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.

Dinner at The Gainsborough Bath Spa

Enormous, glistening prawns (‘Dancing Prawns’, no less!) – crispy on the outside, soft and juicy within – drenched in a glossy, citrus-infused, Asian-esque emulsion and dotted hither and thither with sweetly nutty crystallised walnuts. A trio of meaty, chargrilled skewers (chicken, lamb and beef), each one tasting of their very best selves, served with a highly-textured, piquant satay sauce that had nothing to do with sickly peanut butter and everything to do with real, roasted nuts, chilli, and – I’m guessing – tamarind. A rich Rendang, laden with luscious chicken, fragrant with turmeric, lemongrass and cardamom and enriched with coconut – comforting; complex; addictive. Charcoal-grilled short ribs, the fat perfectly rendered by the flames, the supremely meaty flesh tenderised by a lengthy marinade, partnered with a spicy/sweet sambal that we wanted to order by the jar, for carrying on with at home.

So far, so totally top-notch Far Eastern fabulous – yes? Oh, most definitely yes. So where did our Lobster Linguine fit in? Well, very well indeed. Because, on the Gainsborough Bath Spa brasserie’s recently-launched new menu, “a kaleidoscope of globally inspired gourmet experiences” turns the spotlight on the point where East meets West. It’s a brave USP indeed – and bravery, as we all know all too well, can backfire. But in this instance, brave equates as inspired, intelligent and – well, exactly what you want to eat, right here, right now.

And so it came to pass that we dived into mounds of glistening nuggets of moist, super-fresh lobster marinated in umami-rich miso, spring onion and just the right amount of garlic oil for garlic to make its presence felt without overwhelming that sweet, sweet meat, tangled up in silky, creamy linguine, served in our lobster’s own, huge shell and dusted with chilli flakes. In a word: spectacular; I was craving exciting, well-executed, beautiful food… and it turned out that I’d come to the right place.

Subtly occupying two Grade II listed buildings in the heart of Bath, the Gainsborough Bath Spa opened its doors in the Heritage City in 2015 and created quite a splash from the get-to, not least of all because the hotel has exclusive access to the natural thermal waters that have kept the city buoyant for centuries. So yes, there’s modern history to shout about here. But The Gainsborough has been refreshingly forward-thinking in its approach to contemporary fine dining protocol too, moving with the times through the years since it opened – and this year’s new menu splash is, to my mind, the one that’s going to cause the biggest ripples in Bath’s restaurant scene: they say East meets West; I say, you’re not going to find anywhere else in the city that serves this kind of high-level fusion food in such an elegant but thoroughly welcoming environment.

A well-considered ambience of understated red carpet glamour (subtle chandeliers; acres of marble; reception staff who make you feel like they’ve been waiting to greet you, and only you, all day) lie beyond a grand entrance, combining to offer a seductively sophisticated welcome offering a “feel like a million dollars” buzz.

The lovely little bar is a cool oasis of chic overlooking the indoor pool and specialising in spiffing cocktails, and a quintessentially modern-British hotel lounge (The Canvas Room) hits traditional afternoon tea hotspot heights. But oh, the dining room! Coffered ceilings, original artwork, an impressive wine wall; intimate corners (including a cosy firelit ‘snug’ at one end) and space for all elsewhere – it’s modern without being overtly Insta-friendly, and traditional without being stuffy. Which is why, after our fabulous feast in that dining room, we lingered long enough to allow ourselves to get pudding-ready: ‘Chocolate’, which turned out to be a kind of super-elevated version of a cookie/ice cream sandwich bringing brownies, chocolate ice cream and salted caramel sauce together in very grown up harmony, and a delightfully green-tinged Pandan Crème Brûlée sprinkled with citrus honeycomb that bought texture and balance to the soft, sweet pandan-infused custard.

People who know me know that I’ve had a serious soft spot for The Gainsborough since it very first hit my radar; I even had feverish dreams of returning to it through those weird, weird lockdown years, and eagerly awaited news of a rebirth. That rebirth has arrived; The Gainsborough is still as wonderful as it always was – but the new menu has seriously upped the ante.

I didn’t want to leave, but I had to. I want to go back – and I will.

Sunday Lunch at The Griffin Inn, Monmouth Street, Bath

Where shall we go for Sunday lunch in Bath? That’s probably the most-asked question on my X/Twitter (@ThePigGuide) timeline, at all times of the year. You’d be forgiven for thinking that it’d be the easiest question to respond to, too; after all, multiple pubs, restaurants and even bars in Bath offer multiple twists and turns on the Sunday lunch theme, from the traditional to the quirky, with brunch and even small plate selections fitting in somewhere along the way.

But the thing is, not all Sunday lunch ‘experiences’ are equal. We may have choice (always a good thing), but there are so many considerations to take into account before you make that choice. Who are you sharing that precious Sunday lunchtime with: a deux, with friends, with cross-generational family members in tow? And don’t forget the dog…! On from all that, what’s your idea of what actually constitutes a Sunday lunch, these days: meat and three veg, fish and chips, or something a little more unusual/light/just… different? And then, of course, there’s the all-important matter of budget to consider; Sundays should be all about no stress, not bank balance stretch.

So, for the purposes of this review, I’m highlighting a Bath pub that easily accommodates all-comers from couples to family groups without either party impinging or infringing on the other (and yes, the dog is welcome too), offers a neat little roast-alternative menu alongside the traditional mains event and, at bill time, genuinely represents good value for money, meaning that it hereby races to the top of my Best Sunday Lunch in Bath chart: bring on the weekend? Bring on… The Griffin.

If you’d like to know why I love The Griffin, click on this link to a recent Prandial Playground review: it tells you all you need to know about this glorious little hostelry’s history, vibe… and the all-important, affordable, top-notch food. And if you’d like to know why I’m raving about The Griffin’s Sunday menus in particular, here’s why:

We started our Sunday kick-back with The Griffin’s Ultimate Bloody Mary, which lives up to its name on all levels courtesy of a vodka/spice kick that revitalises your senses and a celebratory feel that doesn’t feel too over-the-top for a Sunday (if you know what I mean?).

We moved on to the classic Sunday starter that is the classic Prawn Cocktail: a generous bowl of classic good stuff bringing fat, juicy prawns, lettuce and tomato together in perfect, Marie Rose sauce-infused harmony, subtly spicy in all the right places and as soul-soothingly uplifting as any starter gets.

On from that, the Sunday spotlight moment: perfectly pink ripples of roast beef for him; beautifully tender, slow cooked pork belly for me, the meat creamy-soft beneath fat crisped to satisfyingly frangible perfection. There were vegetables in abundance: roast carrots, roast parsnips and exemplary roast potatoes; vivid green spears of broccoli, spicy red cabbage, the kind of cauliflower cheese that you could easily dive in to as a stand-alone dish (but really is best served like this, with all that), lashings of silky, flavour-packed gravy… and oh, those massive, featherlight Yorkies! It was, all told, the ultimate Sunday roast: nothing missing, nothing ‘quirky’ to distract from its glory, and not a single component hitting less than top marks for overall execution.

Yes, we could have ventured off the Sunday-specific selection over to alternatives such as the aforementioned fish and chips, and lots of other interesting dishes too (again, I refer you to my previous review for more on what’s going on ‘over there’) – but I’m one of the many people for whom Sunday lunch means a roast and a roast only, so we stayed put. We could have indulged in a classic pudding or two too (the puds really are worth holding out for here) but that would have meant not eating again until breakfast on Tuesday and not mid-morning on Monday, as we ended up doing after our feast. And we could have left feeling as though we’d had a fair-to-middling Sunday roast that wasn’t really worth getting out of bed for, as one does after too many Sunday roast ‘experiences’ – but I absolutely guarantee that you won’t do that at The Griffin.

So: where shall we go for Sunday lunch in Bath? Now you know.

Flute, George Street, Bath

As the Anglo-Irish satirist and author Jonathan Swift once said, “he was a bold man that first ate an oyster.” Indeed; I mean, they’re a bit weird-looking, aren’t they? But I was once that bold (wo)man, eating an oyster for the very first time almost two decades ago (at the start of a cookery class, as it happens, which makes the ensuing debacle doubly embarrassing).

Without going into too much detail (I generally aim to encourage your appetite, not put you off your food for days) my first oyster didn’t, erm, stay with me for long. Put it this way: the chef/teacher at the cookery school said that he’d never seen anybody throw anything as far across a room without using their hands.

Hundreds of restaurant reviews, chef interviews, foodie travels and fish dinners later, and I’m sitting at a beautifully-dressed table in a beautifully-dressed restaurant reading a menu that reads like the kind of menu you generally only encounter in a modern fish bistro on one of those gorgeous coastal roads along the French Riviera, with a vibe to match (super-chic décor; sparkly lights; mellow sophistication a go-go from the get-go)… and I’m told that fresh oysters are the start-off dish of the day.

At this point, my partner’s eyes light up – and I knew what he was thinking: “she’ll say yes please, ‘cos she doesn’t want to look unsophisticated. But she won’t touch them, and I’ll get to keep them to myself and gobble them all up…”.

And he was right: I did indeed say yes please. And he said he’d cut a corner of an oyster off for me, just so I could say I tasted one. And then I tasted that sliver. And then… he had to fight me for the rest of the plate, ‘cos I’d never tasted anything so – well, weirdly wonderful, and deep-dive oceanic, and totally texturally unique, and – yes! – sexy… and all those clichés that are associated with oysters, within which there’s no room for me to try and come up with a new one. Okay, the experience may have been amplified by the fact that I downed a French 75 with my oysters – another new experience that I’m also keen to revisit. But anyway! Talking of new experiences…

Despite having opened its doors towards the end of last October, Flute is still widely referred to as the ‘new’ seafood cafe-bar right on the George Street/Bartlett Street junction. Why do Bathonians insist on calling every restaurant that opened in the last five years ‘new’? Ah well, whatevs; that’s a theme for another day.

If Bartlett Street itself is fast becoming Bath’s most fascinating foodie ‘quarter’ (which it is), Flute is the first pitstop along the way, standing out as a shimmering beacon of polished but welcoming promise, offering menus that specialises in fish, seafood and shellfish… and cocktails. Do not overlook the cocktails here! They’re properly fabulous, and the restaurant operates as a really cool bar too, with a dedicated, upmarket ‘drinking den’ (or private hire/restaurant overflow room) towards the rear and those all-important pavement tables out front.

You can fish for all moods and occasions at Flute, from early until late; if Lobster Benedict on the Brunch menu isn’t enough to get you out of bed in the morning, I don’t know what is. All the fish on the menu is impeccably sourced, 100% sustainable and always seasonal, with regular deliveries from Wing of St Mawes bringing the very best catches of the day directly to Bath resulting in the kind of selection (and the kind of simple, best-advantage preparation and cooking of that selection) that Rick Stein gets all pink-cheeked and super-excited about on his various food tours.

After our oyster party, we started our own tour of the Flute menu with three small plates: buttery soft shell crab, almost lobster-like in intensity of flavour, the crunch of the edible shell adding crisp texture at every bite. Distinctly non-bouncy, super-succulent squid, mildly nutty, sweetly fishy. And, for me, the star of the trio: an utterly beautiful plate of octopus carpaccio sliced so thinly it was almost translucent, but packing a huge flavour punch that teased and flirted around the point where bracing brine meets a unique, velvety creaminess that one wouldn’t normally associate with Cephalopoda, offset by a smooth, smooth dressing and crispy shallots for added crunch.

All three dishes were outstanding in inspiration, preparation and execution, presented with a refined elegance that matched our surroundings. But Flute hadn’t played its coda yet!

We moved on to a beautifully-balanced seafood pasta laden with all the good stuff that seafood pasta should be laden with including mussels, and more squid, and glistening prawns, and smooth slabs of the freshest white fish, all tangled in and around silky pasta in a broth that gently nudged at the boundary where stock meets bouillabaisse base without overpowering any element of the finished dish – clever, subtly complex, and deeply infused with care and attention.

By contrast, our tuna – just-about-crusted on the outer limits, pink and meltingly tender within – was allowed to take it’s own, barely diddled-about with centre stage spotlight as the star of the plate (apart from the addition of a drizzle of vibrant, herb-laden oil that will have had a properly cheffy name that I didn’t take note of, sorry), and did that wonderfully almost-weird thing that tuna, when cooked properly, can do: messed with our heads by forcing us to use words like ‘meaty’ for a fish. Other words that came easily to mind included sensual, and smart, and stylish… and then I went and spoilt it all by saying something stupid like, “oh, we gotta have chips!”. But when crab and hollandaise fries are on your radar, those words aren’t stupid at all: when I say that they were the most fabulous, fish-themed fries that I’ve ever encountered, I’m not kidding.

We didn’t opt for full-on desserts this time around (can you blame us, after all that?) even though the table across the way from us said that the chocolate mousse is “heaven in a dish”. Instead, we shared a couple of madeleines in a deeply enchanting butterscotch sauce and made plans to revisit Flute very, very soon, not least of all because, at the time of writing, the Flute Seafood Platter has launched, and the Seafood Boil experience has yet to be sampled. Oh, and there’ll always be oysters… and as we’ve now established, I never, ever refuse the prospect of an oyster…