Diverse, distinctive and delicious, this is London food. And, says Zoë Perrett, it’s beautifully executedPerched halfway along Upper Street, 100 Islington takes its cue from its big sister 100 Hoxton, both in terms of designer Yaojen Chuang’s eclectic aesthetic and chef Francis Puyat’s collection of small sharing plates. The menu is nicely concise and entirely appealing, and the  same rings true of a drinks list from which a couple of cocktails accompany our dillying, dallying, umming and ahhing.

Stupidly and rather amateurishly, I’ve arrived devoid of appetite. And then a strange thing happens: it not only returns, but seems to increase with each dish set down on the Mondrian-esque primary-coloured tabletop. Because this food is good. Seriously good.

So, too, is the service. To say staff can’t do enough for you whilst affording you space to breathe sounds paradoxical, but it applies, and it works, and it’s an approach that’s both beautiful and all too rare.

As you’d expect from a former NOPI chef, the menu roves the globe, the loudest accents coming from the Middle East and Southeast Asia. This is food from nowhere and everywhere; pitch-perfect for the city’s diverse diners. ‘London food’, if you will. And we two Londoners are welcoming it with open arms. Salads are collisions both cultural and textural; coconut milk dressing cloaks charred aubergine with Granny Smith and candied hazelnuts; al dente okra is a revelation piled up with crunchy mung dal, paneer, and spiced, caramelised onion.

From the sea – and an evidently-confident kitchen – comes fat hunks of octopus, braised into tender submission and served atop velvety garam masala-laced celeriac puree. Singapore soft shell chilli crab floats on a lake of luscious, lively gravy, thick enough to allow its crisp coating to remain thus.Meaty dishes jostle for table space and join the hit parade: pork belly with hot, crunchy papaya salad and adobo sauce nods to the chef’s Filipino heritage, whilst charred lamb belly dances over to the Middle East, attractively adorned with goat’s cheese, aubergine, green tahini and harissa.

‘No Passport Required’ sums up the dining experience but it’s also the name of a sophisticated smoked rum, pineapple and coconut cocktail which offers an indulgent interlude ahead of baked mango custard with berries, and an orangey chocolate pud drizzled with a sweet-hot candied chilli syrup.

With a top team delivering food and drink that arrests the attention, satisfies the senses, and looks great on your Instagram feed, a visit to 100 Islington comes 100% recommended.

Make it happen

Where: 270 Upper St, Islington N1 2UQ
Find out more: To visit the website, click here

Heading to Gatwick airport or just looking to explore the West Sussex countryside? Zoë Perrett says that The Old House is the perfect pub-with-roomsI can’t imagine why anyone needing an overnight hostelry on their way to or from Gatwick would stay anywhere other than The Old House. In an area long on bland motels and soulless chains, it’s a characterful, friendly gem set in some very beautiful West Sussex countryside.

With higgedly piggledy, low-ceilinged rooms typical of its 16th-century pedigree and its rather brilliant food, the pub alone is reason to stop here. But The Old House also offers half-a-dozen rooms which, as we discover as we’re shown to ours, are a pretty lovely prospect to return to after a hearty dinner and a bottle of wine.

Spread over two levels in a converted barn flanking the pub’s pretty, extensive garden, each one is named for a local wood and feels a bit like a self-contained  – and seriously stylish – chalet. We’re on a work trip and, with a generously-proportioned bed, a desk and chair, ample storage for all our glad rags and a telly for those rare non-staring-into-a-laptop-screen moments, we’re all set.

After a rainy day spent standing in a park event managing our gin festival, The Ginpourium, a long steamy shower in our matte-grey-tiled wetroom is just the ticket. In all honesty, the temptation to crawl into bed and pull the covers over our heads for a log-like slumber is strong, but we’d be folly to miss out on the dinner hinted at by a brief glance at The Old House’s menu earlier.

Comfort and joy
The dining room is packed, and not with a specific type of customer. On the way to a table tucked into a cosy corner of the Snug, we pass families, couples, businesspeople and mates out for a Saturday night jolly-up. It’s busy, it’s buzzy, and it’s a thoroughly pleasant place to be.

And the staff are delightful. One suspects that it’s part of The Old House’s recruitment policy to employ only jolly, chatty, genuine individuals, and boy have they stuck to it. You’d happily sit down over a pint and a board game with any of them.

In keeping with our professional MO, LB samples a g&t made with local Silent Pool gin whilst we  try and decide what to order faster than we want to because we are suddenly both faint with hunger.

Thankfully, a selection of home-made breads with olive oil and balsamic vinegar keeps the proverbial wolf from the door until our starters arrive. In times of need, throw all carb caution out of the window. And, should you happen to be here, order a bottle of white from a list prepared by Master of Wine Tim Atkin.

‘Locally sourced’ is value intrinsic to The Old House’s menu, but the dishes themselves are cherry-picked from around the globe – evidenced by my ‘Indian thali’ starter which comprises loose tangles of light, crisp vegetable bhajis, plus a sort of spiced hummus called channa pyooree, and aubergine chutney and raita, which we scoop up with triangles of buttery, flaky paratha bread.

For LB, it’s the warm crispy duck and watercress salad, in which the bitter leaves provide the perfect foil to the rich meat. He’d kind of gutted he didn’t order the larger size as a main, but no matter – there’s more to come and, glancing around, it doesn’t look like mains will let the side – or indeed The Old House – down.

Simple and superior
Steak always sounds so deceptively simple, but it’s amazing how many chefs can ruin a marvellous piece of meat. Not so here, and thank goodness – where a 32-day dry-aged ribeye’s concerned, it’d be nothing short of sacrilege. Served medium-rare as requested, it comes with chips whose triple-cooking has rendered them as crisp as you’d hope, plus tomatoes, mushrooms, and watercress whose truffle dressing reminds the tastebuds of Nobu’s famous spinach-and-dry-miso-salad.

Slow-roasted belly of pork has all the right qualities in all the right quantities – fatty, tender, crisp. Again, it’s a cleverly balanced plateful – the meat set against earthy black pudding mash, sweet-sharp caramelised apples, and a boozy cider sauce.

We already know we’ll sleep well but order a good pud each to ensure the fact. Wobbly-silky vanilla panna cotta and sharp raspberry sorbet are perfect partners, whilst LB’s tummy is warmed by the pub’s signature crumble, blanketed in reassuringly thick vanilla custard.

It’s dumping it down outside, so we engage in our own version of the 100-yard dash back to our front door, dry off, and hit the hay until the alarm sounds far too early for either of our liking. Bags packed and stomachs rumbling for the Old House breakfast we’re going to have to miss, we hand our room key back to yet another smiley staff member, promising to take full advantage of a Full English the next time round.

Make it happen

Where: The Old House Inn, Effingham Road, Copthorne, West Sussex RH10 3JB
Find out more: To visit the website, click here

There’s no such thing as perfection, but at The White Hart, chef Mike Shaw’s tasting menu comes pretty close. And, says Zoë Perrett, the rooms are rather nice too…

For anyone in a 9-5 job, the onset of September frequently induces a severe case of the back-to-school blues. But for those of us reckless/feckless enough to pursue a freelance lifestyle, it’s the perfect time to indulge in a midweek minibreak whilst everyone else is stuck in the office. Work perks and all that…

And so it goes that, on a Thursday afternoon when we probably should have been updating spreadsheets and answering business enquiries, we find ourselves checking in to The White Hart at Lydgate, where the sun has finally made his way through the seemingly impenetrable greyness and is coming out to play.

But we’re not playing ball. We know we really should embark on a meandering exploration of the verdant Pennines atop which The White Hart is perched, but we’re tired and our family-sized room – located in a cottage just up the road – boasts both a bathtub and a big flat-screen telly.

With its jolly mismatched textiles, yellow-and-blue colour palette and high, beamed ceiling, it’s a thoroughly pleasant place to while away an afternoon. We really don’t want to leave, so we don’t; opting instead to fritter away the time until dinner consuming vast cups of tea and home-made shortbread, watching re-runs of Murder, She Wrote, and luxuriating in baths made bubbly with various complimentary Molton Brown potions. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: we’re the most rock’n’roll couple you’ll ever meet.

Two g&ts and a packet of nuts 

By 7.30pm it’s high time to swap the Yorkshire Tea for something stronger, so we dress for dinner and head for the bar, stopping to admire the view that falls steeply away from the churchyard opposite down to Oldham below. But only briefly, because LB is in dire need of a small nut.

A packet of dry-roasted and a g&t apiece later, we move from the pub bar through to The White Hart’s more formal Dining Room restaurant. The room is gorgeous; stylishly furnished and done out in approximately 50 shades of grey (but far, far more tasteful than the eponymous novel).

With a seven-course tasting menu in prospect, a pair of event profs like us should know better than to hit the bread basket, but when LB requests not one but two pieces from the proffered receptacle I get serious FOMO and follow suit. The potato and rosemary loaf is tasty of crumb and crisp of crust, but the pumpkernickel is something else: a knockout number that’s as moist and flavoursome as a good old-fashioned malt loaf.

Perfect produce, serious skill

When a lobster amuse arrives partially submerged in a rich, ozone-y sauce that tastes like liquid moules mariniere, we’re already kicking ourselves for not saving a slice for mopping up. And, as the meal progresses involving many more delectable, wipeable things of this order, we have the same regret over and over again.

The dish which follows is the one I like the sound of the least; it transpires to be of my favourites. I love it when that happens. It’s easy on both eye and palate: a circular raft of watermelon whose colourful passenger is a roll of mango flesh filled with delicate coriander-infused crab meat. It’s sit-up-and-take-notice food.

It’s becoming clearer by the course that chef Mike Shaw is a passed master when it comes to the aforementioned sit-up-and-take-notice food. Trained under Raymond Blanc and Gordon Ramsey and offered a position at legendary California restaurant The French Laundry, he’s got the on-paper pedigree – but he’s also got that innate understanding of ingredients and flavours which no amount of culinary training can instil.LB might claim to hate mushrooms, but he loves the heavily-fungi-featuring tortellini dish as much as I do (although I think I might love its successor – monkfish whose creamy curried sauce is infused with an unlikely, stupidly successful combo of vanilla and lemon – even more. Maybe even more than I love LB, in fact…).

Our sole carnivorous course features a double whammy of roasted duck and foie gras; the proteins’ inherent richness kept skilfully in check through the addition of sour plums, pak choi and tiny turnips. LB is done but for a dainty nibble on his strawberry, set goat milk and balsamic pudding, whilst I soldier on through the silkiest of caramel tarts and a savoury finale of Lancashire blue cheese. Admittedly, we drink the wines rather than making notes about them, but suffice to say each pairing is thoroughly appreciated.Gold-standard gastronomy

The practice of anointing dishes with edible swipes, splashes and dots to both enhance aesthetics and show off a chef’s technical skill has become ridiculously widespread, but it’s far less common to find that each element actually adds something to the eating experience. In a galaxy of this ‘Morse code food’, Mike Shaw gets his messages across loud and clear. There is not a single unnecessary component on any of this chef’s plates.

Brilliantly executed in every sense – knowledgeably and affably served; well-paced and balanced; constructed from great-quality produce; satiating without stuffing you silly; and, at just £85 per head with matched wines, shockingly good value; this meal should probably be held up as the gold standard when it comes to tasting menus.And, like us, you should probably stay overnight so you can eat and drink with impunity, then go and dream about it all over again.

Make it happen

Where: The White Hart at Lydgate, 51 Stockport Road, Lydgate, Oldham OL4 4JJ
Find out more: To visit the website, click here

Zoë Perrett explains why this theatreland venue deserves a standing ovation

In spite of Eneko’s Theatreland location, ‘Basque’ has nothing to do with showgirls. Instead, it refers to Michelin-starred chef Eneko Ataxo’s gutsy modernised northern Spanish country cuisine; served in a refined dining room which, given the bright, semi-alfresco feel, you’d never guess is located in One Aldwych’s basement.

We sit on a round red banquette, sup Basque white wine, and attempt to bat back the enticing offer of a second round of whipped basil butter by shamefacedly informing our waitress that we’ve already both piled a stone of ‘happy fat’ in under a year. But the twinkle in her eye tells us she’s not having it and we’re rapidly cajoled (as if we ever really needed encouragement) into accepting.

That devilishly, deceptively light butter is slathered onto the bread we’re stocking up on because we’re concerned that ‘modern Basque’ means ‘nouvelle portions’. But we needn’t have worried. Chef Eneko Atxa is a master of illusion; conjuring up diminutive, delicate-looking dishes whose proportions belie their richness.

Or maybe that’s just our menu choices. Healthful options are in evidence – a beautiful beetroot tartare, cauliflower textures, grilled wild salmon – but we have our increasingly-burdened hearts set on the meatiest, most indulgent items.

But actually, given the Basque fondness for pork, we shouldn’t feel the slightest bit guilty about our decision to literally ‘go the whole hog’; following suckling pig tempura with braised pig cheeks. Because one species isn’t enough, we round things out with duck liver parfait and slow-cooked oxtail.

The parfait is delivered to the table in an apple-shaped vessel, as if Eneko’s fabulous head waiter Sebastian were a pupil trying to impress a teacher. And impressed we are by this multilayered starter with its layers of salty duck crisps, silken parfait and Txakoli wine-soaked apple compote. Pork tempura is shockingly greaseless: battered sausage gone gourmet.

Main courses are wicked in both the sense of ‘naughty’ and ‘amazing’. Lacquered pork cheeks sit atop earthy mushroom duxelle; a pile of sticky shredded oxtail is sweet, savoury, and dangerously delicious. We eat a few forkfuls of broccoli in romesco sauce and feel positively virtuous.

Aesthetic and gastronomic standards are upheld with desserts; particularly a salted caramel mousse with sheep’s milk ice-cream that helps us merrily sugar-rush up the stairs to street level. Allow me to milk that Theatreland angle: I’d give Eneko a standing ovation any night of the week.

The verdict

Where? One Aldwych, London WC2B 4BZ
Find out more: To visit the website, click here

Zoe Perrett pays a visit to Galvin at Windows for dinner with a view

Despite the presence of maitre d’ extraordinaire Fred Sirieix, this is not an episode of First Dates. But were our relationship still at that awkward fledgling stage, the bar’s intriguing passport-style cocktail menu would prove the perfect conversation starter.

Taking cues from a duo of destinations on our travel hit list, we go with a fruity, rum-centric Cuba and the Uruguay; a devilish liquid dance between mescal and tequila.

We move through to the Michelin-starred restaurant, and to a table offering a glittering 28th floor cityscape of London-by-night (its edges softened somewhat by the liquor consumed thus far), where we’re introduced to a bread basket whose company we find so agreeable, it’s topped up thrice.

The dining room is one of those so slick in every element of its operation that the food is almost incidental – except here it’s exceptionally good. Korean head chef Joo Won introduces Eastern ingredients and techniques to the Galvin brothers’ signature British cuisine, and the marriage is one that’s  both surprising and winning.

Kimchi, spring onions and sesame lighten and brighten a risotto starter that’s made all the silkier by the river of orange yolk which oozes from the soft poached egg perched atop. For LB, it’s Iberico pork – the tender, smoky meat teamed with cool, crunchy mooli and a hot, umami fermented chilli purée.

The sommelier team ensures what’s in the glass is as well judged as what’s on the plate; the risotto partnered with a gently-oaked white rioja; the pork a ripe, rounded pinot noir.

Mas de Daumas Gassac’s sweet-yet-structured blended white flatters a chunk of Beaufort-crusted hake with spicy squid and hispi cabbage, whilst a spicy, black-fruited Bordeaux is sufficiently robust to stand up to Cornish lamb rump plated alongside melting confit fennel and an itsy bitsy Shepherd’s pie. It tastes so much like LB’s late mum’s that every mouthful brings a tear to his eye.

By this stage we’re just assuming everything will be flawless, and dessert only affirms that notion. My multi-component-ed Valrhona chocolate cremeux could equally pose as pudding or artwork; LB’s banoffee ice-cream bar is the Magnum the eponymous brand would kill to call its own.

Digestives, coffee, chocolates, marshmallows from a sweet-shop style jar… it feels like Team Galvin is reluctant to let us leave – and we’re every bit as reluctant to go.

Make it happen

Where: Galvin at Windows, 22 Park Lane, London W1K 1BE
Find out more: To visit the website, click here

 

Zoë Perrett discovers a French city that’s small enough to savour, yet large enough to feast on

There’s a lot of water in Lyon – not referring, or course, to the drinking habits of the ‘gônes’ (locals). Both the Rhône and the Saône run through France’s second city, converging at The Confluence, making Lyon both easy and pleasurable to explore on foot, on one of the numerous vélos (bicycles), or by boat.

Vieux Lyon is the city’s oldest district and is the perfect base for exploring. My lodgings are in the Collège Hôtel (rooms from 115€) – a quirky themed schoolhouse affair with pure white bedrooms and a dining room decked out with geometry equipment, blackboards and hot beverages served in Thermos flasks. It’s slightly surreal but rather pleasant, like reclaiming one’s childhood.

From here, it’s an easy potter up to the traboules – a wonderful Renaissance network of passages. I pick my way along narrow cobbled alleys, steeped in history, yet also home to funky Resto Pirate – a popular footballers’ hangout. I hop on the funicular to the Notre Dame de Fourvière basilica, where the stunning vista renders me a little breathless. Maybe it’s not just the view. It’s time to eat.

The area’s rich with bouchons – or bottlenecks – small informal restaurants, many of which still serve the traditional silk worker’s snacks. These are known in local dialect as ‘machôns’, typically consisting of a little charcuterie with a glass of Beaujolais. Bouchons are where you’ll get a true taste of la cuisine Lyonnais, deriving their name partly from the notion you’ll be packed in with the other diners like a cork in a bottle.

The bouchons have fabulous names- La Tête du Lard and Le Petit Glouton being two of my favourite discoveries. As for local’s recommendations, a friendly charcutier at Les Halles rifles through a stack of business cards and points me to Le Bouchon des Filles, Aux Trois Maries, and Restaurant Le Vieux Lyon. Rue Mercière, in the Presqu’île peninsula’s Bellecour district, is also well worth a wander.

Moving up the gastronomic scale, restaurants like La Mère Brazier continue to honour the city’s tradition of the Lyonnais Mothers – who, historically, really took cooking up a notch. La Mère Brazier’s current chef Mathieu Viannay turns out flawless dishes- a particular standout being an indecently quivering coffee pannacotta supporting a tuile filled with crunchy granita, accompanied by a Café Liégeois.

Art on the plate… and on the wall

Rue Le Bec, meanwhile, is a strident departure from the traditional. Part of the trendy new Confluence regeneration, it houses a restaurant, bar, smoking room, bakery, fruiterer, and even an exclusive suite complete with sauna. Chef Nicolas le Bec is passionate about global food and allowing the produce dictate its preparation. Thus I dine bountifully on buttermilk-rich burrata, Scottish salmon prepared Japanese-style, Wagyu salami and seared steak, and a pitch-perfect tart aux framboises.

Aside from food-  and the plentiful Beaujolais – there’s plenty of culture in Lyon. The Confluence development is home to the old sugar factory- now a vibrant arts venue. In town, weird and wonderful attractions count amongst their number The Saint-Georges Silk Factory, The Miniatures & Film Set Museum, and The Guignol Theatre, showcasing the Lyonnais puppets. Pick up a Lyon City Card (from 19€), and benefit from free and reduced admissions.

You’d also be a fool to miss Cité Création’s murals, of which there are over 180 scattered throughout the city. The artists’ collective use whole sides of buildings to create stupefying canvases rich with Lyonnais heritage. On the Presqu’île peninsula, La Fresque des Lyonnais depicts a townhouse featuring 30 native notables, from Renaissance figures to modern cartoon characters- and it’s very own deli. Artist Gilbert has also worked alongside local legend Paul Bocuse, gaining 11kg in the process.

All hail Les Halles

I need to take a little taste of Lyon home – starting with little pork pies from the wonderfully friendly butcher at Moinon Traiteur in the Terreaux backstreets. They’re gone by lunchtime, though- so it’s onto Les Halles de Lyon. These days, the famous market is more about chewing-gum-flavoured macarons than little old ladies with sharp elbows doing their daily shop, but there’s booty to be had nonetheless. I fuel up with a quick oyster ‘gônerie’ (dialect for ‘snack’), and get shopping.

It’s a giddying experience, so I’ll share my picks – pungent Saint Marcellin from Fromagerie Martinet, grattons (duck scratchings) and andouillette from Cellerier, La Pierre des Monts d’Or (Lyonnais meringue-crusted pralines) from Sève, and the local speciality of tooth-achingly sweet, red-hued tarte aux pralines from anywhere that sells it.

Keep hold of your Cellerier receipt, where you’ll find a recipe for the andouillette – and drop into Chez les Gônes, a no-frills, convivial joint where you can tuck into the intestine sausage with tablier de sapeur- breaded tripe. I did, with relish. And Lyonnais potatoes.

Conveniently – and sadly – it’s a brief walk from Les Halles to the station at Part-Dieu. Overdosed on warm Lyonnais hospitality, an awful lot of offal and a little local firewater, I bumble onto the TGV and spend a happy journey immersed in my own thoughts, pleasantly oblivious to the powerful aroma of Saint Marcellin filling my carriage.

Little black book

Collège Hôtel 5 Place Saint-Paul, 69005 Lyon +33 (0)4 72 10 05 05

Website
Le Bouchon des Filles
Rue Sergent-Blandon 69001 Lyon

+33 (0)4 78 30 40 44 20

Website
Aux Trois Maries
1 Rue des Trois Maries, Place de la Baleine 69005 Lyon

+33 (0)4 78 37 67 28

Website
Restaurant Le Vieux Lyon
44 Rue St Jean 69005 Lyon

+33 (0)4 78 42 48 89

La Mère Brazier Mathieu Viannay
12 Rue Royale 69001 Lyon

+33 (0)4 78 23 17 20

Website
Rue Le Bec
Quartier de la Confluence, 43 Quai Rambaud 69002 Lyon

+33 (0)4 78 92 87 87

Website
Chez les Gônes
102 Cours Lafayette 69003 Lyon

+33 (04) 78 60 91 61

Website
Lyon City Card
For information, click here

Tasting menus can be trite. But at Whatley Manor, Zoë Perrett discovers one that’s as exciting as it is exceptional

A single amuse-bouche into a 12-course tasting menu, I’ve already reached peak surprise – because lifelong cheese refuter LB is happily munching a friable spiced cracker topped not only with Exmoor caviar but with a veritable avalanche of parmesan.

We choose not to look at the proffered menu, feeling confident that The Dining Room’s recently received Michelin star means chef Niall Keating knows what he’s doing. We do choose, however, to accept the offer of a paired drinks flight.

The classy, understated room is low-lit enough to feel intimate; bright enough that you can appreciate what’s on the plate – not that you won’t get a thorough explanation of each dish from the young, friendly waiters who not only know their stuff but know how to build a bit of repartee with their customers.

We give a warm reception to both the hot and cold dishes that arrive next – nuggets of tempura eel with a smoky bacon-like character, a quivering egg custard topped with beautiful bubbles of salmon roe, chilled oysters leant umami by a sherry mignonette – and to our glasses of Petit Beaufort.

It’s not just wine, though – local honey beer partners with awe-inspiring sourdough loaves with a cracking crust and a croissant-like crumb. Slathered with a brown butter that calls to mind that delectable confection, the Werther’s Original, it’s one of the best things we’ve ever put in our mouths; well deserving of its status as a standalone course.

There’s a confident restraint to Niall’s cooking and plating. Nothing is over-egged – or over-any-other-ingrediented for that matter – every component of a dish is there to pull its weight. An unlikely-sounding triumvirate of cured mackerel with preserved raspberries and salted cucumber is knockout, as is squid ink tortellini filled with a pork gelee which melts into its bath of burned garlic vinaigrette.

Death Star-shaped vessels come apart to reveal a sushi rice risotto flavoured with a surf-n-turf combo of scallops and chorizo. Were I eating one course and not a dozen, I’d want a bucketload.

But the stomach space saved is well-afforded to a pretty plate of allium-glazed salmon confit and our final savoury course: a super-rare Anjou pigeon breast whose richness is countered by crisp cylinder of kohlrabi, dots of spicy date puree, and a medium-bodied Trentino.

Despite LB’s earlier breakthrough, we skip the optional cheese course. It proves a wise move because dessert is a three-course spread: a rosemary-scented white peach sorbet, a sort of deconstructed apple tart, and a sinfully sticky black sesame kouign amann. Coconut and fig maki rolls and a diminutive lemon meringue pie-let sweeten the ending still further.

Had I read the menu before we ate, I’d have anticipated a night of total food hell – it’s composed almost exclusively of ingredients I’d usually steer well clear of. But each has been prepared in a way that’s absolutely delighted me. Niall’s flavour combinations are distinct, diverse, and clever, clever, clever; the product of a chef with a magpie eye and a killer palate.

Leaving The Dining Room, we perform an elegant boozy-weave-meets-stuffed-waddle past a tableful of rock royalty – all of them clearly enjoying their own gastro-adventure every bit as much as we have our own.

Make it happen

Where: Whatley Manor Hotel & Spa, Easton Grey, Malmesbury, Wiltshire SN16 0RB
Find out more: To visit the website, click here

In Ibiza’s old town, Zoë Perrett discovers Anne Sijmonsbergen’s El Portalon – a restaurant gem that’s far too good to be hidden

As we navigate Dalt Vila’s steep cobbled streets, a lone busker’s voice provides an almost-Gregorian soundtrack. The ancient sound offers a fitting welcome to Ibiza’s old hill town, where Ibiza Town’s tourist-alluring cafe bars and modern chain shops are exchanged for charming restaurants and boutiques that thrill the magpie-eyed.

It’s a fitting setting for El Portalon – the first restaurant from chef, organic farmer and author Anne Sijmonsbergen, whose Eivissa cookbook is one of the few to showcase modern Ibicencan cuisine. In line with the ethos expressed in that book, her menus are built upon local in-season produce; as much as possible of it sourced from Can Riero, her own farm in the San Llorenc valley.

The evenings are still chilly, but the street-side terrace is furnished with blankets, and the twinkly fairylights, greenery and general atmosphere of bonhomie mean there’s no way on God’s green earth we’re dining inside.

Already aware that this is a meal we’ll want to spin out, we decide a small snack is a very good idea indeed. Having been tempted – but so far resisted – many a tapas menu listing ‘croquettas (six units)’, we decide that tonight is the night. El Portalon’s are textbook examples: crunchy-shelled, creamy-interiored, worth incurring the wrath of your partner in order to nab more than your fair share.

Since we landed on the island, we’ve fallen hard for the bread, olives and allioli triumvirate that seemingly precedes every meal. Here, all three components are several cuts above the norm, causing us to tuck in rather too heartily and severely jeopardise our appetites. But we bravely soldier on.

El Portalon’s menu occupies just a single blackboard – and we’re glad. It’s all so appealing that having to make any kind of decision is already torturous, and further options would only add to the pain.

The arrival of our starters proves that we’ve chosen both wisely and well. The deep cherry hue of thinly sliced Leon Cecina – smoked, dried beef – is echoed by those very fruits; a surprising yet happy coupling that’s only enhanced by the almonds and parsley also present on the plate.

Local burrata was never going to need much to make it absolutely delectable. It’s cream-filled cheese; what more could you want? Well, fingernail-sized broad beans, asparagus, and a whiff of toasted cumin it seems – because those additional ingredients certainly guild this particular lily in splendid style.

Having witnessed a fair few diners gorging on gorgeous-looking sliced beef fillet, we really, really want one of our own. But that would mean trying only a single main, and that’s a compromise we’re not willing to make. Our squid and lamb selection gets the nod from our brilliant, garrulous waitress, and that’s good enough for us.

That squid comes stuffed with soft, spicy sobrassada sausage and spinach; the seafood tubes so thin and silken that the cephalopod is almost masquerading as pasta sheets. Romesco pepper puree brings sweet earthiness; nutty artichoke crisps lend a contrasting crunch; a frothy film of ‘sea air’ adds an alchemical final flourish.

LB eats far more than he should of the beautifully-crunchy crackling layer atop our slow-cooked lamb shoulder, and were it not our seven-month anniversary I’d have far more to say about the matter. No matter – the meat is sweet, the chard that accompanies it is cooked to melting softness, and both the dish and a side order of shatteringly-crisp potatoes are demolished.

Pre-dessert, we check out the restaurant and the tiny, heavingly popular bar. Designed by Angie Vestey, the interiors meld the rusticity of classic Ibizan style with contemporary elements. Describe it how you will; above all, it’s just a thoroughly lovely space.

We return to our table for a top-notch lemon tart – a dessert which always reminds LB of his dear departed mum, and a laden cheeseboard which reminds him just how much he detests the stuff. I, on the other hand, fall upon it with joy; working my way through five Balearic examples plus a knockout fig relish from Anne’s farm.

The host with the most is present throughout the evening; chatting to customers, keeping a close eye on service, recommending dishes and local gems. It’s clear just how much pride she has in this project and, as she scribbles us an itinerary for a day trip to Formentera, how much love she has for Ibiza. Her adopted island should return that love, because El Portalon is a triumph.

Make it happen

Where: Plaça dels Desemparats, 1, Dalt Vila, 07800 Ibiza, Balearic Islands, Spain
Find out more: To visit the website, click here

Zoë Perrett talks to the cheese club co-founder and North PR Managing Director about beginnings, birthdays, and Blur bassists

Think ‘fine cheese’ and your mind’s internal map won’t lead you directly to Leeds. But, seven years ago, it was that vibrant city which spawned Homage2Fromage: a smash-hit cheese club that, seven years down the line, is a sell-out every month – proving its residents are rather fond of fromage.

And few are fonder than Vickie Rogerson, the club’s co-founder and the big cheese at her own food and drink agency, North PR. Ahead of Homage2Fromage’s seventh birthday celebrations later this month, I got the chance to grill Vickie like a good Rarebit…

Homage2Fromage is about to celebrate its seventh birthday and now takes place not only in its home city of Leeds but also in Sheffield, Harrogate and Manchester – but how did it all come about?

I got married in Tuscany and tried some amazing local cheese there. On my return, I asked Twitter where I could buy it in Leeds. Lots of cheese-loving people joined in the cheese chat until someone said ‘you guys love cheese so much you should start a cheese club’! Then Nick Copland suggested we call it Homage2Fromage.

Well, with a name like that, we had to do it.

Nick and I had never met before, but ended up meeting in a coffee shop to discuss how we would do a cheese club. It was all very random, but we decided to do it. We asked Millie’s whether they’d host it, then we themed it around Cheddar and put 15 tickets on sale. We sold out.

A quick decision on the night to number the cheeses and reveal them later on ended up being the basis for all our subsequent cheese clubs.

Oh, and  amazingly, I managed to get Alex James (Blur bassist and now-all-round cheesy guy) to pop in for a chat. Homage2Fromage was born. Seven years later and we’re still running events every month – now across multiple cities – as well as launching a cheese restaurant.

What’s the best thing you’ve got to do as a result of being known as Mrs. Homage2Fromage?

Definitely judging cheese at the International Cheese and Dairy Awards in Nantwich. It was awesome. Also, seeing the cheese menu we developed brought to life in a restaurant – and people actually loving it – was pretty special.

You must have tasted a fair few cheeses in your time – what’s your all-time favourite?

Everyone always asks me this. The simple answer is that it changes all the time. BUT, I will always have a soft spot for a British Cheddar. I switch between which examples I like at certain times, but at the moment I’m really enjoying Godminster and Barber’s.

So that’s love, but what about the flip side… which cheese would you serve to your worst enemy?

The thing with cheese (and the reason I love it so much) is that everyone has their own personal taste. I may dislike a cheese, but the next person absolutely loves it! But I’m pretty over the smoked cheese trend. We have featured lots and lots of smoked cheeses at our events and I haven’t liked any of them. But they end up being everyone else’s favourite, so what do I know?!

People bring all sorts to Homage2Fromage to eat with their cheese; what’s your own favourite accompaniment?

A simple water biscuit. NO BUTTER! I’m also partial to honey dripped over blue cheese.

Cheese and pickle, cheese and ale, cheese and biscuits… these are all pretty classic combos, but is there any kind of pairing you’ve encountered that has been surprisingly successful?

Cheese and dark chocolate.

As you’ve already revealed, a trip to Tuscany sowed the seed for Homage2Fromage – any more dream destinations on your ‘bucket map’ for their fabulous cheeses?

I really want to visit the Cheese Bar in Camden, London. It’s run by an old cheese friend of ours, Matthew Carver. I also just saw a train journey you can do in Switzerland which visits cheese and chocolate makers. That would be amazing. Also, fondue…

The next edition of Homage2Fromage marks the cheese club’s seventh birthday – what can people expect on the night?

We always do a Greatest Hits theme for our birthdays, so basically, it’s a showcase of mine and Nick’s favourite cheeses from the previous year. It’s always a good one.

Make it happen

Where: Homage2Fromage takes plave at various locations in Leeds, Harrogate, Manchester and Sheffield
Find out more: Homage2Fromage’s seventh birthday celebrations kick off in Leeds on 11 October. For availability, info and tickets, click here
Read this: To find out what to expect at Homage2Fromage, click here

It’s impossible for Zoë Perrett to write about Acme Fire Cult without a religious zeal which reveals that the clue’s very much in the name when it comes to this Dalston not-quite restaurant…

It’s taken me a good long while to put pen to paper – or more accurately, finger to keyboard – to write about Acme Fire Cult. Yet since moving back to London from Leeds in March, it’s the restaurant I’ve returned to most frequently; indeed, the one I’ve visited with almost alarming frequency.

Law of averages would suggest that over the course of all those leisurely lunches and drawn-out dinners – I’ve never managed to ‘pop into’ Acme for less than three hours – I’d have encountered at least a few dud dishes. But not really; leading me to dub the ‘Cult ‘The Restaurant That Can Do Exceptionally Little Wrong™.

TRTCDELW™ doesn’t just do right when it comes to the food. Having both had their fair share of bumps in their respective personal roads, Acme’s chefs/co-Cult leaders Andrew Clarke and Daniel Watkins make much of mental wellbeing and work life balance; yielding a team of happy, energised individuals who all seem genuinely delighted to be involved in such a place (which I suspect is down to the carefully-cultivated working environment and not shamanic wizardry, nor cult-style brainwashing).

‘Restaurant’ is actually a bit of a misnomer when it comes to Acme Fire Cult. Located within 40 Foot Brewery down a side street whose entrance is landmarked by the notoriously rambunctious Kingsland Road McDonald’s, it sprawls across a heated terrace housing the massive barbecue from whence everything on the menu comes, and a series of bench tables which remind me fondly of attending sitty-downy raves when socially distanced seated clubbing was the only kind permitted. From giant speakers pumps a plethora of genres from acid house to power ballads to swamp rock in no fathomable order, like someone with really good music taste has left their iPod on shuffle. It’s gloriously like hanging out at a festival. There’s inside seating too, but it’s really all about the vibes outside.

Featuring ferments, pickles, spice blends and all sorts of other alchemical ingredients from the apothecary of Clarke’n’Watkins, Acme’s menu evolves constantly, but retains the same format: a concise collection of snacks, smalls, larger plates and a couple of puds.

Whether you slowly deliberate your dish choice over cocktails and a house-Marmite-butter-drenched, pecorino-showered mound of Dusty Knuckle sourdough cubes, or simply stab your finger at a random selection, you’re guaranteed to be in for an absolute winner dinner, of which the highlights will very probably be the entirety of what you ordered.

The biggest mistake you can make at Acme is failing to come with a crowd: this is not a spot to hit up with a crowd any smaller than four or you’ll do both yourselves and the menu an injustice.

Whatever your party size, order generously and prepare to share, cause everything’s designed to be eaten family-style. There’s always enough new stuff for even the most regular of regulars to get stuck into, but you’ll also often find items re-appearing on the menu in slightly different guises dependent on what produce is good, which ferments have come to fruition, and just how the wheels happen to be whirring in the Cult’s chef’s minds on any given day.

Vis roasted English baby corn in Aslam’s Butter with guindilla chillies & PPOs* (Pickled Pink Onions, do keep up), which I’ve also enjoyed as a roasted cauliflower edition. Wherever it’s given a cameo, that butter/spiced elixir makes the dish – much like those actors whose split second appearance turns a good movie magnificent. The Hearth Veg plate is another ever-evolving must-look-out-for: always spanning a spectrum of textures and flavours; rarely comprising the same components.

To list every great plate I’ve eaten at Acme would be to go far too James Joyce for the modern attention span, so I’ll stick to the banger-iest of the bangers: Dorset crab layered generously with bone marrow atop a slice of toasted sourdough, all that richness countered with a tangle of salted cabbage and a slick of jalapeño verde; char siu monkfish with fennel pollen whose liquorice note enhances char siu’s characteristic five-spice flavour; silken roasted leeks with pistachio romesco (a dish best served cold OR hot, I should know, I’ve savoured it served both ways); dry-cured sea bream swimming in an oil whose flavours pay homage to Dalston’s plentiful Turkish oçakbasi restaurants; roasted celeriac with mushroom-kelp XO, white bean miso and salsa verde…

I’m finding it hard to continue without downing tools to immediately book my next visit, but we all must suffer for our art so on I’ll soldier: smoked potatoes with tahini mayo and seed rayu; slow-roasted cod with creamed coco beans and ‘really good mushrooms’ in which the shrooms are that but the whole shebang is really really very good indeed; Trombetta courgettes with crispy black chickpeas, crispy-fried curry leaf and Vadouvan-spiced butter – a dish that’s soooo umami, ooh daddy, and indeed all your other relatives too.

You’ll notice I barely mention the meat, although it’s there and of course it slaps: think Silk road lamb skewers, Swaledale mutton merguez, Tamworth pork chops with smoky mojo rojo, bavette with ancho koji, mustard greens and pickles. But with the majority of the menu fully plant-powered, this barbecue joint is open to all, and very much not the sole preserve of the carnivorous customer.

In short – well, actually quite long, but what’s a word count when such an ace place is in the spotlight? – Acme Fire Cult is an absolute triumph; and an absolute joy to dine at. All brilliance, no bombast; just plates created with the non-shouty nonchalance we’ve come to expect from Andrew Clarke, who over the course of his career has never made much fanfare about his fantastic way with flavours, but has also consistently delivered some of the best food I’ve ever eaten, simply because he’d be hard pressed to create anything less.

It feels like he’s found a very worthy collaborator in fellow chef Daniel Watkins – and Acme is the pair’s perfect playground. I’ve fully drunk this Cult’s Kool-Aid, and it tastes every bit as good as everything else they’ve put in front of me.

MAKE IT HAPPEN

• Acme Fire Cult at 40 Foot Brewery, Abbot St, London E8 3DP
• Visit Acme Fire Cult’s website here
• Find @acmefirecult on Instagram