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.
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.
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.
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 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.
“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…
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.
“Midsomer Norton, though? Isn’t that a bit of a long-haul, off the beaten track?”
Imagine a Londoner living in Hammersmith saying that about Finsbury Park, or a Brooklyn-dweller talking about a flit into central New York: it just wouldn’t happen. Okay, so the only direct comparison between the journey from Bath to Midsomer Norton is distance (approximately 10 miles/16k-ish) and the destination about as far removed, on multiple levels, from either Finsbury Park or central NY… but the journey itself is far, far easier, and much, much prettier. And anyway, what’s the problem with embarking on a 25-minute putter along Somerset’s abundantly leafy highways and byways south-east of Bath, especially when there’s a pot of foodie gold waiting for you at journey’s end?
Now it has to be said that, at first glance, Holly Court Arcade – a 1980s-era (I’m guessing) split-level ‘retail arcade’ and access thoroughfare twixt car park and high street, home to a tanning salon, a hearing clinic, and a promising pizza outlet, out back – doesn’t look or feel like it might be hoarding any kind of precious metal. Venture upstairs, though, and you’ll find Soyful’s Kitchen to the front of the building, where big windows overlook a pedestrian promenade lined with the kind of shops and businesses you’d expect to overlook in a pedestrian small town. The dining room is a smart, bright, spacious affair, uncluttered and gleaming, and elegant in a modern, minimalist way. Menus too could be described in a similar fashion… but before we begin to make our choices:
If you’re one of the many folk who believe that life in Bath begins and ends within the BA1/BA2 postcodes, you’ll be familiar with Soyful’s Kitchen Head Chef/proprietor Soyful Alom from his longstanding stint as Head/Executive Chef at The Mint Room Bath (read my most recent review here). Yes, thatMint Room – one of the most raved-about restaurants in Bath! And, in a similar fashion to how The Mint Room team transformed their Bath restaurant into the oasis of contemporary luxury that it is today, Soyful has magpied his way into a similarly ‘unlikely’ location and turned it into a very special nest, bringing (of course!) his fabulous flair for modern Indian dining with him.
Should you wish to take a traditional approach to your SK experience, all the classics (dansaks, kormas, baltis, jalfrezis, tandoori, etc) are all present and correct on the neat little menu – and come on, you know they won’t disappoint. But don’t disappoint yourself! There’s Mangalorean Sea Bass on the menu too, alongside Lucknow E Batak and lamb rump Chattinad, and starters of Sarsoi Salmon and Beetroot Tikki to consider before even any of that.
We began with grilled scallops, gently spiced to complement rather than overshadow the intrinsic mellow sweetness of the scallops, accompanied by a soft, friendly cauliflower puree. A second starter of Fish Amritsar (pictured) starring lesser-spotted Pangas fish fillets marinated in a spicy/herby combo and battered to crispy perfection was equally well-balanced, the neat little pile of cucumber salad accompanying it proving itself to be far more than a mere aesthetic sidekick too.
Following on, the Chicken Shimla Mirch – a sturdy, comforting dish bringing a massive moist, spiced chicken breast and a deceptively simple pile of fragrant, spicy red and green pepper curry laden with onions, tomatoes and all the good curry stuff together in perfect harmony – proved to be far more fascinating and complex than the menu description suggested, while my rich, luxurious Seafood Moilee, swimming with all manner of seafood including mussels, prawns and soft white fish fillets bathed in a divine, aromatic, mildly chilli- and ginger-infused coconut sauce, proved to be the taste of Goa personified.
Soyful’s Kitchen is one of those ‘expect the unexpected’ destination diners – if, that is, you don’t expect a chef with Soyful’s pedigree to live up to expectations, and anywhere less than half an hour’s drive from the city that you live in to be a ‘destination’ – all in all, a delightfully uplifting experience, well worth a little drive out of Bath and VERY interesting indeed.
Friday The number 7 features highly on the Bournemouth fun facts list; the historic resort town in the borough of Dorset boasts 7 miles of sandy beaches, attracts 7m visitors a year and gets an average of 7.7 hours of sunshine during the summer months…
…or not, as the case may have been when we visited mid-July (the 7th month, no less!), and it rained pretty much non-stop for the whole weekend. But hey! I don’t care what the weather man says when the weather man says it’s raining – and nothing stops The Prandial Playground on its first jaunt living up to its ‘Bath… and beyond’ remit.
We went to Bournemouth in search of, of course, good food amidst the general good times brouhaha that we expected from one of the UK’s most popular, still-thriving seaside towns – and plenty of people, it seems, go in search of good times here.
Having checked in at the original hotel we’d booked for our 2-night stay we had to check out again almost immediately, battling back through the hordes of stags and hens – the stags piling up empty pint glasses (“Happy Hour all day: 3 pints for a Tenner!”) on the huge ashtrays at the hotel’s entrance; the hens already dropping half-empty bottles of rosé-with-straws on the swirly, 1973 carpet at reception – to hand our room key back. Now I’m most certainly not in the business of putting any business out of business so I’m not going to name names, but suffice to say a full refund was swiftly issued from the hotel in question and we checked in to the gorgeous Grove Hotel around the corner on Grove Road instead – and a very lovely (and highly recommended) experience it was too!
All calm (again) on the UK south coast front, our first night dinner destination was the stylishly vibrant, pan-African restaurant Zim Braai on Poole Hill – Poole Hill’s Triangle area itself being, as we discovered, a stylishly vibrant little Bournemouth enclave in its own right, far removed (in vibe, if not distance) from the overwrought thrum of the seafront.
We stopped off for a first round of pre-dinner cocktails at chic but cosy little cocktail bar 99 Perk (think, vintage sophistication, properly grown-up cocktails and a fab disco soundtrack) just down t’road from the restaurant, and dropped in on seafood and wine specialists SOBO:FISH too: clean-line chic but properly cheerful, with an open kitchen at the heart of the matter and a menu made for deep-dive small plate seafood feasting – we will be back for more (and, as it happens, we went back for more of those cocktails at 99 Perk after dinner too).
But a distinctly further-flung beat was calling us from Zim Braai, one of two branches in Bournemouth which, in the words of multi-tasking Managing Director Andy Lennox, “incorporates the healthy eating ideals of a balanced diet with the rich flavours of African cuisine all wrapped up in an exotic, exuberant atmosphere with an award-winning service style”.
An operator who clearly puts a lot of genuine love into his operations isn’t going to lead us up any kind of garden path with such a description – and Zim Braai is a uniquely lovely experience indeed. Going from Afrikaans to English, Braai quite simply translates as ‘barbecue’ – and from the get-go, an earthy-sweet smell of woodsmoke hung in the air, tempting and teasing from the kitchen. On the menu, ostrich and buffalo steaks, Mauritian, Durban and Zimbabwean dishes and even a Monkey Gland sauce sit happily alongside chicken wings and burgers guaranteeing that there’s something for everyone here, all served up in an upbeat but intimate environment tastefully decorated with all manner of authentic theme-specific eclectica.
To start, we shared two not-so-small-at-all plates: huge, glistening slabs of halloumi and tomato drenched in (I’m guessing? Sorry, didn’t take notes!) the restaurant’s Zim Churri sauce, and huge, fat, very fresh prawns equally tantalisingly-attired in a depth-charge combination of garlic, and spice, and herbs; astounding dishes, both of them. Also astounding, on multiple levels: the heft of the Mixed Grill Sharer main, which brings all the menu’s meaty classics including ostrich steak, chicken skewers, slow-cooked ribs, chicken wings, boerewors (traditional South African sausage) and chopped steak together in one massive, meaty party, accompanied by as many pots of fries/salad you can eat throughout the whole almighty, perfectly cooked, exceedingly tasty carnivorous carnival.
Zim Braai is fun to the max, but it takes very good food very seriously, educating both palate and soul without preaching, and showing you a very good time without forcing you to have a very good time.
Saturday There are three branches of Nusara Thai in and around Bournemouth: one in Christchurch, one in Poole and one in Wimborne. We rocked up to the one in Poole. We were booked in at the one in Christchurch. I apologised profusely. The staff made me feel like not knowing where I was supposed to be was perfectly normal. I felt silly. I was made to feel like a queen… and thus began our Saturday night foray around another of entrepreneur and restauranteur Andy Lennox’s Fired Up Collective.
Since its inception in 2020, the FUC has become one of the fastest growing boutique restaurant groups in the UK, establishing four new sites in just two years. “Each of our brands stand out for fantastic service, great value and amazing food all wrapped up in an infectious atmosphere,” says Andy, on the FUC website. And I’m already developing a taste for the FUC USP: Andy’s restaurants are all about local love, and genuine independence, and proper food, and fair pricing, and looking after staff who genuinely love looking after their guests – like, old school values meet the brave new world and show the pretenders how hospitality should – and can – really be done, despite the harsh vagaries of the current climate.
Nusara Poole is a flagship FUC case in point: elegant without being forebodingly smart; glamorous without being snooty. It feels special. It is special. And the food is very, very special indeed.
For starters, for me, Larb Kua Salad Parcels: an utterly compelling combination that bought nuggets of soft, soft beef together with all the glorious sweet/salty/sour/bitter nudges that make Thai food so addictive, lashings of super-fresh herbs making every forkful sing. Across the table, Krob Squid was an equal triumph, the batter light and crisp, the squid beautifully tender, the oyster sauce offering a comfortably snug flavour-blanket to wrap it all up in.
For mains, my beloved Prawn Penang – my go-to Thai dish of choice that I never seem to be able to move away from – proved why I should never attempt to relocate my Thai menu choices: huge, lush prawns bathed in a thick, semi-dry, salty/sweet and slightly nutty sauce. A proper Penang is subtly complex; Nusara gets that complexity and amps it up to the max. Our second starter of sweetly meaty monkfish, steamed to perfection, gently anointed with chilli oil and served up with delicate jasmine rice, proved just how simple complexity can be when you get the balance right. Both dishes further endorsed my suspicions that, in the UK at least, we’re rarely given the opportunity to taste real Thai food; at Nusara, you can max out on that opportunity.
Sunday Check-out day… and the heavens remained open. No worries! We had Sunday lunch to look forward to at 3pm – and what drizzle doesn’t lift at the prospect of a proper pub roast?
The super-pretty Old Thatch sits on an erstwhile prosaic road junction in Stapehill, Wimborne. The pub itself has 17th century origins while the surrounding villages, highways and byways all have fascinating little histories of their own; what better way to spend a rainy Sunday morning in the locale than touring around them all, pointing out landmarks through the rain-drenched car windows and occasionally braving the weather to stand and swoon outside a picture-perfect cottage, or poke around a crumbling churchyard? And The Old Thatch sits happily at the axis of all of it… as we had, by now, come to expect from a venture powered by Andy/the Fired Up Collective’s modus operandi.
There’s a proper Country Store, Bakery and Cafe at the back of The Old Thatch celebrating locally-sourced produce, and freshly baked bread, and cakes, and gifts, and flowers, and loads of lovely stuff that you won’t find in supermarkets. There’s a spacious, partially-covered terrace on site, and a proper pizza company, and – get this! – a woodland play area (Bear Island) with space for table tennis, and boules, and regular events including yoga and live music sessions (no, not at the same time!), and the pub’s very own festival (Thatchfest) on August Bank Holiday weekend. And inside – oh, inside! Wooden beams and proper fireplaces. Party-on recesses; smoochy tables for two. Ancient windows and real wood; modern menus and real food.
We were seated at a table by a window overlooking the terrace, where we ate Posh Prawn Cocktail (and very posh it was too, what with the splash of Shanty Vodka’n’all) and Salt and Pepper Squid served with deeply umami black garlic aioli. One of us opted for the lamb roast, the other for beef sirloin, and both came piled high with all the proper Sunday roast hip-hops you could possibly wish for, including the biggest, crispest Yorkshire puds and super-silky gravy. We didn’t have room for puds but we didn’t want to leave; even if I lived around the corner, I’d still want to move in. But it was time to head back…
…home again! Bournemouth, Poole and Christchurch – linked in one borough but each distinctly different in terms of overall vibe – all boast their distinctly different charms, Bournemouth itself maxing out on a mixture of party town/family friendly vibes to keep the visitor scene vibrant while the drives through/in and around parts of Poole and Christchurch reminded me of travels through the Hollywood Hills.
It’s surprising, however, that good food is hard to find in the locale, which is one of the many reasons why Andy/the FUC’s input is so invaluable; unless you’re in the mood for a suburban Indian restaurant banquet (“Tuesday Nights Only”) or a prosaic pub deal, there’s little to attract the foodie’s attention. Meanwhile, it’s astounding – quite shocking, in fact – that, apart from Sobo:Fish and the (obvious) Rick Stein restaurant in Sandbanks, fresh fish specialists are particularly thin on the ground; we’re on the coast, kids! I expected to be inundated by crab sandwiches, fresh seafood platters and proper fish’n’chips from the get-go, but the pub down the road from our hotel flaunted fishcakes made with John West salmon and the Bournemouth’s biggest seafront cafe/bar claimed to be specialists in Peri Peri chicken.
So: would I go back to Bournemouth? Ah yes – not least of all because we couldn’t make room this time around for pud at The Old Thatch…
Huge thanks to the abundant generosity from Andy Lennox, Sophie Cox and the wonderful FUC staff for helping us make this lovely trip happen.
“There’s a kind of hush all over the world, tonight…”
Well yes, of course there is… because we’re at a table on the Royal Crescent Hotel and Spa’s brand new heated, covered terrace overlooking the gorgeous garden; if you can’t feel at peace here, you’re unlikely to feel at peace pretty much anywhere else. The unique, sweetly earthy fug that punctuates the end of one of the first days of summer is hanging in the air; beautiful birds are skittering in the trees, and pretty cats skitter around in the bushes. It’s calm, and charming, and extravagantly grand in an understated way.
One could say, I guess, that that last sentence summarises the RCH USP overall – and, this: “rich in fascinating history and cultural heritage, renowned across the globe for iconic architectural status and subtly exuding the kind of discreetly luxurious red carpet glamour rarely experienced outside of a handful of London’s grand old dames of the 5-star hotel scene” (I couldn’t have put it better myself, so I didn’t try to).
Recently, however, the RCH has upped its enviable reputation as modern oasis of luxury to another level by treating the former (slightly dour) Dower House restaurant and adjacent bar to an extensive style overhaul that cleverly remains true to the hotel’s storied heritage and elegantly refined aesthetic while putting a distinctive, subtly glam spring in this grand old dame’s step; ladies and gentlemen, feast your eyes on Montagu’s Mews, named after Elizabeth Montagu, the original (and fascinating) resident of number 16 Royal Crescent. Within a host of other interests and achievements, Ms Montagu was a celebrated hostess and salonière; there’s absolutely no doubt in my mind that she would adore her old home’s new look, purpose and overall vibe.
But would the woman who, in 1775, invited her tenants to dine with her and noted, in a letter to one of her many friends, that she/her kitchen “provided a veritable feast of sirloins of beef, legs of mutton, loins of veal, chickens, ducks and green geese, with ham, pigeon pye, tarts and custard”, approve of RC hotel Head Chef Martin Blake’s menus? I can’t really see who wouldn’t. I can’t see who wouldn’t find something on the food-front array that doesn’t suit their appetite, or mood, or budget either; in the mood for a sandwich, or a sharing plate? Go Bar and Terrace Menu. Afternoon tea? Oh, but of course! Your dinner, your way? You’re going A la Carte, then. But if you’d prefer Martin and his team to present you with your dinner His way, please, please take the Tasting Menu route; that’s what we did, sitting on that gorgeous heated terrace, on that gorgeous summer evening.
By way of an overture, a trio of canapés involving various combinations of Bath Blue and Parmesan cheeses, and tiny, featherlight sable biscuits, and avocado mousse, and beetroot gel, and mild, sweet borage – each of which looked as though they’ve been made by angels, and every little mouthful fit to be food for the gods – were presented to us by elegantly efficient, friendly people who are masters of the art of elegantly efficient, friendly service. Then came bread, but not bread as you know it: soft, fluffy Shokupan served with soft, fluffy smoked cod roe mousse, topped with incandescent pearls of golden orange caviar. Both little courses are breathtakingly beautiful to behold; both little courses carry beautifully-balanced nudges and twitches of flavour that make your soul, heart and tastebuds sing. And then, the symphony itself opened…
Somewhere deep in my foodie consciousness, I know that I should love Steak Tartare; every foodie does… don’t they? No, not I. I’ve never really got to grips with the time-honoured (but, to my mind, weird) combination of raw, heavily seasoned meat laden with shouty capers and topped with raw egg. Okay, I know it’s a classic dish, and I know it’s sophisticated; I know all that stuff. But I also know that, in the wrong hands, Steak Tartare can taste like some weird kind of hangover cure that sits alongside Sally (Cabaret) Bowles’ beloved (but vile) Prairie Oysters, or Kingsley Amis’ Polish Bison in the canon of “things I will never eat/drink in order to join in the parade of the Emperor’s New Clothes – until now.
Martin Blake’s Beef Tartar is an entirely different take on one of France’s most (in)famous signature dishes. Here, we have neat cubes of Dry Aged Herefordshire Beef topped with a smooth, rich Bath Ale Hollandaise and lightened with citrussy/sweet IP8 vinegar, no raw egg or heavy-handed, vinegary pickles to be found, just super-smooth, super-fresh, super-umami joy, joy, joy. And while I had no idea what I wanted to eat after that, Martin did: behold the shimmering, iridescent Cornish cod, the creamy delicacy of the hero fish contrasted with fat, briny mussels and a luxurious, mellow shellfish dressing (almost a bisque, really) offering temperate unity between the two superstars of the sea. After that…
Really – after all that? Yes, because this is, remember, a Tasting Menu. If you really need to be prosaic about it, you could call the array a selection of small plates. But where small plate arrays usually go horribly, horribly wrong due to either your own misguided choice of dishes or – more likely – the prosaic, commercial selection of a dining ‘style’ that’s become, in the UK, a ‘small plate’ peddler’s bandwagon, a Tasting Menu brings the concept back to what taste is all about: balance, and harmony, and skill, and intelligent concepts, and surprise, and the deeply evocative thrill of flavours that tease all your senses at once – and all that and more is where Martin Blake’s forte lies.
So yes, there was an ‘after all that’: there was sweet, tender poussin teamed with a fat spear of Wye Valley asparagus with an almond pesto dotted hither and thither and a deeply flavoursome chicken jus rôti adding deeply umami undertones without detracting from the overall delicacy of the dish.
There was a pre-dessert (well hello RC Head Pastry Chef Michael ‘Mikey’ Topp), the fascinating title ‘Douglas Fir’ belying an even more fascinating combination bringing the unique, menthol-tinged scent (and taste! Who knew?) of a Christmas tree together with fresh Russet Apple, nutty burnt butter and a bracing blast of sorbet in an avocado-shaped dish of sweetly savoury deep forest-tinged magic. And after all that yet again there was dessert ‘proper’: rhubarb complemented by fruity Piqual olive oil (trust me: this works) and hints of warm vanilla, the whole shebang lifting the familiar flavours of Yorkshire’s finest forced stalks up, up and away from rhubarb as you’ve ever tasted it before.
And now, I have to quote myself again: “Martin Blake is a Master of the Art of technique, presentation and inspiration that cleverly avoids that over-cheffy habit of straying away from the realms of common sense. Like Montagu’s Mews itself, his menus gently challenge your perceptions of familiarity but make you feel right at home…”
An evening at Montagu’s Mews at the Royal Crescent Hotel and Spa gives you the kind of hush that roars loud in your sensory memory for a very long time to come.
The Prandial Playground, Bath and Beyond... 