The Tramshed by Mark Hix
For my 30th birthday the hubby surprised me by booking a trip to visit the Harry Potter sets in Watford. This would entail a trip down to London. London is my favourite. It was my job to pick our eating venues.
This was difficult as we were rushed for time and all the places I wanted to try were reservation only. I’m not good with time keeping stress so was unsure what to do. I then saw that Mark Hix’s new restaurant The Tramshed was to open two days before our visit. It was also a three minute walk from our hotel and accepted reservations. I took this as a giant flashing finger point from fate and bagged us a 12pm lunch for two.
I’ve had a love affair with Mark Hix for a while. His food on The Great British Menu was so impressive that he actually won two spots in the final banquet. As a result we’ve been to his Soho gaff, Hix three times for food and we visit the downstairs bar every time for their epic cocktails. The Tramshed, following on from Burger & Lobster, focuses on two things. Steak & chicken. Now this name sounds more like a red neck greasy diner so I understand why he didn’t go for that. I love this new trend of stripping everything back. I often suffer with menu indecision and food envy. This takes all this away.
We arrived a little early on a boiling hot Friday. They clearly weren’t ready for us (there were still builders around) but instead of making us wait outside in the unforgiving mid-day sun they welcomed us and let us sit down. The room is so impressive and the restaurant is named after its former use. I adore the history of the place. Cracked tiles, metal pipes and the focal point of the room is a Damien Hirst commission sat proudly on the old Tram lift. Sat center piece overlooking proceedings like Roman Emperors, are a cow and cockerel, peacefully living together in their formaldehyde tomb.
Here’s an aggressive camera angle.
Mark (we’re on first named terms *cough*) loves his art. There’s also a portrait of Mr Hix on the wall, along with this piece, a massive canvas of Cow & Chicken, another nod to the theme.
Anyway, I’ve babbled on like an a-level art student for long enough. To the important stuff.
I ordered a glass of bubbles and the hubby, a London beer. Mine arrived in an old fashioned champagne glass. I immediately felt 150% more sophisticated. I sat with my classy drinks vessel feeling like Elizabeth Taylor. Well, a red faced, hot and bothered Liz.
Hubby’s beer was served in a chilled glass. Nice touch. Both drinks were delicious. Well, his beer tasted like cheese, but he enjoyed it immensely.
To begin, there is one starter. A sort of sharing platter.
Asparagus is served with a lemon and herb sauce. The dressing was lovely and fresh and the seasonal asparagus was gorgeous. But this was served cold. I’m not quite sure why, as it most certainly would have been better warm.
Ham hock with split peas was moist with a great punch of salt and mustard. But again, this was lukewarm. It needed more heat.
Finally was the star. Yorkshire pudding with chicken liver mouse, designed for dipping. The yorkshire pudding was a fine example, massive, (thankfully) still hot and delicious. The mouse was hearty and rich. Such an unusual starter. Brilliant
The chicken arrived somewhat impaled on a cooking contraption. This chap still had his feet attached. Some people would be perturbed by this. I, however, had an overwhelming urge to put shoes on him.
Even without shoes, he was a sight for the hungry eye. The dish was designed to catch all the beautiful juices and a spoon was very helpfully provided to pour the luxurious liquor all over the meat. They ask you if you would like them to carve it for you, the hubby scoffed that no self-respecting man would let a woman carve a chicken for him as he beat his chest cave man style. Ok, that last bit didn’t happen. He carved our feast with as much grace as a hungry man could. It was beautiful. Succulent, juicy with a real depth of flavour. The skin was crisp and it was packed with the most amazing stuffing.
The chicken comes with chips (of course) only these are chicken flavoured chips. Quite how they are made to taste quite so much of chicken is yet unknown. We guessed they were fried in chicken fat. Regardless, they were crispy, quirky and so moreish.
We ordered the creamed cauliflower as a side so we didn’t feel quite as guilty for the angina inducing dish in front of us. This was really smooth and creamy but with a gorgeous crunchy topping that added great texture.
The hubby shocked himself by how much chicken he could consume.
At the end we were left with a bare carcass and an ill looking gentleman.
But I wanted dessert. I was particularly cross with him, as he was supposed to have the apple pie, whilst I partook in the lady-like raspberry ripple cheesecake. He turned a bit green when I suggested this, and so I had to choose. I went for the apple pie.What arrived was a dainty little thing. A singular portion with a sunroof of a hole for drowning the fruits inside with custard.
The pastry was sweet and light, the fruit, soft with added spice. So delicate, that even the food sick hubby managed a spoonful or two.
It was at this point that food critic and One Show regular Jay Rayner sat right next to us. But don’t worry, I didn’t cause a scene. I sipped my wonderful spearmint tea whilst eavesdropping. But I’ll never tell what was said. Unless you ask me.
Can I just point out they had very fancy ‘facilities’.
As I mentioned, The Tramshed had been open for just three days. There were a couple of problems: we were given a salad that we didn’t order, but the waitress laughed it off and let us have it for free. There were builders still hammering at the walls when we arrived, but it all added to the charm. The service was so warm; we had a nice chat with the waitresses and the front of house lady was really funny and engaging. It’s relaxed and informal, and despite what you would think about the artwork, it really doesn’t feel pretentious. It’s a great place, with good honest food. I gave the formaldehyde cow and his cockerel friend a thumbs up on my way out.
Brew Dog: Burgers & Beer
I’m an excitable creature. I find other people’s enthusiasm infectious and leech it from them like an energy source. A few weeks ago my twitter feed was awash with talk of a new speciality beer bar opening in Manchester. They’re famous for wacky beer names with dangerous alcohol content. I don’t like beer as it tastes like cheese, but for some reason I got a bit giddy. Before our meal at Albert’s Shed, we had a walk to see what the big deal was. Set in the ‘trendy’ area of Manchester, it’s not our usual stomping ground. The interior, I would consider industrial chic (*pretends to know about interior design*). Think Dragons Den, but with bartenders trying to get you drunk, rather than Peter Jones criticising your outfit choice and Duncan Bannatyne saying he doesn’t like you.
On our first visit I tried some beer. It wasn’t nice. I then asked for wine to the disapproval of the bartender who proceeded to ply me with samples in an attempt to convert me. Unfortunately he was unsuccessful and I ended up drunk. But I was forced! We had a nosey at the food and made a mental note to return.
We were given a perfect opportunity when the hubby had to meet up with a friend to discuss a joint project. They were to talk websites; us females were to discuss Tom Selleck’s facial hair (my friend is obsessed with American cop drama, Blue Bloods). The food is devised by Tim Anderson, my favourite ever Masterchef winner. His Japanese inspired food made me almost attack our television and his trip to WD~50 was the reason for our visit.
The menu is small: 3 burgers and 3 pizzas. All sound delicious
I was most upset to hear that the burgers do not come with fries. I almost couldn’t comprehend the idea. I think I stared open mouthed for a bit. But I recovered and ordered some crisps instead. I needed potato and these had a picture of a dog on them.
Our burgers arrived on a tiny bread board which acted as a moat to catch the juices. I opted for the Los Feliz, which is basically the bog standard burger. Nothing bog standard about what I was given though. A juicy, still pink burger packed full of flavour, complimented by melted cheese, tangy pickles and a sort of Big Mac sauce, this named after one of their beers, the Rock n Roll Punk IPA. Deliciously creamy, but with a good sharp punch of flavour. Really salty and packed full of onions. Amazing.
Hubby went for The Whitechapel. The patty was rubbed with Asian flavours, served with sweet chutney and a minty sauce. All the flavours merged together so well, it was simply wonderful. An unusual yet supremely successful burger.
The pizzas were huge. I eyed the portion jealously. Our female companion was kind enough to let us pinch a couple of slices. Lovely, thin crisp base, with masses of tasty vegetables, my personal favourite the bread crumbed aubergine. A delicious garlic sauce and fennel seeds took this pizza to the next level. I pinched her left over crusts (I don’t even like crusts).
The meat and cheese platters also look epic. I spied a drunken looking fellow enjoying one. I contemplated a plan which took advantage of his inebriation so I could pinch his charcuterie. Alas, I am too clumsy and slow to have successfully carried out such an operation stealthily. I would have to try it another day.
For an establishment that prioritises the beer over anything else, I was really impressed by the food. This is the best burger I’ve had in the North West. Much better than the raved about Almost Famous burger, which we thought was over stylised and overcooked. I really hope they branch the menu out a bit and do some fries, and if they expanded to provide coleslaw, you’d struggle to keep me away from the place. But I won’t be drinking beer (unless it stops tasting like cheese).
Disclaimer: Hubby and other male companion both enjoyed the beer. They disputed it tasted like cheese and thought it was of a very high calibre.
Disclaimer no 2: I actually love cheese. I should restate that beer tastes like bad cheese. If there is such a thing.
Luciano’s at The Millstone
Set on the edge of Rivington, The Millstone is a bit of a Horwich institution. I used to go there with my grandparents. They had a fish pond in the entrance that I used to stare at for hours. That might not be true. I imagine my parents would have noticed my absence for that length of time and perhaps worried about my mental state.
Anyway, The Millstone has now been converted in to an Italian restaurant. We go there quite a lot. My Mum likes the big wine glasses, my brother, the Italian beer, my Dad, the pretty waitresses. We just like the food.
It was a Thursday night and I was leaving the hubby at home on taxi duty so I could go on a girl date with one of my friends. She’s never been to Luciano’s before so I was excited to introduce her. Luciano recognised me and greeted us enthusiastically. He went in for the cheek kiss. He then went for the other cheek. I was unprepared for the double cheek kiss. I hope he didn’t notice my lack of cheek kiss etiquette. If he did, he didn’t make an issue of it. I must point out that Luciano is a charming and handsome fellow. I felt my cheeks blush.
We sat next to the window and ordered a glass of rose prosecco. Fizzy and sweet with a pretty strawberry sitting on the edge of the glass like a 50s pin up.
We didn’t go for a starter as my companion is a petite little thing. Perhaps that’s why she’s petite. Maybe I shouldn’t have starters in future? No, that’s not going to happen. But I can assure you, the starters are lovely. I normally have the calamari, which is always cooked to perfection and served with a nice tangy mayonnaise.
For my main course, I decided on Tagliatelle alla Diavola which consists of beautiful ribbons of pasta and fillet steak with a tomato, cream and chilli sauce. The chilli gives the sauce a lovely warmth without blowing your head off (although you can order it, as they say ‘with a fireman’). The cream and fillet steak make the dish luxurious and silky. Absolutely delicious.
My friend went for Ravioli al Pesce Spada. Pockets of pasta filled with sweet swordfish and a gorgeous garlic sauce; cherry tomatoes and courgette adding texture and freshness. I’m getting this next time.
We opted to share a pudding and went for the profiteroles. Not a difficult decision. I love those things so much I’ve been known to talk about them in my sleep (true story).
They arrived with two spoons, smothered in chocolate sauce and topped with crunchy chocolate drops. Such light choux pastry, I could have easily polished one off to myself. Sweet and creamy. A bloody blinding dessert.
The service was great. The waiters kept topping up our wine and we were even treated to free shots of sambuca with blue curacao. Yes my head was sore the day after.
Luciano’s at The Millstone is a lovely restaurant. Luciano is the perfect front of house, he always remembers us and stops by for a chat (did I mention he’s really handsome?) Reasonably priced, with a warm atmosphere. What more could you ask for?
Southern 11 - Manchester BBQ
Is there any food better than bbq? I’m struggling to think of one, but answers on a postcard…
The hubby got a new job last year. Although he has moved on to pastures new, we still keep in touch with some of his rather awesome ex co-workers. We were long overdue a get together and so arranged to meet up for a meal. Southern 11 has been open for a while now. We’ve not been there for ages, due to a few (hopefully) teething problems we incurred months ago but they got the majority vote, and well, this is a democracy.
We had a slight problem with the reservation. Upon ringing, I was told we needed a £5 deposit each. This seemed strange. There would only be 6 of us. I asked them about it on twitter and was assured this was a misunderstanding. I was able to book without paying up front.
We got there early and so had a drink at the bar whilst we waited for the troops. Wow, Southern 11, what big bar stools you have. I struggled to move and sit on one. Being 5’ 4” really should be considered an official disability. Once I finally managed to reach the top of Mount Chairerest we ordered a drink from a rather scowly bartender. Had he had a bad day? Was it my hair again? I always worry that people take against my hair. Anyway, I hope the bartender is feeling more cheerful now, but it is best practise to at least smile at your customers, even if you don’t like their hair.
Our friends arrived. Hurrah! We were lost in a sea of cuddles and back slaps before being led to sit down. Uh oh. Our table was an extension of one already occupied in somewhat of a booth. I sensed there was a birthday celebration going on. This was awkward. We all struggled to fit in. I considered sitting on the birthday boy’s knee and kissing him on the cheek just to break the ice. However, a waitress sensed our discomfort and let us sit on the giant communal table in the middle. Much better.
We were all so busy chatting and catching up, that the poor waiter had to ask us three times for our order. We were most upset that they had run out of chicken wings that day, but the nice chap was so apologetic about it, that we couldn’t possibly be mad. (Plus he was Canadian, Canadians are nice).
Once we had placed our order, I decided on a cocktail. I picked one with maple syrup in it. I do this a lot. It arrived and to my horror I had to shake it myself. I had not read the menu properly and this was in the ‘shake your own’ section. I scolded myself for not paying attention. However, no harm done, how hard could it be? The nice Canadian waiter asked if I had used a cocktail shaker before. I scoffed at him, ‘Of course!’ I laughed to myself as I remembered wowing my friends with my raspberry mojitos, peach bellinis and amaretto sours. ‘Have I ever used a cocktail shaker before, ha ha ha’ I thought. He left me to my own devises after obviously sensing my cocktail expertise.
‘This is quite fun’ I thought as I popped all my ingredients in and showed off my shaking ability. As I was sprinkling the last dregs from the shaker, the unthinkable happened. The lid fell off, scattering ice, glasses and my pride everywhere. I was speechless. Our waiter was right at hand with lots of napkins and a knowing glance. Oh the shame. I was a cocktail mockery. I was glad that my overuse of blusher was hiding my embarrassed cheeks.
The starters took the emphasis off my faux pas. I had the deep fried pickles, hubby the bbq sausages.
The pickles were much improved on the last lot I tried here. Crispy batter protecting the tangy pickle like a high cholesterol jumper. BBQ sauce and sour cream were excellent companions. Delightful.
The sausages were smoky and moist and ever so moreish. Brilliant.
In my previous visits to Southern 11, I have always wanted the sharing platter, but it always seemed too greedy. Once looking around and seeing other people having it to themselves, I had thrown a full blown internal strop and promised myself this dish next time. I unashamedly told our group what I would be ordering and that I didn’t care what they thought. They thought it was brilliant, and all requested the same.
It arrived perfectly compact on a wooden board. Pulled pork, brisket, ribs and fries. The pulled pork was a bit disappointing. It was surprisingly dry, but we were given a nice pot of bbq to dip. The brisket was tasty and buttery but the real star were the ribs. To recap on earlier posts, as a child I was known as The Rib Queen. I could put so many ribs away, I astounded my adult relatives. This skill has not left me and I reclaimed my imaginary crown as I devoured the belly ribs. So tender, welcomingly fatty and delicious. The fries were also great.
As a side I ordered the sweet corn pudding. I can not get enough of this stuff. Served in my own little pan, it was wondrous. I’ve tried to make this at home but failed. I want it through a drip.
Other sides ordered were baked beans, buttered spinach and mash. All very much enjoyed by our gang.
We were all too full to tackle a pudding, but it all sounded great.
From this visit I could see that Southern 11 have come on leaps and bounds since the early days. However, the pulled pork needs work. Maybe I’ve been spoiled by Pitt Cue Co, but it just wasn’t good enough. If I don’t want to bury my face in a bucket of the stuff, then it’s failed. The ribs however made up for this. My Grandma would have been proud of my annihilation of those meaty buggers.
I apologised to our new Canadian friend for my drink spillage and he was ever so gracious ‘I’m just sorry you didn’t get all your drink’ he replied. Perhaps he could give some people skills to that miserable bartender.
Albert’s Shed
Manchester’s Deansgate is a part of town I don’t often venture to. There are big groups of rowdy boys that wear low crotched trousers and tops with backward hoods that I don’t trust. They use words like ‘banter’ and leer at ladies in a way that makes me uncomfortable.
However, it was time to meet our Bury friends again. It was their turn to pick a restaurant after our terrible choice of Dimitri’s last time. They went for Albert’s Shed. I’d heard a few so so reports from people who’d been there on a Christmas shindig, but I reserved judgement and booked us in.
Set by the canal, it’s a super pretty spot. We walked in and I was shocked to see a sea of hen parties. And it was loud. Very loud. I felt fearful. My hen do was a classy affair with sparkly frocks and twirling (apart from the bit when I was verbally abused by a drag queen, but that’s another story *contemplates a blog detailing my many embarassing encounters*). I was a little afraid of groups of shrieking, drunken ladies. As we took our seats I relaxed. There was not one pink cowboy hat or celebration of male body parts in sight.
The waitress was right over and I ordered a very reasonably priced yet delicious glass of prosseco. The menu looked good. I opted for garlic mushrooms on toast and lamb with hollandaise.
The dining room is very lively and I’ll say again, noisy. But there is a nice atmosphere. I could sense the excitement of the girls, who no doubt had been looking forward to this night for months. I found myself hoping that a transvestite didn’t steal their drink and then make them cry.
Starters arrived. My mushrooms were really garlicky and creamy, served on crispy bread that soaked up the sauce. Gorgeous.
The rabbit gnocchi was great. Not the stodgy, bug-like pasta I’ve eaten before but nice and light with a beautiful gamey sauce.
Garlic king prawns and scallops with black pudding went down a treat with our friends.
Our mains arrived. My lamb was a dream. Wonderfully pink, with a generous serving of smooth, minty hollandaise that was a perfect match. Green beans scattered with toasted almonds had a lovely crunch. The crushed new potatoes were a little underdone and under seasoned, but the rest made up for it.
The duck leg, with a strawberry, balsamic and cracked black pepper sauce was delightful. I wasn’t a fan of the berries on the plate, but everything else was gorgeous. Blue cheese gave the smooth dish a good sharpness. The dauphninoise were cheesy, soft and no doubt extremely bad for you. The dish as a whole, a wonderful array of colour.
Our friend ordered a steak. We stared in horror as she asked for it well done. She also panicked when asked what sides she wanted and went for the carbathon of mash and chips. I don’t think she regretted this choice though, as both were lovely. Crunchy, salty chips and rich, buttery mash (I know this, because I kept pinching). A little pan of pepper sauce was a tasty accompaniment.
We weren’t going to go for a pudding, but there was an ice-cream sundae on there and I reverted back to being 6. The hubby and I shared it.
It was brilliant. Topped with whipped cream and muddled with raspberry syrup, it did what it said on the tin.
The chocolate volcano was really a glorified fondant. We had expected some sort of eruption, perhaps some sparklers. But it was tasty if a bit unadventurous.
I was really pleasantly surprised by Albert’s Shed. The food was all very good. The service; attentive. I was actually shocked that the quality of the food hadn’t suffered due to the high numbers. I’d love to venture back on a quieter evening.
Alma De Cuba
I’m really quite girly. I never leave the house without full make-up, floaty dress and co-ordinated petticoat. But when it comes to films, I’m like a 12 year old boy. After hearing that The Avengers wasn’t to be shown on Manchester’s IMAX, I bit my brother’s hand off when he offered to drive us to Liverpool. When the hubby suggested we go for lunch, his arm was a goner.
After taking to twitter for suggestions, one familiar name came up twice. Alma De Cuba. I first came across this place years ago, when perusing (spying on) a friend’s facebook photos. I’ve wanted to go ever since, and this was my opportunity.
Right in the centre of Liverpool, Alma De Cuba is a renovated church (they even have stations of the cross adorning the wall *shudder*). It’s known to be a real Liverpool night life hotspot, but during the day it’s a laid back affair. There were a few tables occupied and the obligatory sashed hen do, but the restaurant did feel very empty. The lunch menu isn’t as exciting as the evening offering but we each chose a main and decided to share some tapas for balance/greed.
There was a rather thick cocktail menu on offer. 12pm is normally too early for me to indulge in any psychedelic alcoholic delights, but for you, my readers, I felt I had to partake. I didn’t want to let you down. I forced myself.
I went for a good old mojito. It was very tasty, but needed more muddling as the sugar was all at the bottom. However, it had the desired effect, I felt a nice warmth flow through me and I started to jiggle my shoulders to the Latin music. I considered twirling but my balance isn’t great and I was terrified of damaging a religious artefact (I don’t want to go to hell!)
After a fair wait our tapas arrived.
The chorizo was gorgeous. Crisp skin surrounding a spicy interior.
Ginormous king prawns in beer batter were delicious. Fabulous batter and a plum sauce for dipping or if you’re greedy like me, scooping.
Panko coated calamari was lush with a fresh and zingy mango chutney. All plates and bowls were scraped clean.
This was off to a brilliant start. I had high hopes for the remainder.
During another long interval, I ordered a second cocktail. This time a Victoria Secret. This tasted like very fancy Vimto. Dangerous.
I went for the chilli burger which was served with chunky fries. The fries were brilliant but the burger was overcooked and under seasoned; the chilli, cold. I also had to resort to using my knife and fork as it literally fell to pieces. I had a little sulk.
Hubby had the chilli which he enjoyed; served with crispy, cheesy tortillas for dipping/scooping and some lovely fragrant rice.
My brother had the BLT Alma, probably the best of the mains. Chorizo, bacon and chicken served on nice toast with fresh salad. Fabulous.
We were going to try the peanut butter sandwich for pudding, but the service was so slow it turned out 2 hours wasn’t long enough to fit in 3 courses.
Alma De Cuba can do good food. The tapas prove that. I sense that the lunch menu is just thrown together to be a cheap day time option and does not receive the same care as the evening menu. I felt a little short changed. During the evening diners are treated to Latin dancers and fabulous light shows, we just got slow service and bartenders discussing football. However, I still want to go back. There was real promise there and a few more cocktails with my name on. We’ll be back, and I’ll be twirling.
The Horwich Fine Dining Society visit Dinner by Heston
My hubby and I along with a couple of our oldest friends are part of an elite group that travel around the world (well, kind of) visiting restaurants. This began many years ago with Northcote, and has taken us as far afield as Copenhagen (that’s quite far) and next year will take us to Spain (even further). They call us (well, we do) The Horwich Fine Dining Society. Because we’re from Horwich, and we love fine dining (original yes?)
Last year we took a weekend trip down to London. Dinner by Heston had just opened and as massive fans of The Fat Duck we wanted to sample Heston’s fare outside of Bray. We were lucky enough to get a reservation straight away (there was jumping and screaming). Situated in the impressive Mandarin Oriental Hotel, everything was incredibly grand. As per usual we were far too early and so enjoyed a drink in the award winning hotel bar. I had a ginger cosmopolitan which was tangy and boozy (and the most expensive cocktail I’ve ever consumed, but worth it just to see the tallest glass ever).
Once our time arrived we were promptly fetched and led to our table. The dining room is quite a simple affair but with a view overlooking Hyde Park, it doesn’t need much else.
The menu is refreshingly unusual. We recognised many dishes from Heston’s TV programme in which he recreated dishes that time has forgotten.
We were offered some bread which was nice enough but nothing to write home about. Although it was the kind that is so crusty it leaves you with a gum injury.
After seeing the Meat Fruit on Heston’s TV show, I had to order it. Chicken liver parfait shaped and decorated to look like a mandarin orange. So picture perfect I hesitated to pierce it, but I couldn’t resist. What lay inside was mind blowing: smooth, decadent with a hint of subtle orange flavour, I can still remember the taste. Served with crusty bread, like pate and toast fit to be served to the big bearded chap in the clouds (other religions are available). This is one of my top three favourite starters OF ALL TIME.
The rest of the Society devoured their dishes also.
Broth of lamb, slow cooked hen’s egg, celery radish and sweetbreads.
Rice and flesh.
For my main I ummed and ahhhed, ahhed and ummed but eventually picked a special: steak fillet served with bone marrow, triple cooked chips and mushroom ketchup.
I don’t think I’ve gone into my love affair with bone marrow. Yes, the idea of it is kind of disgusting, but if it is on a menu I WILL order it. I like it best when it’s served in the bone; I forget all manners, I want to pick it up, Henry VIII style and pour it down my gullet, with no care for the mess.
Anyway, yes I love bone marrow. This was served on top of my rare fillet (if you have steak cooked anything over rare, you are wrong), cut into pretty medallions. The steak had an almost bbq crust yet a beautifully deep pink interior. The chips were crunchy yet fluffy and the mushroom ketchup, rich and tangy; a perfect accompaniment to the steak.
All other courses went down a treat.
Turbot with cockle ketchup.
Black foot pork chop with pointy cabbage and Robert sauce
The Horwich Fine Dining Society are used to 10+ course tasting menus so at this point I was feeling surprisingly light and ready to tackle a pudding head on. As a girl who likes a drink, the tipsy cake was the only real option. Served in a cast iron pan my tipsy cake was a feast for the eye, presented along side spit roasted pineapple. Ultra soft and so sweet, everybody agreed that this was the dessert of the evening.
Not to downplay the success of our other choices, all spectacular in their own right.
Malted barley ice cream
Chocolate bar
Summer tart
To finish: a delightful quirky earl grey granache was amusing and delicious.
Service was unobtrusive yet reliable. We had a brief awkward moment when the sommelier brought the wrong wine but apart from that, perfect.
Heston’s protégé Ashley Palmer-Watts is doing some fine work here; it seems a shame that Heston is getting all the credit. I recently read that Trevor Gulliver of St John had commented of Dinner: “…it’s a bit like Les Mis: Everything is great but every night is the same performance.’’* Well Mr Gulliver, I love Les Mis and I love Dinner. If it aint broken, don’t fix it.
http://www.dinnerbyheston.com/
*Source: Richard Vines for Bloomberg
Teacup: Supper and a Cuppa
I’ve only been to Teacup once before. I remember it being nice enough, but the service was incredibly slow. The fact that I don’t remember what I had, also speaks volumes.
However, a few weeks ago, I saw an article on Manchester Confidential about the new evening menu ‘Supper and a Cuppa’. Two chefs have taken over with some pretty hefty credentials (see here). Once I saw the pictures I simply had to go and so I suggested it to my book club for the venue of our next meeting.
We are four young(ish) ladies who love a good book and a glass (or 4) of wine and so we decided to set up an official book club, pairing this with our love of food. Each time we ensure we eat somewhere different.
We eventually managed to book a table. I had made a reservation request through the website on Monday and by Wednesday I hadn’t heard back. After contacting them on twitter, they apologised profusely and said my email had gone to junk. So perhaps ring, if you want to pre-arrange.
7pm on a Thursday and it was surprisingly quiet for a Northern Quarter trendy hot spot. They’ve done a good job with the expansion, everything looks very shiny and new. We were given a sharing dish upon arrival; yummy mini roast potatoes in a bag and unusual raw veg with cod roe sauce for dipping and crispy bread sticks. A very nice touch.
As we observed the menu we noticed that there were no prices. This makes me nervous. ‘If you have to ask the price, you can’t afford it’ popped in to my head as I broke out in a cold sweat. However, my friend did ask and I settled as we were told it was £8 for meat free dishes, £10 for the carnivores. I truly don’t understand the purpose of leaving the prices off and object to people being put in the awkward position of having to ask. A rethink on the menus is required.
Back to a positive note, the menu is really exciting; comfort food dishes such as fish fingers, welsh rarebit and spaghetti on toast. I opted for the lamb koftas with mash.
Teacup also now have a small wine list. We all fancied the pink variety, but were shocked that the only rose on offer was £17.50. Our little book club was becoming quite the expensive affair. Plus if we’re spending the best part of £20 on a bottle of wine, I’d expect wine glasses, not glass beakers.
Although there’s a new menu, the old flaws are there. We waited ages. The restaurant was less than half full but we were left so long we’d discussed the whole book (The Help, we all loved it by the way). It was a good 40 minutes before our food arrived. I think I grew another grey hair.
When it did arrive, it looked very impressive, although we had a slight catastrophe as my friend’s eggs fell off to a collective wail from our table. It was like Humpty Dumpty all over again. The waiter hurried off and replaced them immediately though.
I couldn’t fault the koftas. Shaped into cubes they were fall apart with perfect seasoning and deep lamb flavour. Served atop of smooth, creamy mash, an abundance of fresh green veg and lashings of gravy. Comfort food at its best.
Everyone enjoyed their food, although the eggs seems slightly overpriced at £8
Eggs Brigadier
Eggplant Fooyung.
Fish Finger Feast
The pudding list enticed us and I went for the Manchester Tart. Served deconstructed, it was a delight to look at; bright pink, white and green, like spring on a plate. Cream panna cotta was just the right consistency, served with raspberry sorbet, frozen bananas, whipped cream, cinnamon biscuits and cheeky raspberry flavoured sweets; fresh basil giving a lasting finish. It didn’t last long.
The Valrhona Rich Chocolate Cake also went down a treat.
I get so frustrated in cases like these. The food really is great. Manchester really lacks exciting places to eat but the service is so slow, that it would put me off going again. The worrying thing is how quiet they were. How would they cope when they were at capacity?
The service was nice enough, if a little cold. And at £95 for four of us, it certainly isn’t cheap. You’re paying restaurant prices for cafe service. It seems they are trying to run before they can walk.
http://www.casualmanna.com/
WD~50 - The cool kid on the block
We came across Wylie Dufresne on an episode of Master Chef, that showcased his restaurant WD~50. His food looked so unusual and gastronomic that we pencilled it in to our New York itinerary. I was glad to learn that this was not another hyped up NYC restaurant that was impossible to get a reservation and we booked online no problem (which was refreshing as my nerves were shot after Per Se and Brooklyn Fare). A few days before we set off on our journey across the Atlantic, I rang to confirm (I may have mentioned my reservation phobia before). I sighed with relief after chatting to the nice lady who told me that our booking was in place and they looked forward to seeing us. Half an hour later, I checked my email and found confirmation of our cancelled reservation at WD~50. My eyes did that thing that only cartoons do and popped right out of my head. I tried to re-reserve. They were fully booked. I got straight back on the phone and was told that this was just a mistake and had been immediately rectified. Well, thanks for informing me, I thought but didn’t say as I’m typically British and far too polite.
On the evening of our reservation we headed to deepest darkest Manhattan (well, it seemed very deep and it was dark) and walked through a rather derelict street filled with dodgy characters (I may have watched too many episodes of Blue Bloods). Our reservation was at 6pm and we were (unusually late for us) 5 minutes early. We were shocked to see a line of people assembled outside the door. Were they smokers? Was there a funny contraption to open the door? No. They were just being made to wait in the street. I peered inside and saw staff chatting. Hmmmm. Slightly annoying. Perhaps it would make sense to open the restaurant half an hour before the first sitting so that people didn’t have to wait outside in the cruel winter weather?
Once allowed access, we left our coats in the cloak room and were led to our seat. I instantly saw that they were fashioning one of my pet hates; cramming so many tables for two in a line that there is a very real danger that somebody’s behind (probably mine) will get stuck. As the restaurant was almost empty and I was still slightly ticked off for being made to wait in the cold, I was bold for once and asked if we could sit at the end. The lady looked at me as if I’d asked to borrow her credit card. ‘But that is somebody else’s seat’ she replied. The mystery couple’s comfort was obviously far more important than ours.
At this point, we were a little riled. We’d been looking forward to visiting this restaurant for months and it had started off badly. We had intended to get the tasting menu, but feeling slightly dejected and annoyed, we opted for a la carte. Luckily, the iron lady was front of house and a friendly bearded chap introduced himself as our waiter for the evening. Cocktail? He asked as if he’d seen my very soul and knew exactly how to cheer me up. The cocktail list was excitingly mysterious and refreshingly quirky.
As a pre meal nibble we were offered some rather odd dry unleavened bread. I wasn’t a fan, but could not stop eating them. Obviously voodoo.
To start I opted for the sweet potato soup with scallop ravioli. As I tasted the luscious liquor all annoyance began to melt away. Yellow as the sun, smooth as velvet and as sweet as a happy memory. The ravioli was filled with finely chopped scallop and topped with fresh herbs; all drizzled with flavoured oil. This was some fancy ass soup. I was immediately happy. I like to think it was the food but there’s a chance the cocktail had contributed (small yet welcomingly strong).
Hubby picked the eggs benedict. Reconstructed of course, with deep fried hollandaise, crisp bacon and egg yolk that would take me ten minutes to describe(we asked and it did). Hubby’s face said it all. It was awesome. I pinched some and my face mirrored his. We’ve seen deconstructed dishes a million times, but this was still interesting, surprising and mesmerizingly tasty.
The mains were all quite ambiguous, so I picked the collection of ingredients that appealed to me most: duck breast, black sesame, dumplings and red cabbage.
In between courses I ordered another cocktail (it would be rude not to) this sounded so unusual, with carrot as the main component, I couldn’t resist. Foamy and bright orange, this was the kind of cocktail Bugs Bunny’s sexy love interest would drink. Sweet, frothy and beautifully strange.
My main arrived in a giant bowl; dumplings, red cabbage and pretty pink duck all floating in a gorgeous ruby liquid. This stock coupled with the black sesame dumplings was like crack to an umami addict like me. Lovely sweetness from the red cabbage and deep gaminess from the duck. Obviously Japanese in inspiration, it made Wagamama look like a chippy dinner.
For dessert WD~50 offer a tasting menu. We thought this would be where Mr Dufresne really showed off his quirks.
The first pudding was candied egg yolk, brown buttermilk, jackfruit, and hazelnut. Really unusual in texture; creamy and tangy.
Then was apricot, buckwheat, quince and green tea powder. I was left unimpressed. It was tasty enough but nothing inspirational.
Then arrived my favourite. A soft meringue disk patterned with passion fruit, banana and star anise. It tasted as good as it looked and I wanted more.
Then was warm spice cake, with coconut, coriander, tamarind and pineapple. This description omits the freeze dried sweetcorn, which freaked me out. I gave it a try and did not like it. There was a warm non-descript filling to the cake that was not nice at all. If I’m brutally honest, it made me gag a bit. However, the hubby couldn’t get enough and devoured his and mine. This was what he came here for, unusual challenging fare, but for me it was a step too far
For a little after dinner treat we were given an ice-cream dome covered in rice crispies. Gorgeous but not for those with sensitive teeth.
We were full. We were happy. On our way out we came to a sudden stop. The iron lady was asking for our coat room tag, which we were not given. She refused to look for our coats and we were left to wrestle our way through a mountain of material to rescue our trusty winter warmers.
It’s pretty apt that the restaurant is called WD-50 as it is 50% there. The food (on the whole) is interesting, delicious and fulfilling. The waiting staff were brilliant, so eager to chat and explain the cooking procedures of which they were so knowledgeable. Front of house needs definite work. I know this is New York that has a reputation for being rude and brash but this is a Michelin starred restaurant for God’s sake. This is the only time I’ve ever wanted to complain about a person at a restaurant. But I didn’t. I’ll just shame (not name) her here. Let’s hope she was just having a bad night.
Thanks to my hubby brazly for the photos (his are the good ones).
http://www.wd-50.com/info.html
Sokrates Taverna - Unrefined yet perfectly formed.
I’ve lived in Horwich, Bolton since I was four and can’t remember a time when Sokrates wasn’t there. But it is only recently that we realised why it’s been open for so long. The simple reason, is that it is awesome (quick review, you can all go about your day now).
I’d consider us regulars now; we book a table after a bad week or for a pay day treat. This occasion was our close friend dollybakes birthday. We’re always given the menus to look at, but the front of house lady knows what we’re going to order. Meze. At £18.50 it is a steal. You’ll understand this when you see how much food you get.
As we sat waiting for our dips, a request came from the next table ‘We don’t want any of that pink stuff’. I held my breath. ‘That pink stuff’ AKA taramasalata is one of my favourite dips. Shop bought varieties cannot compare. I wanted to grab the woman and shake her. ‘Why?!’ I wanted to ask. ‘Why don’t you like the pink stuff!! ?’ I calmed myself. It was her loss. Anyway, the dips. Hummus, tzatziki and red pepper and feta are all equally delicious. Served with a massive basket full of toasty pitta and a greek salad.
Ladies and gentlemen, please fasten your seatbelts. We are about to begin the main event.
Mushrooms with lemon are earthy and ever so moreish.
Filo parcels are stuffed with sharp goat’s cheese and bitter spinach; gorgeous flaky pastry.
Pinto beans and aubergine served in tomato sauces are really wholesome, meat-free dishes.
Next up, tiny sausages, topped with red onion chutney. Great skin and insanely tasty.
Halloumi; a god among cheese dishes. Nice crust concealing the creamy, squeaky cheese within. One of our favourites.
Buttery asparagus was a gorgeous seasonal addition to the meze.
Then chicken wings. Perfect crispy skin and such deep chicken flavour. It’s a shame they’re so tiny. You need a bucket of these.
Moussaka has a beautiful dreamy cheese topping with a really tasty meat filling.
Battered fish and deep fried calamari are excellent. Served to you seconds from coming out of the pan; they’re just cooked through.
Nice that they serve tentacles which we love; some restaurants expect diners to be fussy with them, but the more legs the better for me.
Lamb meatballs in a tomato sauce with orzo are mind-blowing. The tangy tomato sauce mixes beautiful with a sprinkling of cheese over the luscious lamb.
Beef in wine with shallots was fall apart tender, obviously cooked for hours; super rich and heavenly.
Then for the two best dishes *plays imaginary fanfare on imaginary trumpet*
Lamb koftas are other-worldly. They don’t even deserve the same name as the greasy kebab shop version.
Pork souvlaki are super salty and meaty.
This was the end of the meze. Well, sort of. The best thing about Sokrates is they ask you if you want any more. You can ask for as much as you want and they will freshly prepare it. We sit there, complaining about how full we are, but as soon as we are asked those words, we instantly forget. This is why it is such good value. It’s basically an all you can eat meze (and boy, do we eat a lot).
It is also the only restaurant where I never fail to have pudding and it’s always the same one. Cheesecake topped with honey and pistachios.
We first tried this at the urging of fellow diners. I’m so glad we did. With an oreo cookie-esque base, the filling is so light and creamy that you can always finish it. The honey and pistachios add sweetness and texture. We scrape the plate clean every time.
Service is always friendly and informal. On this particular occasion we were left waiting for quite a while, after a rather large influx of diners, but I’ll be honest, such a rest was needed to fully take on the meat feast that was to ensue.
Sokrates is even better value during the week (£12 meze I believe) and there are also vouchers online. It’s worth every penny even at the non-discounted rate.
It’s not fancy or posh and there are no bells and whistles but you are made to feel welcome and you leave with a full, contented belly. It’ll be round here for many more years to come.
