14 restaurants with exceptional warmth
Published 25 October 2024

Richard and Katja Bainbridge have established a very polished operation at their sleek city-centre venue, which has a burnished look to it from shiny stripped floors and contemporary furnishings. An outdoor area beneath parasols is a must for balmy early evenings, and the style of service is inviting and relaxing in equal measure. People note the enthusiastic buzz that reliably fills the place, its principal attraction being the restaurant's meticulously structured tasting menus.

A winter evening began with umami-laden teasers, ahead of a rice cracker with salmon roe and sherry mousse, served with an optional shot of fino. A brace of breads with flavoured butters heralded Alpine cheese soup and pickled celeriac (from the Alps of Norfolk, naturally) before a small serving of local lamb with truffled Jerusalem artichoke and parsley sponge. Fish was an unexpectedly trad serving of Cornish halibut in Champagne sauce, ahead of a choice of centrepiece dishes (garlicky sirloin steak, turbot Nantua, or a mushroom tart with red onion jus).

A splotch of chocolate mousse with blood-orange sorbet paved the way for the signature pudding, Nanny Bush's trifle, made with rhubarb, raspberries, spiced Cognac and ginger – a fitting tribute to that spirited lady. Vegetarian and vegan repertoires are as inventive as the omnivore options, the latter perhaps encompassing celeriac, carrot and fennel terrine, as well as truffled salsify spaghetti. There's also a lively wine list with some well-chosen glasses to open proceedings.

On Harborne's High Street, wedged between other businesses but with an open, come-inside appeal and brightness, this exceptional restaurant runs at full tilt – even on a midweek evening. Upbeat energy fills the space – from the bar, past the hard-working open kitchen (run with smooth, disciplined focus) to the banquettes and booths in the dining room. Pacy, friendly service delivers food that is a thrilling combination of the familiar and the luxurious, from an opening gougère (vigorous with aged Somerset Cheddar and Worcestershire sauce) via chalk stream trout (with the option of Exmoor caviar for added zip) to a ravishing dark chocolate marquise, its richness quickened with lime and a banana sorbet. In between? Much has been written about ‘Jamie’s chicken and white chocolate’. Don’t wince, it works. The fresh acidity of strawberries and nuggets of sweet chocolate balance the savouriness of chicken liver parfait, while oat granola (embedded with crisped chicken skin) gives texture. Elsewhere, a dish of Sardinian malloreddus (gnochetti sardi) luxuriates in butter. Doused in aged Parmesan and summer truffle, it's a dish of umami dreams, although you might also find it served with slow-cooked ox cheek and heady with Madeira, or fresh with spring asparagus and morels – depending on the season. Chicken is brined, poached and pan-finished, the tender centrepiece of an appealing main course that’s smoky with bacon, and bright with peas and baby gem. The wine list rewards scrutiny, not least for its relative affordability. A Spanish Monastrell (Finca Bacara) opens a compact by-the-glass offer at £8, and the paired flights (from £35) are worth a look. The ‘5 for £55’ menu is outstanding midweek/lunchtime value, but come on Saturday night for the full 10 courses and dive more deeply into the abilities of this exceptional team. If you’re pushed for time, pull up a bar stool, sip a spirited cocktail and order from a menu of artisan cured meats, cheeses and nibbles such as trout roe with lemon.

There’s a serenity about Maison Bleue, a kind of timeless elegance and comfort that elevates 'lunch' to 'luuuunch'. It is a Bury St Edmunds fixture, attracting the most loyal of guests (some from quite a distance) for whom the combination of graceful service delivered by exceptional people and a menu of classical French cookery is everything a restaurant should be. Occasional flirts with spice add layers of interest to some dishes, witness caramelised cauliflower with a gentle tandoori seasoning or lemongrass, ginger and soy awakening the mild flavour of Devon crab – the latter a beautifully fresh starter which finds the crustacean tucked up with Granny Smith apple under glimmering avruga caviar. Top-notch ingredients take their place on the ‘gourmet’ menu, where you might find organic Shimpling Park lamb (the roasted saddle and slow-cooked shoulder served with sweet potato, kohlrabi and a lamb reduction) or firm, pearly-white Gigha halibut on a little heap of cumin-warmed white cabbage, puréed cauliflower and pieces of smoked eel. A crème brûlée is everything you could ever wish it to be – silken, rich, caramelly – but how welcome is that perky, balancing raspberry and tarragon sorbet. The exceptional wine list is one in which to lose yourself. It excites, tempts and delivers with a (naturally) French-leaning selection, while expert advice comes with the domaine. A rounded but fresh Coudoulet Blanc from the legendary southern Rhône winery, Château de Beaucastel, pairs a treat with a classically sauced chicken ballotine, and is equally satisfying alongside the earthy, autumnal savouriness of stone bass with an artichoke cream sauce, chanterelles and salsify.

Sited in a Queen Anne townhouse in Holborn, this was the first of the Noble Rot triplets to emerge, and it established the format to perfection. There is a distinguished menu of Anglo-French cooking, there are small-plate snacks in the bar area, a long counter, walls full of appealing prints, and – not least – a wine list that, from teeny taster tots to bottles of the world's finest, coaxes all palates and pockets to try out new things and celebrate the old.

A reporter who knows his black puddings found nothing but admiration for the Christian Parra boudin noir, served here with chicory roasted in port. That was followed by Yorkshire pheasant with soft, positively gooey polenta given textural heft with chestnuts. Another seasoned diner writes that ‘Saturday lunch is my happy place,’ and where better to spend it than on the set menu here, which offers superb value and unforgettable flavours into the bargain?

It might start with something as simple as egg mayonnaise, a perfectly pitched boiled egg in sumptuous, glossy dressing with an assertive mustard kick, criss-crossed with a pair of Ortiz anchovies. Proceed to a dish of morteau sausage on mustard-strafed soupy lentils, and a wodge of the house sourdough to mop up. On the main menu, things get even classier, when Cornish brill in vin jaune with Alsace bacon competes with Swaledale mutton chops and puntarelle for favour. The bistro desserts rise to the stars for crème caramel with Sauternes raisins or the near-perfect lemon tart, ‘just the right side of mouth-puckering with citrus, then sinking into sweet creaminess’.

The wine list, meanwhile, is worth spending a while with: there are glasses of more obscure and overlooked wines among the first battalions, with Coravin selections of those in their finest array to follow on. Choices across the globe are hardly ever less than excellent, and if you're on a splash, there are few better spreads of Champagne in London.

There is a soothing sense of isolation to this white-fronted former pub in an Oxfordshire village near Henley, but that has not stopped scores of readers from nominating it as a local favourite. The sense of good cheer that irradiates the place is a tribute to Liam and Ryan Simpson-Trotman's skills in the arts of hospitality, and its understated modern spaces provide a chic backdrop to some stunning cooking.

Following a stint working front of house, Ryan is back in the kitchen, marshalling thoroughbred produce from the length and breadth of the British Isles, while making good use of pickings from Orwells' own garden and local hedgerows. The cooking demonstrates nerveless confidence in a range of techniques, from a starter of flame-grilled lobster teamed with girolles, apricots, verjus and sea fennel (aka rock samphire) to mains such as the fabled Chilterns muntjac with morels, asparagus and carrot. An assured sense of artistry means that dishes always look extraordinary, but the symphonic array of flavours they offer up seals the deal.

Another first course sees crisped veal sweetbreads with Ibérico lardo and salsify, given the gentlest hint of east Asian exoticism with spring onion and sesame dressing, while a vegetarian main looks to the Caribbean for Bajan-spiced hispi with romesco and hen of the woods. You might also find a simple offering of day-boat fish – perhaps Cornish turbot with seashore herbs and Jersey Royals.

The inventive streak continues into desserts that bridge the divide between the familiar and the not-so-familiar – crème brûlée spiced with cardamom and accompanied by rhubarb, pistachios and ginger. Eight-course tasting menus offer a virtuosic display of the kitchen's abilities, in notations that give nothing away. Orkney scallops? Yorkshire rhubarb? Wait and see. There are Sunday roasts too. A very distinguished wine list means that the wide-open Oxfordshire sky is the limit on bottle prices, but there are plenty of options by the glass, as well as an engaging range of cocktails, bottled beers and speciality gins to go at.

Otto Tepasse is not one to hide his light under a bushel, and why would he? His Gray's Inn Road spot is justly celebrated as a redoubt of French cuisine à l'ancienne, from the black-and-white floor and mint-green walls to the publicity shots of Marilyn Monroe (mais bien sûr), and a culinary approach that reaches far back into nostalgic recall. Order in advance and you can relive the gastronomic heyday of canard à la presse, homard à la presse and Anjou pigeon à la presse (though not all at once to the same table). Even those who haven't thought ahead can be regaled with steak tartare assembled before their very eyes, or calf's brain pané in grenobloise, or coquilles St-Jacques in their shells with beurre blanc. The tournedos Rossini is by no means the only dish to feature foie gras, which is more or less everywhere, while a romantic dîner à deux might turn on a mighty gigot of milk-fed Pyrenean lamb in a glossy jus alive with rosemary and thyme. Boozed-up desserts could easily lead you astray: the baba and pineapple flamed with Jamaica rum; the flaming crêpes Suzette; the Grand Marnier soufflé. Finish with a shot of aged Calvados, but only after testing the bank balance with one of those classic French wines, which ascend gracefully into the four-figure stratosphere.

The small, busy town of Conwy, dominated by its huge castle, has a surprisingly cosmopolitan feel: a Turkish baker, French pâtissier and Italian coffee shop along with an excellent cheesemonger, butcher, deli and top-flight chocolatier. It indicates a local constituency with the interest and ability to sustain such artisan outlets and perhaps explains why Nick Rudge chose to open his small, accomplished, first-floor restaurant here after a lengthy Fat Duck residency. The food scene of north Wales as seen through his eyes is proudly showcased in a choice of superb produce and often lesser-known regional traditions. He works closely with local farmers, especially Dilwyn Owen on Anglesey who provides lesser-known heritage varieties such as the almost extinct Bardsey apple (afal ynys enlli) and the y ddraig goch (red dragon) tomato. Without prior instruction you’d miss the entrance and modest name plaque. It feels like a semi-secret, almost medieval location, up winding stone stairs and along a dim corridor. The single room is tranquil and airy, simply furnished with fleecy rugs on the wooden chairs, a bar at one end, bookshelves the other. The welcome is friendly and relaxed, with a hint of formality but no pomposity. Set meals are thoughtfully constructed, conceived as a whole, in harmony with both season and location: the intent is genuine and not your usual nod to fashion. In a novel take on food miles, the wine list notes the distance each bottle has travelled to arrive on your ground-zero table. And it includes some fascinating Welsh names, along with mead and spirits to enhance the regional interest. ‘Bread of heaven’ has become a fixture; made with kefir and whole grains, it is irresistibly nutty and earthy – a Welsh sibling of soda bread. Served in hunks with salty, cultured butter and a sweeter barley-based variant, it requires considerable willpower not to fill up on this alone. But do keep some for mopping up purposes. Confit potato with barbecued leek, wild garlic and creamy velouté – typically poised and precise with well-defined flavours – launched our spring menu. The Welsh idiom continued strongly with barbecued wild sea bass caught a few miles down the coast. Light and delicate, falling off the fork, it was confidently matched with saturnine morels, vivid crisp asparagus and more wild garlic (a seasonally welcoming repeat). ‘Riwbob and cwstard‘ was a Welsh wizard dessert, the rhubarb transmuted into an inspired sweet-sharp granita on a velvety custard base. This was followed by ‘llymru’, an oat biscuit with a bitter, beer ice cream based on the ancient dish of flummery – superfluous perhaps, but still an intriguing taste of Welsh history.

This former bank makes a formidable dining room, complete with original marble, soaring ceilings, ornate wooden doorways and huge, slender windows. Run with personal charm and good humour, it’s an upbeat place that knows how to win friends. People love the way it strikes the right note between traditional and contemporary, and they also applaud the food.

Lloyd Morse’s kitchen takes a resolutely nose-to-tail approach, showcasing his deep love of Italian and French cuisine, with the emphasis firmly on provenance, seasonality and a style of cooking that is unfussy, hearty and deeply satisfying. In practice, that might mean Guinness-battered Gigha oysters with chilli mayo or roast chicken terrine with asparagus and aïoli, followed by braised leg of wild rabbit (cooked Spanish-style with pancetta, manzanilla, artichokes and almonds) or turbot with raw courgettes, broad beans, peas, tarragon and crab butter sauce. Elsewhere, a fondness for offal could see a weekend special of skewered chicken combs, gizzards and hearts grilled over charcoal (with a parfait crostini on the side).

The much-loved in-house bakery produces exceptional bread, as well as pastries (the Palmerston opens at 9am for coffee and viennoiserie), while desserts such as apricot and almond tart, elderflower panna cotta or chocolate and amaretto ice cream are highly praised. The bar is set out for dining, and is usually the only place you’ll get a seat without a booking. Here you'll find local beers from Newbarns Brewery, a well-thought-out whisky shelf, and a few cocktail options (including a signature coffee Negroni) to throw back while picking through an adventurous wine list that’s tilted towards the Old World, with about a dozen options by the glass.

'A taste of Alpine cuisine, but better than restaurants in the Alps,' confirms a well-travelled reporter with a penchant for fighting talk, and if it seems a stretch from the rarefied peaks of central Europe to Manchester's Green Quarter, be assured that the spätzle, dumplings and filled pasta parcels have survived the journey intact.

Not the least reason the Spärrows has been such a firm local favourite of Mancunians is that there is so much going on here, from winemakers' lunches to sake tastings. It's in those perfectly rendered little parcels of happiness, though, that the culinary energy is focused. Spätzle or gnocchi come with a range of sauce options, from sage butter to guanciale and egg yolk, before the menu heads east for pierogi and pelmeni, with lashings of sour cream and garlic breadcrumbs to complement their richly meaty fillings. Sharing boards of cured meats, smoked fish or cheeses will hone the fastest-finger-first skills of a hungry bunch, and if it's the back end of the year, look to Tyrolese goulash with knöpfle and pickles to bring the love.

To finish, there is an estimable brownie attributed to 'Daz's wife' or carpaccio-sliced pineapple with sorbet, and what is probably the banker – cinnamon spätzle in a cloud of brown sugar. Alpine wines are on hand to suit the mood, and if you have previously thought of all Swiss whites as a cleansing mouthful of nothing in particular, you might find yourself thinking again.

A picture-perfect pub that gets all the details right, the 'Welli' sets out its stall with a well-manicured garden, growing patches and a veritable barricade of giant shrubbery pots. Inside, there’s a charming clutter about the place, its red-tiled floors and black beams contrasting with details such as ornate butter knives, neat menus boards and stacks of homemade provisions. The kitchen takes ingredients and provenance seriously, and the menu is peppered with tags such as ‘HG’ (home-grown). ‘HR’ (home-reared) and ‘FR’ (free-range). The result is honest cooking, elevated by spot-on technique and an eye for detail. There’s always a soup to start (perhaps celery garnished with fried celery leaves), and the pub’s twice-baked Keen’s Cheddar soufflé is a triumph – wonderfully light and golden-brown, with the addition of creamy courgettes and a cloud of grated Parmesan. ‘Potpies’ are a fixture of the menu (Baughurst House roe deer, HR Jacob lamb), and the steak and kidney version is everything you could wish for with its beef-suet crust, tender braised meat and full-flavoured gravy. Otherwise, expect produce-led dishes ranging from chargrilled Dexter ribeye steaks or chicken Kyiv to baked lemon sole with brown butter, capers and wild garlic. Puddings are exactly that – calorific old-school comforters such as Bakewell tart, jam sponge or spotted dick (an excellent version with loads of golden syrup and the pub’s own vanilla ice cream). Service is relaxed, clued-up and full of smiles, with no faff or hyperbole. The house ale comes courtesy of the Longdog Brewery in Basingstoke, and the well-balanced wine list has some real treats at the top end.

There isn't a great deal to Fence, which once lay within Pendle Forest and was surrendered to its tenants by Henry VII. Some of the alleged Pendle witches were tried here in the 17th century, before wiser counsels prevailed. These days, all the running is made by the transformation of a village pub, the White Swan, into one of Lancashire's destination dining venues.

The interior with its burnished wood bar counter still looks the part, but nobody pops in for an evening pint and a game of darts. Instead, the cooking of the prodigiously talented Tom Parker is front and centre, now offered in the format of a multi-course ‘menu surprise’, moving through a parade of dishes that look disarmingly simple, but demonstrate the gastronomic equivalent of perfect pitch. Expect challenges and surprises all the way, from organic salmon with wasabi buttermilk, yuzu and dill to Périgord truffle ice cream. 

An autumnal dinner opened with a small croustade of rich chicken liver mousse, before bread arrived – a mini-loaf for sharing, served with goat's curd and basil oil, as well as butter. To follow, a ‘study in tomato’ produced a trio of sweet-sour cherry tomatoes in intense tomato consommé, prior to a version of beef tartare made with pedigree Dexter, lit up with a great slug of horseradish. For main course, there was fillet of fallow deer, cooked pinkish, with a bonbon of stickily braised meat, a bouquet of mushrooms and Jerusalem artichoke purée, the whole supported by a damson-based game sauce of miraculous potency.

A pre-dessert of pear in honey and verjus heralded the finishing flourish, a kind of savarin liberally soaked in Pedro Ximénez sherry, topped with orange miso cream. You can also add on a plate of cheeses from the Courtyard Dairy in Austwick, served with truffle honey. The White Swan is justly proud to be ‘the only pub in Lancashire’ serving Timothy Taylor's Yorkshire-brewed ales, and it also boasts a smart list of well-chosen wines.

There is a palpable sense of burnished tradition to Trinity, which already has nearly 20 years of mileage on the clock in service to Clapham's Old Town, a half-secluded precinct at the eastern end of the Common. And yet, the place has transmogrified into all the possible permutations of the restaurant format: the expansive ground floor, as buzzing as a West End brasserie most sessions; the informal first-floor room among the treetops; Tableside, a chef's ringside experience with bespoke artworks; and, most recently, Outside – an alfresco space with a mobile kitchen out back. Presiding over it all is Adam Byatt, whose food has developed at an oblique angle to the overtly assertive performances elsewhere. There is great subtlety here, the kind of technique that is often happy enough to render itself all but invisible, witness an appetiser of raw, lightly salted prawns with blood-orange segments supported by an immaculate bouillabaisse jelly of potent concentration. A moment's searing is enough to give point to slender slices of yellowfin tuna on avocado purée and cold XO consommé, garnished with kohlrabi. Occasionally, the sense of balance isn't quite right, as in a piece of Limousin veal sweetbread served with a possessively strong reduction sauce loaded with black olives; just a tad more of the promised asparagus would have streamlined it to perfection. Again, the counterposing of elements in a principal dish of superb, well-marbled chateaubriand with a tart of primavera veg, watercress purée and a beef jus (each impeccable in itself) needed another ting on the tuning-fork. Desserts are about bringing gastronomic refinement to simple classics, so that they shine lustrously: Clapham honey soufflé with a quenelle of beeswax ice cream dropped in, or a luscious gariguette strawberry and mascarpone savarin. It is all served forth with rapturous professionalism. Wines have grown to a stable of around 450 bins, with mature clarets and Burgundies for the cognoscenti, but an excellent slate by the glass from £11. A Domaine Aléofane white Crozes-Hermitage, a sturdy Greek Xinomavro, and a bunch of siren-like Coravins are among the allurements.

Followers of Great British Menu will recognise Tom Shepherd as the Midlands chef who reinvented Desperate Dan's cow pie for the postmoderns. Here, in leafy Lichfield, he has taken up residence in a doorbell-protected first-floor venue that is contemporary without going too hard on seductive chic (fake foliage does some heavy decorative lifting). A seat near the partially open kitchen gives ample view of the young brigade going about their work. Shepherd did productive stints under Michael Wignall at the Latymer, Pennyhill Park and with Adam Stokes in Birmingham, absorbing technical flair and ingenuity along the way.

Tasting menus are the order of the day for lunch and dinner, with a shorter performance on Thursday lunchtimes. Dishes beguile and bemuse, successively and cumulatively, opening perhaps with a fat, barely cooked scallop in an enveloping peanut sauce (not strictly satay), ahead of poached Cornish cod festooned in kohlrabi ribbons with a huddle of barbecued mussels in Champagne emulsion. Portions are unexpectedly hefty, the more so at lunch, when a main course might be Hereford beef presented no fewer than four ways, amid aromatic notes of garlic, onion, tarragon and smoke. We found the Jacob's ladder particularly tender, while the overall impression was rich, weighty and intensely savoury.

A ‘transition’ course of, say, puffed wild rice and coconut rice pudding fragrant with Thai green curry spices and mango sorbet might ease you into the choice of desserts. Expect 72% chocolate mousse with crème-fraîche ice cream, pecans and sherry or the Great British Menu signature dish, ‘No Ordinary Schoolboy’ – a tuck-shop fantasy of banana encased in a white chocolate shell with caramel and rum, plus a side order of banana and maple granola cake.

Wine pairings are imaginative to a nicety, offering a Breuer Rheingau Riesling with the scallop, a Turkish Syrah-based blend with the beef, and Liaoning Chinese ice wine with the banana. A table here can be hard to get because Lichfield has taken Upstairs to its heart.