Green Park Brasserie/Bath Pizza Co: two (menu) worlds collide

Did you know that, if you put fresh spinach on a pizza base where you’d normally find tomato sauce, it brings a uniquely fresh, super-silky aspect to every bite? I had no idea! But the chefs in the kitchen at Bath Pizza Co know everything there is to know elevating pizza from prosaic to prodigious; little wonder, then, that their pizzas regularly scale the highest heights in the prestigious National Pizza Awards (the pizza-world equivalent of the Oscars), while many Bath pizza perfectionists rate them – against very stiff competition – as the best of the city’s pizza pack.

Up until very recently, the Bath Pizza Co played a vibrant supporting role in the heterogeneous life of its long-established big sister operation the Green Park Brasserie, popping up on the terrace towards the rear of the handsome former railway station site in 2016, the year before the Braz itself celebrated 25 years on the Bath food and drink scene. But part of the secret of GPB’s enduring popularity is that the venture as a whole never rests on its laurels, regularly moving with the times while still retaining all the original charms that made it so popular from the get-go – which is why, when I heard that GPB has undergone a rather transformative menu change, I felt a sense of optimistic excitement rather than any form of trepidation.

And so it came to pass that Bath Pizza Co and Green Park Brasserie menus have merged to become one and the same thing. Put ’em together and what have you got? A thoroughly tempting, tastefully dizzying array of plates in small or large format supplemented by, of course, those pizzas from the Margherita to the Marinara with specials, ‘make it your own’ and the white base variety (that I personally adore) grabbing our attention along the way.

There’s a lot to take in and a lot to consider, but the overall theme is consistent throughout: the harmonious selection is designed to put the diner in charge of how much they want to eat, spend and/or discover, in the ‘choose your mood’ environment that Green Park Brasserie established aeons ago.

Date night? There are plenty of cosy, candlelit tables-for-two within the contempo-historic former train station booking hall. Partying? Space is a flexible feast here – I recently had dinner at The Braz alongside a lively 21st birthday celebration and a gregarious brood of hens, and none of us impinged on the other. In the mood for a bit of live jazz/melodious funk/soul-soothing soul to make your dinner go with a swing? Book a table for any Wednesday-Saturday evening and the mellow grooves come as standard. And soon, you’ll be able to choose to chill out at GPB’s brand new ‘secret’ bar and kitchen (the aptly-named ‘Upstairs’) that offers a sophisticated speakeasy vibe and yet more of that mellow merrymaking appeal that the Braz excels at.

But on an end-of-summer night just before the leaves gave up their grasp on the trees altogether and there was still a hint of warmth on the soft breeze, we stayed put at the heated terrace table under the porte-cochere to the front of the building where we’d landed for pre-dinner cocktails (cocktails here, by the way, are a must that mustn’t be overlooked, especially during Happy Hour), amazed at how quickly the rush hour traffic gives way to a calm, unobtrusive trickle and enjoying the people-watching experience from our groovy little urban oasis.

We ate Cod Cheek “Scampi”: moist, chunky jewels of the freshest, fattest cod cheeks in perfectly crispy batter drizzled with a caper and lemon dressing and served with an exceedingly moreish tartare sauce; if you upgrade your portion from small (£9.50) to large plate (£14.50) and order a portion of fries to go with it, you’ll soon be waxing lyrical about how you’ve ‘discovered’ a whole new version of the best fish and chips in Bath. We had the small plate version of grilled chicken skewers too, all properly gnarly-chargrilled on the outside and super-soft within, accompanied by a masala-spicy/minty yoghurt, a sweet/tangy mango chutney and a mixed pepper salad. And oh, the Calamari! A starter/small plate tradition for me every time I visit the Braz that I’ve re-ordered multiple times for very good reason; ’nuff said?

I wanted to try the Hot Honey Buffalo Wings, while the roar of “come and get me” from both Garlic Bread corner (the Maple Leaf? The G.O.A.T? Bring ’em on!) and the Sexy Fries was almost unbearable. But the pizzas won the battle for our attention, which is how I know that fresh spinach on a white base (the Pizza Special on the evening we visited) creates a magnificent, magical melange. We went White for our second pizza too: the Truffle and Goats’ Cheese, which comes fully laden with roasted mushrooms, mozzarella and – the star of the show – an abundance of uniquely pungent white truffle oil which we supplemented with yet more intensely complex fungi fabulousness courtesy of a little pot of truffle-infused dip to smother our crusts in. See why I resisted the temptations of wings, fries and garlic bread too? Except my resistance wasn’t only based on a fear of over-indulgence; I simply wanted a good excuse to return.

But then again, nobody needs ‘a good excuse’ to return to the Green Park Brasserie. After 30+ years of flying the flag for the independent food and drink scene in Bath, this lively, welcoming, versatile business knows how to make – and keep – people happy in all the best possible ways, the new menu being just one (albeit vital) cog in a well-oiled wheel that always, always keeps the good times rolling.

The Richmond/The Pasta Laboratory, Bath

We went in search of a couple of freshly-baked pizzas and a bottle of good wine to celebrate… well, to celebrate it being a Friday’n’all. But The Richmond – the gorgeous little Georgian-era pub-with-rooms tucked away on a leafy residential street in one of the most beautiful neighbourhoods in Bath – went way over and above ticking off our wish list boxes; there’s a whole lotta all kinds of everything going on under this petite pub’s historic roof.

“Are you looking for a venue to hire for the day, perhaps with a pasta making or art class thrown in? Maybe you’re looking for a space for a private event? Or perhaps simply a gathering with friends and colleagues, to disconnect and unwind with some freshly prepared food and drinks from breakfast to lunch and/or dinner? Whatever, just ask us and we’ll do our best to make it happen…”

That’s what it says on The Richmond website, and all that and more is exactly what you’ll find in this glorious little haven of hospitality nestled in the leafy Lansdown hills. Ah, I think I know what you’re thinking, right now – but if I’m right, you’re wrong. The Richmond is most definitely not one of those vast, over-selling-itself ‘venues’ that try to offer all things to all people and end up offering so much that most people get lost along the way; to the contrary, it’s a compact and thoroughly bijou, properly characterful, proudly idiosyncratic affair, with an authentic independent heart at the core of its multifaceted appeal.

On the evening we visited The Richmond, the sun (remember that?) had come out to play too. So we took to a table in the neat little walled garden to the front of the pub for a pre-pizza G&T, the scent of Bougainvillea and Honeysuckle wafting in on the soft, warm air, the jangle and gossip from the various Friday evening get-togethers going on around us in full flow. It all felt exactly how a Friday evening in a neighbourhood pub should feel: chilled out and welcoming, with a strong “all’s right with the world” vibe.

Had the sun continued to roll with that vibe, we’d have chosen to have our pizzas right there in the garden. But inside turned out to be equally cheerfully seductive: a tiny little bar, a handful of chunky wooden tables – and, towards the rear of the pub, a beautiful kitchen/dining room flooded with natural light that bounced off a long, pale wooden bench/table set up for a forthcoming pasta making class: we’d segued into Pasta Laboratory HQ, where Richmond founder, co-owner and pasta-making expert Federico hosts workshops for up to 30 people in a room (with, by the way, its own little private alfresco courtyard) that also doubles-up as party/private hire central and a pop-up oasis for all manner of guest chefs including a forthcoming Brunch Club hosted by MasterChef Professionals finalist Kasae Fraser and her partner Vincent on Sunday 15 September.

On Thursdays and Saturdays, fully-laden charcuterie platters do the rounds at The Richmond with occasional pasta specials thrown in for good measure. Sundays, meanwhile, bring very civilised coffee, cannoli and pastries to the menu from 10.30am-5pm. But Friday is Pizza Night – and there’s Federico at the counter in front of his fired-up oven, ready to top our pizzas with our choice of Mediterranean vegetables and top-notch meaty stuff. Once again, here comes that chilled out, welcoming “all’s right with the world” vibe; it feels like a home-from-home, if only my home was this sparkling and beautifully-decorated and I too had a proper Italian chef on hand to cater to my every pizza-topping whim.

Our pizzas were perfect: one laden with roasted peppers and all that veggie jazz, the other topped with Italian charcuterie. Loads of oozy, melty cheese and fresh basil on both. Crisp bases, frangible crusts… and a wonderful bottle of Pinot Noir from a small but perfectly formed, accessibly priced wine list.

We were after a couple of freshly-baked pizzas and a bottle of good wine to celebrate it being a Friday; we ended up discovering one of the most joyful little sanctuaries of good cheer in Bath.

The Upton Inn, Upton Cheyney, nr. Bath/Bristol

Blink as you drive past the sign for the tiny village of Upton Cheyney – roughly halfway-ish between Bath and Bristol, just off the Kelston Road – and you’ll miss the turn-off. But miss it and you’ll seriously miss out, as Upton Cheyney has to be one of the most picture-perfect villages for miles around, all ancient cottages, imposing mansions and lush, verdant greenery. It looks like a backdrop for a Richard Curtis film, or the kind of place that might have inspired Beatrix Potter to anthropomorphise a herd of sheep. But Upton Cheyney is a real, working village – and there’s a very real, working pub at the heart of village life too.

Established in the early 18th century, The Upton Inn has offered a warm welcome and hearty sustenance to all who venture off the well-beaten Kelston Road track for 314 years. Over the past few years, though, the warmth went out of that welcome, the heart went out of that food… and the pub closed for good in 2023. For a little while, it looked as though The Upton may well fall foul to down-and-out status, ripe for redevelopment by a builder with contacts in the ‘second home outside of London’ crowd or a canny Airbnb operator with a keen eye on sedate hen parties.

But last year, a knight in shining armour stepped into the breach and saved Upton Cheyney from turning into a country pub-free zone. Julian Abraham – an affable entrepreneur/landlord with an impressive track record in the hospitality industry both around these yer parts and beyond – saw the potential in The Upton version 2.0, and placed it centre stage in what he calls “a dynamic period of rebirth.”

Despite the refurbished, revamped Upton only opening its doors under Julian’s aegis in March of this year, this historic listed building is already worthy of a listing on all manner of “Best Pub For…” lists, easily topping those charts for location, ambience and that all-important food without any hint of ostentation, and laden with heart, soul and warmth.

While the layout could hardly be described as sprawling (to the contrary, it feels relatively compact), The Upton Inn offers a choice of three alfresco terraces to chillax on when the sun shines. Inside, there are multiple spaces to inhabit according to mood or occasion including a snug to cosy-up in, a couple of bars to prop up, a characterful, candlelit parlour/dining room and a seductively stylish private dining area due to be officially unveiled any day now, resulting in the perfect pastoral paradise for all-comers (including those all-important four-legged canine friends).

Menus too rock to a contemporary country pub beat: proper burgers, fish and chips, Brit-trad dishes with the odd Medi-themed tickle and – of course – real roasts on a Sunday, supplemented by regular Pie Nights; hoorah!

But there’s a foodie angel rather than a day-to-day pub grub devil in the detail at play here: the fish that comes with the chips is tempura-battered hake; the burger is made with chargrilled beef brisket – and, when we order our starters, I’m met with the kind of response that people like me (as in, obsessively foodie, and always in search of kitchens-that-really-care) dream of hearing: “Yes, go ahead and have the asparagus with Parma ham – but it isn’t served with ricotta, like it says on the menu; you can be the very first people to try our own homemade cheese – we made it for the first time today.”

And gosh, The Upton kitchen needs to make that cheese on a very regular basis: think, a Delice de Bourgogne on its very best day or a less overwhelmingly creamy version of Camembert, complemented by silky, top-notch Parma ham and delicately grassy Wye Valley asparagus. Our second starter bought silky roast chicken and earthy black pudding together in perfect terrine harmony, robust but elegant and tasting of nothing but real ingredients, treated well – a theme that our main courses further endorsed.

If dressed Brixham crab is on the menu when you visit The Upton, go for it: lashings of super-fresh crab – sweet, fluffy white meat; rich, almost pate-ish brown meat – carefully picked and neatly packed back into the scrubbed-up shell, served with a tumble of creamy, nutty Ratte potato salad and a pile of well-dressed rocket. But then again, if you fancy a steak-out, stick to your guns: He opted for the intensely flavoursome, super-juicy rib eye, which came accompanied by a properly peppery peppercorn sauce, a juicy portobello mushroom, the kind of onion rings that nobody should be allowed to keep to themselves (that’s my excuse, anyway) and luxurious truffle and parmesan fries that put a sophisticated spin on a classic steak dinner.

It was all so good, and so satisfying, and so well-balanced that we decided to skip pud despite the alluring prospect of Warm Pecan Tart and Dark Chocolate Mousse loudly making their presence felt on the menu. But then, our server said that the Lemon Posset that he’d made himself that day (oh, this kitchen is seducing me as fast as that crab did!) was on the menu. So we went there, ‘cos it would have been rude not too (that’s my excuse, anyway) and thank goodness we did… y’get my drift?

The Upton Inn is, quite simply, lovely – and, being only a 20-minute drive/affordable Uber ride from Bath, there’s no good reason why it shouldn’t be your new favourite local: a magical, welcoming escape to the country, right on our doorstep.

Mantra, Bladud Buildings, Bath

“Is that the roof of the Tramshed building?”

“It must be, yes. And that lovely little Corn Market house – doesn’t it look weird from here? Like a toy house that’s just been dumped there by a kid who got bored.”

“I remember when the Tramshed was the Ha! Ha! Bar”

“Stupid name, with the exclamation marks. Remember that lovely little Italian aperitivo place too – Yammo?”

“Yes! Wow, that was years ago. And it was called something else before that…”

When you’ve been living in a city that was established in Roman times and has repurposed buildings that were mostly built in the early 18th century to create a thriving, modern mini-metropolis, everything used to be something else before it is whatever it is today – and when you’ve been living in that city for almost 30 years, you’ll have made plenty of your own “used to be…” memories too.

But on our most recent trip to the fascinating foodie haven that is Mantra, my whole perspective on the city that I think I know inside out was, quite literally, totally rebooted. There’s no other restaurant/bar terrace in town that offers views across the lesser-spotted cityscapes north-northeast of the city centre (those Walcot Street rooftops, for example) and the lush, pastoral environs beyond; the vista gave me such a fresh take on what I took to be familiarity that I felt as though I was on holiday, on my own doorstep.

I remember when 5 Bladud Buildings was home to the Clifton Sausage, and before that, the Cowshed; lots of us do. And that’s probably why, although Mantra opened its doors back in 2018, lots of people still refer to it as the ‘new’ Indian restaurant at the top of the lively George Street strip; in Bath, a restaurant needs to have been established for at least 10 years before we stop referring to it as new.

But perhaps, when a restaurant defines itself as specialising in ‘Progressive Indian Cuisine’, ‘new’ will always be woven into its, erm, mantra. And the menus certainly uphold that promise of progressive; the head honchos here are keen to point out, for example, that the word ‘curry’ is merely an oversimplification of Indian cuisine coined by the English – as result, you won’t find the c-word anywhere on the Mantra menu. What you will find is a collection of dishes that celebrate the diverse flavours, textures and styles of Indian sub-continent cuisine, with Punjabi-style saffron paneer or Amritsari Chickpeas immediately grabbing the attention and unexpected, unique combinations such as Mumbai-style Nachos and Gin-drizzled Char-Grilled King Prawns adding further fascination along the way.

It’s all beautifully explained without any hype or novelty to detract us from what’s clearly a confident, competent kitchen and, if yet another sunshine no-show puts that glorious terrace out-of-bounds, the restaurant’s brasserie-style street level dining rooms offer a cheerfully chic environment whatever the weather.

After cocktails, poppadums and dips, we started our Mantra merrymaking with cauliflower florets in a super-light batter and a sweet’n’sour-ish sauce, and a Chicken Tikka Dosa, Mantra’s dosas being a speciality of the house. If you’ve yet to familiarise yourself with the delights of what’s essentially a thin, savoury crepe made from ground rice and pulses, usually filled with all manner of spicy fillings and served with all manner of groovy little accompaniments (in this instance, coconut chutney and a super-aromatic sambar), it’s essential that you go Dosa here.

For mains – oh, be still my fluttering foodie heart! A chicken dish – sort of Hyderabadi/masala? – and a silky, complex, gently spicy Lamb Korai. But those descriptions don’t start – or finish – there. Super-fresh flavours, tantalising taste sensations: salt, spice, sweet; soft garlic, peppery heat. Fenugreek here, cloves over there, coriander, cumin and cinnamon all making their presence felt; subtly sensual, complex but gratifyingly congenial. Really? Yes, really – and accompanied by the softest, sweetest, freshest Peshwari I’ve ever encountered and billowing pillows of Pilau too.

By the time we’d finished our feast off with a creamy Kulfi and the kind of Gulab Jamun that guarantees you’ll never look at a boring British doughnut in the same way again, the sun was setting over that fascinating birds eye view and another summer night in Bath was coming to a close. But my memory bank had been completely rejigged, and a whole new page was set to be written in my Bath foodie diary: “Mantra is really exciting, but it’s all very accessible too,” I scrawled; “an intelligent, accomplished taste of the unexpected, if you like – and there’s nothing not like here.”

Next time you’re taking a trip down New Memory Lane, don’t forget to remember Mantra.

RootSpice, Argyle Street, Bath

A Japanese Izakaya and a modern French bistro. A supercool lounge experience and a superb steak house. An Italian trattoria, a traditional pub, a ‘boutique co-working space‘ – Argyle Street/Pulteney Bridge has quietly morphed into a distinctive modern Bath ‘quarter’ all of its own of late; heck, you could move from office to late-night partying via sunset cocktails and a superb supper here without ever having to cross the boundary into the city centre ‘proper’.

It would be easy, however, to inadvertently leave several Argyle Street experiences undiscovered on your Argyle Street Big Night Out as it’s not immediately apparent to the average flaneur that the doorways wedged between the more obvious shop and restaurant frontages on the south side of the street lead on to all manner of hidden gems twixt street level and weir-side itself. Blink as you’re strolling and you could miss, for example, the menu for RootSpice: an elegant contemporary Indian restaurant that secured a foothold on the Argyle Street scene just a short handful of weeks ago.

Despite the fact that we’re going (sorta) underground, RootSpice has an airy, brasserie-like feel about it, with elevated tables towards the rear of the restaurant next to pretty little windows that offer unique weir views and allow natural light to supplement the softly-lit main bar/dining room where scrubbed-up, historic stone walls bring a sense of history and heritage to the surroundings, polished brass and subtly lively artwork bring fresh, contemporary cheer, and plush velvet banquette/comfy chair seating add to the seductive warm welcome that prevails.

The set-up all acts as the perfect backdrop to chef Soyful Alom’s vibrant, meticulously-crafted menus that celebrate the rich culinary heritage of Indian sub-continent cuisine from the UK concept of the ‘traditional’ (masalas, jalfrezis, bhunas, et al) to lesser-spotted, imaginative spice route forays wrought from locally-sourced ingredients; I’ve rarely – if ever – spotted Chattinad-inspired venison dish on an Indian restaurant menu, nor a roast cabbage masala, nor a Devon duck breast in a Lucknowi sauce. Those dishes are all there waiting for us to try, which we will do at a near-future date. But on this visit, Soyful presented us with a feast that he chose for us.

Behold, the Kid Goat Shammi: neat, sweet, gamey patties delicately seasoned with cumin, nutmeg and ginger – a tasteful, tasty little opening act indeed. We had juicy lamb chops too, gnarly and chargrilled from the tandoor, quietly infused with lamb-friendly spices and served with chutney and yoghurt. But oh, the Chowk Tikka Chat! If you’ve ever wondered if the humble spud and the cheerful chickpea could be elevated to a rich, sumptuous, showstopping dish, addictively tamarind-laden and prettied up by pomegranate jewels, herein lies your answer.

For mains, Soyful presented us with a whole, grilled, filleted mackerel, the super-rich, distinctive essence of the fish offset by a vibrant tomato salsa and a delicate tandoori masala that made its presence felt without overwhelming. The Chicken Musslam was equally personality-laden too, but in a quieter, ‘grows on you’ kinda way: soft, moist slivers of chicken in a thick, creamy sauce more complex than a korma and much perkier than a pasanda. Both dishes worked together in convivial harmony, their contrasting characters resulting in a fabulous fusion of flavours.

You know how, when we talk about a Sunday lunch, we talk about ‘all the trimmings’ – and we all know how important they are to the main event? For me, in Indian restaurants, I think about those must-have extras – the rice, the breads, a side dish or two – in exactly the same way. At RootSpice, those trimmings most definitely hold their own: brazenly hot, fresh naan freckled with tantalising little air pockets of of charred dough; funky dhal; fluffy steamed rice… and creamy, treatsome Kulfi to round everything off at the finale.

Soyful’s RootSpice is a soulful haven of good taste indeed. The menus are intelligently, thoughtfully conceived, dishes are beautifully presented, service is lovely, prices are accessible and the overall vibe stylish, mellow and welcoming – the perfect addition, then, to Bath’s Argyle Street quarter.

The Oven, Saw Close, Bath

Decent pizzas are hardly a lesser-spotted speciality in Bath; whichever part of the city centre you choose to stroll through, a proliferation of pizza perfection is never far from your orbit. As a result, it could be said that there’s no need to review a pizza hotspot – they’re hardly tucked away, and everybody knows what to expect from the experience anyway.

But if I happen to be very fond of a pizza-centric modern trattoria right at the heart of my favourite merrymaking comfort zone (that’ll be Saw Close, then), and I happen to have been inspired to write a review, then there’s no reason I can’t happen to big up The Oven here.

For those don’t know where and what The Oven is, it’s a lively little corner of little Italy nestled on the lively little thoroughfare twixt Sainsbury’s Local (sorta on the corner of Kingsmead Square) and Theatre Royal Bath. Indoors, the vibe dances along to a cosy contemporary bistro beat, with a big open kitchen at the heart of the action wafting all manner of tempting olfactory tastebud teasers around on the oven-fired indoor breeze. But when there are people to watch and warm summer breezes to enjoy outdoors, a covered bench seat on the wide pavement to the front of the restaurant has your name all over it.

Since when was a starter before a pizza ‘A Thing’? Since you visited The Oven, and spotted bruschetta topped with Sicilian sausage, grilled aubergine and black olive tapenade on the menu, and/or bruschetta topped with smoked salmon and fresh avocado. So we went there… and we went for a little (big, as it turned out) dish of proper meatballs in proper tomato sauce too, and je ne regrette rien (or whatever the Italian equivalent for ‘no regrets’ might be).

On the subject of starters… you could, if you so wish, go -out Small Plate at The Oven, what with there being Caprese salad, and gazpacho, and fully-laden cheese and charcuterie boards amongst the starter line-up too. But why would you do that when (a) a Small Plate selection that I reckon to be up there with the best Small Plate selection to be found in Bath is served up right next door, and (b)… well, when in Rome, etc. So…

We shared a sophisticated savoury/salty/sweet gorgonzola/roasted pear/toasted walnut/honey marriage made in heaven (my choice), and a perky, pretty spirit-lifter involving homemade pesto, crispy pancetta, super-juicy tomatoes, a sprinkling of pine nuts and a huge blob of Burrata just made for piercing and spreading across the whole lot.

The base, on each? The Oven’s signature variant which eschews the tomato sauce in favour of Fior di Latte mozzarella instead, leaving the toppings to speak for themselves without tomatoes muscling in on the act (although you can, of course, opt for the classic tomato base if you’re really boring). And if it’s all about the base: properly oven-fired, properly crisp in the middle, properly puffed up and nicely charred all around the edges – tick, tick, tick.

Yup, they were seriously good pizzas: tasty and tasteful, imaginative but reassuringly authentic, and very good value for money – and by the way, the beers, the wine list and the service are all exceptionally good too.

So there we have it: I’ve bigged up The Oven, because it’s well worth bigging up. I may not have had to review a Bath pizza hotspot, but sometimes, not having to do something is the best reason to do it.

A Rose by any other name

Rose Elliot’s vegetarian cookery book Not Just a Load of Old Lentils cost £1.50 in 1972.

‘Fun, practical, easy, delightful!’ reads the strapline on the faded orange cover, the words running around an etched sketch of pulses, cheese, vegetables and wine. There’s a photo of Rose herself on page 2, demure, but smiling encouragingly, with a subtle twinkle of fun in her eyes. This is the only photograph in the book; it’s left to the reader/cook to decide how Rose’s recipes should be styled.

NJaLoOL lived by the cooker in all the kitchens I grew up in, from the semi-commune in Wales to the one where the ceiling almost collapsed just after my family did. But in between the covers of this lovingly battered relic, my family remains totally intact.

On page 179, buttery stains from my own childish fingerprints make a flapjack recipe almost indecipherable, while a hundred dinner party preparations have left their mark on the stuffed pancakes recipe on page 94. Potato cakes: serve hot, with crumbly Cheshire cheese and a glass of Ribena – manna from heaven. Dhal, p108; butterbean curry on the previous page – old friends, both of them. But why the purple stain on the Spaghetti with Aubergines page? I don’t remember ever eating this dish. Maybe mum tried, but failed? It’s never too late…

Rose nursed me through my very first soufflé. She taught me how to make a croustade, stuff a marrow, handle pastry – she skilled me up. This weekend I’ll be making her mushroom stroganoff, yet again; last week, I made her banana bread. And as I go, I’m adding my own indelible stains to a cookery book that brings back more memories than Proust’s Madeleine ever could: 52 years worth so far, and many flapjacks still to go.

escala, Clevedon

So we got back from our break in Cannes, and it was still my big birthday week, and we both had another day off… so we went for a day out in Clevedon, where I used to live many, many years ago, and where we knew for sure that the sun would be shining… well, on the food front, at least.

If you’re not familiar with what and where Clevedon is, it’s a traditional Victorian seaside town around 1-hour’s (super-pretty) drive roughly east of Bath. But many folk make a much longer journey than that to specifically visit escala: the closest thing to a ‘tapas on the beach’ experience that you’ll find in Somerset, featuring a gorgeous terrace and conservatory overlooking Clevedon’s seafront and iconic, Grade-i listed Victorian pier.

What started off as a pop-up venture circa 2021/22 is now a permanent fixture on Clevedon’s step-back-in-time seafront, one of a little family of three for proprietors Dom and Alex Lamy, the hospitality supremos responsible for the magic of the Vintage and Vine Bottle Shop and Bar just up t’road and Puro, a subtly contempo-glam affair with a kitchen headed up by MasterChef The Professionals 2023 finalist Tommy Thorn.

Blimey! Clevedon’s got its foodie act together since I lived there, back in the days when scrambled eggs on toast at Scarlett’s kickstarted my weekend, the prospect of fish and chips before quiz night at The Little Harp was the highlight of my Clevedon social life and Junior Poon was the closest I could get to a fine dining experience. Little did I know, back then, that almost 30 years hence I’d be sitting on the terrace of the former safe-bet-but-a-bit-dated Italian trattoria Il Giardino Ristorante (which went under during the pandemic) arguing the case for Octopus Salad with Saffron Potatoes over Camembeso Cheese with Sourdough Cracker (his cheese choice won, but only because the octopus had sold out). But back then, I didn’t know really know my croquettas from my chorizo; both Clevedon and I, it seems, have come a long way.

Salaciously plump Pork Croquettas with a gently kickin’ Gochujang Aioli; a meltingly soft slab of Spinach and Goats’ Cheese Tortilla – two dishes into our feast, I suspected that escala was gonna be good… and I wasn’t wrong.

A dish of Aubergine con Miel, the aubergine slivers doing an expert job of that tricksy little tango twixt crisp and yieldingly soft with proper, almost molasses-like Miel de Caña reminded me what this deceptively simple dish should be all about. A dinky little dish of hake with peas, samphire, edamame (which I always think should, as was the case in this dish, act as the elevated version of prosaic broad beans), tarragon, deeply umami morel butter and silky, vibrant Mojo Verde kicked and teased in all the right tastebud zones without taking away from the clean, sweet taste of the fresh fish. A pearlescent slab of meaty monkfish held its own even against a powerful supporting cast of bold red pepper and chorizo relish, artichokes and courgettes. Like, wow? Like, honestly – wow.

By the time we got around to my winning dish of the day (and trust me when I tell you this was tough to call) of Muslo de Pollo – a seriously, utterly divine combo involving chicken thigh, Romesco sauce, sticky sherry glaze, pickled cabbage, hazelnut and fennel – even my by then sky-high expectations were exceeded. And the Camembeso Cheese (think, Camembert’s Spanish cousin) with Sourdough Cracker? Those salty sourdough shards looked like they could have been part of the Sagrada Familia; the cheese made me smug with the kind of satisfaction that only comes from indulging in a neat little slab of rich, decadent luxury.

The chefs at the helm here clearly know all there is to know about balance, contrast and harmony; this is supremely thoughtful, beautifully-presented food curated with the utmost care and attention to detail. Service is friendly and efficient, the drinks menu flaunts some fab finds (the Pez De Rio Macabeo is an absolute steal at £24), the view from the terrace is wonderful.

If you get to escala before I go back (which I’m planning to do already, ‘cos I’m dreaming about the Barriga De Cerdo, which we stupidly overlooked this time around), make me jealous and let me know if you got there in time to grab the Octopus Salad.

The Peking, Kingsmead Square, Bath

I heard our Sizzling Chicken long before the gloriously fragrant, intrinsically Cantonese ginger/spring onion/chicken combo wafted our way, heralding the imminent arrival of one of our main courses. And it led me to thinking…

Of our five basic human senses, hearing is probably the last on the list when it comes to how we connect with food, with sight, smell, touch (that’ll be texture, then?) and, of course, taste all ranking well above hearing. But when you order a sizzling anything in a Chinese restaurant, your food never sounded so good; by the time your searingly hot platter of promise arrives at your table in all its exciting, noisy glory, you’re more than ready for it.

Having said that, I’m pretty much always more than ready for any plate of food served up at The Peking, which is not only the city’s longest-established Chinese restaurant but, having flown the flag for Bath’s independent food businesses for over three decades, is one of Bath’s longest-established restaurants, period.

Established way back in 1985, the Peking was the first restaurant in Bath to bring eat-in, Brit-friendly incarnations of Cantonese, Szechuan and Peking cuisine to the city. Back then – or indeed, back when I first started frequenting The Peking (‘frequenting’ being the operative word here) when I first landed in Bath almost 25 years ago – you could hardly have described the restaurant as being anywhere close to the heart of the eating out action. But today, Kingsmead Square has almost entirely reinvented itself thanks to a lively team of local, independent hospitality entrepreneurs that have breathed new life into this historic pedestrian intersection – and, despite its vintage, The Peking maintains its status as the original stalwart of the KQ scene.

While this properly friendly, family-run restaurant has gracefully declined to concede to the kind of fads, fashions and fripperies that can all-too-often over-dominate the modern dining scene (you won’t find canteen-style dining, waiters who call us ‘guys’ or chalk board menus flaunting a ‘street food’ selection here,) its most certainly moved with the times. Offering uncluttered views of the square from big picture windows by day and exuding a subtle ambience of welcoming, understated glamour perfectly balanced on the bridge where contemporary expectations meet traditional diner requirements post-sunset, it’s a casually seductive environment, offering broad appeal to cosy couples, families, students-on-a-budget and celebratory parties alike (there’s a lovely little private dining area available too.)

On the all-important food front, well-priced dishes waltz around the kind of familiar Chinese food ‘tradition’ that’s borne out of catering to the British palate; oh of course you can have spring rolls followed by sweet and sour chicken here – and exemplary incarnations of a classic genre they are, too.

But look beyond those enduring popular options and you’ll notice all manner of fascinating flourishes: there’s garlic salt and chilli frogs’ legs on the hors d’oeuvres selection; fillet steak amongst the array of sizzlers; lobster, monkfish and sea bass in the (ample) seafood section… and whole Peking Duck available for those who have the organisational skills to order the house speciality 24-hours in advance, all of which make it clear that there’s a lot of thought, hard work and passion for really good, freshly-prepared food going on behind the scenes here.

When I visit The Peking, though, I know what I like and I like what I know. I don’t really even have to read the menu anymore, but I read it just because I love reading it, and then I order what I love, and I know it’ll be very, very good and I’ll fall in love with it all over again. So!

Bring on the Aromatic Lamb: a generous tumble of soft/crispy meat served with a steaming pile of papery pancakes and a deeply flavoursome pot of hoisin sauce. Pair that with chunky chunks of stir fried squid, crazy hot with garlic salt and chilli, and addictively frangible. Take a short break, then lemme at those fat, shiny, shiny prawns tumbled with shiny, shiny nuggets of green pepper, all bathed in deeply umami black bean sauce. And oh, listen up! Here comes that Sizzling Chicken with Ginger and Spring Onions, its attention-grabbing klaxon ringing out loud and clear and creating tastefully dramatic histrionics before eventually calming down to seduce all five senses (including, for us, touch – I’ve never been proficient in chopsticking, and He’s known for his finger-lickin’, slap-happy habits).

Are you craving Chinese food now? I hear ya! And I can’t sing the praises of The Peking loudly enough.

Budō, Argyle Street, Bath

On paper, the pitch is doomed to fail: let’s establish a pop-up Izakaya (Izakaya being a style of local tavern found in neighbourhoods all over Japan, serving small plates of food to enhance the pleasure of drinking with friends) in a refurbished Jacobean dining room upstairs from our pub in Bath city centre. Oh, and let’s call it Budō: a Japanese term describing modern Japanese martial arts.

But if we take the ‘pitch’ theme and run with it…

Remember that famous (and famously mis-quoted) line spoken by Kevin Costner’s character Ray Kinsella in Phil Alden Robinson’s 1989 sport-fantasy-drama film Field of Dreams, which goes something along the lines of “if you build it, they will come?”. Not long after opening the doors to their lovely, lively independent pub in the heart of Bath, Grapes’ custodians Ellie and John Leiper collaborated with chef Dave Line and created their own version of a baseball diamond in their own version of their cornfield… and ‘they’ came to experience it, in droves.

In May 2023, Ellie opened the doors to Budō’s permanent home on Argyle Street: another history-laden location for Ellie to give her tender loving care to, and an open kitchen in the ancient basement of one of those elegantly higgledy-piggledy, historic former townhouse/shops for chef Dave to call his very own.

Dave makes full use and more of his own little oasis of fabulous flavours. But there was much to fascinate and delight us well before we took to our front row seats pretty much directly overlooking Dave’s hobs; the upstairs bar area, for example, gently buzzing with happy customers sipping sake, quaffing cocktails and subtly rockin’ out to a classic 1980s playlist against a backdrop of scrubbed-up ancient stone walls dotted hither and thither with Manga-esque artwork and retro album covers. Go down the little staircase past more smart, funky attention-grabbing details and there’s yet more Planet Budō to be discovered: cosy but spacious (yes, the two can go hand-in-hand) nooks and crannies designed for dining or just chilling out in, as intimate or party-on as your mood and occasion dictates.

And there’s Dave beyond the pass, presiding over his hot plates and his cool crockery with that intrinsically ‘cheffy’ sparkle in his eye that says, to me, this chef’s skills are as sharp as his knives… and I wasn’t wrong.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that I am not – and probably never will be – a mistress of the art of chopsticking. But I do know that when a cocktail hits you with rhythm sticks along the lines of the Yasuke – a life-affirming, spirit-lifting gin/yuzu/lemon/cucumber/basil/soda combo – the ensuing beat, in terms of food-and-flavour-to-come, is going to thrum along to a perfectly-judged balance/harmony cadence. Similarly, a Kamikaze (cleanly fruity Shōchū – not to be confused with sake – muddled up with Cointreau and lime) was as much about palate-appeal as it was about a party, whispering self-assured balance in a liquid amuse bouche.

And then, with perfect timing…

Along comes a dinky little dish of sweet/salty/softly sour pickles, just because we’re sitting where we’re sitting drinking what we’re drinking, and just because Dave’s got ’em to hand. Then, from the menu proper, more pickle pleasure – shiitake mushrooms this time, fresh and lively, and meaty in texture. Next, a massive tumble of grilled, bravely seasoned edamame: pop-pop-pop ‘cos you really don’t want to stop.

On we raced (perhaps not exactly in order of appearance; I don’t take notes, I just…. well, enjoy) to juicy, tender pork belly skewers, bathed in a super-umami hit of miso and citrussy yuzu and chargrill-caramelised to flavour-bomb perfection. A dish of sweet/salty/sticky chicken thighs, then creamy, meaty, monkfish drumsticks in another umami-rich glaze that made its characterful presence felt but didn’t detract from the sheer luxury of the lobster-like fish flesh at the epicentre of the action. There was Budō’s (in)famous Hatsu of the Day, too – that’s heart, to offal-fans of which I’m not brave enough to be amongst, but have on very good authority that I’m seriously missing out. But I wasn’t missing out on anything, because I made up for my aorta-deficit with more than my fair share of the kimchi pancakes, because OH MY GOD I COULDN’T GET ENOUGH OF THE KIMICH PANCAKES!

Do you remember the very first time you ever tasted toffee apples, or the sauce on Sticky Toffee Pudding, or even, perhaps, a donut? Well take that sweet, sweet memory, wrap it up in a piquant, brackish, delicately sour cloud, add texture and crunch… and give in to the addictive part of your personality that keeps you coming back for more, more more: that’s Budō/Dave’s kimchi pancakes, on a plate.

We’re in Bath, but it doesn’t feel like we’re in Bath because there’s simply nothing else even close to being like Budō, anywhere even close to Bath. I don’t know if it feels as though we’re in an Izakaya in a suburb of Tokyo because I’ve never been to one – but I’m guessing that, if I had been to one, it would have felt and been like this. But just because Budō doesn’t feel “very Bath” and may or may not feel like a Tokyo dine-out instead doesn’t mean that there are challenges, or too much unfamiliarity, or stuff you simply just don’t understand on the menu. To the contrary… who doesn’t ‘understand’ a chargrilled skewer, or a bowl of pickles, or a hunk of fresh fish? But if you need to know more about what elevates simple, seasonal ingredients to unforgettable flavour-bomb status (every dish impeccably presented with artfully simple finesse, too), just ask Dave: he’ll tell you all you need to know.

And once you know about what Budō’s all about, you’ll return again and again; that unlikely pitch has paid off, in spades. As for the Japanese martial arts-inspired name, put it this way: I’d willingly fight for a table at the pass.