Follow my blog with Bloglovin To understand the peculiar power of the momo, we must retrace our steps. Bristol, the early 1990s. The Bristol of Dummy and Maxinquaye and Blue Lines, of shared houses in Easton and Eastville, Fishponds and Downend, of Wednesday nights in the hull of The Thekla, the weekly indie club Read More
I have this fond but utterly unscientific theory that the more effort it takes to get to a restaurant, the better the food will taste when I get there. This, of course, is nonsense. High expectations are just there to be dashed, and were, especially at one of this area’s biggest starry ‘names’ the very Read More
You’re spoilt for choice at Victoria Park these days. The area has always had its attractions- Cardamom on the corner used to knock up a hefty chicken tikka in lamb kofte masala murgh batwar-alike, and the Clark’s Pie That Can’t Be Called A Clark’s Pie For Legal Reasons is always worth a go. Now though- Read More
Naming your debut event ‘Q’ is a canny move. It’s redolent with possibilities, with just the right amount of inscrutability: try as you might, you’ll struggle to scrute it. For years, ‘Q’ meant the monthly music magazine, and especially the eager wait to see which hapless soul had wandered into Tom Hibbert’s ‘Who The Hell..?’ Read More
Ah. ‘Chain’. The ‘c’ word. After my unenthusiastic review of The Coconut Tree, a few took issue with my description of them as ‘a chain’ and all the dilution of aims and standards that often involves. They’re not materially different from our own Bar 44, they reasoned: a similar number of branches from small beginnings, Read More
Disclosure: I didn’t pay for either of my visits here. The first was at their launch event, when I went as another blogger’s guest; the second was at a friend’s invitation. The Coconut Tree didn’t know who I was, although you may argue that our ‘invitees only’ table at the opening night would presumably guarantee Read More
This blog is a very simple thing.
I won’t try to sell you any hand lotion, exercise programmes, coffee syrups or Patagonian nose flutes. You won’t find tips on dating, ‘wellness’ or yoga mats.
I write because I love it (and food, as indicated by my increasing girth). Greed happens to be my Deadly Sin of choice, but at least it is never shy of providing me with subject matter.
A simple thing, then: all you get is me wittering on semi-coherently about places I’ve eaten at; hence a ‘restaurant blog’ rather than a ‘food blog’, although there are a few recipes scattered throughout.
From mezze to Michelin ‘fine dining’ and all points in between.