The Bone Cartel, Porthcawl: review

On December 19, 2024 by The Plate Licked Clean

There’s an air of anticipation outside The Bone Cartel. I arrive ten minutes before they open and there is already a queue: ahead, a bunch of lads discuss their favourite wing sauces on the menu. One has recently broken a vegetarian streak of over a decade. He does not seem to be in danger of regretting this.

The only consolation? The line behind is soon as long as the one ahead. There seems to be something big happening here in Porthcawl. Coincidentally, we are just around the corner from the rather lovely ASIAD which left me smitten recently (and I can’t recommend enough you catch up if you’ve not read that one, here.)

You have probably seen fulsome praise for this fried chicken on your social media feeds. Some of it made bold claims. The boldest. It has come from across the UK. But the rush to proclaim something as ‘The Best in Wales!’ may be merited, or it may be desperate clickbait.

After all, that pronouncement is only as good as the honesty and frame of reference of the person making it.

Someone who eats widely and well? You spend your time ferreting out good places to eat and to share? Tell me more. Oh, your account’s full of ‘invite’ posts saying that Dirty Dave’s MegaMunch Box is the best thing since penicillin-infused sliced bread? I can probably ignore and move on.

Let’s get the obvious bit out of the way: The Bone Cartel is every bit as good as you’ve heard, and every bit as good as you could want it to be. So: for what it’s worth, what I ate would sit comfortably next to some of the biggest fried chicken names in London.

Inside it’s unfussy, with none of the eye-roll branding which seems to bedevil fried chicken more than any of its street food peers- you know who you are- and every seat is taken in a moment. Instantly the kitchen clicks into its rhythm (I learn later they’re dealing with a major delivery issue that morning, but you would never guess). Orders come in thick and fast.

As we eat, people wait patiently outside in the famously balmy Porthcawl sunshine- the Riviera of Wales, they call it, though I may have that bit wrong- for their turn.

Fried chicken is only as good as its basics: batter and seasoning. Sauces, though important, are never going to cover for poor work in the fundamentals, is it?

Happily, The Bone Cartel’s batter is a standout. It feels like the result of obsessive refinement, even before owner Simon tells me about levels of hydration and a dredge of three different flours and starches, double-digit herbs and spices, overnight brine and a batter which took years to develop.

A batter which reacts violently to the hot oil which wrenches it into crisp curlicues, dramatic crags and frills. (I find myself thinking- I’d love some slow motion film of what happens in that hot oil).

At £10 a go for strips or wings, the menu lists six saucing options. What arrives- and I over-order with impunity- is portion after portion of strikingly pretty chicken. Even the unadorned Southern Fried strips, the menu at its most basic, are striking, golden and crisp, with not a hint of greasiness, with the lavishly juicy bite you get from diligent brining.

The key term with the sauced options? Slathered.

The Korean is drenched in an naggingly-spiced mixture of gochujang, soy, honey and garlic. It’s a familiar combination done extremely well, insistently sweet and hot.

That’s their version of the classic buffalo, here with a Mexican twist, with five varieties of chilli and topped with confit garlic chipotle ranch, and- quirkily- crumbled fresh, soft queso fresco. These are not your everyday accoutrements, and neither are the red amaranth, lime and chipotle powder or house pickled chillies elsewhere.

Layered and packing a punch, this buffalo has about as much in common with your typical examples as Mohamed Salah in full flight does to your mate Fat Jeff when he turns out, hungover, for The Butchers Arms every other Sunday.

This is no accident. Their American Texas style barbecue uses the renowned Tubby Toms sauce as a base and that espresso makes for a sauce evocatively rich and dark, sticky and tangy. In a word, a triumph.

I’m clutching at straws here, really, to avoid one of those ‘OMG everything was cooked to perfection and so full of flavour’ write ups. Chips- could they stand to be a little more crisp? Sure. But they are well-seasoned, plentiful and buried under a snowdrift of freshly-grated Parmesan. Which, as ways to go, must be right up there. (Dredge them through the ‘Drip’ mayo and thank me later.)

There is no alcohol, though perhaps a BYO arrangement with This Is Beer opposite would work well for both, especially in warmer months with outside tables.

This is fried chicken elevated to rare heights. Simon and the team have something special on their hands. I had wondered if it was just a social media storm: I’ve been doing this for too long not to know how easily opinions can be bought. But Bone Cartel silences any doubters and you should make time to find out for yourself. Popup venues in the capital should be prepared to mud wrestle each other naked to bring this food to the capital, but don’t wait for that. Make the trip. Combine it with a meal at ASIAD and wonder at what’s going on in this corner of South Wales.

There’s craft and obsession here, without ever losing sight of what really counts: a sense of generosity in the food, of wanting to feed you well and to send you away happy and full and planning your return. This is extravagantly, wantonly, flagrantly good fried chicken which deserves your full attention.

The Bone Cartel didn’t need to be quite this good. There’s a scrupulous attention to detail which elevates what they do here and which demands you take them seriously. It might seem unlikely that one man in a small Welsh seaside town would be the envy of much of the UK. But you can’t bet against obsession, can you?

The Bone Cartel, 4, Gwendoline Court, Lias Rd, Porthcawl CF36 3AH

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