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…

The Sepoy Club, Broad Street, Bath

Funky boutiques, upmarket nail bars, down-home takeaways. A friendly, independent coffee shop here, a late-night convenience store over there, a dedicated knob shop across the way: if you’re traversing the route from The Podium to George Street, Broad Street – worlds apart, in character and personality terms, from the prosaic parallel line that is Milsom Street – is literally the way to go.

So how does a restaurant that looks like one of those super-polished brasseries that line the streets behind London’s Sloane Square fit in to the higgledy-piggledy Broad Street backdrop? Like this…

The Sepoy Club – named after the Indian soldiers who served in the British Indian Army during the colonial period and paying homage to Zora Singh Brar, British Indian soldier and grandfather of Sepoy Club owner Manpreet Singh Brar – magpied its way into the vast space vacated by the Ask Italian chain in 2020 and opened on Broad Street in May last year.

Few restaurateurs would be brave enough to take on such a vast, cavernous space; heck, there’s room for 200+ covers within the clean-cut, brickwork walls. But neat, subtle partitioning between distinctly different mood-areas from bar to booths to flexible party-on areas and elegant ambient lighting create the very opposite of the Tardis effect; our table for two in the modern brasserie-style dining area to the left of the main entrances whispered ‘bistro’ rather than ‘buzz’ – a neat trick for any city centre restaurant to accomplish on any night of the week, let alone a busy Friday.

Just when you think you know all there is to know about Indian restaurant menus in Bath (and crikey, there’s a lot to know about them, with a couple of truly excellent examples doing truly excellent things), along comes a new one to add to the portfolio. And The Sepoy Club menu, in many ways, offers a new Indian experience that blends fusion, familiarity and the promise of fine dining beyond successfully.

There are Duck Seekh Kebabs, Venison Doughnuts and Beetroot Croquettes amongst the starter array; a Fauji Canteen Goat Curry and a Sikandari Lamb on the mains. Of course, you can take the Jalfrezi/Rogan Josh/Biryanis (etc) route if you so wish. But sneaky sideways glances left and right of our table told me that the Sepoy Club chefs are masters of the art of upgrading even the au fait to the oh, fabulous; exciting times indeed.

We started with Barra Lamb Chops – a speciality of the house for good reason, tenderised to an almost buttery consistency by a raw papaya/ginger/garlic marinade and gently bathed in a masala wrap – and Chicken Chop: a succulent chicken joint (a supreme, perhaps?) fresh from another marinade that subtly packed a big flavour punch with fenugreek, turmeric, ginger and lashings of garam masala in particular quietly vying for attention.

In a way, I feel sorry for a kitchen that sets the bar this high with starters: expectations for the main event are now sky-high, tastebuds are suitably tingled, anticipation is piquing. Had we peaked too early? Most definitely not.

Bring on Goan Prawn Curry, the intrinsically rich, mellow sweetness of the coconut gravy thrilled by sweet/tart kokum and citrussy curry leaves. Gimme a second southern Indian classic: Dakshini Fish Curry packed with chunks of sweet, white fish fillet, the coconut milk earthed, this time around, by potently aromatic mustard seeds and bold coriander. And then, back north again for a third main dish of fresh, fat pan-seared scallops in a richly aromatic tomato/onion based Lababdaar sauce/gravy thickened with ground cashews, slightly spicier/tangier than Lababdaars I’ve met before… and all the better this version was, for that.

We had coconut rice with the Goan/Dakshini curries (the Lababdaar came with a tidy little pile of its own pilau) and a peshwari naan to share too – all those who say you can have too much coconut don’t know what they’re talking about. But we didn’t order side dishes, as The Sepoy Club don’t offer sides apart from rice, breads and – yes! – chips in plain, masala and chilli garlic format. Tempting though those chips are, why would you go there, here? Portions are generous and perfectly-balanced as they are – so much so, in fact, that neither the Sizzling Brownie nor the fascinating Lady Kenny (named after Lady Canning, wife of the governor general of India during 1856-62, don’cha know) made it to our table; we opted for a couple of very British speciality coffees instead (Irish and Royale, if you’re interested) to ‘settle digestions’ that were in no way unsettled.

Fresh and modern, old-meets-new, aspiration, inspiration and a welcome addition to Bath: that’s how – and why – The Sepoy Club has made a perfect home on Broad Street.

Lunch at Montagu’s Mews, the Royal Crescent Hotel & Spa

What does lunch mean, to you?

If you work in town, the answer to that question might mean packing up a leaking box of last night’s leftovers, or grabbing a miserable meal deal that definitely isn’t much of a big deal at all, or buying a sweaty supermarket sandwich to eat on a bench outside the supermarket you bought it from.

If you’re at home, you might push the boat out and open a can of soup, or shove some cheese and tomatoes between two slices of bread, or curse your partner for having nicked last night’s leftovers and turn in desperation to a back-of-the-fridge buffet (“it’s just me, on my own – why should I bother?”). So: go out for lunch! But no, you probably won’t, not unless it’s a high day or a holiday, ‘cos hey: lunch out is for special occasions only. But it doesn’t have to be that way.

You’re probably expecting that preamble to lead into one of those typical local food writer blog posts bigging up the best lunch hotspots in Bath. I don’t do that kind of thing, but if I did, my number one recommendation might surprise you: lunch at Montagu’s Mews at the Royal Crescent Hotel and Spa.

Have I gone crazy? Do I not know that, for many people, there’s a serious struggle going on between heating or eating? Have I just signed on the dotted line for a massive book deal cash advance? No, no and no (or rather, not that massive, and the deal hasn’t been signed yet). But hey!

The set lunch menu at Montagu’s Mews costs £27/£33 for 2/3 courses. Or, put it this way: do the leftovers thing instead of grabbing a typical midday meal deal for just five days, and you’ve got the cash in the bank. And honestly, really, hand-on-heart truly: the phrase ‘you get what you pay for’ doesn’t even begin to come into play here, for the experience you get when you do lunch at MM goes above and beyond the whole 5-star shebang that you’d rightly expect from a 5-star oasis slap-bang in the middle of Bath’s most exclusive, iconic, historic crescent.

In the 11-ish months that have passed since Montagu’s Mews opened, I’ve been lucky enough to review both the A La Carte and the full-on Tasting Menus. Given that afternoon tea isn’t really my thing (although I have to admit that on this, my most recent visit, those towering tiers of quintessentially British tea time delights seriously challenged my perception of the genre), lunch – on Beloved’s birthday, no less – was the clear and obvious way to go off in search of yet more Montagu’s Mews magic.

Magic – really? Yes, really. Read all about it! This review (A La Carte for The Bath Magazine) will give you the full, ‘formal’ story behind the Royal Crescent’s fairly recent refurbishment of their food and drink offering plus a little bit of lowdown on Head Chef Martin Blake, while this one (my own, for the Prandial Playground) gives you a lengthier, more freeform ramble on the theme, and a journey through the spectacular Tasting Menu. This one, however (right here, right now) focuses solely on the 12.30-4pm menu – and, in typical Prandial Playground style, I’ve got rather a lot to say.

We took to table towards the rear of Montagu’s Mews seductive brasserie-style, pinky-orange hued restaurant: subtle Wow! factor, subtle bling, friendly staff who glide between tables like Dancing on Ice professionals and make you feel as though you, and only you, are the centre of their attention.

Cocktails? Oh, go on then; it’s his birthday after all – why not spice up our lives with a Bloody Mary? And then, for starters, for the birthday boy: a carefully-curated tumble of Loch Duarte salmon, the citrus cure subtly supplemented by confit lemon, artfully sprinkled with little shards of crispy, puffed rice-stylee crunchy fascination. For me, a crispy hens egg that graciously yielded its creamy golden yolk over the air dried ham and dinky pickled vegetables à la Grecque beneath it at the merest whisper of a fork prod. Both dishes were elegance personified; both were beautifully balanced, and beautiful to behold – oh, if only I could describe our table for two in the same way!

For the main event, for both of us, a generous slab of shimmering, creamy cod with a perfectly caramelised crust floating on a tide of a mellow yellow mussel broth, the inherent creaminess of that broth offset by smoky chorizo and grassy compressed spinach. Gotta have greens? Do not – I repeat, DO NOT – overlook the sides at Montagu’s Mews; the word ‘side’ doesn’t do them justice. We opted for cauliflower, which came creamed and sprinkled with plump golden raisins and neat, sweet candied almonds, and steamed broccoli lovingly lavished with garlic and ginger – next time, can I have that cauliflower as second a main course please? Ah, but that’d probably mean missing out on dessert… and even dessert eschewers like me really don’t want to do that.

Enter centre stage a glistening globe of burnt butter parfait resting on a frangible plinth of spiced streusel supported by fat, juicy blackberries. The parfait should have come topped with blackberry sorbet, but I requested vanilla ice cream instead, adding creaminess to creaminess against RC Head Pastry Chef Mikey Topp’s (obviously) better judgement, but still… oh, I just didn’t want this dessert to end. For Him, His favourite Sticky Toffee Pudding, which will henceforth be known as Sticky Topp-y Pudding, ‘cos Mikey clearly knows all there is to know about elevating a Great British Comfort Pud Classic to 5-star, red carpet heights.

We had coffee and perfect petits fours in the bar afterwards – not a ‘typical lunchtime thing’ to do, but Montagu’s Mews gently demands that you leave all notions of ‘typical’ behind, whatever hour of the day you visit. If you’ve never visited before, do lunch – I guarantee that, once you’ve given up your meal deal habit for just five days to cover the cost, you’ll learn to love your leftovers and book yourself a permanent table for 12.30pm every Friday.

Green Park Brasserie, Green Park Road, Bath

I love Green Park Brasserie.

Okay, that’s hardly an original thought; the lively, multi-faceted restaurant, bar and live music merrymaking zone situated on the buzzing Green Park Road/James Street West intersection opened its doors in Bath back in 1992, around the same time I too made a home for myself in the city.

While GPB was busy establishing a nest in an atmospheric former Victorian railway station (that’ll be Green Park Station, then), I was attempting to settle down in far less grander surroundings: an eccentric, crumbling garret in the rafters of a house in Oldfield Park, which I’d just moved in to but was planning on moving on from in less than a year.

Some three decades later, and we’re both still here. But unlike me, GPB has skilfully moved with the times while still retaining all its original charms. Menus have never stood still, little sister operation the Bath Pizza Co supplemented the good times vibe in 2016, the building (including the massive terraces to the front and rear of the restaurant/bar areas) has undergone various refurbishments and the dual storms of Covid-19 and a recent fire in the almost-adjoining Green Park Station market to the rear of the building have been weathered with ostensible aplomb.

But still, GPB feels young for its age. While most of the new openings that have popped up around it in recent years attempt to flaunt a USP that complies with ‘the shock of the new’ (“hey, look: we serve seafood!”; “hey, look: we do Street Food!”; “hey, look: we’re another Italian restaurant!”), Green Park Brasserie proves that dedication to a family-run, independent business, skilful adaptation and well-considered diversification will always prove to be the cornerstones of that elusive, restaurant-world X Factor success.

It feels a bit odd posting a restaurant review at Christmas time, when set menus, big party groups and, for many of us, a vow to totally avoid the city centre between now and the start of next year dictates the overall eating out vibe. But hey, this too shall pass; soon enough, it’ll be January, or April, or August 2024. There’ll be birthdays, anniversaries and achievements to celebrate, and drinks on a sunny terrace days-to-come. There’ll be plenty of those “we just want to go out for dinner, just because…” times too. And when all those moments and more roll around, Green Park Brasserie is there for you.

The Braz was there for us a couple of weeks ago, just before an unexpected call to arms in Liverpool struck. We didn’t know that comfort food would be a necessary bolster against the difficulties (fortunately now mostly sorted out) yet to come. But then again, who needs dire circumstances to inspire a craving for comforting classics?

There’s all kinds of everything for all kinds of people on the menu here; from pretty much all-day cocktails, light bites, sharers, seasonal specials and perfect pizzas to brilliant brunches at the weekend and rollickin’ roasts on Sundays, it’s an easygoing selection served in convivial, easygoing surroundings. Local sourcing is pushed to the fore at every turn; prices make you feel at home rather than wanting to make a bolt for the door.

And so it came to pass that we feasted on succulent buttermilk chicken with a punchy chilli jam and a rich ranch dip, and crispy calamari with lashings of garlic mayo. I had a burger, because – well, because Deluxe Truffle, with blue cheese and portobello mushroom and crispy shallots. He had a massive Newton Farm sirloin steak drenched in garlic butter. We ‘drank our dessert’: Salted Caramel Espresso Martini – a wake-up call to the nightcap scene. It was all everything we wanted, and more. And when I say that service is just lovely here, there’s no throwaway obligation going on: the friendly, serene efficiency of the front of house team is a testament to the behind-the-scenes modus operandi – this is clearly a happy place to work in.

The band played on (there’s live music at GPB Wednesday-Saturday every week, generally around a jazz/swing/soul theme), the mellow mood wrapped itself around us like a cashmere shawl and suddenly I had one of those moments that just have to happen because such a moment can never be forced: sitting at a table sipping what must surely have been (but probably wasn’t) my last glass of red wine of the night, having eaten the kind of dinner that at once comforts, satisfied and excites, leaving me bathed in an ‘all’s right with the world’ glow.

Those moments don’t come around very often, but they’ve come around, for me, at Green Park Brasserie on multiple occasions: boisterous parties and quiet moments, with friends and solo, on dates, off dates… in a way, GPB and I have grown up in Bath together, both of us learning how to fit in but stand out, and keep on keeping on through good times and bad.

Lest ye forget (‘cos I never will): Green Park Brasserie is for life, not just for Christmas.

Bikano’s, Widcombe, Bath

There are multiple reasons for going out for dinner: excitement, indulgence, bonhomie, celebrations… escapism. But the impromptu “let’s just put our going out clothes on and go out for something to eat” is one of the best reasons of all.

Now I’m not saying for one moment that Bikano’s is all and only about simply offering a quick fix when you just can’t be bothered to cook – there’s much more to it than that. But this cheerful little Indian restaurant ticks all the classic casual neighbourhood bistro boxes: friendly service, wallet-friendly prices and super-fresh food based on a classic Indian cross-continent motif. It’s a familiar vibe, for sure. But sometimes, familiarity is exactly what you need to get by.

While I’m guessing that, post-9pm-ish, Bikano’s could be the kind of place that lures you in on a whim if you happen to have had several pints in one of the congenial watering holes on Widcombe Parade – and there’s nowt wrong with that. But I very much doubt that any sniff of ‘over-exuberant’ behaviour would be tolerated by either the staff (friendly; mellow; laid back) or the merry band of locals who clearly rely on dinner at Bikano’s to punctuate their weekend plans. On the evening we visited, a big party (quietly, politely) dominated centre-table proceedings, while a mixed bag of couples and foursomes were doing exactly what we were doing: simply having a cosy dinner in cosy environment on a damp Saturday night.

The starter array on the pretty little menu offers all the classic Indian bistro fave raves you crave – Bhajis, Chats and Pakoras; Kebabs, Tikkas, Tandoori Chicken Wings, et al – alongside both fish- and meat-based sharing platters for those who can’t make their minds up. We, however, made our minds up pretty darn quick. The result? The freshest – in terms of both crispy batter and huge, succulent slabs of fish within – Amritsari fish Pakoyas imaginable, and Achari Chicken Tikka featuring succulent chicken thighs marinated in pickled ginger, and garlic, and waves of thick yoghurt. It’s clear that attention to detail goes large in presentation terms here too, despite how busy the kitchen may be; even our pre-dinner Poppadoms – crispy little non-oily shards of delight served with a lovely little array of homemade chutneys and a minty-creamy dip – looked pretty.

Few kitchens, however, could make a Sag Gosht look pretty; slow-cooked lamb with masses of spinach is never going to be ready for its Insta close-up. But thankfully, there was no filter on the taste, either: bitter-sweet, nutty fenugreek, earthy cumin and lashings of garam masala (am I alone in thinking of garam masala as the most gregarious guest at any Indian-themed menu party?) wrapped in and around soft, velvety, satisfyingly fatty chunks of lamb. Sticking with the lamb theme, the vibrant Rajasthani Laal exceeded expectations too: luxuriously rich and glossy, complex but accessible and agreeably hot, it was the kind of deeply satisfying, grass roots, tradition-laden kinda dish that Rick Stein would have swooned over when he travelled across India in search of the perfect comforting curry.

We had a side of cauliflower-based Gobhi Mutter too, and fluffy pilao rice, and fragrant, oven-fresh breads (a Peshwari naan and a flaky paratha, since you asked)… and then we had a very dull Pistachio Kulfi, the only low point of the whole array (pistachios? No sign of them in this Kulfi!). Ah well, the divine Gajar Ka Halwa more than made up for the Kulfi’s deficiencies, and the Bikano’s experience overall left a very pleasant taste in the mouth on many levels.

There are multiple reasons for going out for dinner at Bikano’s.

The small print: our dinner cost £111.85 for two, including 2 pints of Cobra, 2 large red wines and 10% service.

Baba’s Mezze, Barton Street, Bath

Baba’s Mezze didn’t host a flashy opening night party, or promote a soft launch week on social media, or send me a lengthy press release telling me what to write when I was bribed to write about it. It just simply opened its doors on Barton Street (which is, in itself, turning into one of Bath’s liveliest foodie thoroughfares, extending the established Saw Close scene in one direction just like Kingsmead Square has done in the other)… and suddenly, it was there. And suddenly, it was busy. And suddenly, Bath’s got a brand new restaurant that honestly isn’t like any other restaurant in Bath. And instantly: I love it.

It’s clear from the off that the seasoned team behind this new venture know pretty much know all there is to know about hospitality in the true sense of the word; they know that a genuinely warm welcome that starts with the staff who greet you and extends across both the environment and the menu with apparently effortless ease is at the heart of any good restaurant’s success. It’s hard to believe, though, that on the evening I visited, Baba’s had been open for less than a week – it felt long-established and very happily ‘bedded in’ without a single hint of that Changing Rooms vibe that all too many new ventures can’t seem to get past for at least six months.

But Baba’s isn’t trying to get us all to leap onto one of those ‘shock of the new’ bandwagons that bigger, glitzier new jaunts opening around it are currently trying so desperately hard to flaunt. To the contrary, Baba’s is all about tradition, and integrity, and authenticity – and its backstory substantiates that statement.

Quite simply, two Bens of Persian and Greek origin have put their passion for Persian/Mediterranean food and wine together. They’ve put Mehdi Parastesh (a long-experienced Iranian chef, from Tehran) in the kitchen, put proper, authentic middle eastern mezze and big chunks of meat*, cooked over charcoal, on the menu (*stress ye not, non-carnivores! There’s plenty for you to choose from too)… and put their years of experience in the hospitality industry together to create the kind of super-mellow, seductively convivial Mediterranean bistro experience that Bath so richly deserves. The wine list is as considerately thoughtful and evocative as the food, and the people who serve you as clearly happy to be there as you will be… and I can’t emphasise strongly enough just how right being there feels.

Seated at a table by the window in Baba’s beguiling little dining room (love the Souk lighting! Love the big Persian rug! Love the overall warmth of the decor, and the clear generosity of spirit about the whole vibe), we started with a selection of mezze to share: rich, smoky, velvety Baba Ganoush. Plump charred chicken wings thrilled up with molasses, and pomegranate, and coriander. Creamy, indulgent Black Truffle Olivieh – a beguiling combination of chicken, mayonnaise, crispy shallots, salted cucumber, dill, potato and intense, deeply umami black truffle; if you choose just one dish from the mezze menu (which you won’t/shouldn’t, ‘cos that’d be a crazy thing to do), make it this one. And then…

Lamb Shashlik: juicy lamb chops, blackened and grizzly from the charcoal on the outside, soft and pink within, with the overall texture of rich, rich butter. Jujeh Kebab: chicken breast marinated in earthy-sweet, floral saffron and just the right amount of yoghurt and lemon to make the fillets tender, tender, tender, but not too tender to maintain its integrity over those hot, hot flames. The requisite side dishes, meanwhile, were centre stage superstars in their own right: buttery, steaming saffron rice, and thick Persian flatbread (I’m thinking, Barbari?), the warm, crispy, sesame seeded crust yielding to a pillow of warm, yeasty, can’t-leave-it-alone contentment. We didn’t want to leave any of it alone – so we didn’t.

Suddenly, Bath’s got a brand new restaurant that honestly isn’t like any other restaurant in Bath.

Indian Temptation, Bath

“Is everything alright with your meal?” In this instance, nobody asked – and to be frank, I don’t think anybody cared.

I don’t want to be one of those power-tripping pompous people who highlights every minor service deficiency (usually in a very loud voice). I don’t want to write reviews that put people off eating good food in good restaurants just because the staff might have been having an ‘off’ night when I visited. In short, I don’t want to be a ‘picky customer’, because I’m generally not one; it doesn’t take much to make me happy, and when a restaurant has made me happy, I love to share the reasons why. And despite the review that follows, I urge you to visit Indian Temptation because the food here is, in the main, really, really good.

But it could have been an even better experience overall, for me… if only somebody had asked, somewhere along the way, “is/was everything alright with your meal?”

I like to think that, had they asked, I would have politely point out that the food itself was fine, but by the time our main courses arrived at the table half an hour after we ordered them, the warm plates that had been put down 10 minutes previously had gone cold. I could have suggested that, instead of those plates, we could maybe have been offered small tasting menu-sized bowls so that our curries-to-share weren’t forced to splodge together in a sloppy pool when we dished them out. Or pointed out that, when we asked for our leftovers to be doggie-bagged (we had, as usual, over-ordered), it would have been nice if the kitchen could have sorted that out for us rather than just sending a waiter to dump two foil containers and a plastic carrier bag onto the middle of our table and leaving us to do the messy stuff ourselves. Oh, and a “thank you and goodnight” when we left would have been lovely.

But we Brits generally don’t say it like it is to restaurant staff, do we? We put the glitches down to those infamous ‘off’ nights (too busy/too quiet/understaffed/etc) by way of assuaging ourselves for feeling a bit let down instead of having been let down by somebody else. It shouldn’t ever be that way. We should be leaving a restaurant all pumped up, vowing to return at our earliest opportunity. And despite all that I’ve just written, I probably will return to Indian Temptation – perhaps you’ll understand why when you read the rest of this review.

I’ve been returning to this spacious, gracious first floor dining room offering views over Bath Abbey since it was called Jamuna. When Jamuna closed around 8 years ago Indian Temptation took over, replacing the familiar British Indian restaurant fare with their own take on Indian sub-continent cuisine including a lively range of lesser-spotted dishes and specialities. In the change-of-hands process, the new owners kicked meat and fish to the kerb too. But Indian Temptation’s plant-based menu is interesting, extensive and – yes! – tempting enough to appeal to even the most committed carnivore (and I should know; I live with one such CC, and he came with me on this particular dinner date).

Seasoned Indian Temptation explorers rave about the fiery Hakka Chilli Paneer on the starter selection – and, having tried it myself, so do I; it’s a funky, chunky Indo-Chinese sweet’n’sour combo that I could easily have supersized to a main course. The Temptation Platter to share was fascinating, too; wonderful things happen, it seems, to broccoli and baby corn when subjected to a blast in the Tandoor, and the spice-marinated jackfruit (Kathal Kebab) was, quite simply, gorgeous.

And then… from the window of our little eyrie on the corner of High Street/Cheap Street, we watched the rain turning Bath Abbey into some kind of sparkly, fairytale fortress. We watched hordes of soggy students getting their English street food fix from the doner kebab van on Orange Grove. We watched a taxi driver arguing with a bollard-operator over an intercom before throwing his hands up in despair and doing a U-turn.

We watched, and we waited. And we waited. We would have sneakily watched our fellow diners tucking into their food, by way of building up our anticipation – but there were only four fellow diners in the room. We discussed that, too. And we waited…

…and eventually, our warm (empty) plates turned up. And eventually, they cooled down. And then, our (lukewarm) main courses arrived, 30 minutes after ordering them. Were they worth the wait? Actually, yes. A beautifully-balanced, highly complex Vegetable Korma that challenged stereotypical perceptions of korma as a bland, sweet curry cop-out and elevated it to prestige, grown up status. A cardamom- and mace-infused Kaju Curry laden with whole roasted cashew nuts in a thick, rich, spicy broth. Dal Makhani that, while a tad on the runny side, delivered an earthy, robust-punch-in-velvet-glove on the flavour front. A crisp, freshly-baked Temptation Naan (cheese, chilli and lashings of fresh garlic); a soft, pillowy Peshwari.

It was all good, and it was all reasonably priced (less than £90 for the whole feast, including a beer and a couple of glasses of wine). The final tally included the indifferent service too. But I’ll never, I hope, be one of those people who ask for built-in service to be deducted, because it’s not the fault of the front of house staff if none of the people they work for has ever pointed out to them how lack of attention to detail impacts so negatively on the overall customer experience – and it’s not our job, as customers, to do the job of a general manager or owner for them. Or is it, if the general manager/owner isn’t doing their job themselves? Oh heck, what do I know?!

Despite the hiccups and conundrums, I’ve mentioned visiting Indian Temptation again a couple of times in this review because I think that there probably will be a next time. Ever the optimist, I’ll return hoping that the restaurant is having an ‘on’ night, with perfect staffing levels to cope with just the right amount of busy. I’ll risk it for the food alone; if that’s all I get, that alone is good enough to go for. I’ll just leave plenty of time for that food to arrive and I won’t expect it to be hot when it does.

Times are hard for the hospitality industry. But times are hard for us, too: the punters who are willing to part with their hard-earned cash in return for a lovely experience, worth every penny. I can’t honestly say that, this time around, the Indian Temptation experience was worth every penny. But darn, that Hakka Chilli Paneer was good…

Velo Lounge, Moorland Road, Bath

Back in 2002, good friends Alex Reilley, Jake Bishop and David Reid spotted a big gap in the merrymaking market. Basically, they noticed the lack of neighbourhood/’third space’ café-bar affairs that they themselves would want to go to… so they decided to create one in their home town, Bristol.

Today, there are multiple Lounges across the UK (Verdetto Lounge – the landmark 200th Lounge – opening in Buckingham on the day I’m writing this review). Heck, Lounges are almost as familiar to high streets in both our small towns and big cities as McWagaFrancoNandoExpress.

But are they, really? As 20th century diarist and eroticist Anaïs Nin said, “what we are familiar with, we cease to see.” And although I’ve both seen and visited Velo Lounge on Bath’s lovely, lively Moorland Road (the first Lounge to open outside of Bristol, est. 2007) on countless occasions down the years, I believe I’m guilty of the all-too-common offence that is grant-taking.

16 years ago, the Lounge group’s artfully stylised, home-from-home vintage flourishes transformed this split-level former bike shop (Velo: bike – geddit?) into a uniquely quirky space laden with witty contemporary flair. Like, how? Like this: plenty of sofas and over-stuffed armchairs for that all-important lounging. Plenty of very solid wooden tables for those all-important “let’s eat” moments, for groups of all sizes. Fringed standard lamps and strange paintings that cause startling ‘remember-your-grandmas-house?’ flashbacks. Candles nestling up against American diner-style squeezy tomato-shaped ketchup thingies; books and board games scattered hither and thither; friendly dogs all over the place. And – get this! – you could eat wherever (and pretty much whenever) you wanted to eat, however you wanted to eat it. Gosh!

Okay, so the Brown’s chain had long since made the brasserie concept accessible to all, Pizza Express had shown us that contemporary pizzerias could indeed be upper-crust and Gourmet Burger Kitchen were keen to introduce us to burgers that didn’t come served in polystyrene boxes. But the Lounges weren’t claiming to be brasseries, or slowed-down fast food joints. The closest thing you could compare a Lounge menu to, back in the day, was probably a traditional American diner menu: all-day breakfasts, big sandwiches, burgers, chillies, steaks and sundaes. They were menus that we all wanted – and very much needed.

Those menus haven’t changed much down the years, for very good reason: who can’t find something to eat at a Lounge? There’s Tapas too, and fashionable flatbreads. And if the calorie count in the Spaghetti Carbonara (ah, modern times, eh?) shocks you out of the comfort food zone, the salads are imaginatively tempting in their own salad-y way.

We eschewed both the subtly seductive, largely candlelit room beyond the Velo Lounge bar and the cheerful first floor living room too in favour of an up-front table for two which seemed more fitting, somehow, after drinks at a pavement table facing the chippy, the Indian BYO restaurant, the vape shop and the estate agent over the road; ah, the classic, modern urban landscape, all present and correct.

First up, a Tapas Board sharer (3 for £12.95): crisp, light, Salt and Pepper Squid in big bite format with roast garlic mayo; super-plump Sesame Satay Chicken Wings; oozy, cheesy Spicy Beef Quesadillas. Good? Very good (and I love it that none of the Tapas selection has been re-marketed as the dreaded Small Plates – hoorah!).

On from that, for him, Buttermilk Fried Chicken – plump, tender, beautifully seasoned and properly crispy – with chipotle mayo, superb slaw and skin-on fries; a proper, Big Boy treat. For me, Nasi Goreng – and how often do you see that on a downhome, casual dining menu? I’m guessing that the chef behind the menu at the Lounge chain made darn sure that both the Kecap Manis and shrimp paste required to make NG the depth-charge, uniquely flavoursome fried rice dish made it into this dish – mine certainly tasted as though they did. It was laden with chicken and prawns too, and plenty of chilli, and generous smatterings of sesame seeds. My only niggle was that the all-important fried egg on top of the rice should, to my mind, have been runny. But on further research, William Wongso – Indonesia’s foremost celebrity chef, don’cha – says that’s not necessarily the case, so I stand corrected… and I’d definitely return to Velo Lounge for this dish alone, ‘cos as far as I know, there ain’t nowhere else I’m going to get a thoroughly decent Nasi Goreng in Bath.

It being a Monday evening’n’all, a glass of house wine (could’ve been a beer, or a softie) came gratis with our main courses – and bloody good wine it was too.

I am no longer going to take the British neighbourhood bistro-on-my-doorstep for granted. As the full Nin quote goes, “it is the function of the writer to renew our perception, to shake up the familiar scene and see a new meaning in it.” It’s my hope that you too will find new meaning in a familiar restaurant chain that, 21 years ago, started it’s own little revolution.

Oh, and by the way! Were you a fan of the iconic Little Chef chain of roadside diners, which were massively popular in the days when A-roads ruled the holiday routes? The Loungers have set their SatNav for a revolution along that route too. You can already visit their Brightside diners circa Exeter, Saltash and Honiton; in 21 years time, my guess is we’ll be wondering how we ever looked forward to a staycation without them – just like I’ve recently found myself wondering why I don’t go for an impromptu supper in Velo Lounge at least once a week.

“What we are familiar with, we cease to see”? If that’s true, we’re all seriously missing out.