aromatics (I detected sage, garlic, rosemary, fennel and a hint of chilli, perhaps?), crackling all present and correct – was a taste of Tuscany, on a plate in Bath.

As for my Tagliolini al Nero di Seppia: foodie drama alert! Squid ink pasta – depth-charge flavour, black-sheened gloss – muddled with an abundance of buttery Argentinian prawns, smooth, funky nduja and sweet, lively salsa rosa.

Both dishes were top notch examples of that aforementioned well-considered, authentic, grown-up Italian food, with full attention paid to every detail from conception to presentation. No corners are cut, no details are overlooked, no customers are taken for granted.

And to sweeten the bitter pill of home time on the horizon, here comes PV’s very own Cannolo Cheesecake, that unique, almost waffle-like, not-too-sweet deep fried pastry replacing the traditional cheesecake base, the topping rich and creamy with ricotta or mascarpone (or both?) – it was everything that the super-hip Biscoff cheesecake tries to be, but never quite manages to live up to.

Ponte Vecchio has a lot in common with that Cannolo Cheesecake: it’s everything that the recent influx of contenders to the title of Best Italian Restaurant in Bath try to be, but never quite manage to live up to. Ti vogliamo bene, Ponte Vecchio.