Winter warmers: cosy, dark restaurants for cold, dark nights
Published 22 November 2024

First find your restaurant. With very little signage and a hidden square to negotiate, diners are unlikely to eat here on a whim; a visit is booked in advance and eagerly anticipated. Billed as an ‘experimental’ venture from Alex Claridge and the team behind the Wilderness, the neutral toned space follows current fashion: no distinction between the fully open kitchen and the dining room; hard surfaces (wall, floor, kitchen counter) and 14 unyielding counter stools providing close-up views of the action – namely the preparation of what is primarily a multi-course, Japanese-inflected seafood tasting menu.

Service is warm and welcoming, but it pays to give careful attention to the announcement of each dish – no menu is offered until you leave. And it’s all effortlessly modern. A tartlet of mackerel is infused with a hint of heat from jalapeño, while slivers of wild, line-caught sea bass are enlivened with a whisper of smoke and seaweed, and the sweetly acidic flavours of yuzu vinegar – just the sort of bite-size morsels one wishes came in a serving of 10. Dishes are inventive but restrained, classical yet able to embrace broader influences: take a simple layering of brown-crab custard with finger lime, apple, white crabmeat and a few leaves of oxalis or a translucent roundel of lightly cured Cornish cod, wrapped in autumn truffle and served in a hot-smoked bone broth with yeast butter and egg yolk.

Each flavour blends tantalisingly with the one preceding it, so a plump, sweet scarlet prawn in a delicate, chilli oil-infused broth (made from the head) might be followed seamlessly by hamachi poached in brown butter with a dashi, sesame and ginger-based broth. Wines are chosen with the food firmly in mind, but given the lack of menu information, wine matching (or tutored advice from the sommelier) seems a sensible way to proceed.

A visit to Alex Bond's city-centre restaurant is a voyage of exploration in every sense. Alchemilla occupies the cellar of a Victorian coach-house; surrounded by worn brick walls, the interior is a fascinating blend of industrial and ancient, with red-brick arches lit through concreted skylights and narrow-paned, misted windows. Smartly uniformed staff curate the experience with appreciable cheer, and most tables afford a view of the huge, busy kitchen. Initial nibbles are sensational, from a potato tortilla topped with Cheddar cream, shaved white truffle and sherry vinegar gel to a perfectly formed spherical doughnut filled with 'nduja XO jam, adorned with a sliver of cured scallop and dill mayo. The all-but-inescapable proliferation of east Asian ingredients and seasonings is mostly handled with dazzling panache, as is evident from an exhilarating course of lobster tail with kimchi purée, pickled squash and confit lemon, overliad with a garnish of fennel cress, basil and shiso. Not every dish registers as a ringing triumph, however: the meat course on the seven-course tasting menu, a small piece of pink venison with artichoke purée, glazed quince and a cheesy tartare, with a bitter chocolate smear, highlighted what can happen when individually fine elements are not sufficiently balanced against each other. Dessert compositions offer the most intriguing kind of challenge. A teacake with blackcurrant meringue and beetroot jam is a Proustian evocation of the Scottish Tunnock, while a savoury kombu ice cream covered in puffed rice with Japanese vinegar, anointed in vanilla oil, stops provocatively short of being sweet at all. The sourdough bread, with its wafer-thin crust and wholegrain crumb, may well be the best for miles around. An enterprising wine list, with terse flavour-wheel tasting descriptors, could do with a more extensive (and imaginative) by-the-glass selection, but there is an appreciable attempt to find interesting new flavours in its various territories.

Deep in the heart of Soho, Andrew Edmunds (named for the guiding light who sadly passed away in 2022) has been a bulwark of Franco-Mediterranean bistro dining in the gloriously unreconstructed style for what feels like forever. It's a mode of cooking for which there will be a ready audience among the British, for as long as one person can still earn a living by cooking for another. Hand-scrawled menus (remember to bring your lorgnette) and plastic signs prevent any part of the proceedings from veering towards inappropriate glossiness, and the food is dependable to the last cornichon. 

To start, pork and venison terrine with pickled red cabbage and toast might vie with seasonal asparagus in sauce gribiche, or a more obviously Italianate burrata with blood-orange and toasted almonds. After that, fish is a particular strength for main course, perhaps a chunk of pearlescent hake with spinach and fennel in salsa verde, while meat might offer the fortifying likes of roast rabbit leg on lentils with carrots and picked walnuts. Indulge yourself at dessert with chocolate pavé, for which they've boozed up some raisins, or there could be meringue with poached loquats and Chantilly. 

The wine list has long been one of the glories of the place, with battalions of superstars passing in review like nations at an Olympic marchpast. Mark-ups are certainly not what newcomers will expect in central London, which only adds to the temptation to splash out. There are a few aperitif cocktails of the old school, although our request for a classic Martini stumped them.

Offering a ‘warm sunny hug’ in any weather, compact Bar San Juan is, for one reader, ‘a favourite place to be happy in’ – although the happiness starts if you manage to score a table, since bookings are severely limited by its size. The instantly welcoming, cosy tiled interior is packed with evocative memorabilia (posters, a bull's head, a Real Madrid football shirt, strings of dried chillies), while a neatly competent, Spanish-speaking team keeps tables supplied with a constant stream of tapas and drinks.

Crisp cubes of 'papas' bravas come with a boat of meaty, spicy Madrid-style brava sauce, while juicy-chewy cod's cheeks are served with bitter greens, vibrant red chillies and garlic. Other choices might range from gazpacho to spinach with chickpeas and potatoes or a silky aubergine stew topped with a slice of torched goat's cheese. Also check out the croquetas filled with free-range chicken, and the little lamb filo parcels with a Tempranillo sauce.

Puddings might be a shallow, chewy Santiago tart or boldly plain, slightly whipped vanilla custard topped with a single Maria biscuit. A short list of Spanish wines shows off its regional credentials.

With a warm welcome and classy cooking, this neighbourhood Italian honours the family behind Bristol’s successful and ever-growing Bianchis restaurant group. The unpretentious and relaxed dining room has a laid-back, lived-in look with a scuffed floor, low lighting, a 60s soul soundtrack and bottles of wine stacked on all available shelves. Comfy seating and damasked tables add to the sense that you are here to enjoy yourself and eat well. With a belt-busting four courses on offer, it is perhaps advisable to start with a light antipasto of, say, radicchio salad (with smoked ricotta, courgette, red onion and pumpkin seeds) ahead of, maybe, a bowl of gnocchetti nero in bisque with crab, kohlrabi and soft herbs. The pasta here is so good you may be almost reluctant to move on to a 'secondi' – grilled pork tenderloin with soft polenta and cime di rapa, for example. Be brave, it's worth it. Puddings are mercifully modest, though such is the density and richness of a chocolate and hazelnut tart served with intensely savoury crème fraîche that a little goes a long way. A fine selection of cocktails and an extensive wine offer, including ‘Aldo’s list’ of serious (and seriously expensive) vintages will lubricate your evening, while the chatty, informal but very efficient staff make you feel that you are dining among friends.

Are high-profile restaurants above pubs becoming a thing in London? On the first floor of the Three Compasses pub in Farringdon, this reworking of Henry Harris’s famed (and much missed) Racine in Knightsbridge revives the chef’s avowed mission to provide resolutely French food and drink after a gap of seven years. Reached via steep stairs, it’s a pleasant, light-filled room, where a lot of effort has gone into creating a mood that is warm and unpretentious. Come here if you want straight-talking Gallic brasserie classics, dishes straight out of Larousse Gastronomique. Escargots à la bourguignonne, perhaps, or Bayonne ham with celeriac rémoulade, then rabbit with mustard sauce or côte de boeuf with sauce béarnaise. All dishes are chosen from a large, densely written blackboard menu, hoisted from table to table – a convincing slice of France if it weren’t for the mainly English accents of the on-the-ball waiting staff. Our meal opened with a gutsy, rich scallop dish (one of the evening specials), served with its coral atop a purée of fennel, lemon and olive oil, ahead of a Racine classic – tête de veau with a punchy sauce ravigote (one of the best-selling items on the menu). To conclude, we enjoyed a hard-to-fault pot de crème aux griottines. The mainly French wine list is a good one, with about 14 by the glass (from £7.50), and bottles from £29.95.

In the same building as its misleadingly named sibling Gonzo’s Tea Room (actually a cocktail/burger/disco hangout), Brix & Bones is all about powerful, expert, generous open-fire cooking – the sort that also requires leathery aprons, muted lighting, cracking drinks and a pacey soundtrack. Ask for a seat at the bar, the better to immerse yourself in the whole spectacle while chatting to the ‘passionate’ and engaging young team.

Share a board of Cobble Lane charcuterie and maybe some Norfolk ‘crunch’ bread with treacle and acid butter. Brancaster mussels with ‘nduja, sea beet and fennel could follow, or you could go for one of the taco riffs (perhaps Korean pulled pork with pickled ginger and coriander). Superlative steaks and immense chops are licked with flame, slicked with the melted fat of 85-day aged Limousin beef, then seared, smoked, seasoned and spiced as befits each item, while fish might be whole plaice enlivened with guanciale beurre blanc and chives.

To finish, there’s abundant love for B&B's bone-marrow fudge doughnuts when they’re available, otherwise a sweet hit of chocolate fondant with honeycomb and pandan might do the trick. Wines are suitably bold – from the savoury, black fruit notes of a northern Rhône Syrah (Domaine Gérard) to the lush complexities of pure Sangiovese (Brunello di Montalcino Il Palazzone). Diners are welcome to take advantage of Gonzo’s rooftop garden bar if it’s open.

Not that Castle. This one is a reconditioned late-Georgian pub in the Ancoats district of Manchester, now part of a regeneration zone that has conjured a modern neighbourhood where once there was industrial wasteland. Generously upholstered banquettes, mirrors and plenty of daylight from big windows are spirit-lifting in themselves, but the cooking lifts the place into another dimension. There is a traditional Sunday lunch offering, but the more speculative contemporary food makes weekdays equally popular with readers. Locally grown purple artichokes are served alla giudia, a Roman Jewish deep-fried treatment that produces a crisply seared surface on a creamy, bittersweet inner texture – not to be missed in their season. When did you last eat a fantail squid? Here they are, hauled in from Brixham and served with new season's peas for textural contrast. For main course, there might be a satisfying fish dish such as hake with pepper dulse and Jersey Royals, while meats offer locally farmed Tamworth pork belly with hispi cabbage or lamb shoulder with broad beans and – of all the things to come upon in Ancoats – nasturtiums. A whopping great pie of Ryeland lamb shank should provide plenty of sustenance for a hungry pair of diners. Seasonal fruits make the dessert list a welcome recourse, whether it be strawberry fool and elderflower cream or Yorkshire rhubarb sorbet with a brandy-snap.

A joint venture by local chefs Dave Marrow (Terre à Terre) and Isaac Bartlett Copeland (Isaac At), Embers is deliciously warm and glowing, the air full of the sweet scent of smouldering birch and ash – thanks to the fire cage in the centrepiece kitchen. Charcoal walls and chunky wood tables complement the cooking-over-fire vibe, while a seat at the counter is the best place to view the action. The menu kicks off with a handful of nibbles including sourdough bread (smoky and warm from a brief toasting), which is almost a meal in itself when teamed with beefy whipped 'dripping butter'. From the selection of small plates, we enjoyed three excellent combos: skillet-roasted potatoes and pickled jalapeños smothered in mole and chimichurri mayonnaise; tender roasted chicken leg with a deliciously charred and caramelised BBQ honey coating and a slick of roasted garlic aïoli; and wood-fired leeks with buttery marrowfat pea purée, crunchy garlic crumb and kale – the latter rather chewy, the only off-note in the dish. Our verdict? Generous, heartfelt, please-all cooking, characterised by big flavours and lots of delicious fat, with wonderful, fragrant smokiness running through each dish. In addition, there are centrepiece plates to feed two or more, say venison rump with beetroot ketchup and pickled blackberries. Our standout dessert was a supersized take on a Rolo, combining a bittersweet, velvety and spoonable dark chocolate exterior with a smooth caramel filling, all topped with milk ice cream and a crunchy milk chocolate crumb. The wine list reflects the freshness of the entire offering, with plenty of interesting sips including a decent showing from English vineyards. Terrific cocktails too.

Reopened in January 2025 after a seasonal refit that brought an extension to the kitchen and a revamped bar area, Erst retains its industrial-chic styling – and still fits seamlessly into the regenerated Ancoats district as a reliable and often inspiring local resource. Patrick Withington is a confirmed exponent of the small-plates approach, and much of what the kitchen turns out is surprising, ingeniously constructed and founded on excellent prime materials. Even the salads score highly for lively mixtures of flavour – witness castelfranco leaves offsetting the creaminess of Corra Linn (a hard sheep's cheese from Lanarkshire), with pear and walnuts in support.

The flatbread that arrives well lubricated with beef fat and scattered with flakes of dried Turkish urfa chilli fully deserves the legendary status it has acquired. Tema artichoke with fermented celeriac in barigoule broth showed a delicate approach to winter warming at our visit, while the skewered lamb coated in ras el hanout butter (another established favourite) was as spicily and fragrantly satisfying as ever. By contrast, skate wing in sherry seemed a clash of mistimed elements, but a dessert of olive-oil cake with ricotta ice cream and candied citron is still a good bet for those who have wearied of salty caramel.

Natural wines are the hot ticket among the drinks, and it's worth gleaning some advice from your server about what goes best with what. Before you get embroiled, though, consider the house aperitif, which might involve celery liqueur and apple shrub in a productive liaison with gin and house vermouth.

Swans in the middle of Manchester! Who would have thought? But Flawd is on the New Islington Marina, a network of canals and water basins now home to barges and wildfowl, new apartments, green spaces and walkways. The feel is Dutch or Scandinavian, enhanced by a fine-weather terrace. It’s a suitable setting for a contemporary bottle shop, wine bar and sharing-plate eatery of restricted size with a buzzy atmosphere, enthusiastic staff and a funky playlist. As soon as you walk in, you know it’s a place in which to have fun.

The blackboard menu changes regularly and features local and regional ingredients such as Lancaster smoked mackerel, Garstang Blue cheese and ‘big dollops’ of outstanding sourdough bread from neighbouring bakery Pollen. Charcuterie is from Curing Rebels in Brighton, however, although who cares about regional pedantry when it’s this good?

This place has pedigree, and it shows: flair and imagination define the largely plant-focused cooking, which goes big on flavour. Unctuous whipped split-pea dip might be paired with fermented kale or spring onions, while stewed autumn tomatoes are served with ‘nduja and garlic toast. Elsewhere, grilled romanesco is paired with goat’s curd and treviso (‘a deliciously earthy combo’), and assorted brassicas are heaped with autumnal chestnut mushrooms and topped with shavings of cured ox heart (like ‘poor people’s truffle’).

The word Flawd refers to an 18th-century term meaning ‘drunk’, which is fitting as they major on natural and low-intervention wines from small producers. It’s also a trick to disabuse drinkers of the perception that such wines are ‘flawed’. With a range of styles by the glass, it’s easy to delve into this brave new world – and if that lacks appeal, there’s also an excellent choice of craft beer. Note: there are no reservations and no desserts. A flaw, perhaps, but not a fatal one.

Kelvingrove's Gloriosa is the kind of place that wins not just admirers, but fanatics. 'They use local produce where possible,' says one reporter,, 'and the cooking allows it to shine – it is fabulous.' The place certainly looks the part: simple café-style furniture is offset by royal blue drapes and impressive abstract paintings.

Rosie Healey's cooking matches the lively mood with Med-influenced sharing dishes that come out swinging. Grilled squid is accompanied by potato, spring onion and green chilli for an initiatory jolt to the taste buds, or there could be something old-school French such as globe artichoke in chive butter. The larger plates major in robust pasta riffs including mussels with garlic and chilli on a tangle of tagliatelle, while fish dishes tend to the sturdy, as in hake with butter beans, Grelot onions and aïoli. If you've time to kick back, allow 40 minutes for a roast half-chicken with roast potatoes, green salad and tzatziki.

Desserts are oriented at the sharper end of the spectrum, yielding rhubarb and almond clafoutis or loquat and elderflower sorbet doused in cava. Knowledgeable and very friendly front of house staff manage proceedings admirably. A carefully constructed wine list spotlights small growers, and you might want to take in a spicy Margarita before you get started.

Tucked away among a row of suburban shops, Hern is easy to miss and there's nothing outside to suggest it is even a restaurant. No menu, no opening times, and even the signage is minimal – as discreet and modest as chef/patron Rab Adams himself. Yet this tiny spot is full most nights with diners lapping up good food at keen prices. Cordon Bleu-trained Adams, who served time under Gordon Ramsay and Josh Overington, offers a short carte on Wednesdays and a four-course set menu from Thursday to Saturday. Local and seasonal ingredients are a given, along with low waste and sustainability, while the repertoire is driven by clean, uncomplicated ideas. Take a dish of Batavia lettuce, given a 'green goddess' dressing (yoghurt, lemon, anchovy, heaps of herbs) and finished with pangrattato and finely grated Ribblesdale cheese, or mascarpone, sprouting broccoli, black olives and chilli piled onto fresh toast. Fried polenta fingers are a wonderful snack, sizzling hot and crisp from the fryer and paired with vibrant pesto, while the bread is freshly baked, pillowy focaccia – a throwback, no doubt, to the days when Adams ran his own wholesale bakery. The chef's take on 'chicken parmo', the Middlesborough-invented takeaway of choice after a night on the lash (breaded chicken escalope, béchamel sauce and cheap block Cheddar) would be called 'posh parmo’ in the north-east. It's made from tender chicken and decent cheese, with asparagus on the side, though for size it would match any parmo you would find on Linthorpe Road. For something lighter, you might be offered sea bass with a vibrant red pepper sauce and marinated courgettes, while dessert might be a beautiful lemon posset, studded with strawberries and topped with a cooling elderflower granita – perfect for a searingly hot evening. A short wine list is arranged by character, while sharp, helpful service completes a terrific local package.

Following a stint running the popular Elia supper club in London, chef Tom Tsappis and his partner Matilda Ruffle headed north to the village of Killiecrankie and took over what was the village’s old rural lodge. The resulting transformation into a contemporary restaurant with rooms has been nothing short of striking, from the marble-topped bar and lounge with their deep-blue colour schemes, pink chandeliers and vintage record collection (you're welcome to choose your own after-dinner playlist) to the dark, cosseting dining rooms and shining open kitchen.

Dinner is an unpredictable and ever-changing feast of up to 20 little dishes, and diners are forewarned that the whole experience can last over three hours. The cooking marries artisan Scottish ingredients with local folklore and subtly interwoven influences from Japan (Matilda’s mother is Japanese) – a main course of local venison with preserved blueberries, red cabbage, seaweed butter and hokkaido-style milk bread is typical of the invention and cross-pollination of ideas on display here.

Elsewhere, a broth of Arbroath smokies is accompanied by a savoury, fish-shaped jasmine taiyaki cake, while a dish entitled ‘dripping fried porridge’ (served in rectangular blocks and sprinkled with Isle of Mull Cheddar) is a homage to the old Scots tradition of the ‘porridge drawer’.

Local ingredients shine throughout, from a medley of wild mushrooms with chanterelle powder and black pepper on a soft bed of polenta-like panisse to a pairing of apple sorbet and shavings of Blue Murder cheese. Matilda Ruffle’s skill and well-informed guidance as a sommelier shine through in the drinks pairings (including wines from her family’s Treaty Port vineyard in China as well as bespoke Wasted Degrees beer and all manner of cocktails). Alternatively, the regular wine list offers a dozen or so by the glass. 

‘Before you get to the amazing and delicious food and interesting drinks, the gorgeous location right on the Links, looking out to Arthur's Seat and the Crags, makes it the go-to place in our corner of Edinburgh,’ notes one lucky local. There’s no doubt Leftfield is a real local asset, a proper little neighbourhood bistro run by Phil White and Rachel Chisholm – a keen couple with a passion for fish cookery and good hospitality.

Phil White doles out some good contemporary cooking on his perfectly formed, regularly changing menu, which includes some ‘fantastic constants' such as the seafood platter, alongside the likes of squid with gochujang mayo or Scottish smoked mackerel with Sicilian blood orange, chicory, chilli oil, garlic and dill mayo. Elsewhere, sea trout served with greens, artichokes and a smattering of caviar looks and tastes 'beautiful’, while those hankering for something meaty might be tempted by the tender, flavourful Gloucester Old Spot pork chop with borlotti beans, cavolo nero, oregano and roast apple.

To round things off, there could be pavlova with mascarpone and blackberry coulis or a well-reported Basque cheesecake. The sourdough and olive oil come in for praise, too, while drinks include cocktails, local Port of Leith oloroso sherry and an interesting clutch of fairly priced wines.

Originally conceived by the owners of the Clove Club, this ‘Britalian’ restaurant is almost as well-known for its bar as its restaurant –so it was with some reluctance that we bypassed the Negroni-based fun in favour of the dining room. Until we clapped eyes on the space itself, that is: a stunning covered garden worthy of a Roman palazzo. Seating is divided between an attractive cosmopolitan room and a terrace complete with a fireplace, cobbles and foliage (you can specify where you sit when you reserve). For the Luca-on-a-budget experience, try the bar, where lunch is currently £32 for two courses. Otherwise, those with cash to splash can knock themselves out with four courses, Italian-style, and a bottle or two from the impressive Italian list – specialist subject Barolo (sub-£50 bottles are few). Vitello tonnato may now be ubiquitous in London but we’ll never tire of it when it's as satisfying as this. The veal is more well done than is fashionable – a good thing – but is tender and flavoursome beneath a generous spoon of tonnato mayonnaise and a frisky celery, artichoke and lemon salad. Terrific stuff. Fresh pasta is a standout: mezzi paccheri with a pork sausage ragù gains depth from anchovy and freshness from mint, while green and yellow variegated ribbons of tagliatelle with rabbit, lardo and green olives are comforting and luxurious in equal measure. Secondi at inspection include Hebridean lamb with caponata, Hereford beef fillet and short rib, and a dish of John Dory with mussels, mousserons, Jersey Royals and a frothy lemon verbena sauce. Tiramisu, like your nonna might make, is a bravely unfancy finish; vanilla panna cotta with Yorkshire rhubarb is a nicely executed pairing, if lacking the ‘Luca’ signature that characterises the restaurant's best dishes. Overall, a confident operation. Credit, in particular, for setting a tone as conducive to business as it is to pleasure.

Best New Restaurant 2024

Can Tomos Parry ever put a foot wrong? His follow-up to Brat – and Brat x Climpson’s Arch – has opened with a bang in Soho. There’s a familiar no-frills vibe to the large, light-filled dining room with its very open, fired-up kitchen and sultry, smoky smells. Of course it’s noisy, but that's all part of the tremendous atmosphere, and it matches the straight-to-the-point cooking of broad-shouldered seasonal dishes with Spanish overtones – notably the mar y montaña cuisine of northern Spain and the Balearic Islands. Parry’s pursuit of, and belief in, great ingredients brings a compelling set of flavours to his short, punchy menu, which is dominated by sharing plates – from a spider crab omelette or a dish of wild mushrooms with a runny-yolked egg popped on top to our fantastic opener of beef sweetbreads served with grilled young leeks and shallots, cooking juices and a little pop of acidity from slivers of fresh lemon. We followed with whole red mullet grilled on the bone, with a rich sauce of olive oil and butter spooned over – so simple, so fresh, and absolutely perfectly timed; all it needed was some richly flavoured, ever-so-gently smoked wood-fired rice (a dish that is fast achieving cult status). Sitting close to the kitchen, we could see that the mutton chops, four-year Jersey beef sirloin rib and eight-year Friesian sirloin rib were also doing a roaring trade. Vegetables are less in evidence but not neglected: plates of braised early-autumn veg and beetroot with mountain mint and sorrel were on offer when we visited. We weren’t so impressed by the ensaïmada (a Mallorcan pastry) with hazelnut ice cream, and regretted not ordering the torrijas (Spain's answer to French toast) with blackberries instead. Service is excellent, informed and highly motivated, and the short European wine list is well chosen, with everything available by the glass (from £6).

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.

Of all the multifarious eating and drinking opportunities in the heart of Soho, this ‘warmly welcoming’ little restaurant is one of the more compelling. Rita’s goes about its business with gusto, its popularity not surprising given the casual vibe, the warmth of the service and straight-to-the point modern American-style cooking. It’s not going to win any prizes for inventiveness – dishes tend to be simple assemblies built around seasonal British produce – but barbecued beef tartare with garlic, raw vegetables and lots of herbs, and a special of corn-crusted turbot served on a heap of courgettes and set in a puddle of herb butter – were good calls on a warm spring evening. Salt-fish taquitos have been praised, fried chicken parmigiana puts in an appearance, and flavours are ramped up with prime cuts and sharing steaks (order with ‘wrong way’ French fries). Desserts feature the likes of sunflower ice cream with caramel sundae, and the express lunch of, say, fried chicken roll, Caesar salad or eggplant panino is good value. Cocktails star alongside a European wine list stuffed with on-trend low intervention producers.

Tomás Gormley (one half of the duo behind Heron in Leith) is now at the helm of Skua – a bijou basement eatery down steep stone steps on St Stephen Street in Stockbridge. Flickering candlelit interiors, black walls, marble tables, banquette seating and a hip, ambient soundtrack give the place a late-night drinking den vibe, while the pared-back menu is a carefully curated selection of small plates inspired by the seasons.

'Shallot' with fermented spruce, fig, cobnut and béarnaise has an exciting, plate-scraping sharpness, the caramelised onion balanced with the mustard-laced sauce and sweet chunks of fresh fruit. Pretty-as-a-picture Belhaven lobster, meanwhile, arrives as a butter-smeared mound of smoked crustacean meat teetering atop a dark squid-ink crumpet. It's mouth-coatingly rich – if a little claggy. However, the showstopper is a dish that looks almost boringly plain but turns out to be simplicity elevated to another level. Billed simply as ‘halibut', it's an exquisite creation involving chicken butter, sea radish and tender leeks, plus 'bonfire smoky' potatoes and sensationally seasoned greens.

There's just one dessert, but one is all you need when it’s a Willy Wonka-esque chocolate creation with a retro 'Caramac' twang. Cracking the crisp casing on its bed of crushed biscuits releases a white chocolate mousse with spiced apple at its centre, a disc of pickled ginger gel adding another spicy kick.

The drinks list is equally innovative with a handful of signature cocktails putting a bespoke spin on the classics. Alternatively, there’s a decent selection of natural and rare wines curated by Heron’s bar manager, Seoridh Fraser – check out the blackboard scrawled with intriguingly described daily specials. Named after a predatory seabird, Skua might have started life as Heron's little sister, but in terms of culinary prowess and wow-factor it's a thrilling prospect in its own right.

*Solo will close its doors for a complete refurb after lunch service on 27 July 2025. Re-opening at the beginning of November 2025.*

Tim Allen moved some 250 miles from his former post at the Flitch of Bacon in Essex to set up Solo, his first independent venture. The erstwhile roadside pub is warmly welcoming and comfortable, tables are well spaced, chairs padded and two blazing fires were 'much appreciated' on a wet autumn evening when we visited. Service is relaxed (as is the atmosphere), but it's clear that this is a serious operation. It's a brilliant local asset, too – the no-choice set lunch is excellent value for the quality on offer.

The chef's cooking has confidence, his ideas speak of maturity, and you get the impression that he spends every spare moment trying out new ideas – his six-course evening taster (including vegetarian and pescatarian versions) changes regularly with the emphasis firmly on local and regional ingredients. You might begin with perfectly al dente agnolotti filled with spinach and dressed with a Parmesan foam, sweetcorn, a lightly poached quail’s egg and a rich brown chicken jus, then proceed to Cornish brill with diced salt-baked celeriac, ceps and smoked eel in a lovage-infused sauce.

Cauliflower, heady with Madras spices and the sweet-sour flavours of lentil dhal with lime buttermilk, has the making of a signature dish, while tender Aynhoe Park venison loin, paired with beetroot and red verjus, was evidence of the use of top-quality produce. A riff on raspberries teamed with caramelised white chocolate and verbena could be one of a pair of desserts.

On Sundays, Allen cleverly weaves a traditional roast in a mini four-course taster that is refined enough to wow but served with 'zero pretentiousness'. There is plenty of decent drinking by the glass on a short, global wine list that includes some skin-contact, organic and biodynamic bottles.

It's hard to spot the location and the muted signage of this small restaurant in a parade of shops on the edge of a fast-moving, heavy-duty arterial dual carriageway. Note that parking is limited, but a nearby Metro stop encourages alternative access. A few modern posters and prints, a large mirror, some pot plants and a lively buzz give Stretford Canteen a homely if rather utilitarian feel. A blackboard lists daily specials but the actual menu gives no indication of the size of the plates – price should be your guide. For one regular, it's a 'shining light in a small suburb that needs and deserves a reliable, high-quality restaurant.'

While sharing is the name of the game, the overall style is traditional French bistro. They’ve rightly kept popular dishes such as deep-fried panisse fingers with tarragon mayo, and a concern for provenance shows in ingredients such as Isle of Wight tomatoes or Curing Rebels saucisson. Otherwise, the main menu roams from charred baby gem with beurre noisette and capers or oyster mushrooms with vermouth, tarragon and potato pavé to pork shoulder with fennel choucroute and mustard or pan-fried trout with chickpeas and rouille. There's also a generous serving of ex-dairy beef sirloin au poivre, cooked medium-rare, with plenty of savoury depth and texture.

Those wanting something quick during the day can also drop by for buckwheat galettes, French toast, croques and bowls of French onion soup. A short wine list shines the spotlight on French regional producers, with occasional forays into Germany and Spain. And, finally, praise is due to the little publicised fact they have fed a local homeless man for years – happily now off the streets. 

Are Oisín Rogers, Charlie Carroll and Ashley Palmer-Watts champions of a new era in pubs? The Devonshire is certainly one of the most enjoyable places to eat in the capital – if you can get in (far too many people want to eat here). Yet it looks set to become an institution – and long may it continue, for this is no ordinary pub. Ingredients are impeccable and the strong meat-focused menu serves the kind of dishes you want to eat, especially in the lively environment of a central London watering hole where drinkers have their own space and staff are noted for their relaxed expertise. Dining rooms are divided between the first and second floors where, under the direction of Ashley Palmer-Watts (formerly executive chef at Dinner by Heston Blumenthal), the kitchen applies a certain simplicity and accuracy of cooking to impeccable ingredients.

Flames are at the heart of the operation, with wood-fired Ibérico pork chops, lamb cutlets, fillet, ribeye and T-bone steaks (plus lobsters) keeping company with the likes of lamb hotpot or beef and Guinness suet pudding on the hand-scrawled menu. Three wonderfully meaty scallops, lightly roasted, served in the shell with nothing more than a buttery, vinegary sauce and strips of crisp bacon, is a terrific opener that hammers home the kitchen’s modus operandi – namely sourcing prime ingredients and treating them with the utmost simplicity. And there’s something deeply comforting about a fixed price, no-choice lunch that can deliver real quality and value in the shape of prawn and langoustine cocktail, skirt steak with excellent chips and béarnaise sauce, and light, luscious sticky toffee pudding – all for £29.

Sunday's roast ribs of beef carved from a silver-domed trolley are terrific value too and have helped restore the tradition in this part of town. To drink, everyone orders Guinness – it’s fast achieving cult status here – and you can drink well without breaking the bank from the mainly European wine list. The pub now has its own 40-cover rooftop terrace for fine-weather dining (note that you can't book this separately). 

In 2022, Sam Pullan and his partner Nicole Deighton took over a long-deceased caff in a tucked-away corner off Briggate, turning it into an original and innovative restaurant. The revived Empire feels young and exciting although it's tiny, with room at street level for a smart little bar, where cocktails are shaken and they serve ‘the perfect Guinness’ against a backdrop of sparkling bottles and glassware, high stools and banquettes. You can eat here or in the windowless basement dining room, which may sound bleak but isn't: lamps on each table and Egon Schiele prints on the dark walls give it a cosy, welcoming vibe.

The constantly changing menu is made up of two halves (small or large plates) – perhaps a choux pastry éclair stuffed with duck liver parfait and finished with a sticky blood-orange glaze or pork pluma, cooked over charcoal and paired with a crunchy Lincolnshire Poacher cheese croquette and a lemon and treacle sauce. And whoever added tomato and crab ragù to a simple fried duck egg is onto something.

Roast chicken is the star of the show, turned on a giant rotisserie (billed as the ‘wall of flame’), with the fat and juices dripping down to ‘schmaltz’ the potatoes beneath. Choose whole or half, then pick your 'rub' and your ‘lather’ – perhaps smoked garlic and honey, or yuzu and ginger, or garlic, lemon and tarragon.

Pastel de nata has become an Empire signature, too. Freshly baked pastry cases filled with sweet custard are typically traditional, but they are lifted by the addition of Reblochon cheese plus a spoonful of roast chestnut purée on the side. Service is full of enthusiasm, and staff are great at talking everyone through the menu. 'A breath of fresh air for Leeds.'

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.

First, take a moment to appreciate the irony of a place in landlocked Derbyshire having a lighthouse. In this case, though, we are hardly being warned away, but drawn in, by the shining beacon of a smart contemporary pub dedicated to seasonally informed Peak District produce in elegantly appointed, beamed and raftered surroundings. Tasting menus are the order of the day, and the kitchen rocks and rolls with imaginative energy, offering moments of discovery in every dish. Lobster bisque with croustade of ox heart is a statement snack, ahead of the obligatory but exemplary sourdough with whipped garlic butter. Japanese umami has become an indispensable flavour dimension to many a modern British dish, appearing here in the blond miso and koshihikari rice that accompany monkfish tail. The relaxing luxe of a morel mushroom stuffed with truffled chicken mousse then acts as smooth stepping stone to loin and shoulder of Peak lamb with smoked Jersey Royals and black garlic. A couple of desserts bring on preserved rhubarb with black-pepper ice cream, and then a pine-scented chocolate yoghurt creation. Wolfing down a miso fudge pastille with coffee will remind you why you urgently need to get another booking nailed in. With superlative cheeses and a drinks flight full of ingenuity – from citrus- and spice-infused sake to rot-laden Hungarian Tokaji – the Lighthouse sheds radiance all around.

'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.

Should I Stay or Should I Go? The old Clash hit poses its punky question during an early course at The Wilderness. Stay, because this Birmingham restaurant is cool, unconventional and a spot worth knowing about – although its all-black paint job, mirrors, scrawled aphorisms and pumping soundtrack will not work for everyone. A tip before you wander, lost and late, on Warstone Road: the (black) Wilderness sign is hung high up, above the one for the neighbouring 24 Carat Bistro. In concept-land, being hard to find seems to be as important as the colour of the paintwork. Found it? Then settle in. The welcome from an exceptional front-of-house team overflows with relaxed warmth – they are knowledgeable, adaptable and welcome feedback. The chefs seem subdued though; the Wilderness theatre, on our visit at least, emanates from the floor not the kitchen. The six- or nine-course menu is called ‘All Pleasure is Fleeting’, a reference to spontaneity and ever-changing dishes. Thankfully, the pleasures of dinner don’t fleet. Beetroot ice cream is memorably sweet-savoury, its flavour nudged into technicolour by a green-chilli pesto that’s lip-smackingly bright and finely balanced; there are tiny cubes of beet underneath, while a smooth ajo blanco punches with garlic. Memorable too is a mushroom ragù, a tangle of savouriness from morels, girolles, chestnuts and cordyceps on top of chawanmushi (announced as ‘posh mushroom custard’). A cluster of puffed potato scraps adds a little texture. Other ideas could benefit from more of that texture, but how lovely to see the invention that has gone into these two vegetarian dishes. Turbot, dry-aged on the bone to accentuate its flavour, has been barbecued – 'fleetingly' – and finished with burnt butter. Smokiness whispers through the pale dish, a little smoked eel adding silvery glimmers. An aerated sauce made with more smoked eel is brightened with dashi, enriched with cultured butter and splashed with roasted bone oil. It’s an involved and thoughtful creation that’s deeply delicious. Among the wine pairings, the savoury-spicy notes of a punchy Georgian Saperavi are a particular triumph with the venison – seared and tenderly pink muntjac loin coated in cocoa and cep powder. There’s a delicious suggestion of autumnal wood fires and blackberries in the accompanying sauce, a piece of eight-hour cooked belly and a faggot made from the trimmings. Equally delicious is the glorious Banyuls served with a dessert of frozen Tahitian vanilla-infused mascarpone covered with an intensely treacly PX sherry reduction. It’s heady stuff. A poppyseed brioche seems more breakfast than dinner but brings welcome textural substance as proceedings draw to a close.