It must be said that Manchester can sometimes be guilty of over indulging in its own history. Black and yellow Haçienda chevrons and ‘We Do Things Differently Here’ on a loop. Tucked subtly into Princess Street, however, The Alan is providing nuance with nostalgia as the most uniquely turned out hotel in the city.
Marrying over 170 years of industrial past with bespoke, present day design work, this China Town adjacent boutique has stripped back the interior to it’s roots, bringing a former cotton warehouse from 1850 into 2022 with resin and marble pairings, alabaster lighting and Scandinavian inspired minimalism.
“I just wanted to do something for Manchester that I thought was missing, really,” explains The Alan’s founder and CEO Amardeep Singh Chima, “I wanted to create something new and different from scratch so it’s then got the potential to roll out from city to city.”
Relaxed into one of The Alan’s meticulously designed barside booths, heavy duty glassware houses our pair of mineral waters, sat atop a hefty slab of marble more akin to something you would expect to be making up part of a baroque sculpture in a Roman square rather than the table in a Mancunian hotel.
Yet Amar and the collection of designers he has chosen to work with on restoring the pride of this Princess Street powerhouse are not in the business of ostentatiously overwhelming guests with unnecessary grandeur. If anything, they scale back the decadence with Northern grit. Literally, in some cases.
“Robin Glazby of Altrock did the main tables, the resin cast front on the restaurant. The inspiration for that was the M60,” Amar reveals as he does a bottom-to-top talkthrough of the building, “If you look closely there’s weeds in there, odd flowers and grit and gravel. If you get your magnifying glass out you’ll find cigarette butts and bottle tops in there too. It’s really cool.”
Laying part of a motorway at the entrance to your Jay Rayner approved hotel restaurant may seem like a curious design decision, but as Amar continues to explain over the course of our hour long discussion, locality and contrast reign supreme at The Alan.
“This whole lobby space was about tapping into all the different textures. So you have the luxury of themarble floor and then the pure back-to-stone uncovered walls and brickwork, these original fittings in the ceiling, very industrial. It works so much better than just going out and getting contract, off-the-shelf, mass made stuff. We want the feeling of uniqueness and craft to shine through.
“I’ve always worked with contrasts, I think contrasts work very well. We wanted to strip everything rightback to the bare bones of what the building was but then put in these touches that were of a luxury nature; Marble floors, table tops. It was just always the intention to do something different that resonates with what the building is.”
The results are undeniable. There is an immediate zen that envelopes you upon taking your first few footsteps into the foyer of The Alan. All great hotels should immediately put you at ease as you arrive. Regardless of whether you’re embarking on a fortnight of luxurious pampering or sleeping off a bullshit ridden work conference. That knowledge that a crack team of professionals are dedicating all their energies, skills and charms to ensuring you are looked after in the finest manner possible is beyond compare.
Stepping inside The Alan, before one of their effortlessly engaging members of staff has even had the chance to greet you, you feel refreshed. Imagine Mediterranean supermarket air conditioning at the height of summer. That level of refreshed.
Natural light cascades onto the aforementioned marble floor and up onto the original brickwork and brass light fixtures. The open plan interior is illuminated by the outside world. And it is from the immediacy of the very world outside The Alan’s windows where Amar and his team have attempted to source their materials from.
“It’s all about sustainability in this day and age. We looked into how we could not impact the environment while doing a fresh build. So the floor is made up of waste offcuts from a merchant, rather than going big and getting a brand new marble floor put in. So we’ve done them a favour by clearing their yard out and secondly, we’re reusing waste materials, so it works out best for everyone.
“The poor designer, though. We had these ideas, with it being such a mish-mash, where every single piece of marble should go. It was so detailed. He spent about a week doing this. He measured it all out, hundreds if not thousands of pieces. Two lorries came and we unloaded them off the pallets and realised none of the pieces were numbered or anything, so we just had to wing it after he spent a week doing all that. We just spent days trying to map out where all these pieces of marble should go. But it was worth it. Eventually.”
Sprawling, brain melting marble jigsaws aside, Amar was keen to reaffirm his commitment to The Alan becoming not only a signature spot in Manchester, but a beacon of Northern pride that can be replicated across the country. And maybe beyond.
“If you notice, everything comes from the south, places like The Hoxton and stuff. Why can’t we have a brand that originates from the north? Why’s everything so London centric? We’ve got amazing restaurants here, places like Hawksmoor, but everything’s always from London, from London, from London. Let’s do it the other way round.”
It doesn’t take long for you to imagine The Alan Paris, Amsterdam, Rome or New York becoming a reality. The nuance attached to local history is on point. Subtle rather than sledgehammering neon slogans into your cranium lest you briefly forget, even for a second, what city you happen to be laying your head in.
Amar namedrops the Hoxton and Ace Hotels several times during our chat – Boutique brands that house their luxury properties across Europe, North America, Australia and Japan between them. While The Alan is barely removed from its embryonic stages, the evolution of the space is already afoot, with plans for an event space rapidly developing.
“We’re currently undergoing some renovation in the basement. It’s part of our second chapter. That’s going to a venue in itself, which should be ready soon. It’s where the restaurant and the bar used to sit, but we’ve shelled it out and we have a space which mirrors the same size as this lobby.
“Down there it’s going to be anything goes. If you’ve got a record label launch party or a photoshoot location or for a fashion show or product launches, anything can happen. It’s an open space and our intention for The Alan is to host our own events there.”
“We’re looking at having art exhibitions and music nights. Even now up here in the lobby, we have local artists come in and display their works on the projector. The team has been slowly curating all of that, but we’re about to take all of this to the next level.
“The basement is going to be called Situ and once that’s open, with it’s own entrance down the side, it’s going to have its own look and vibe. It will have a separate presence with a website and instagram. It will be a venue within the venue.”
As our chat comes to a close, Amar might admit that he would like the music in the lobby to be ‘less downtempo’ but the reality is that him and his team have barely missed a beat since last summer. With Situ on the horizon for The Alan’s second chapter, we’re already desperate to know what chapter three could bring.
“Shite almighty” is the cry as a howl of wind and heft of pints cyclones around the insides of our collective craniums. This startling few seconds is enough to remind us, as we briefly attempt to sustain a solid vertical base, that it is in fact only just gone past four in the afternoon and not in fact half two in the morning. Drizzle descends and I inform my mate from work with whom I’ve been supping the afternoon away with that I need to steady myself and the five pints inside my stomach. Being that we’re in Back Piccadilly and (not so) fresh from a questionably lengthy session in Mother Macs, there’s only one port of call for me to attend to.
God (and every other deity) Bless Cafe Marhaba.
My journey may only be a dozen or so stumbled steps through the humid precipitation of a hazy mid-June aft, but I would happily hike miles through sleet, snow and acid rain for a meal as memorable as the one I’m about to inhale.
Graffiti and posters for club nights I will never, ever attend are splattered with such abandon across the backside of Dale Street that you could be forgiven for wandering past Marhaba without even acknowledging its existence. Tucked between peeling white painted brickwork, overwhelmed wheelie bins and nondescript, shuttered doors and windows, it is simply an aroma that grabs you. Plum by the nostrils you are snatched and led through a well worn door that sticks open with a firm nudge. A cacophony of spices and expertly cooked chicken and lamb radiates from the kitchen, ever so slightly out of sight, tucked away at the end of the counter. The lunchtime rush a good couple of hours since dissipated, the overworked steel pans are downturned on the hob, blackened from countless hours over the flames.
Decoration is at a minimum, here. Five two-top cafe tables, synonymous with greasy spoons up and down the country, occupy the wall along your left as you enter. One wall is adorned with the curry menu against a kitchen standard backdrop of plain white tiles, the other with kebab options. This pair of plastic hoardings, with their whiteboard marker prices scrawled next to dishes as standard as tikka massala and jalfrezi through to lesser spotted alternatives such as lamb pumpkin and keema potato, make up what is, for my or anyone’s money, one of the most important menus in all of Greater Manchester.
Because, let’s face it, any menu with ‘BIG SAMOSA – £1.00’ on it is 100% unfuckwithable.
I stare, mouth agape, partly due to my over imbibed level of consciousness, partly due to the freshly baked scent humming from the tandoor, glowing like the Thundercat symbol and hitting me with the same ferocity as the first listen of ‘good kid, m.A.A.d city’. Yes, yes, alright, the rice and three offerings that have been doing the rounds here since 1992 are the stuff of legend round Manchester, much like Roy Keane’s sessions in Mulligan’s or that Sex Pistols gig that everyone and their dad went to in the ’70s.
But on this particularly pissed wet through Friday in June, 2017, I didn’t rate my chances of polishing off a trio of lamb karahi and bhunas of both chicken and mushroom. The sauce, the spice, the rice. The mere thought of it weighed too heavy on my already gurgling gut, much as I fucking adore each and every dish on Marhaba’s carefully crafted menu with the same level of reverence I hold for my own parents. Father and son duo Nazir and Abdul Ahmen do not fuck about when it comes to pelting out perfectly prepared Punjabi flavours, after all.
What I want is my meal to be slapped against the side of that clay tandoor, which continues to beckon my gaze towards it.
“……One garlic naan please. No, just on it’s own. Tin of…….pop an’ all.”
Abdul wastes no time in rolling and flattening flour, oil, sugar and salt into an oval disc before lowering it into the bowels of the clay oven. I ruminate over the drinks fridge at the far side of the cafe. It’s Rubicon. Sometimes it’s Vimto, but more often than not, it’s Rubicon. In what is relatively short order, but feels like a lifetime to the popped up halfwit awaiting its presence to grace his face, the naan appears, a mesmeric garlic and herb swirl of wonderment. I herd it to the nearest table behind me as if I’m smuggling five kilos of coke through an airport. Almost sending the plastic water jug flying for a six as I crash into my seat, I hurriedly tear into my feast, drooling like a cartoon dog chasing a string of sausages.
“Fuuuuuuuuuucking hell” I gasp. The fucking thing is softer than Art Garfunkel’s voice. The dough pulls apart with the immense satisfaction of scissors gliding through wrapping paper. Steam envelopes my face, garlic butter permeates every one of my pores and my face contorts into a manic ‘Jack Nicholson’s lost the fucking plot here, lads’ sort of grin with every mouthful that cushions my tastebuds.
I reckon the entire thing has disappeared down my gullet in two minutes tops. The rain now teeming down outside, boinging off the tarmac, sputtering across the entrance way through the door I left open upon my entrance. I steady myself with a couple of final gulps of Rubicon. The glucose laden licks shaking some energy into my faltering, lager laden body. I wipe my chops with my bare hands, rubbing over my face like later career Al Pacino when he’s just received some bad news. I throw a couple of cups of water from the jug down me for good measure and allow myself the sort of lean normally reserved for the beginning of a post-Christmas dinner nap.
My WhatsApp pings. “You still out or you gone home?”
I am now soaked up, revived and emerging from Marhaba’s with the energy of a thousand Scatman Johns. I finally arrive home at half three in the morning. The next morning I watch old clips of Keith Floyd on Saturday Kitchen while my head feels like Joe Pesci is interrogating me for information in a vacant warehouse in Las Vegas. But no level of hangover can dampen the spirit of a man who less than 24 hours earlier had been banqueting in the back streets of the Northern Quarter at a cost of roughly two quid. I feel weary, helpless, anxiety ridden and ashamed as I do on all my hangovers, but I also feel like a fucking champion for my triumphant visit to see Nazir and Abdul.
Five years later, I still think about this afternoon on an almost weekly basis. Sometimes daily. I still frequent Marhaba at every available opportunity, even if that has, unfortunately, become less of an occurrence over the last couple of years. Last week, however, I once again plonked myself at the table by the door not long after the lunchtime rush and took down a chicken tikka kebab, nestled within one of those most luxurious of tandoori naans. The couple on the next table took down platefuls of keema and rice, while a bloke in the corner passionately compliments the chana he’s just polished off. The rain, once again, begins to descend. But I’ve got my chicken tikka naan and nowhere else to be. Fucking result.
It can sometimes feel flippant to label places as ‘institutions’ or ‘iconic’. Both terms are barely enough to sum up just how important Cafe Marhaba has been to Manchester over its 30 years of business. Hopefully there’s at least another 30 years of rainy day naans to come.
It’s grey. Of course it is. The charcoal underbelly of the early afternoon clouds sags southwards, ever closer to street level. A seemingly ever present imminent threat. The hi-vis brigade jostle for position with office workers, faces flush with post-WFH gloom, at the pedestrian crossing, anticipating the change from red to green as if awaiting the starting pistol of the Olympic 100m final. The Yotel doors open, finally allowing for the emergence of bleary eyed stop outs, foreheads bathed in a tequila flop sweat, tongues protruding en masse akin to a collection of exhausted labradors, beckoning hydration towards them.
You avert your gaze contentedly towards the counter in front of you. Your plate piled with sumptuous Spanish rice and freshly roasted carvery meat. The chaos around you only serving to intensify the zen within you. It’s another Wednesday lunchtime at Katsouris deli and there isn’t another place in town you would rather be.
All grand, old European cities must, as a point of absolute necessity, be in possession of a flamboyant, architecturally ambitious delicatessen. Multiple, in fact. Manchester, for whatever reason, seems woefully thin on the ground when it comes to grandiose establishments from which to procure a smorgasbord of charcuterie while you ogle legs of ham hanging from the ceiling and wheels of pungently aroma’d cheese big enough to fit a fucking Range Rover. So it is with the sincerest gratitude that thanks is offered up to Katsouris and its 16 years of service to the city centre.
Located on the corner of Deansgate and John Dalton Street, Katsouris is housed within well worn 19th century gothic stonework. From its exterior, all gold typeface encased within lofty windows, beckoning starving pedestrians inwards for a half ciabatta that could quite easily double as a pillow for a post-work commute power nap, Katsouris could be resituated to Athens, Barcelona, Bologna or Paris and remain identical without alerting any suspicions from locals. Inside however, it’s a different case entirely.
While some seriously questionable (albeit charming and atmosphere enhancing) opera warbles over the speaker system, the realisation once you step foot through the rather ornate entrance is that this is in fact a Manchester market caff that once went on a holiday to the Med in the ’70s and never wanted to return. The deli counter doesn’t sprawl like it does in the centuries old institutions of Italy, Greece and Spain, but the menu is a seismic work of art large enough to command its own fucking postcode. An interior consisting of grey and blue striped couch style seating may not be wowing any aesthetic junkies, but it radiates familiarity. It’s a Greek cafenion by way of Bury (where the original Katsouris still proudly stands in the town’s famous market), delivering Southern European ambience with a North Mancunian attitude.
Idea for new instagram account: Dramatic Deli Entrances. Image: ljfleckgram/instagram
The girls behind the counter debate what time they will each take their breaks across a rapidly increasing number of customers, while an unseen voice from the kitchen queries how far off the carvery station is from being at capacity, with orders beginning to diminish the supply of turkey, gammon, peri peri chicken, paella rice and continental sausages. Flour flies off the freshly cut crusts of ciabatta, the pillowy innards moisturised with butter before a deluge of roast pork liquifies it into every pocket within the porous Italian loaf. Some are sent into the eager hands of those who need to leg it back to the office for an emergency feast before spreadsheets begin to dominate their eyelines once again. Others are slapped in front of diners who have nowhere else they need to be. Delighted that they’ve managed to snag a seat before the carnage ensues. Crockery and cutlery clatter together amid the rapid-fire chatter and chews of yet another throng of lunchers, the majority of whom have been patronising this beloved spot for the best part of its decade-and-a-half existence on Deansgate.
It is the carvery counter that began my own long, sordid love affair with Katsouris, back in the Advent of 2006. An early December stop on the way back to Castle Irwell student village, where I would no doubt be wiling away an afternoon avoiding another boring-as-shite lecture on radio editing to instead focus on a twelfth viewing of The Big Lebowski and a further run through of Lupe Fiasco’s Food & Liquor (still bangs). A turkey, stuffing and cranberry half ciabatta was ordered up, a reprieve from the baltic winds howling through the centre of town. Watching this masterpiece being constructed, I knew there was no chance it was being risked in the squeeze of the 93 bus journey back to Lower Broughton. It demanded to be savoured.
As far as introductions go, it was up there with Cameron Diaz showing up in that red dress in The Mask. Jim Carrey jaw dropping reacts and all. The turkey so succulent, the cranberry and stuffing intertwined in a sweet and savoury embrace, like long lost friends who have just bumped into each other outside the pub toilets after seven pints. A customary can of Fanta lemon knocked back after the final morsel has been devoured. It was an instantaneous knowledge that this was to be a regular haunt that made the experience so satisfying. Sixteen years later and each return is as welcoming as the last.
The window seats to the right of the main entrance are a must if available. Providing some of the best people watching opportunities in the city, whether it be a mid-morning viewpoint accompanied by a Big Kat breakfast or a lazy late afternoon sojourn with a mezze platter and a coffee. Somehow, I don’t believe I’ve ever parked myself at those seats when it’s been anything other than thundercloud grey outside. It almost wouldn’t make sense to be perched there when it’s cracking the flags. Katsouris just lends itself to the security of being secluded away from the outside world. You can observe the hysteria from within its four walls, arming yourself with a full stomach before venturing back outside into whatever gale force pandemonium awaits.
A couple of cannoli/baklava and this picture is unbeatable
But before you leave, you should always make sure to take an edible souvenir or three with you. The aforementioned deli counter, while rather diminutive, still boasts considerable quality. Mortadella, salami, stuffed vine leaves, sun dried tomatoes and the like can be sourced from here, of course, as can a multitude of freshly prepared salads from the bar to the left. But what you want here are the sweet goods. Those cannolis demand your attention, as does the flaky, sticky baklava. Leave without it and you’ve gone seriously wrong. Each bite another reminder of how you simply must keep coming back here.
Opposite the deli are shelves piled high with dried pastas, Italian cakes and sauces. Once the post-lunch lull arrives, these are well worth a peruse as your stomach tries to handle digesting a Lamb Siciliana or Zorba The Greek without knocking you into a two-hour long coma. Studiously monitoring these shelves was often a student era routine of mine around 3.30 in the afternoon between 2006 and 2009, when I became aware of the knowledge that the few remaining cold sandwiches in the fridge would soon be available on a 2 for 1 deal.
Not wanting to be too obvious with my desire for half price sarnies, I would pretend to be keenly interested in ostentatiously packaged bags of multicoloured farfalle, paccheri and Strozzapreti. Slowly I then meandered to my right, throwing a cursory glance over the ‘Greek Lamb Special’, ‘Chicken and Bacon Club’ and ‘Oriental Chicken’ to see what took my fancy. Then my line of vision landed ever so subtly (like a fucking sledgehammer) on whichever member of staff looked most agreeable to helping out a depleted looking university student. With all the speed of a snail who’s shell has been filled with cement, I would hold a sandwich up to my knackered, clumsily shaven face until I heard the immortal words “Those sandwiches are 2 for 1 now, y’know…”. And just like that, my next two meals were acquired. Whether this offer is still in effect is knowledge I unfortunately do not possess, but maybe give it a go anyway and see what happens.
With Deansgate becoming a soul crushing ghost town as you approach from the Cathedral side of the city, you’d be forgiven for veering away to an area less bereft. The former Lunya and Barburrito sites still sit empty, crying out for new owners to come in and revitalise a tragically flagging strip. A few footsteps further forward, though, and Katsouris serves as a gateway to more affluent times ahead. The wonderful new Mews only a couple of minutes down the road, along with Hawksmoor of course, a permanently bustling Federal and forever welcoming Dimitri’s taverna. Once you reach Katsouris, while the grey clouds physically may remain overhead, they cannot maintain a dampened spirit. Step inside, grab a window seat and feel very smug, satisfied and optimistic about what lies ahead.
Through no fault of their own, the terms ‘sustainable’ and ‘locally sourced’ are en route to becoming buzzwords, aimed at enticing diners towards restaurants who slap them across their menus as a box ticking exercise rather than a credible desire to promote regional independents and a healthier environment. At The Alan, Manchester’s newest and most heavily instagrammed hotel, however, these words are not mere opportunistic phrases, but an absolute way of life in their kitchen.
Of course, there is nothing wrong with venues promoting the use of sustainable produce from the local area. It is an admirable dedication to providing a better future for everybody involved. But when multinational chains are boasting about the sources of their woefully inadequate supplies, more as cash grabbing marketing ploy than actual consideration for British farmers, everything can begin to feel a bit pulled pork and salted caramel. Yes, we get it, you’re doing that really popular thing that everyone else is doing. Good for you (ever so slight ‘Christian Bale having a meltdown on the set of Terminator’ voice).
Then you arrive at The Alan and realise just how important, fulfilling and wonderful this local sustainability can be.
Unassumingly located on Princess Street, just round the corner from the roast meats and rice of China Town, The Alan opened to a plethora of grid posts in February, all tastefully curated shots of exposed brickwork and brass industrial lighting. The tranquility exuding from their social media posts welcomes you as you step through the entrance foyer and into the dining area, where I take my seat at the open plan kitchen to discover more about the menu from the man behind it – Head chef Iain Thomas.
Some of the most sustainable service in town. Image: The Alan/instagram
Systematically deseeding a pomegranate ahead of an oncoming table of 12 as I meet him, Thomas is fresh off a visit from a mightily impressed Jay Rayner and only too happy to regale me with the whereabouts of each location from which his ingredients are procured, from the magic of Nantwich’s Cinderwood Market Garden to his very own allotment in Hattersley. With a brief, donkey acquiring, Narco shifting detour to Colombia in-between. But more on that later.
“I try to keep everything as local as I can,” explains Thomas, a veteran of the trade since he was 16, taking in the kitchens of The Midland Hotel, The Refuge and Edinburgh’s Michelin starred 21212 among other notable establishments along the way. “Aztec Farms deliver fresh trays of herbs for me, then things like the parsley and the broccoli are from my allotment in Hattersley. On the menu there’s ‘Nana Betty’s rhubarb and custard. The rhubarb’s from my allotment too. We use Cinderwood as well. What they’re doing is amazing. Then we’ve got mushrooms from Polyspore, who grow them in Altrincham then deliver them by bike, so there’s no carbon emissions or anything.
“Our bread’s from Companio. Their Salford five seed sourdough is the best sourdough ever. So yeah, I try and keep everything within Manchester, Cheshire and Lancashire wherever I can. Obviously not everything can be sourced from these places so for some ingredients I go a bit further afield. I get Yorkshire feta, although it’s not called feta, it’s called fettle, but that’s all about getting the food miles down. I can get a great product from Yorkshire instead of having it shipped over from Greece.”
As Thomas rattles off his list of North West suppliers, the realisation of just how rich the region is in top quality produce is staggering. Yes, OK, it’s hardly a secret that the North, with its seemingly boundless rolling countryside, knocks out an impressive amount of fruit, veg and meat, but the depth of choice is akin to Pep Guardiola trying to select his starting XI every match day. Quantity and quality, wherever you look.
Could quite happily work our way through all of this. Image: The Alan/instagram
But all this luxury of choice being at a chef’s disposal is useless unless they know what to do with it. Fortunately for The Alan, they have a head chef who can pair back-to-basics simplicity with flavourful artistry.
“I like every dish to have a little story behind it, like my Nanna Betty’s rhubarb and custard, it’s got hobnobs on it, which is my Nanna’s favourite biscuit and little meringue sticks that look like those candy cigarettes you used to have as a kid, and I remember getting in trouble for pretending to smoke with them when I was little. So that’s why that’s on the menu. Then the cauliflower tikka has three nods in there. One, to the Curry Mile, which is only 10 minutes away in Rusholme, then to chicken tikka, which was, or still is, the most popular dish in the UK and then to Dundee, where I lived for a while, which was once the spice capital of the world, so it ties all three things together.
“The ox cheek terrine is amazing, with the dill pickle gel, which we make by taking the juice from the jars and thickening it. But then, it might be that we come up with something on the day. A supplier could say to me ‘oh I’ve got this and this if you want it’ and I’ll use it for a new dish that day. I get bored easily so I’m always wanting to freshen things up.“
This restless energy results in a selection of small plates brimming with character, reflecting the effortless elegance of their surroundings. Yes, there’s a sleekness to them, but one rooted in Mancunian industry and chutzpah. The glow of the heat lamps at the rear of the kitchen, maintaining the temperature of various herbs from Aztec Farms and Thomas’ Tameside allotment, give off a glow reminiscent of scientific experimentation, providing a suitable backdrop to the curiosity that seems to propel many of the chef’s ideas.
YES. Image: The Alan/instagram
But how difficult is it to maintain such a high level of service and creativity while also controlling the aforementioned sustainability and locality?
“It’s hard work. Obviously not absolutely everything can be sustainable because of the way the world is, but I think we’re trying as much as we can and I’m learning more and more every week to see where we can go with it. With the allotment that helps a lot because I can keep an eye on everything there and can keep adding to it. For instance there’s bee hives there so we get honey from those. I mean, I don’t have anything to do with the bees ‘cos I won’t go near the bee hives but someone else does it for me. But it makes you realise how important seasonality is and how much commercial growers have ruined it. So with the project I’ve got in Hattersley, I can try and keep on top of that and learn more about the growing aspect too.”
And when something cannot be found nearby and a far flung adventure is required to land the perfect element, say when you desperately need the absolute best chocolate for your dessert menu, for instance, then why not offset that scouring of the globe and all those air miles and jet fuel by buying a herd of donkeys for the village in Colombia where it’s being grown?
“The chocolate is an amazing story. I use Luker, who are helping to try and drive the cocaine trade out of Colombia, leaving all this extra land. So they teach the farmers with all this land that they don’t know how to use how to grow chocolate and then they buy the cocoa off them. All the money is at source as well because the beans are all bought in Colombia, they’re not shipped in from anywhere else.
In full flow. Image: The Alan/instagram
“I have a friend who works for Choc Affair in York, who supply me with the chocolate from Luker. One of the initiatives they’ve undertaken is buying bikes for all the kids in this village in Colombia where they grow their chocolate, so they can get to and from school. Only they realised the land was too hilly and boggy, so they took the bikes back off them and bought the kids donkeys instead. So although we can’t get zero food miles from chocolate, we can at least use a decent, honest company to buy from.”
So whether it’s directly being involved with the growing of the items that stock the prep benches every day or indirectly involved with chocolate infused cartel displacement and donkey rides in South America, The Alan is already proving to be much, much more than just a pretty face on instagram. It’s a hotel that can boast a kitchen full of soul and character, one which puts community first, whether that community is a few minutes down the road or in the forests of Colombia.
Through Iain Thomas’ experience and creative zest, The Alan can back up its abundance of style with a decadent wallop of substance. And, safe in the knowledge that the dining menus can also be enjoyed from within the comfort of one of the hotel’s 137 immersive rooms, there’s nothing stopping you indulging in their Arctic Roll from within the majesty of an Emperor sized bed, atop 200 thread count Egyptian cotton. If you need any more convincing after that sentence, then there’s no help for you. You need that experience in your life, just like you need to experience the rest of Thomas’ menu in all its locally sourced, sustainable glory.
Can be hard work lunch, can’t it? So often gets overlooked between breakfast being ‘the most important meal of the day’, tea/dinner being the meal you spend all day looking forward to and then you’ve got the advent of brunch, bottomless or otherwise, usurping lunch from everyone’s dining priorities. If you’re in town it’s a quick three quid dropped in Tesco Express or Morrison’s. At home it’s a butty or last night’s leftovers with Steph’s Packed Lunch (which is a pretty sound combination, to be fair). Namii are now looking to change all of that.
Throwing open their doors in November of last year, the Vietnamese kitchen and cocktail bar has been holding down a very steady operation on New York Street, which is no easy feat given the significant drop off in footfall during daytimes in the city centre. Not to mention the standard of competition emanating from nearby China Town. Then again, when you’re presented with the level of offerings which grace the menu at Namii, you shouldn’t be surprised as to why they are proving so popular.
It’s easy to almost be overwhelmed by the menu at Namii when you first glance upon it. It’s big. Six sections big. But unlike so many other establishments where the menu more closely resembles War and Peace, Namii actually does justice to their myriad of options.
With so much to choose from, it can be a delicate balance when attempting to nail the correct combination of choices. Fortunately, this is meticulously catered for with Namii’s selection of taster menus.
Depending on how voracious your appetite is, you can opt for either the Lunch Taster Menu (available Friday-Sunday between 12-4 for £22 per person), where your meal will arrive in a couple of waves, firstly featuring Chà Giò (aubergine, butternut squash and Vietnamese crispy rice rolls) and Nem Nuong (beef and pork patties infused with Asian spices, mint and Thai red chilli) then a second selection of Vietnamese chicken cà ri, lemongrass coconut chicken and one of the house signature phos. Or, maybe you want the power to remain in your own hands. In which case you can move in the direction of the lunch menu, at the same price point, where you can piece together an early afternoon mini-banquet of three of the ‘kitchen signatures’. Our recommends would veer towards the double fried garlic pork, the aforementioned Chà Giò and the chef’s dim sum selection.
But perhaps you find yourself desiring something on a grander scale from a lunch. Maybe you’re wheeling out the big guns to impress your mates, family or colleagues. Organising a feast for a group can be a bit daunting. The pressure’s on to produce and regularly set menus and selections of small plates can fail to deliver the required wow factor. In their quantity they forget about quality. But by laying on their variety of taster menus, Namii have masterfully circumvented this traditional letdown and instead provided one of the most exciting and dynamic set menus in town.
The standard taster menu, at £39 a head is four waves and seven dishes, including the sumptuous Szechuan black pepper beef and a ‘Zen Garden’ dessert, complete with chocolate pandan, which is obviously brilliant.
Another step up from there, however, you’ll find the Phoenix Menu, which really is where business picks up. While it’s pricier, at £55 per person, it’s also coming at you with a whole flame grilled squid, coated in a delectable garlic fennel marinade and served with a spicy tamarind BBQ sauce. The king prawns and soft shell crab in the second wave of this menu are also not to be slept on, either. This is Henry VIII levels of banqueting, here. If Henry VIII was into Vietnamese food and not being a weird man child who lopped his wives’ heads off for a laugh.
For that proper, monumental sense of grandeur, the Grand Table, located in the centre of the restaurant, is ideal for large groups, seating 14 and providing the decadence a Vietnamese feast for over a dozen ravenous diners so richly deserves. And once your revelry is complete round the table, it can continue accompanied by a DJ late into the night on Saturdays or, alternatively, it can be scored by acoustic sessions between 1-4pm earlier in the day if you’re just getting started or are perhaps recovering from quite a large Friday night.
So whether it’s wanting to level up the usual lunch fare with something a little more exotic or a big, bombastic triumph of a meal that you’re looking for, New York Street’s latest addition to Manchester’s long standing Vietnamese scene is a surefire winner.
“Yes Lah is the combined dream of what Yen and I love doing – feeding people. And if we get to do so by sharing our culture and heritage then that’s even better.
– Zosima ‘Mama Z’ Fulwell
Living as we currently do in an age where all this *gestures vaguely towards the news and the outside world* feels utterly rotten a lot of the time, when word reaches you that not one but two of the hardest working, most vibrant and exciting chefs in town are not only collaborating on a new project together, but that it will also be a permanent residence of their very own, a wave of elation overcomes you so ferocious you’ll feel as though you could karate kick through a solid brick wall. Much like the energy that is channeled from hearing the opening riff of ‘Man I Feel Like A Woman’ by Shania Twain.
So when Zosima ‘Mama Z’ Fulwell and Woks Cluckin’s Yen Tham announced last Saturday that they were moving into their own spot in Didsbury, the entire Manchester hospitality community responded with a wholehearted deluge of support, spreading the news far and wide. All weekend, instagram stories and Twitter timelines mirrored each other with countless people sharing the announcement, both thrilled for Zos and Yen and chomping at the bit to discover more about what they have planned for their new unit in Didsbury.
The day is here. The official launch of our Kickstarter goes LIVE at 6PM 🎉it's been a long time coming for us to & we can't believe you will be able to pledge by helping us make our dream come true! Set a reminder for 6PM & we will be at @trackbrewco today if you're about! ❤️ pic.twitter.com/PJnmeyecTs
It is a dream that has been a long time coming, as Zos told EATMCR earlier this week.
“Yes Lah was in the pipeline for a while, ever since Yen and I met. We met at Hatch during our summer residency there in 2018 and have since then worked together doing supper clubs, helping each other out at each of our events and ultimately just became like family.
“For years we always spoke about what we wanted to do and before we knew it was Yes Lah, we always knew we wanted a space to combine our favourite things. Yen has a real passion for baking and this works well with our menu and concept as I love all the savoury things.
“Working around the city we felt there was a gap in the market in what we wanted to offer, especially by being able to bring together the incredible people and makers we have met along the way. Our collaborative supper clubs always played homage to our heritage and they were amazing. When we were out together working it just became natural that we came as a pair so in a sense it was fitting for us to go into business together.
“When we would be out trading at different street food gigs, we would always brainstorm and laugh loads about all the mad ideas we would want to do. Finally, 5 years on, we have taken the plunge and it’s so exciting!“
So now the news is out there, what should we be expecting from Yes Lah when it opens later this year?
“Yes Lah is a space we want to be for everyone. Expect not only great Filipino and Malaysian inspired food on the menu, but also different ESEA (East and South East Asian) flavours we want to shout about.
“Flavours such as Pandan and Ube in our coffee and Yen’s tasty baked treats, to sambal, noodles and great flavourful fresh lunches you can grab to take away or sit in. We don’t want to give too much away but it will be an amalgamation of all of our favourite things and what we love to eat and drink, so hopefully those who visit us will also love it as much as we do.”
Not content with Yes Lah operating as solely a café however, Zos and Yen will also provide a retail offering with an onsite shop where diners and customers can source the produce with which to replicate their favourite Filipino and Malaysian dishes at home.
“We really want to work with great local suppliers, growers and makers, having a small retail offering on site for people to be able to grab ingredients to make dishes at home or even a last minute gift for a loved one. We have some fabulous makers in mind to stock at our shop and that ranges from amazing independent food products that we love and have tried along the way, to the fresh and dry ingredients you might have to go to larger Asian supermarkets or China Town to get.
“We want Yes Lah to be a place for people to be able to pick up those ingredients so they can create Asian dishes at home. If we don’t have those ingredients in, we want it to be a space where you can ask and we can try and help.
“We know it can be challenging recreating dishes, or a bit intimidating asking in big shops, to feeling overwhelmed with different ingredients, so we want to bridge that gap for people and hopefully be able to help you with what you are looking for.
And, as if running a café and shop isn’t enough, there will also be cooking classes, supper clubs and workshops on the schedule for Yes Lah.
“As I love to do cooking classes I am excited to use Yes Lah as a base to do them whilst also allowing other great makers to use the space for workshops or supper clubs. We are so excited to be able to give that platform to others. Workshops and supper clubs are a great way to learn, to explore different cuisines and connect the things happening in the city. I love how events like this bring the community together and we really feel that Yes Lah will be a fantastic space to do this.
“Expect our hospitality at Yes Lah as we want everyone to feel at home. Oh, and also expect to hear Yen’s amazing loud and infectious laugh. It’s really hard to not love it and laugh along with her too.“
As with all new ventures, however, the road to Didsbury was far from straightforward. The original site for Yes Lah was initially located in Stockport, but after six months of being messed around by the building owners, the deal fell through and a new spot needed to be secured. Fortunately, south Manchester delivered and within the next few months, should be home to some of the most sublime South East Asian cooking in the country.
Both Zos and Yen have kept full details of the Kickstarter pledges under wraps for the time being, building anticipation, much like when there’s a new (non Affleck) Batman film on the horizon or an upcoming Pusha T album is about to drop, with a couple of sneak peeks as to what will be available for those who wish to invest.
“I would be lying if I didn’t say it is by far one of the most nerve wracking things we both have ever done” Zos reveals, “but for being such a small business funding most of it ourselves, it’s literally everything we have going into this and a kickstarter to help us along the way would just be amazing. I have seen the fantastic opportunities that these platforms can give to businesses, and if they create more jobs and do great things for a location then I am all for it.
“I have pledged to some cracking kickstarters, large or small, and being able to help someone’s dream come true is just the best. Saying that, we have been really thoughtful about our kickstarter and really want to give fantastic pledges for people to come and enjoy Yes Lah in different aspects of the space. We want people to have lots of great things to look forward to or to enjoy, just as we have loved when we have pledged ourselves to other kickstarters. Expect workshops, supper clubs, food items and other great things to pledge for.”
But with their dreams so close to becoming a reality, what has been the most difficult part of the journey for Zos and Yen en route to reaching their destination?
“Probably having the balls to do it and taking the plunge. We are only small and literally starting from the ground up, again, so it’s a scary thought when you have never had a site before. Obviously money is also another factor but I suppose being messed around for six months at the last minute with our original site wasn’t ideal.
“We had been looking for a space and found a site since the start of September last year. Due to covid and building work among other things out of our control, we then found after six months of basically waiting that our site got given to someone else. It really was a kick in the teeth at the time because we could of been doing other things but it was just something we unfortunately couldn’t plan for.
“I think the worst was literally the unknown of not taking on events in the anticipation of being in the original space, or planning ahead with work because we literally didn’t know when we would get the call about the building. To be honest, I don’t think the landlord understood the concept of Yes Lah but in hindsight, we both feel that our site in Didsbury is a much better fit and as corny as it sounds, everything happens for a reason lah!
“The rising costs of everything after Covid is very stressful and doesn’t help when it comes to doing something so big for us like this, but, we have worked so hard and wanted this for so long that it just felt like the right step. It’s the biggest risk that we have ever taken, but it’s the best risk too!“
So, with only a few hours to go until the Kickstarter drops at 6pm and those pledges start rolling in, what is Zos most excited about on this next stage of the Yes Lah adventure?
“I am most excited about curating the space, the menu, shop playlist and just getting stuck in. Yen just absolutely loves baking so she is probably itching to feed everyone her amazing bakes. I really can’t wait to just welcome old and new customers in our new space and have everyone enjoy it. We really can’t wait to settle into our new neighbourhood in Didsbury and already feel so welcome next to our lovely neighbours in the area. We are so overwhelmed with the support already so far, it’s genuinely just made us so happy we want to pinch ourselves with excitement.
“It’s still so surreal but honestly I am just so glad I can finally shout about it now because it was the biggest secret for so long I’ve ever had to keep!“
And now the secret is out, are we excited for a dynamic duo of South East Asian chefs to be opening their ultimate passion project after years of serving up some of Manchester’s most sensational street food? FUCKING YES LAH
Barely 10 seconds have lapsed since the words ‘Heatwave set to hit UK shores this week’ have hit your timeline and the manic dash for supplies has begun in all of its blind, chaotic panic. Any of those disposables left over from last summer? How many bags of charcoal are in the garage? What sauces are in the cupboard? WHY DON’T WE HAVE A PADDLING POOL FULL OF LAGER ON HAND AT ALL TIMES?
British BBQ season is officially upon us.
Given that we in Manchester are blessed with roughly about 14 hours of blistering temperatures spread across six months between April and September, planning for a barbecue often succumbs to legging it into ALDI and loading two baskets (you’ve forgot your quid for the trolley AGAIN) full of basic quarter pounders and chipolatas because all the busy bastards have been down at half eight in the morning to nab those chorizo burgers, Monterey Jack melts, cajun chicken fatties and the ‘Specially Selected’ caramelised onion bangers.
You might snatch the last pack of unloved sweet chilli chicken drumsticks if you’re lucky. Who knows, some poor sod might have dropped their four pack of minted lamb koftas. You bundle this together with some squashed-to-shite floured baps, trampled and forgotten by the morning mob, a pot of fruity couscous, some over-mayo’d coleslaw and potato salad and some off brand Reggae Reggae sauce. You amble, wounded and weary up the alternate universe that is the middle aisle, wondering if you do in fact need a leaf blower, some off brand Crocs and a half price samosa maker. Seventeen quid down from £35 is a fucking good deal, to be fair.
Now, there is absolutely nothing wrong with this emergency haul. In fact, it’s nigh on impossible to be dismissive of any al fresco charcoal efforts given that they are always such joyous occasions. The simple act of striking the match with which you intend to transform the briquettes from humble lumps of coal into white hot meat heaters, billowing the intoxicating aroma of charred pork, beef and chicken out of your garden and across the next two streets is a sacred moment of every summer in Manchester and therefore must be cherished.
Yet, there is also the realisation that, with the proper preparation and research, things could be significantly improved. And said improvement could be achieved without having to endure the misery and frustration of a packed ALDI, ASDA or Tesco. Better yet, it could be achieved by helping a plethora of Manchester’s finest indie meat, bread, booze and SAWCE slingers.
So where to start?
MEAT
Littlewoods Butchers, Heaton Chapel
A quick glance at Littlewoods’ instagram feed and you know you’re in safe hands. This isn’t just a butchers (steady on, M&S voiceover) but a crack team of creative geniuses, specialising in everything from your staple burgers, chops and wings to dry aged Aberdeen Angus and Limousin beef tri-tip steak kebabs. This Stockport stronghold serves up sustainable, whole animal butchery and has been doing since 1964. One minute perusing their counters is enough to convince you that any of the selections in front of you will be mind-bendingly good. The dry aged smash patties (from grass fed native Dexter cows) are unfuckwithable and you cannot leave without at least a dozen of the lamb Merguez sausages, which you need to make an essential part of any BBQ you have for the foreseeable future.
Image: Littlewoods Butchers/instagram
The Littlewoods team produce more cuts than 12 rounds with Tyson Fury and each one of them are not only passionately knowledgeable about their craft but also exceedingly affable and helpful with recipe suggestions, many of which are shared across their social media feeds. Oh, and they’re also knocking out their own in-house charcuterie now, so you’re going to want to make sure a generous helping of that leaves the shop with you on your next visit.
Want to give off some suave, rustic Mediterranean energy when you’re grilling? Have a burning desire to capture the majesty of a sun kissed evening in Lisbon or Porto? Few sardines crisping up their skin above the flames while one of the posh plates you usually reserve for when your mum and dad come round is adorned with crushed ice and half-a-dozen oysters, fresh from Loch Fyne. A bit lavish maybe but also, at the same time, a bit fucking wonderful. Thanks to a collaborative effort between the Northern Quarter’s premiere meat peddlers Butcher’s Quarter and Monton’s purveyors of fine wines and indulgences Wandering Palate, you can pick up some sensational surf to go with your turf.
Image: BQ Farm & Fish/instagram
BQ Farm & Fish combines artisan butcher’s offerings with a first class fishmongers. The result is a destination that you ought to make a beeline for the moment you hear even the slightest murmuring about a potential heatwave. BQ’s beef is all sourced from free range, grass fed cattle from farms in Cheshire while their pork and chicken is born and reared outdoors, with an emphasis on low-stress living to ensure their meat is more wholesome and flavoursome. Great House Farm in Helmshore, roughly 20 miles down the road, supply the lamb and eggs, further reiterating the dedication to locality and sustainability. Similarly, F&F’s seafood is sourced from the British coast using day boats, with all products able to be traced back to the fishermen themselves. Just in case you fancy personally thanking the trawlerman who is responsible for the langoustines or rainbow trout that graces your grill this summer. And let’s face it, why wouldn’t you want to do that? Bloke’s gone out into the middle of the actual sea to catch your dinner for you. You should write him a thank you note.
Grandad’s Sausages, Bury
‘Putting a smile on Grandma’s face for 50 years!’ is the tagline of this Bury based banger emporium, who have also set up shop at Hatch, where they sling the finest hotdogs in the city. Once you’ve allowed yourself a giggle at their mucky motto (and also, if it’s legit, a moment’s appreciation for a couple who can still knock sensual boots after five decades together) you should hit them up for a delivery of their seriously high grade tubes of pork, whether it’s traditional olde English, Lincolnshire and Cumberland or their spicy chilli and Black Pudding sausages. Grandad Bernard’s grandkids have kept his legacy alive in spectacular fashion and their efforts will work wonders on your barbie.
WH Frost’s Butchers, Chorlton
When somewhere’s been established since 1890 and is still going strong, chances are it’s for a very good reason. Or, indeed, a plethora of very good reasons. Frost’s are a south Manchester institution, a Manchester Food and Drink award winner and one of the most well respected butchers not just in the city, but across the whole country. Their produce is supplied to all manner of pubs and a few Michelin starred clients but, most importantly, it can be supplied to your back garden/balcony/disposable on the park and enjoyed immensely.
Frost’s source from around Cheshire and the North West and their beef is hung for 28 days, allowing it to mature properly before it reaches your charcoal flecked embers. All the barbecue basics are available here, obviously, but there’s also all those off piste delicacies that set apart the truly special butchers and if you’re in the market for venison chorizo or some fresh game, you’re in luck.
BREAD
Barbakan Deli, Chorlton
It would be easy to walk into Barbakan and instantaneously feel overwhelmed; Polish black bread, German Kaiserbrot, spelt and honey sourdough, Italian Toscana… It’s like a massive, carby pick ‘n’ mix. Over 75 different loaves are on offer at the legendary Chorlton deli, where they knock out a monumental 15,000 a week. And this dedication is evident in every bite you take of one, no matter what variety you opt for.
But it’s not solely continental carbs that are on offer here. Barbakan’s fresh barms and baguettes, all golden and glowing with just the right amount of bite to accentuate their pillowy innards, are the perfect vessels for your burgers and bangers. Opening in 1964 – the same year as George Best finished up his debut season at Old Trafford – Barbakan’s legacy to baked goods is as mercurial as the iconic Belfast boy’s is to football in the city.
Companio & Pollen, Ancoats
Yeah, alright, your typical burger buns and hotdog rolls aren’t exactly synonymous with this Ancoats pair, but what is, is baguettes. The best baguettes this side of the channel. I will throw fists over that declaration. It’s genuinely impossible to choose between Companio and Pollen’s French sticks, such is the beauty of both, so don’t fret over which one to go to when trying to decide who is best equipped to source you with the superior sausage envelope (Note to self: When this writing gig inevitably fails, pitch ‘superior sausage envelope’ to as many condom companies as possible). You cannot miss with either.
Either way, you can’t lose. Top: Pollen, Bottom: Companio
The sourdough from both bakeries would also be the ideal support (in fairness it’d be the main event) for a couple of chicken thighs that you need to encase in carbs or maybe two of the aforementioned lamb merguez sausages from Littlewoods if you prefer your sausages buttied instead of hotdogged. And make Companio’s ciabattas a regular rotation for all future barbecues while you’re at it. And, obviously, stock up on as many croissants as you can physically carry from both places. Not for a barbie. It’s just simple life advice.
Sticky Fingers, Stockport
There used to be a Rolling Stones themed restaurant called Sticky Fingers, owned by their old bass player Bill Wyman, just off Deansgate. I had my first ever chilli dog there when I was about eight and a magician came to the table and made a quid appear from his ear. Was a bit weird and my mum seemed a bit fucked off at the magician interrupting our meal. Chilli dog was good though, from what I remember. Not there any more, Sticky Fingers. Long gone, in fact. There is, however, an insanely good Polish bakery of the same name that has recently opened in Stockport Market Hall and it’s owned by a couple of magicians, Klaudyna and Adrian, who’s artisanal works of art have been drawing mammoth queues to the hall, leading to them selling out rapidly every day.
Their pastries and cakes grab most of the attention but their loaves and rolls cannot be slept on. Not for a second. If it were revealed that some actual sorcery were at play in producing these goods, you would not for a minute doubt it. Not like that bullshit magician who clearly just had that quid already in his ea…. but then again, wouldn’t it have fallen out at some point during the tri…how the fuck did he do that actually? Anyway, while I try and make peace with the secretive workings of a table side con artist who confused me 25 years ago, you should leg it to Stockport Market Hall as soon as possible and give Klaudyna and Adrian all of your custom.
Prestwich
I’ve not forgot to list a particular venue above, but rather cannot narrow down just one location in Prestwich as the North Manchester village is replete with Jewish supermarkets and bakeries from which to secure some of the most phenomenal bread in the city. State Fayre obviously has the longstanding reputation of being the prime spot in the area, and supplies a number of shops with their baked goods, but Kosher City’s shelves are also worth raiding, especially on Thursday and Friday mornings, when it will be chocker with members of the local Orthodox Jewish community, providing a terrific, convivial atmosphere as brown paper bags are rammed full of challah, bagels, Royal Bake rolls and, of course, Pittanoor pittas. You remember them from Evelyn’s Pitta Shop last summer. If they are still on the shelves when you get there, you buy them, no questions asked.
An elderly gent once loudly pronounced “This is the best challah in the city” during one Friday morning visit I undertook to Kosher City, to which I involuntarily (and equally loudly) replied “Oh shit!” buzzing off his enthusiasm. I promptly apologised to the woman behind me with her two infant children, paid for my baked goods and left. So maybe save your passionate reactions to the quality of the bread for when you’ve vacated the premises.
SIDES
Prestwich(again)
After you’re done picking up your numerous bread based selections, head over to the fridges at any respectable Jewish supermarket in Prestwich (Habers World and Shefa Mehadrin on Bury New Road are both excellent and easy to access from town) and prepare to be faced with a myriad of irresistible deli pots, from simple Israeli salads to tabbouleh, baba ghanoush, sweet chilli aubergine and beyond. Word of warning: The dip selection can be off the charts on a good day, so be prepared to make some agonising decisions. Or just have a fridge full of dips. Your call. You can’t lose either way.
Lily’s Deli, Ashton/Chorlton/Ancoats
Small plates becoming so ruthlessly dominant in so many restaurants over the last decade or so is testament to how sides and starters are often the best bit of any menu. And there is a very good chance that, should you stock up on the multitude of Indian snacks available at Lily’s delis in Ashton, Chorlton and Ancoats, it will even upstage the main events that are sprawled across your grill.
We’re long past the era of veggie options being an afterthought when it comes to barbecues and with Lily’s now having three locations to choose from, following the opening of their Ancoats outpost in January, it’s easier than ever to pick up some of the most scintillating vegetarian snacks in Manchester. Think puris, chaats, paneer and the old faithful samosas, pakoras and bhajis, all cooked and flavoured to complete and utter perfection. A tableful of these to choose from would be the perfect accompanying side buffet to a barbie full of tandoori chicken and lamb chops.
Katsouris Deli, Deansgate
Traditionally regarded as more of a beloved cafe than a deli, Katsouris is a city centre icon, yet it’s deli options seem to be permanently overlooked. OK, so there’s not a sprawling counterful of salads and continental cheeses and charcuterie. In fact, the space dedicated to these offerings is surprisingly compact when you consider the big Kat christened itself as a delicatessen. But the healthily stocked Mediterranean salad bar is always reliably excellent and the mezze of stuffed vine leaves, peppers and olives on offer just to the right of the hot sandwich counter, beyond the snaking queue awaiting their turn at the sizzling pan, where fresh ciabattas are halved, buttered and piled high with turkey, pork, gammon or peri-peri chicken, is also not to be sniffed at. Many a shrewd operator will be able to leave Deansgate’s cherished corner cafe with a small mountain of crowd pleasing sides and have enough money left over to nip back in to order that lamb Siciliana they’d been debating in the queue (always, always go for the Lamb Siciliana, even if you’re only half thinking about it).
Mercado Deli Market, West Didsbury
Victor Calo was born in Venezuela to Italian parents and made his way to Manchester after 20 years in America and a year long stint in Italy. And it is all of these experiences and cultures that have led to Mercado Deli Market establishing itself as an extraordinarily vital and vibrant part of the Didsbury community. The arepas, paninis and cachitos (stuffed Venezuelan breakfast pastries. Yes you’ll love them) take centre stage here, but the deli section, resplendent with antipasti and assorted deli market produce is worth dedicating some time to investigating further. Just to be on the safe side, bag a few empanadas while you’re mulling your deli decisions and thank us for the recommend later.
As this piece is being written, former Hacienda and Revolution Radio DJ Elliot Eastwick will be dropping the latest in his increasingly long and diverse line of hot sauces, as he unleashes his butter buffalo (not a euphemism. Dunno what it would even mean, to be fair. Just sounded rude as soon as I saw it typed out) on the world. The silky, New York inspired chicken wing coater follows on from such saucy variants as the OG World Famous Hot Sauce, Poppadom Preach (a fusion of all the classic poppadom dip pots in one miraculous bottle), black garlic bbq and, of course, the granddaddy of ’em all, pineapple ghost (Elliot is yet to confirm my suspicions that this is simply heavily fermented Lilt, but his silence speaks volumes)
Image: Elliot Eastwick/instagram
Then throw in a pizza oil that essentially serves as a Swiss Army knife for the condiment world, multifaceted enough to be drizzled on your favourite slice one minute, some scrambled eggs the next and then onto any number of cuts of meat as they make their journey from grill to plate, juices intertwining with the oil to concoct a wildly sumptuous array of flavours. Oh, and how about some Carolina Reaper salt? Sprinkle it on your potato salad or some chips and watch the saliva cascade from your chops (and onto your chops) as it puckers up your lips in the most delightful, flavoursome way imaginable. Prime takeaway tackle in your own kitchen. What could be better?
All of Elliot’s sauces are vegan and, most importantly, a real labour of love. A cursory glance at the main man’s Twitter timeline is enough to inform you of how dedicated he is to his relatively newfound craft and, in all honesty, it’s utterly joyous to see someone so dedicated and passionate about what they create. The entire range is a must for any fridge all year round, BBQ season or not.
MAMA Z
Ketchup, French’s Mustard, mayo, garlic mayo, sweet chilli sauce, perinaise, sriracha. That’s about as far as most British barbecue condiment counters reach. A sturdy mix that more than does the job, but that’s not to say that it cannot be improved upon. And when you knock back your first hit of Mama Z’s banana ketchup, you’ll wonder why it hasn’t been in your life for much, much longer. The versatility of it is such that, not only can you decadently drizzle this Filipino flavour bomb all over your chicken or pork (or, honestly, any meat or veg of your choosing), you can marinade your meats in it too, pre-barbie. While the spice scale is well under control with the banana ketchup, Mama Z turns it up a notch with her tamarind Hot Zos (short for her real name Zosima). Based on the flavours of Filipino soup sinigang, the Zos delivers an intoxicating wallop of flavour and spice that goes particularly hard when doused onto flatbreads or tacos filled with grilled goods of your choosing.
Image: Mama Z/instagram
In addition to her burgeoning sauce empire, Mama Z also announced this past week that, in collaboration with Yen from Wok’s Cluckin, the pair will be opening their own shop and café, brilliantly named Yes Lah, in Didsbury, with a Kickstarter campaign launching tomorrow morning (Friday, April 29th). One drop of Z’s sauces should be all you need to convince you to drop some quids her way.
Devil Dog Sauces
If you’ve paid a visit to General Stores, Bernie’s Grocery or A Taste of Honey (all three of which are also outstanding gaffs from which to pick up BBQ supplies), you’ll have no doubt had your eyes drawn to Devil Dog’s chilli sauces. They’re pretty difficult to ignore, drawing you in from afar like a Jack Russell to a tennis ball, with their exhilarating flavour combinations and fluorescent labels. The blending of full bodied fruit and chilli combos provides some ferociously piquant smacks of heat that are as bold as they are delicious.
Ancho Grande and Apple, Urfa Biber and Watermelon, Gochugaru and Ginger, Caroline Reaper & Blackberry with Lemon Thyme… these flavours are very much ‘We Are Not In Kansas, Any More’ territory but thankfully, never verge anywhere near gimmickry. This is acid and heat based alchemy at its finest. Experimentation at an elite level and a degree of culinary artistry that has led to collabs with breweries such as Rivington (Sour Cherry, Habanero & Porter Chilli Sauce), Runaway (Ghost Pepper, Smoked Mushroom Ketchup) and Northern Monk (Heathen Hot Sauce). Work your way through the entire range this summer.
Image: Devil Dog Sauces/instagram
BEVS
Ad Hoc, Northern Quarter
Once you find yourself on Edge Street, there is the temptation to drop whatever you were thinking about doing and just parking yourself outside Common for a few hours with a steady supply of pints and Nell’s slices to keep you company. And while that is obviously a tremendous plan, you’d also be doing yourself and your upcoming barbecue a huge disservice if you didn’t stock it with booze from Ad Hoc on the opposite side of the street. The low key Northern Quarter bev stockist and bar, run by Miles Burke, opened last year and has been rapturously received by their steady stream of customers, enthused by the global selection of craft beers, humongous French ciders and wines all colours of the fucking rainbow. Those French ciders in particular are a massive crowd pleaser, all gallic and prestigious looking, radiating in the summer sun in their litre bottles. Bang them in your ice filled paddling pool (or your fridge, whatever) and you’re laughing.
Image: Ad Hoc/instagram
Le Social Wine, Pollard Yard
Action Bronson once described natural wine as ‘adult juice’ and, after a few minutes in the company of Le Social proprietor Jerome, you will share the same fervour for these technicolor bottles of grapes. Operating out of a nonchalant unit in Pollard Yard, Jerome sells online and has bottles stocking the shelves and fridges of General Stores and FoodHalls across the city.
Image: Le Social Wines/instagram
Whether it’s sparkling, orange, light red, dark red or Panda Pops pink, not only will you be beguiled by the aesthetics, you’ll also be educated by the craft of each bottle, with Jerome’s knowledge and history second to none. Allow Jerome to make you a few recommends and, if possible, let him know what meats going to be laying on your grill so he can more expertly curate his selections for you.
Vin de Bodega, Very Online
Bodega discourse is rampant on Twitter at the moment, with New Yorkers receiving flak for not registering that corner shops and convenience stores exist in literally every city and town in the world. But still, the aesthetic, vibe and attitude presented in pop culture of bodegas is still pretty undefeated as it’s taught us you can grab an everything bagel, a nuclear orange Mexican Fanta and some Twizzlers while also watching a fearless shopkeeper disarming a pistol wielding lunatic. So who’s to say if New Yorkers are right or wrong for being so adamantly proud of their neighbourhood fizzy pop and crisp shops?
Image: Vin de Bodega/instagram
One Bodega we can all agree on though, is Vin de Bodega, which has been keeping Manchester fuelled with only the very best natty wines for the last couple of years. The lovechild of Eoghan Neburagho, JackSurplus, Razz Ashraf and Rick Farthing, VdB is the ‘answer to your needs and the ice to your juice’ in the words of Owen. “The bodega boys don’t judge. You’ll catch us drinking orange wines with kebabs if it tastes good” reads a quote from Jack on the official VdB website, which is a life mantra we all must share, especially when the variety of juices on offer is as colossal as this. Pair any of these with your kebabs, burgers, ‘dogs or salads and you can’t go wrong.
As is obviously the case with any article of this ilk, the above is by no means an exhaustive list and there are plenty of other great indie spots from which to pick up some spectacularly good gear for a barbecue. But using this band of prize fighters as your starting line up is not a bad way to go about putting together some of the most unforgettable grilling sessions you or your mates will ever experience.
“I was working 60-70 hours a week, taking a hell of a lot of drugs, not eating a lot and I did that process for 10 years of my life. I suppose to some people I seemed successful because I was always in a new city, in a new venue. I wasn’t though, I was running away. I was hoping that if I changed to a new environment, to a new city, that my reality would change. But it didn’t, because I had these destructive habits that I would take with me.
– Paddy Howley, So Let’s Talk
To the overwhelming majority of hospitality workers, the above quote will, unfortunately, feel all too familiar, whether it applies directly to them or one (or several) of their friends and colleagues. As passionately as many champion the industry, there is also the growing recognition that an overhaul in its approach to mental health and wellness is drastically needed.
Publicly, Covid has pummelled restaurants, bars and pubs in a manner akin to Ivan Drago slaughtering Apollo Creed in the opening round of Rocky IV. The takings that have been lost coupled with the lack of monetary support from government an obvious, non-stop battering played out before a nation’s very eyes in the news and on social media. Yet behind the scenes, the emotional drain has been exacerbated beyond breaking point, with already very fragile workers leaving the industry in droves, unable to withstand another series of body blows in a sector that, even during the golden periods, demands an ungodly amount from those who serve within it.
Paddy Howley spent 16 years in hospitality, from glass collecting in a working men’s club in his hometown of Burnley to successfully managing and consulting for a number of venues across the country. His expertise was constantly in high demand and he earned well because of it. Yet his earnings brought him no stability or security. Quite the opposite, in fact. Instead Paddy bounced between rented accommodations while using his pay packets to finance the purchase of the substances that fuelled every single one of his 12-16 hour shifts. Unsurprisingly, it was not a lifestyle built for longevity.
Tucked into a booth at the rear of Albert Schloss’ sprawling, Bavarian influenced beer hall, Paddy is accompanied by documents on his screen and on the table in front of him. He sips a ruby red mocktail and, though his current workload is clearly still mountainous, it is one that evidently provides him with a great deal more contentment than his decade-and-a-half in the trade. This is because his work now is helping those within the industry, the people he once worked with. The people he once was.
Just over two years ago, Paddy founded So Let’s Talk, an organisation ‘on a mission to 86 the silence’ because, while giant strides are being made to shine a light on mental health issues within society and cease the stigma surrounding them, the same advances have not been replicated within hospitality, where heads are resolutely kept down, wary of upsetting the combustible head chef or exhaustively figuring out ways to keep the creditors from the door. It is a work-life imbalance Paddy knows all too well.
“I was given the opportunity to be a general manager when I was 20,21,” Paddy recalls, shooting an almost painful smile across his face as he delves back to the formative days of what would become a decade long cycle of almost catastrophic excess. “It was at Posh nightclub in Burnley and I had no real right to be in that position at that point in time. I was way too young. And with that job came some really destructive habits. My recreational drug use from a young age was through the roof. I had a really unhealthy relationship with alcohol.
“The most destructive thing was, if I wasn’t in work serving drinks, I was outside of work spending more money than I had on drink and drugs with people who do the same thing for a living. I used to see the industry as a lifestyle, not a job. I used to introduce myself as my title, so I’d be like ‘I’m Paddy the GM of…’ and I had zero disconnect from my job with my real life.“
After almost 10 years of drinking, smoking and snorting his way across a variety of North West establishments, Paddy found himself back home in Burnley, physically and emotionally at odds with the apparent success he was supposed to be luxuriating in.
“Towards the back end of 2019 is how the catalyst of So Let’s Talk came about. I got the opportunity to work at a pop-up bar in Manchester over the Christmas period. They asked me to come in as a consultant, write a cocktail menu, train the team, take as much money as I physically could. Then they go ‘right, here’s five AFD’s (All Fucking Day) back-to-back’, so that’s five 16 hour shifts back-to-back. But instead of going home after those, I’d go out, stick loads of drugs up my nose, drink far too much alcohol and turn up to my shift like nothing had happened. That was normal for me. Nobody recognised that I wasn’t compos mentis. Not one person noticed that I was in a real dark stage at that point in time. After those five days I went home to my mum’s spare room, I was in between rented accommodation and, for the first time in my life, I had suicidal ideations.
“I checked my salary for the year. I worked out I’d spent 65% of my salary on drugs and alcohol. I’d flirted with the idea of leaving the trade before but always come back and this time I was like ‘shit, I need to leave’. So I left. I went to an AA meeting, worked out it was an unhealthy relationship to alcohol and drugs and not an addiction and I went sober.“
That Paddy’s lifestyle is one that has become cliché for the industry is a damning indictment of the entire sector. The ‘burning the candle at both ends’ mentality has been treated as the norm within the restaurant business for far too long. Coupled with zero hour contracts and decision makers who care only about bottom lines rather than the people who’s graft contributes to the numbers atop those lines, it’s no wonder why half of hospitality workers suffer from some form of mental health issue (the statistic was one in three at the beginning of the pandemic, according to numbers Paddy himself provides me with).
The lack of help that was available lit a fire within Paddy that led to the foundation of SLT.
“The conversation around mental health didn’t exist. Until around a year or 18 months ago did I start talking to businesses who had a budget for health and wellbeing. It was never a fucking thing before. Also now we’ve got a whole new generation of hospitality professionals who are asking questions during the interview process, about work-life balance, what the benefit structure looks like, is there inclusivity and diversity within the business? None of this existed until very recently.
“I got paid in a brown envelope every week and spent it all on drugs and alcohol. So the change has been huge but for me what is blatantly obvious is there was a lack of education or care. We would wear badges of honour for our destructive habits. A lot of it was celebrated. It’s not cool and it’s not sustainable to be competing over how many hours a week you’ve worked. If you drunk a bottle of tequila and still turned up for your open, you were a trooper. Even the language, ‘you’re a trooper’, is used so heavily within the industry. You’re not going to fucking war, you’re serving food and drinks.“
– Paddy Howley
But even with the conversation around mental wellbeing becoming more prominent between the workforce and their bosses, a hair raising February exposé published by The Mill, about the alleged behaviour of Mana’s Michelin Star adorned leader Simon Martin laid bare a workplace culture so inhumanely toxic (liquid nitrogen laced assaults and live animal beheadings were just a couple of the disturbing allegations to emerge from the account) that the systemic barbarism of the professional kitchen that has been allowed to flourish for generations was finally discussed in the open to such a serious extent that it felt impossible to ignore any longer.
In a world where customers are more inclined to avoid establishments where bullying and harassment cultures are fostered and staff are mistreated with regards to pay, perks and hours, the disconnect between owners/investors and those on the ground is in dire need of recalibration. Not to mention how the past 24 months has seen staff leave the industry in droves, with little desire to return once restrictions were lifted and businesses reopened. It is a dilemma Paddy is keen to rectify.
“We have much more conscious consumerism nowadays. People will read that article about Mana and not go and eat there. I wouldn’t.
“The long term goal for So Let’s Talk is to create a health and wellbeing rating for the industry, like the food hygiene rating. It’s one of the biggest things that we’re looking at creating. The reason being is that recruitment is such a challenge in the industry at the moment. It’s not because no one wants to work in hospitality, it’s because they don’t want to work in the hospitality industry that we’ve created. They don’t want the archaic styles of the past.
– Paddy Howley
“People during lockdown had a chance to connect with themselves again and they were saying ‘I’ve not read a book in seven years’ or ‘I’ve not had a home cooked meal in three months’ because of working in the industry. So they’ve thought about how they can earn the same money but have the free time and they’ve gone ‘well I’ll go work in a different industry’
“Deloitte came out with a study that revealed that for every £1 you invest in health and wellbeing you receive on average £5 on your bottom line. It’s so obvious. But then you look at staff turnover and it’s 100% plus in so many venues. How is that a viable business model nowadays?“
Of course, with more progressive and open minded individuals owning and operating start ups and independent venues across the city there are plenty of places where the wellness of workers is a priority rather than a bonus. Living wage offerings are, thankfully, becoming more commonplace when job vacancies are shared. There are owners who actively take an interest in the people they employ to represent and better their businesses. But as Paddy tells me, generational gaps still exist and are still far too intrinsically embossed into the fabric of the trade.
“It’s wild to me that it’s 2022 and we’re still having the same conversation about whether happy and healthy people are more profitable.
– Paddy Howley
“It’s challenging at times because generations blame each other and a lot of the business owners and board members in hospitality are white, male boomers and if they’re making decisions about a business that is full of Gen Z’s and Gen Y’s it’s dangerous, because the boomers are saying the Gen Z’s and Y’s are entitled snowflakes who have never done a hard day’s work in their life and then the other way is the young workers, who are making the money and working at a grassroots level are calling the owners bigots who have ruined the environment and the economy.
“So when you have a blame culture like that, no conversation happens and when a decision is made, it’s the people at the top deciding what they think their team needs. Some businesses go a step further and initiate the conversation but then only listen to reply not to understand.
“Are you giving your teams what they need or what you think they need?
– Paddy Howley
“One of the questions we ask bosses now is ‘what’s your email culture like? Do you receive and reply to emails at 3am? If you do, what does that say to your team? That they always have to be on 24/7? Is it not better for you and your team to create boundaries around your time so they don’t look at you and think that’s what they have to do to get to that position.“
As attempts are made to bring about an understanding between generations there will, of course, be resistance from some, unwilling to believe that the problems that have plagued the past are actually of any genuine significance. The macho culture of kitchens and bars, where aggressively charged attitudes and military level discipline tag teams with debilitating substance abuse and alcohol addiction, is a needless charade that has been far too damaging for far too long. Talented chefs, bakers, bartenders and waiting staff have seen anxieties and depression accelerated towards headfirst crashes from which some, tragically, never recover.
The hospitality industry thrives on hard work, of course. And even in the most serene of destinations, there are going to be shifts that leave staff stressed, cursing those ignorant guests or perhaps a colleague who’s ideas have clashed with their own. Nowhere can be a utopia 100 percent of the time. Yet conflict resolution and peace making processes can be positioned in the foreground more, rather than a last resort, as has so often been the case in the past, if they’ve even been utilised at all.
The cyclical nature of the volatile head chef ideology must, once and for all, be 86’d. Making your staff genuinely fearful for every shift renders any gastronomic ingenuity you may produce meaningless. What good is a scared shitless workforce? As an owner or investor, should you not be looking beyond the bottom line and the sparkling reviews and maybe understand what could be improved at a human level rather than a business one? Because at some point, that crash is coming. In some cases, maybe it isn’t for a few years, maybe that mind boggling level of staff turnover keeps the wheels spinning just enough to ensure it is easy to ignore just why it is that no fucker wishes to remain in your employ for much longer than a few months. But in the modern day, with so many establishments crumbling and so many more heartbroken ex-chefs wanting their horror stories to be heard, the crash is as habitual as the behaviour as those who have caused it.
“We now work with senior management teams within businesses” Paddy reveals, digging into the SLT work that has been so well received by almost 12,000 hospitality staff over the last two years. “We have conversations with them about what it takes to be a healthy business and what areas they might be lacking in, whether it be their team’s health or the environmental health of a business or anything like that. We educate and then with that education we have a session where we sit down with the decision makers in a company and tear apart their operations and put them back together in a healthy way, then the change is created from there.
“I remember after I put the post on the Manchester Bars page, we had a meeting at Speak In Code where I just said ‘what are we gonna do? How are we going to change things?’ And it all came back to education. And that made me shiver, because I thought, if I’m a hungover, overworked, undernourished, underpaid, undervalued hospitality worker, I’m not gonna want to sit and listen to some ‘expert’ who’s never fucking worked in the industry talk to me about health and wellbeing. I’d just tell him to do one.
“What we did is, we said right, if we’re gonna do this, we’re gonna do it properly and we’re gonna work with experts in their fields, but then we’re gonna take that information and we’ll evolve it to make it make sense to the industry, then our team is going to deliver it from a position of experience. So from an idea in my mum’s spare room, we’re now at a point where we’re helping thousands of people within hospitality.“
Given the client list that SLT have now amassed (Common and their various associated venues, Mowgli, Soho House, The Alchemist and BrewDog are among those who have enlisted their services already) thanks to their education, events and sessions tailored around everything from weekly classes and workshops focused on financial and nutritional wellbeing to regular yoga sessions and live workouts, it would appear Paddy and his team have gone and done things properly as they initially set out to two years ago.
As Manchester moves into a post-covid period of further regeneration, with an increasing number of major establishments looking to make the city their home in the North, the number of new jobs created off the back of these openings will also mean more potential for cut throat atmospheres, with tens of millions of pounds being poured into new venues outside of London comfort zones and a soaring demand for instant success. Such investment in the city could, and hopefully should keep Paddy and his team busy for the foreseeable.
To find out more about So Let’s Talk and the incredible work and campaigns they’ve produced over the last two years, visit their website
When things go wrong and will not come right, Though you do the best you can, When life looks black as the hour of night – A pint of plain is your only man.
– ‘Workman’s Friend’, Brian O’Nolan
The delicate thunk that emanates from the base of a tulip glass gently connecting with walnut echoes beautifully throughout an empty pub, with only the barmaid and the horse racing on TV for company. Nitrogen bubbles cascade southwards through a swirling storm of chocolate brown, eventually settling into a shade of black darker than a pair of priest’s socks. A millimetre or so above the iconic golden harp sits the silk soft cream, resting tranquilly atop the impenetrable depth of stout. You’ve waited patiently, now you slowly, triumphantly hoist the pint towards your lips and within a nanosecond are beguiled by the serenity of the whole experience. Whatever catastrophe and chaos lies on the other side of the door can wait, because you’ve got all you need right here.
Guinness is fucking brilliant, isn’t it?
The Black Stuff from St.James’ Gate has been easing anxieties and fuelling festivities since 1759 and will be in full flow across Manchester this Thursday to mark the annual St.Patrick’s Day celebrations.
Given that even a tepid St.Pat’s can resemble scenes akin to Ireland completing the World Cup and Eurovision double, it’s nigh on impossible to contemplate what a first non-lockdown effort since 2019, which also coincides with the Cheltenham Festival, will entail. Imagine the delirium of Stephenson Square during the latter stages of Euro 2020, only crammed into every single pub in Manchester for an entire day with an emerald green colour scheme, and you’re probably along the right track.
Which makes the need for the ideal locations in which to enjoy a perfectly poured Guinness all the more pressing. Let’s face it, what good is a decent pint if you can’t take a single uninterrupted sip without being knocked arse over elbow by some giddy knobhead on their one non-Christmas related pub visit of the year?
Following on from 2021’s groundbreaking, critically acclaimed, trailblazing EATMCR Chip Safari, we took it upon ourselves to deliver another tour, this time as a public service. We wanted to ensure our readers were only frequenting the top tier establishments this St.Patrick’s Day, while on the lookout for the finest Irish import to hit the city not named Roy Keane.
Upon piecing the plan together, one of the fundamental aims was to avoid over-earnest Guinness snobbery. We’ve all had a good laugh at the Shit London Guinness account on instagram, of course, but the desire of many very online bores to dissect every pint they come across is an exercise so fucking exhausting it almost ruins Dublin’s finest for you forever. Then again, we were also not going to suffer any gimmicky nonsense like serving the Black Stuff out of a fucking Toby jug or anything similarly fucking absurd.
The philosophical mantra that resonated with us most ahead of mapping out our route came courtesy of everyone’s favourite Vada Pav merchants, Bundobust who, responding to a tweet of ours looking for recommendations, exclaimed ever so profoundly that “the best Guinness is in your head” and, not to get too bus stop shaman on everyone, but we can fuck with Guinness being a state of mind over it being a merciless ‘Pineapple has no place on a pizza’ discussion for personality vacuums on social media.
The best Guinness is in your head + all the pubs that @FullFatIngham said.
But to begin, we had to give our numerous pints of plain something to latch onto, leading us to the only place and dish we felt suitable to kickstart proceedings. Even if it meant taking an unexpected Mexican detour…
STOP ONE: THE KOFFEE POT
An Irish Fry. What else? Littlewoods Butchers dry cured bacon, sausage, grilled tomato, mushrooms, a gooey golden yolked fried egg, a perfect potato cake, black AND white pudding (guaranteed to make you deliriously happy) and a substantial slice of wholemeal soda bread. While the old Koffee Pot, resplendent with it’s condensation soaked single glazing, tattered seating and formica will always have my heart, it’s also impossible to be unhappy inside the Oldham Road digs that they’ve occupied over the last few years. And sitting down to a plate that so idyllically encapsulates the most heartwarming aspects of Irish cooking – the splendidly starchy stodge of the potato cake, the porcine pleasure of of the white pudding and the deftly satisfying, buttered up crunch of the soda bread – is a source of joy that is difficult to replicate.
A triumph. Just don’t pair with a fizzy, spicy Mexican stout
Yet this was a visit that was not without error. While KP’s website does state that they serve bottles of Guinness Porter, when I cast my eyes over the menu in-house, it was nowhere to be seen. Asking the server about this, I was recommended a ‘Mexican stout’ instead. Given that it would be stylistically in keeping with the variety of bev I would be drinking for the remainder of the day, I plumped for the server’s option, intrigued by what the Mexican take on stout would be, having only ever been exposed to the sun kissed cervezas of Corona, Modelo, Pacifico, Dos Equis and Tecate.
As big Julie Roberts in Pretty Woman once said, big mistake. Huge.
There was nothing wrong with the tin of Mexican Hot Chocolate stout that was presented to me. I’m sure a lot of people will enjoy it. But the dull fizz of chilli against a leaden backdrop of stout was not sitting right with my Irish Fry. A brew would have been a much better option in this case. But don’t allow my Mexican misadventure perturb you. Saddle up for an Irish Fry to honour St.Pat and you won’t go far wrong.
When money’s tight and hard to get And your horse has also ran, When all you have is a heap of debt – A pint of plain is your only man.
– ‘Workman’s Friend’, Brian O’Nolan
STOP TWO: THE STATION, DIDSBURY
A relatively quick tram journey from St.Peter’s Square to Didsbury village begins the tour in earnest. Waltzing past the suburban outposts of Botanist and Solita as we depart the met stop and make a beeline down School Lane, there is a sense that the security of a middle class enclave won’t offer up the necessary atmosphere for Paddy’s Day drinking. Gentrification and good Guinness experiences are not common bedfellows. Yet there stands The Station, nestled next to a Domino’s on the corner of Wilmslow Road, all red brick and enough Guinness adornments to suggest that either they really know what they’re doing with their plain behind the bar, or we’re about to venture inside a pint sized museum that would be more comfortable trapped inside a touristic cesspit in any major city with a decent sized Irish population.
More pubs should have curtains blowing out of the top window IDST
Thankfully, one step inside The Station and you can breathe a sigh of relief. The mood is gentle, the paraphernalia curated tastefully along the walls and bar. There’s the toucan balancing a glass of the Black Stuff on it’s beak, look. There’s an understated authenticity to proceedings here, punctuated by an extraordinary selection of Tayto crisps. We grab a packet of pickled onion and another of Worcestershire sauce and pull up a stool each underneath the TV and adjacent to an impressively stocked jukebox. The Guinness itself is given the right degree of care and attention before being served and hits all the right notes on a quiet Friday lunchtime. No doubt on a much more boisterous Paddy’s Day afternoon, it’ll go down even smoother. Taytos in hand, we depart, with the barmaid proudly showing off the Guinness harp phone charging port on the bar which, it has to be said, I really want for my own house, gimmicky though it may be.
The cream curtains billowing wildly out of the upstairs window lends a homely frisson to the whole vibe and sets us up ideally for the day ahead as we wind ourselves back towards the city via another legendary suburban bolthole…
STOP THREE: FIDDLER’S GREEN, LEVENSHULME
Surrounded by a Persian kebab house, New Mexico Fried Chicken and a branch of Paddy Power, Fiddlers is an institution located with seasoned boozers in mind.
Unassuming with it’s bottle green, Celtic lettered signage, Fiddlers opens up into a bygone era, but one which has been miraculously preserved away from the modern trappings which would dampen its appeal. The proud association with Donegal is strewn across the interior, from framed Gaelic football shirts and scarves to plaques and cherished photos. It’s the character defining sort of pub that is passed down throughout generations. You’ve spent a good few Saturday afternoons there with your dad and granddad, watching the football results come in over games of dominos and Pontoon. A low glow hangs warmly in the air, inviting you inwards like an old family living room. Only one with a group of blokes howling at their latest horse letting them down by about six furlongs while another trio in the corner have a very pointed discussion over what the best dog is (“get fucked with your Jack Russells. What a load of shite”. Fair play).
Cannot stress enough how passionately the blokes on the table next to us were arguing about dogs
Were it not for the fact we had another half dozen establishments to tackle in town, we could have quite happily settled here, maybe nipping out for an emergency Levy Bakery run a few hours in to keep us going. Getting yourself situated in here on Thursday morning wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world.
STOP FOUR: LASS O’GOW….HOLD ON…CLOSED!?
Fuck sake.
Unforseen circumstances, apparently. Fair enough, can’t be helped. Gutting for our tour plans, though you should still make sure to pay the Charles Street supping spot a visit on the big day. While Scottish in heritage, this is a den designed for some prime Guinness consumption. Don’t miss it.
STOP FIVE: THE GREY HORSE, PORTLAND STREET
Any pub that caters to your, quite frankly, ludicrous query about screening a Denis Irwin highlight package on it’s television set AND offers up FREE PORK PIES IN A VARIETY OF FLAVOURS deserves to be protected at all costs and demands your custom.
The Guinness is sublime, the service even better and the atmosphere among the best in the city. Elbow-to-elbow with rabble rousing regulars of all ages and backgrounds, the Grey Horse is a Mancunian icon and should feature on any pub crawl ever undertaken in the city, Paddy’s Day or not. Buy Howard a pint as well. He’s a spectacular human being.
There they all are, all the lads
The only downside, if you can even call it that, to our visit, is we had to depart just as the historic 1999 fourth round FA Cup tie between United and Liverpool began to play on the set. Only got to see Michael fucking Owen’s third minute header before taking off. The temptation to loop back for Dwight Yorke’s 88th minute equaliser and Ole Solskjaer’s injury time winner was very fucking overwhelming.
Long live the Grey Horse.
When health is bad and your heart feels strange, And your face is pale and wan, When doctors say you need a change, A pint of plain is your only man.
– ‘Workman’s Friend’, Brian O’Nolan
STOP SIX: MOTHER MACS, BACK PICCADILLY
Well and truly into the thick of it now and in need of some roughage to help us chart the choppy waters of the business end of our tour, supplies are sourced from Go Falafel and Cafe Marhaba, with the Macs bar staff only too happy to welcome the scintillating scent of samosa drifting through their door as we place our orders and, naturally, marvel at the framed newspaper clippings detailing a murdered wife and a fatal fire, both of which have taken place during the pub’s storied history.
A perfectly normal thing to have in your pub
Tucked away down a Northern Quarter back alley, Macs is a secluded source of zen among a manic metropolis. It’s no frills and you can usually find The Chase on the telly, which is obviously brilliant. They do a decent pint and the bar staff are only too willing to rip the piss out of you at a moment’s notice which, much like their devotion to airing Bradley Walsh game shows, is very important when it comes to accompanying a pint of Guinness.
Our first NQ pit stop boxed off, we head Oldham Street way for a couple of heavyweight encounters…
STOP SEVEN: THE CASTLE, OLDHAM STREET
A place that needs no introduction, but one which it is impossible to tire of indulging in. Since 1776 The Castle has been quenching thirsts and, in more recent times, providing one of the finest jukeboxes in the city, which is an essential during any St.Pat’s celebration.
Sequestered at the far end of the bar, bundled up against the wall, we sway while trying to piece together the final furlongs of our route. Three more stops, we reckon. As the time ticks past five, more glasses are routinely clinked as the door swings to-and-fro with an ever increasing load of post-work sorts desperate to start their weekends. Our group, meanwhile, are preoccupied with how long the walk across the road to the next stop is going to take us as pint number seven is dispatched before we’ve even collected enough shrapnel between us to put some Talking Heads on the jukebox. Fuck sake.
STOP EIGHT: GULLIVERS, OLDHAM STREET
Not going to lie to you, it’s at this point where everything goes a bit west. Could have been stumbling into Gulliver’s World and none of us would have likely batted an eyelid. We amble onwards, though, because we’ve got a job to do. A civic duty that must be carried out. Christ we’re fucking trousered. Everyone else is, at most, on drink number three and we’re bellying up to the bar clocking in at number eight. A trio of delinquents hellbent on providing content that St.Patrick himself would be proud of. Only with less banishing snakes and more simply getting very, very pissed.
The only acceptable crisps for St.Pat’s
Fortunately, Gulliver’s has long been a venue with an allowance for a reasonable level of debauchery. Not that our behaviour veered far beyond the realm of ‘just about managing to sit down successfully without taking the entire table to the floor with us’ but also something worth bearing in mind for 17th March. A mainstay of Oldham Street and a Northern Quarter stalwart, it’s an easy gaff to settle yourselves into, as we come perilously close to doing during our visit. You’ll find some seriously good Guinness and a reliably solid selection of tunes in here come Paddy’s Day, so make sure it’s on your list.
STOP NINE: PEVERIL OF THE PEAK, GREAT BRIDGEWATER STREET
In some very deep waters now, but where better to be in them than the most beautiful pub in the whole land? That emerald green is like a siren call, beckoning drinkers inwards, which, now with emergency Taytos dispensed down our gullets, we are only too happy to oblige.
We cannot locate a free table for the remaining three of us wild rovers, but it’s probably for the best as to sit down at this point would mean never, ever getting back up. We fortuitously stumble upon an empty hatch and lean our weary bones against it, praying it’s not some elaborate set up for a ‘Del Boy through the bar’ prank.
An art exhibition dedicated solely to pictures of the Pev, pls
Luckily it’s not and we soak in the end of the work week among countless contented souls, all either slinging back pints with the heady excitement of a toddler let loose on a pick ‘n’ mix stall or savouring them in order to prolong the ecstasy of binning off another 40 hours of endurance. Even nursing a bellyful of nine pints, the majesty of the moment is not lost on us. If anything, the seven hours worth of alcohol only make the moment more ethereal.
One…more…stop…
When food is scarce and your larder bare And no rashers grease your pan, When hunger grows as your meals are rare – A pint of plain is your only man.
– ‘Workman’s Friend’, Brian O’Nolan
STOP 10: MULLIGAN’S, DEANSGATE
Where else?
It took about 12 seconds for countless comments to flood into our instagram notifications and DM’s urging us to make Mulligan’s the centrepiece of our tour. Of course, no sooner had the plan been hatched than it was decided that Deansgate’s finest institution (soz Katsouris. No offence, we still love you) would serve as the finale.
Obviously, things will be a little different on Paddy’s Day itself, with Mulligan’s operating on a ticket only system for the day, which is understandable given its resounding popularity. On a pre-Paddy’s Friday night, it is still reliably chocker, the band for the night tuning up on stage, a Friday night game I will never, ever remember playing out across the multiple screens affixed to the walls. Flags, scarves, memorabilia, souvenirs and special keepsakes from across the Emerald Isle decorate every inch of the walls and the mood is as boisterous as ever.
As we crescendo our Guinness Safari, we are joined by two thirds of the team from Well Good, and who better to finish your night with than a pair of wild Wiganers who immediately set about blagging us a table (still absolutely zero idea how this happened) and breaking us from our ‘one pint per place’ routine. Although, given that we’re now on our tenth drink, that’s not exactly the wisest decision we’ll make, but fuck it, we’ve earned it and we gladly bring up a dozen while surrounded by what feels like half of Manchester. A wondrous place.
The Holy Trinity
We depart before the band strikes up. That’s what 12 pints of stout over nine hours will do to you. But we leave proud, pissed and content. And pissed. So very, very pissed. The Well Good lads grill the bouncer over the origin of his kebab and are duly pointed around the corner to Cafe Istanbul, where they promptly devour some monstrous looking chicken and doners. Judging by their reviews the following afternoon, it perhaps isn’t a bad shout for those of you following this guide on the big day. A suitable bookend to the Koffee Pot Irish Fry.
And, remarkably, not long after nine o’ clock, we make our various ways home. There are, of course, dozens of other spots to take in and enjoy a wonderfully poured pint of Guinness in Manchester. Edinburgh Castle can be a borderline religious experience at times, with the Kings Arms, City Arms and both Sam and Tom’s Chophouses delivering the goods inside some of Manchester’s most iconic settings. The neighbourhoods outside the city limits also hold a fair amount of wonders too, with our time allowances only affording us a couple this time round, we can also recommend The Crown in Heaton Moor, with The Albert in Withington and Chorlton duo Bowling Green and Duffy’s also earning numerous mentions in our comments.
Whether you follow our tried and tested route this St.Pat’s Day or not, remember the immortal words of Bundobust Twitter, “The best Guinness is in your head”.
The time is approaching 11pm. I am, by this point, about a carafe-and-a-half of wine deep, exhaling contentedly and surveying a scene of half empty glasses and plates scattered with the remaining crumbs of hazelnut torte. Conversation around the table sways from Manchester United induced nervous breakdowns to how soul crushingly shit the new Matrix film was, via a multitude of banal, nonsensical other subjects inbetween. However far flung the inebriated talking of shite gets though, it still circles back to one evening defining constant. That fucking ragu.
Situated in the dining area of Chorlton’s Campagna (what was until very recently The Creameries), an eager gathering of press and media types have resolutely demolished the overhauled Southern European menu, the brainchild of chef Mike Thomas, inheriting the reins in the kitchen of the Wilbraham Road favourite from Mary-Ellen McTague, who is taking an incredibly well earned backwards step from food operations at the restaurant.
From moreish marinated Sicilian olives through to perfect, rosemary salt flecked panisse onwards towards blisteringly good roast candy beetroot and kohlrabi salad and a confit duck leg wit puy lentils that, during any other meal would emphatically, beyond a shadow of a doubt be the show stealing dish, it is the ragu, all sumptuous beef shin entwined with lustrous, freshly rolled ribbons of golden pappardelle, that dominates post-meal discussion and, as a result, will similarly dictate the direction of the remainder of this write up.
See, to fixate on one dish out of the six served may seem insulting to five lovingly crafted plates of expertly prepared Southern European cuisine, but this meat sauce mania is by no means a discredit to a menu that is a pint size parade of heavy hitters, each one an absolute victory of technique, taste and effortless simplicity. I would strongly urge anyone and everyone to make the pilgrimage to Chorlton to indulge in The Creameries’ shift away from taster menu (which, it has to be said, will still be sorely missed) to comforting, rural European cooking (as their instagram post states, ‘Tomato Europe’, not ‘Potato Europe’).
But back to the beginning. After a welcoming glass or two in the bar area, we’re invited to take our seats, being led past the open kitchen and, most importantly, the industrial size sheet pan heaving with freshly baked focaccia, the aroma of which wobbles the knees. It’s an uplifting warmth that stirs memories of weekends in Emilia-Romagna and Rome, capturing the scents of the cities at the crack of dawn as the sunlight begins to illuminate their ancient cobbles and brickwork. Campagna’s olive oil infused pillow, glistening under the moody radiance of the restaurant’s low level lighting, engulfs each table with a perfume fresh from the neighbourhood fornos of everywhere from Liguria to Puglia.
The only negative to the experience on this evening is that the bread disappears within a few rapid mouthfuls, leaving everyone bereft of a vessel with which to soak up the sauce to come. Of course, during a regular service, this is a simple fix – Just order more focaccia from the bar snacks menu and once that final fling of pappardelle is digested, you can set about honouring the fine Italian dinner table ritual of Fare la Scarpetta, in which a hunk of bread (scarpetta aka little shoe) is selected to mop up the delicious remnants of your meal. Of course, the caveat to this is a lot of Italians save their scarpetta usage for behind closed doors rather than in public. I am here to tell you though that if you choose to be ‘polite’ and refrain from cleaning up the final bits of bovine brilliance from Mike Thomas’ ragu, then you simply don’t deserve pasta. Not even spaghetti hoops. You can settle for the ‘Henry Hill in witness protection egg noodles with ketchup’ and be happy with it. This big, mucky beef shin deserves to be enjoyed right down to the final drop.
And when it finally arrives there comes an involuntary hush. This is what we are here for. There are, of course, a few non-meat eaters who are more than well looked after with a Fazzoletti embraced by a walnut sauce, a dish that earns a series of satisfied smiles within the first mouthfuls. But returning to the carnivorous offering, there is an unspoken acceptance among those of us about to immerse ourselves in it that this is the main event. Again, not to disparage the succulent, crispy skinned, melt-in-your-mouth confit duck that was still to come at this point, but it is impossible to look past a classic Italian dish of slow cooked beef shin ragu as anything other than the showstopper.
FUCKING HELL. Image: Campagna/instagram
Forks are readied before plates have even hit the table. This is the dish Campagna have been championing since day one. A wild rabbit alternative is available and also, obviously, high upon my ‘to do’ list. But on a frostbitten February night in south Manchester, we are bestowed the beef shin, sourced from the masters at Littlewoods Butchers in Heaton Chapel. The meat is plentiful and slow cooked to utter perfection. The ragu is rich, deep and delicious, just oozing with flavour from every fibre of its being. We’re talking deeper than an earnest, 4.30am at an afters philosophical, meaning of life level of deep. As for the fresh rolled pappardelle, coated and crowned with this handsome bastard of a sauce, it’s egg yolk yellow strands are just as pleasing on the eye as they are on the tastebuds, subtly complementing the ragu with a faultless al dente contrast to the tenderness of the meat.
There is a photo that occasionally does the rounds on a lot of those ’90s nostalgia driven instagram pages. You know the ones, they remind you of a time when the world wasn’t ending. Well the photo, shot by Mark Seliger in 1995, is of Benicio Del Toro and Parker Posey in a red and white checkerboard tablecloth Italian restaurant. Del Toro is firing a look off camera that suggests a fellow diner’s throat is about to meet the business end of his fork. Posey’s face, on the other hand, is ecstatically sucking up spaghetti, her eyes rolling into the back of her head like The Undertaker. It is an expression that encapsulates the euphoric joy a simple pasta dish can bring. A glazing over that takes you out of the room momentarily, back to a simpler time perhaps, evoking memories of meals your mum or dad or grandparents cooked for you. This ragu is the meal you cook for someone you really care about and clearly, Mike Thomas cares about every diner who walks through the doors of Campagna, because his effort is utterly sublime.
A master at work. Image: Campagna/instagram
An undeniable wholesomeness permeates throughout Campagna. It obviously already existed at The Creameries, being the welcoming neighbourhood institution that it was, but now there’s an increased sense of familiarity with the new menu. A family attachment with the ragu (and, by proxy, the Sunday Al Forno menu’s lasagne) at the heart of it all. You want this dish when it’s pissing it down outside, you want it when it’s cracking the flags. You want it surrounded by the people you love, you want it on your own with a bottle of fucking great red wine and a knackered, dog eared paperback. You want it over and over again because it is a dish you will never tire of. You want it because it has been cooked with care and attention in the same way it would be at home.
And whatever you do, don’t forget your scarpetta.
We use cookies on our website to give you the most relevant experience by remembering your preferences and repeat visits. By clicking “Accept”, you consent to the use of ALL the cookies.
This website uses cookies to improve your experience while you navigate through the website. Out of these cookies, the cookies that are categorized as necessary are stored on your browser as they are essential for the working of basic functionalities of the website. We also use third-party cookies that help us analyze and understand how you use this website. These cookies will be stored in your browser only with your consent. You also have the option to opt-out of these cookies. But opting out of some of these cookies may have an effect on your browsing experience.
Necessary cookies are absolutely essential for the website to function properly. This category only includes cookies that ensures basic functionalities and security features of the website. These cookies do not store any personal information.
Any cookies that may not be particularly necessary for the website to function and is used specifically to collect user personal data via analytics, ads, other embedded contents are termed as non-necessary cookies. It is mandatory to procure user consent prior to running these cookies on your website.
