Pick Up Point closed in July 2024. I’ve left the review up for posterity.
At the end of last summer, in a move which surprised me as much as anybody, I got on a train and went to boldly review where no blog had been before. Swindon, to be precise. I voyaged to Swindon’s Old Town and found a brilliant enclave of great coffee, craft beer, ice cream along with a Victorian park that made the Forbury look a tad lacking. And I also found, returning to Old Town institution Los Gatos, a superb tapas restaurant of exactly the kind Reading has always lacked. I loved the whole experience, and I promised myself I’d be back before too long.
It took me four months, but last weekend I found myself in Swindon again, alighting at its unloveable station and walking round the corner to grab a bus into Old Town, one bound for the splendidly named Middle Wichel. It wasn’t exactly the same personnel as last time – I was seeing my old friend Dave, but our mutual friend Al couldn’t join us. And it wasn’t the same itinerary, either: the last time I was in Swindon summer was rallying one final time and you could eat ice cream opposite Ray’s, have an al fresco coffee in the Town Gardens. On this visit, we had to forego those pleasures, but even the regret of having to do so reminded me how fetching Old Town is when the weather is fine.
Never mind. Many of the fundamentals were unchanged. I met Dave at the brilliant Pour Bois for a latte, and then we beetled off to the Hop Kettle tap room for the first of many gorgeous beers. Firmly ensconced, we proceeded to do what we’ve been doing on a regular basis for over thirty years, shooting the breeze about all sorts. I handed him his belated fiftieth birthday present and heard about his celebratory trip to Cologne, we talked about the rapidly solidifying plans for my wedding this year, and then we just got on to talking about everything and nothing: his family, my family, his work, my work, the future and the good old days.
It was all perfectly in harmony: no conversational heavy lifting to be done, and no awkward silences, just the latest instalment in a long, meandering conversation which has lasted all of my adult life. We both know where the bodies are buried, when to talk and when to listen, when to be serious and when to take the piss. It was lovely: when you have a friend that old, and that good, you can do that stuff anywhere. You could catch up in a Wetherspoons and still have a thoroughly agreeable time. But it struck me, as the hours flew by on that winter afternoon, that I would have struggled to think of a better venue for it than Old Town.
The other thing that was different about this visit to Swindon was that, much as I love Los Gatos, I had somewhere else in my sights for dinner. I’d been tipped off about Pick Up Point, a burger joint literally next door to Hop Kettle which is only open in the evenings. Chef Josh West started out cooking burgers at the tap room four years ago, but opened his own restaurant in late 2021. I couldn’t find out much about it online – Swindon might have even less local media than we do – but their well-curated Instagram made everything look terrific. The clincher though was that my Swindon man in the know, Donovan Rosema of excellent local roaster Light Bulb Coffee, rated the place. That was good enough for me.
It’s a very assured, very polished space. “This is more London than Swindon” was Dave’s verdict as we looked around, and I think that was a fair summary. With dark walls dressed with interesting art, an attractive zinc-topped bar, conspiratorial lighting, low tables and booths, it was more Brooklyn than Bassett. I think there was a second dining room out back, although I didn’t get a look at it. Having said all that, my one reservation about it was that the bit of the restaurant where they seated us had higher tables and – a bit of a bugbear of mine, this – backless stools. It felt a little like an afterthought compared to the lower tables elsewhere, and I did look enviously at the better stools up at the bar.
You might think this doesn’t really matter for casual dining, or that the dining room wasn’t designed for two men on either side of their fiftieth birthday, and you might have a point.
Pick Up Point knows how to put a menu together. I realised in the run up to this visit that the last time I reviewed a burger restaurant was Bristol’s Asado, just over a year ago, and since then I think I’ve only had burgers in Honest. And I like Honest, but their choice of burgers always feels limited, especially if you don’t fancy whatever special they have on. By contrast, Pick Up Point has half a dozen beefburgers, one chicken burger and one vegetarian or vegan option, along with a couple of specials. And they all have something a little different about them – one with pancetta and blue cheese, another with kimchi and gochujang. Even the names – “Cease & Desist”, “Heisenberger” – steered clear of the dreary ladz puns you sometimes get in this kind of establishment.
Burgers are between twelve and fourteen pounds, not including fries, so slightly more expensive than the likes of Honest. But the menu achieved what you always want a menu to manage: it intrigued me. And the sides on offer did too – not just fries, wings and slaw, although even those had interesting variations and additions. The wings were Korean, the slaw came with sweet chilli and coriander. I had looked at a menu online which suggested they did confit potatoes as well as fries, and I was very excited about trying that, but on the day something else was in its place. So we ordered that instead, along with another side and a couple of burgers.
Service was outstanding throughout, if endearingly amused that these two duffers had chanced upon their restaurant. Of course everybody was impossibly younger and cooler than me, but we’re reaching the stage where I could walk into most restaurants in Britain and that might be the case, so I’m trying not to lose too much sleep over it. I couldn’t persuade Dave to go crazy and have a rum punch (and the next morning I was very thankful that he talked me out of it) so I had a half of Kellerbier from Bristol’s Moor Beer and Dave, more sensible than me, went for a ginger beer.
Our food came out about twenty-five minutes after we sat down, which I thought was nicely paced. I had chosen the “Hand Of God”, which came with chimichurri and smoked paprika mayo, and I thought it was absolutely exceptional. The burger was tender, well seasoned and had a marvellous char to it, the chimichurri and the smoked paprika complemented it beautifully. It was so good, in fact, that it’s surprisingly difficult to write about: happiness, as they say, writes white. And I’m worried that some of the things I loved about it are going to sound like faint praise, but maybe you’ll read them and agree with me so here goes.
I loved the fact that it wasn’t messy, that nothing fell out, that I didn’t feel like I was playing food Jenga every time I took a bite, or pushing what was left out of the comforting embrace of the bun. I loved the fact that I could pick it up and eat it with my hands, the way you used to be able to do with all burgers before they became bloated parodies of themselves. Less is more, it turns out, and I was delighted to pay a little bit more for something that not only tasted fantastic but was a pleasure to eat. I think that’s what edgier restaurant reviewers mean when they say – prepare to cringe – that a dish “eats well”. It doesn’t eat well, you do. But I do appreciate the underlying sentiment.
Dave had gone for one of the specials, a Guinness rarebit burger. This was heftier – a half pounder smothered in the rarebit, resting on a huge slab of onion. This looked a bit more challenging to eat, or would have been for me anyway, but Dave ploughed through undeterred. He’d told me earlier that day that his latest blood test had suggested he needed to work on bringing his cholesterol down again, but happily he was taking a day off from that. “The way they’ve got the Guinness flavour into this is really clever” was his verdict. Dave is not the ideal person to review restaurants with because 9 times out of 10 we’ll order the same dish, which you can’t really do when you’re writing a place up. This was the 1 time out of 10 when we didn’t, and I was a smidge envious.
The two sides were glorious. First of all, in place of those confit potatoes they served smashed potatoes with aioli. Looking at the picture below, aioli with smashed potatoes might be a more accurate description, but it was another fabulous dish, the spuds with plenty of texture, the golden aioli with a pronounced honk of garlic and a little rosemary strewn for good measure. I think with hindsight, two side dishes might not have been enough. One of these certainly wasn’t.
Even better were the crispy pork belly bites. They were crispy where you wanted them to be and yielding where you didn’t, they came carpeted with sesame and coriander, sitting in a pool of soy and ginger and they were pretty much a perfect example of this kind of thing. I read an interview with the guy behind the Pick Up Point just as they opened where he said he was a tinkerer. “I’m always experimenting, the menu is likely to change hourly” he said. I doubt he still does that (who has the time?) but even if he does he should keep his mitts off this dish: it should stay on the menu in perpetuity.
There was only one item on the dessert menu, a chocolate mousse with whipped cream. I was enormously tempted by it, as I always am when it comes to chocolate mousse. But I abandoned any plans of eating it when I realised that Dave, like me, was wondering what the Korean chicken burger (the “Seoul Survivor”) tasted like and was prepared to split one with me. So we flagged down our server and asked – if she didn’t mind, and if it wasn’t too weird – if we could order one to share. She smiled indulgently at us.
“Of course, that’s no problem. I’ll get them to cut it in half for you too.”
As she walked away I looked at Dave and I knew he was thinking what I was thinking.
“She thinks…”
“…that we’re a couple? Yep. Happens every time.”
My picture of the Korean chicken burger is even worse than most of my burger photographs because it shows you nothing. You don’t get to see the magnificent crunchy, craggy coating or the chicken, breast not thigh in this case, underneath. You don’t get to see the kimchi properly, or the gochujang. Really, it’s just evidence that we ordered it and that, ever so nicely for the two weird middle aged men who seemed a little high on life, the kitchen did indeed neatly bisect it for us. But I promise you it did have all those things – crunch and give, fire and tang – and I thought it was really beautiful.
I did think about having the mousse after that, but I decided against it. I couldn’t persuade Dave, and I knew that I would have more joy talking him into a couple more beers at the Tuppenny next door. His loved ones were in London watching Depeche Mode at the O2, and as it happens my loved one was too, and I reckoned we had another couple of hours of catching up ahead of us, even if it would pass in the blink of an eye. Our dinner came to sixty pounds, not including tip, but bear in mind we ordered three burgers that came to about two thirds of that.
I often publish reviews of places outside Reading with a little trepidation. I know some people feel like they’re hoodwinked into reading them, or don’t really care about restaurants without an RG postcode or an 0118 phone number. And I end up trying to convince you of the relevance by bringing it all back home at the end. And I will do that, in a second, but really – Pick Up Point is worth going to Swindon for. Get the train on a Saturday, have a few beers beforehand and make the time to eat here. It’s a cracking thing to do – with friends, with loved ones, even on your own. I genuinely think you wouldn’t regret it.
But there’s another reason to recommend it, which is that I think Honest so dominates the burger landscape in Reading that we don’t get anywhere, really, like Pick Up Point. 7Bone is a greasier, sloppier, more American affair, but it’s moved to Phantom now, further out of town. Gordon Ramsey Street Burger is much more well behaved than the man itself, and better than I expected it to be, but it’s not exciting, nor is it independent. Some places, like the Lyndhurst, don’t specialise in burgers but happen to do some very good ones.
But Pick Up Point is genuinely a place the likes of which we don’t have in Reading, and the last time I had a burger in Reading that matched what Pick Up Point can do it was from the sadly departed Meat Juice, at Blue Collar. I would have hopped on a train to Swindon to try Meat Juice’s burgers again, I’ll gladly repeat the journey to go back to Pick Up Point. That I happen to have one of my oldest friends a few miles down the road is just the icing on the cake.
Pick Up Point – 8.0 52 Devizes Road, Swindon, SN1 4BG
Last month, after a very successful ER readers’ lunch at Kungfu Kitchen – a total of fifty-six guests in attendance and what felt like about the same number of different dishes to try – the hardcore lunch-goers were sitting in the luxurious surrounds of Park House up on campus, shooting the breeze. It was early evening and even though it was right at the beginning of December it felt, to me at least, like the start of the festive season.
I always love that bit, when the event has gone well and everybody is full and happy and I get to have a few pints and chat to all the people I haven’t yet caught up with. The readers’ lunches have been going for six years now and although there are always newcomers, many of my regulars have been coming along for a fair old time, a few since the very beginning.
On this particular occasion I found myself in conversation with Jonathan, a newbie who very specifically wanted to talk to me about a bugbear of his: how come there weren’t any good neighbourhood restaurants where he lived in east Reading? I thought about it, and told him I had to agree. I said that since O Portugues had mysteriously closed in the spring there was nothing that even came close.
You could eat in the likes of Rizouq on the Wokingham Road, I supposed, as it had a few tables, and I’d heard suggestions that a burger joint, Pattie N’ Pulled, was operating out of the Roebuck (it looks like they’ve since moved on). But apart from that, and the artist formerly known as the Garden Of Gulab, restaurants were thin on the ground. I thought that would be the end of the conversation, but Jonathan wanted to talk about it in more detail, as if I had the power to change it.
I do get it though. As a proud East Reading resident myself, albeit one living far closer to the centre, it is an enduring mystery that it’s such a dead zone for restaurants. Caversham is well served, and Whitley and Katesgrove have a handful of places. Tilehurst, with the addition of spots like The Switch and Vesuvio, is seeing a bit of a resurgence and the Oxford Road has always been a crucible of culinary invention. Even dear old Woodley, where I grew up, has a handful of restaurants worth a visit.
By comparison, the Wokingham Road feels like slim pickings. It has takeaways, and two biryani places, and the likes of Earley Café and Chaiiwala, but nothing you could describe as a neighbourhood restaurant. It’s almost as if the people living near Palmer Park are expected to hop on the 17, walk to Kungfu Kitchen, settle for the Hope And Bear or, if all else fails, fall into Ye Babam Ye. If it wasn’t for the likes of Smash N Grab and Cake & Cream, you might struggle to see redeeming features at all. And Smash N Grab, sad to say, has its last ever service tomorrow.
I did remember, though, talking to Jonathan that there was one possible contender in the form of Hala Lebanese. It opened last June on the Wokingham Road, just past the stretch of shops, in a spot formerly occupied by another Lebanese restaurant, Alona. I still remembered Alona, partly for the astroturf but mainly for the wobbly shawarma that had slightly traumatised my dining companion John and me. I told Jonathan I would get to Hala as soon as I could and, what with Christmas and Covid, I think I’ve pretty much kept my promise: last Saturday Zoë and I trekked up the Wokingham Road to give it a whirl.
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As of October 2024 Filter Coffee House has changed its interior layout and so is now takeaway only.
Filter Coffee House, a tiny café on Castle Street offering authentic South Indian coffee, opened last August. It occupies a unit which as far as I can remember used to be home to a very small, rather unsuccessful produce store by the people behind Tamp Culture (remember them?). I found myself stopping in last year a couple of weeks after Filter Coffee House opened and, slightly bending my usual rule to wait a month, I talked about it on social media.
I couldn’t help it. I waxed lyrical on Instagram about their coffee and, in particular, their banana bun, a confection quite unlike anything I’d ever eaten before. Not quite sweet, not quite savoury but glazed, complex and moreish, it was not the kind of thing you eat and forget. Quite the contrary: you want to tell the world about it. I loved it so much that when I put together my list of Reading’s 50 best dishes last September, as part of the blog’s 10th birthday celebrations, I snuck it in at number 47. I called it a little miracle.
Maybe I was jumping the gun but I had a feeling it was going to be huge, and I wanted my admiration of that banana bun to be a matter of public record as soon as possible. Because there are few four word combinations in the English language quite as satisfying, if you ask me, as I told you so.
Anyway, the amount of praise that bun has garnered on social media since has borne out my hunch. But not only that, if you follow Filter Coffee House’s hugely winning Instagram feed you’ll see that they’ve really flourished in the last five months. The month after they opened they teamed up with nearby Rise to expand their range of baked goods. In October they introduced a menu of Saturday specials, and in November they brought in a sandwich menu.
In December, naturally, there was a Christmas menu – the “Mistle-Toast” is still available, if you’re tempted – and now Filter Coffee House also stocks goodies by Cocolico, Reading’s vegan pâtissière. The overall picture is one of constant forward movement and innovation, and it shows no signs of stopping: last Sunday, for the first time, they had a stall at Caversham’s Artisan Market.
And yet, shamefully, with one thing and another I had not been back since that first visit back in August. Of all the places I’d neglected in the latter half of 2023, sorting this one was right at the top of my list. So last Saturday, lured by that specials menu and fresh from the elation of having bought our wedding rings in town, Zoë and I sauntered over, keen to see how things had progressed.
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Of all the city guides I’ve written since I put together a guide to Ghent over 5 years ago, easily the most popular have been the ones I’ve written on Málaga. The second edition of my Málaga guide, published two years ago, has had more page hits by far than any of my other city guides and is surprisingly evergreen, with more people reading it last year than the year before, or the year before that. I’ve had far more messages about it than I could ever have expected, often from readers on holiday literally working their way through it. It’s even been cited by other bloggers putting together their own highlights of the city.
By way of illustration, even on my most recent trip to Málaga at the start of December one of my Instagram followers was in the city at the same time as me; I sent her some recommendations, and she had a fantastic dinner at Uvedoble. A couple of weeks before that, a regular reader sent me a picture of his first caña at Meson Iberico, having already told me that he’d checked out three more venues from my city guide. “The omnivore can’t go far wrong in a country where dried ham is used as a seasoning” read another message, accompanied by a picture of a plate of artichokes strewn with matchsticks of jamon. He has a point.
So why am I updating the guide now? A few reasons, really. One is that my latest visit managed to check in on most of my old favourites to establish that they are still standout options, but also gave me a chance to explore new discoveries which merit a mention. In addition, Málaga’s coffee scene seems to have expanded further in the last two years – with some venues expanding or relocating. I was especially sad about that with one of my favourites, Mia Coffee, which had a lovely little spot; I didn’t love their new home, I’m sorry to say, in the same way.
The other reason is a firmly-held belief that Málaga is, as a destination, growing and growing in popularity and feels, to me at least, like a city whose time has come. I have been visiting it for seven years and in that time I’ve perceived a real shift – the days when people would get off the plane and immediately catch a train west down the coast without ever troubling the city seem to be coming to an end. Increasingly I am aware of more people selecting it as a destination and falling under its spell.
And it really isn’t hard to see why. It is Europe’s sunniest city, it’s temperate to visit even in the winter months, it has Moorish architecture, an incredible food market, art gallery after art gallery – what other city can boast the twin artistic patrons of Picasso and Antonio Banderas – a bustling port, a gorgeous and eccentric cathedral and, of course, a beach. And that’s before we get to the food: Málaga may not have the free tapas on offer in Granada, further north, but it makes up for that with many great and imaginative restaurants. Tapas is easy to find, and invariably good, but there’s more to Málaga than tapas. Hopefully this guide goes some way to showcasing that, but even so it still scratches the surface of one of my very favourite places.
In the majority of cases where I’m recommending somewhere which has featured in previous guides the writing is brand new, as is the picture. Where it’s a recommendation from my 2021 guide I’ve tried to make this clear. Right, let’s get started.
Where to eat
1. Taberna Uvedoble
Uvedoble is possibly Málaga’s cleverest modern tapas joint. I first started visiting it in 2017 when it was round the corner and looked a tad functional – their new, bigger home is starting to feel a little more special, with quite a lot of outside space and a lovely spot up at the bar. One of my favourite things about their menu is how inclusive it is – every dish effectively comes in three different sizes so you can share if you like, keep something all to yourself if you’d rather.
Uvedoble’s growing popularity is reflected in two things – that you can now, finally, book online and that even with that luxury snagging a table is harder than it used to be. And having returned many times I’m increasingly struck that the core of its menu hasn’t changed massively between visits.
But perhaps that doesn’t matter because the core of the menu – mini burgers cut with foie, little brioches stuffed with suckling pig, stunning savoury eclairs, oxtail albondigas like rich, crumbly faggots – remain classics. And of course, the nest of deep black squid ink fideua, crowned with baby squid and bordering on a lake of aioli, remains as perfect a plate of food as it was when I first ordered it, over seven years ago.
Excellent though Uvedoble is, Meson Iberico is my single favourite spot in Málaga to eat and if you could teleport me to any restaurant in the world tonight for dinner, there’s a better than evens chance that I’d pick it. Not just any place though: you go through the front door and on the left are all the conventional tables, with table service, for bigger groups. But no: the place to be, the reason I queue outside ahead of its 8.30pm opening time – with many other people – is for prized seats at the bar. There, with crowds behind you and all the cheffing and action ahead, you have one of the best spots in the world.
It’s such an immerse, brilliant experience that it would be worth doing even if the food was just ho hum. But fortunately, it’s so much better than that. The very best ham, thinly sliced, the fat liquefying on the tongue. A bed of grilled mushrooms scattered with more ham – that ham as a seasoning again – and thick, pink prawns, the perfect dish to forage from. Skewers of tender, spiced lamb with unimprovable skinny chips. Rich, buttery tuna fresh off the plancha dressed with lemon and a salad studded with sweet slices of fried garlic. I’m not sure Meson Iberico knows how to serve a bad dish: if they do, it’s not one I’ve ever ordered.
Towards the end of my last meal there, I saw one of the men behind the bar, with great solemnity and ceremony, preparing a dish I wish I’d ordered. First he expertly chopped an enormous, bulbous tomato into chunks. Then he opened a jar of high grade Ortiz tuna, easing out the pieces and resting them on the tomato. He anointed the whole lot with good quality extra virgin olive oil, for about a full minute after the point where I thought surely he’ll stop now. Then he sprinkled salt, again for longer than I expected. When the dish was served up to some lucky diners I was tempted to applaud.
If Meson Iberico is my favourite place in Málaga, just about, I suspect that Gastroteca Can Emma, a little restaurant close to Malagueta beach, is Zoë’s. It looks nondescript from outside, on a little side street off the main drag, but it happens to do properly unbeatable food. On previous visits I’ve been quite transfixed by their miniature croquetas, like the best Wotsits in the world, made out of real cheese. I have always ordered one of the three – yes, three – mini hamburgers on the menu. And I always make a beeline for the arroz mare y monte – not quite a paella, per se, but a pan full of salty, savoury rice with prawns, squid, ham and a big pot of aioli on the side. I’ve almost never gone and not ordered it: it really is amazing.
However this time around, on a lunchtime visit, we discovered that the kitchen’s talents extended far beyond that. Bao buns with cochinita pibil were a beautiful surprise and, better still, they served some of the best gyoza I’ve ever eaten – packed with prawns and glazed in a positively compelling, sticky sauce. I still had the arroz though, because if I hadn’t I would have regretted it. But, unusually for me, I went to Can Emma twice on my most recent visit to Málaga.
The second trip, an evening visit, was with my dear friend Jerry and five of his closest friends to celebrate his seventieth birthday. It was a happy accident – his first night in the city was our last night there and so I took it upon myself to find the perfect spot for the occasion. And Can Emma didn’t let me down, catering effortlessly for the vegetarian in our midst, keeping the wine flowing and even taking some photos of the group of us. On that visit I added sweetbreads to the list of things Gastroteca Can Emma did well and I opted for a different main course, secreta iberica with mango chutney. It was gorgeous, but I’m glad I’d already had the arroz that week. Jerry ordered the legendary arroz, though, and loved it. Happy birthday to him.
Gastroteca Can Emma Calle Ruiz Blaser, 2
4. Casa Lola
I first visited Casa Lola in 2017 on my first trip to Màlaga and since then it has grown like Topsy with multiple branches, including two on opposite sides of Plaza de Uncibay, and another set of restaurants called Pez Lola. But my heart belongs to the original branch on Calle Granada, a brilliantly buzzy taberna which is often full at lunchtime very shortly after opening.
It has become a tradition for me to go there on every trip, usually at the start of my first day in the city, and invariably I order some beautiful ham and a cold vermouth (they do one, chispazo, with Coke which I like even though I probably shouldn’t) and a selection of pintxos topped with prawns, salt cod or morcilla. But I also make sure I order the chicharrones fritos, cubes of deep fried pork belly which are simply a plate of salty heaven. They also do, to my surprise, the best croquetas I had on this trip.
If you tire of tapas, and small plates, and sharing everything, La Cosmopolita is the place for you. The most high end outpost of chef Dani Carnero’s mini empire, it’s serene, grown up and marvellously chic. The food happens to be exceptional.
I loved molletas, ethereal yet crusty rolls packed with tuna tartare and a warming mayo. Salmonete torched at the table, sashimi grade stuff, came with chopsticks and a dipping sauce of soy, orange juice and fish liver which cut through and fleshed out at the same time. And my main course, sweetbreads with brown butter and capers, might well have been the best sweetbreads I’ve eaten: soft and yielding where they should be, but caramelised and intense at the edges. The only place that’s come close to that quality is Parcelles in Paris, another hugely accomplished restaurant.
On my previous visit to La Cosmopolita I had been forced to sit there watching Zoë make short work of the best dessert I’ve never ordered, an ambrosial cheesecake made with payoyo, a local goat’s cheese. I’d never tasted a cheesecake like it, and I made myself a promise that if I ever went back and it was on the menu I would order it and enjoy every mouthful. On this trip I did exactly that, and next time the battle will be trying not to order two pieces.
I also have to mention the service, which was effortlessly charming and affable and came from Victor, a larger than life character who regaled us with stories of his time working in the U.K., in Tunbridge Wells. He had that authoritative air about him where he could say: no, you don’t want to order that, or definitely try this, or this is how many dishes you need and you almost obeyed without question. What Tunbridge Wells quite made of Victor, and vice versa, was something I found myself wondering. But their loss was Spain’s gain, and ours too for that matter. And, as he said to us during our meal at La Cosmopolita, there really is something magical about Málaga.
Since this guide was written, Palodu has won a Michelin star – quite right, too.
Most of my meals, on my most recent trip, were emphatically casual dining. That’s not to say that the flavours weren’t great or the presentation, in places, beautiful, but it does mark out Palodu, a recommendation from one of my Spanish followers on Instagram, as a very different proposition. Make no mistake, Palodu is aiming for a Michelin star and everything about it points to that. The room is hushed and stylish, the tables big and beautifully spaced. The service is attentive, the ratio of staff to diners close to one to one. From our table, Zoë could see the open kitchen and watch the ceremony of dishes being painstakingly prepared and plated: Palodu is a plates with tweezers kind of a restaurant.
That’s not normally my cup of tea – I like a meal like that a couple of times a year – but Palodu was brilliant at it and I’m so glad I picked it. Across fifteen courses, including snacks to start and petits fours to finish, we were treated to an array of techniques and combinations from a kitchen absolutely at the top of its game. I took photos but not notes, and for once I suspended my critical faculties and just immersed myself in the experience. It was a wonderful fever dream of food – of fish precisely and perfectly cooked, of tiny lamb meatballs in a terrific sauce, of squid cooked simply and presented with a rich slick of sauce and translucent slices of mushroom.
And the wine pairings (yes, it was a splurge) were phenomenal including, for one course, a 1981 Riesling extracted by Coravin which was one of those wines you only encounter a couple of times in your life. Almost as good as the local Moscatel that accompanied our two desserts – I loved it so much that I was delighted to find it on sale, a few days later, at Vertical, the next entry on the list. We bought two bottles for the journey home, and packed them even more carefully than usual.
Since this guide was written, Vertical has moved to a different address.
One of the restaurant bloggers who used my previous guides for tips on where to eat in Málaga was Cardiff-based Gourmet Gorro. But he returned the favour, because when he visited in 2022 he wrote positively about this natural wine bar in the old city. And I’m really glad he did, because I absolutely loved it – more, I suspect, than he did. It’s a lovely space with high tables and stools, tasteful and muted, and it does a gorgeous range of wines by the glass (it also sells them to take home: I gladly took advantage of that).
But more even than the wine, the food itself justifies a visit. Cecina croquetas were a compact delight, but even more phenomenal was a tomato tartare made with three different types of tomato on a fragrant base of crushed potatoes bright with extra virgin olive oil. A pinsa Romana with potato, gorgonzola and guanciale was surprisingly airy and dangerously easy to demolish, as was a dish of punchy sobrasada, cheese and honey on toast. Service was superb, and I loved it to the point that by the end of the meal I was indignant that the place wasn’t absolutely packed.
When it comes to ice cream, traditionalists go for Casa Mira, still going strong on Calle Marqués de Larios after more than a century. I’ve heard good things about the chain Bico de Xaedo, which had a branch literally a minute from my apartment. But my loyalties are with Freskitto which has two spots on Calle Granada – one a kiosk, the other with a handful of seats inside.
Service is superb, and Freskitto’s stuff really is top notch – closer in texture to gelato than ice cream and sheer joy to eat. I’ve pretty much narrowed my order down to a chocolate/dulce de leche combo, though I occasionally dabble with something else. Grabbing my paper cup and sitting just opposite, round the corner from El Pimpi, eating Freskitto’s beautiful ice cream and gazing up at the cloudless blue sky is one of my favourite Málaga memories.
Heladeria Freskitto Calle Granada, 55
9. Mercado Atanazaras
Not content with being a mini Barcelona, Málaga also boasts a mini Boqueria in the shape of the handsome and hugely likeable Mercado Atarazanas. You can buy pretty much anything there – from just-landed fish to pig’s trotters, from freshly sliced jamon to salted almonds shining with oil.
But the real draw, for me, is Central Bar in the corner of the market. There you can stand up at the bar, drink your vermouth or your caña and get stuck into the incredible array of fresh fish and seafood under the counter, or have charcuterie, cheese and all the other main Spanish food groups. On my 2021 visit we had tuna steaks, cooked simply, scattered with salt and served up with sensational tomatoes and padron peppers, another exemplary illustration that less is often more.
But it wasn’t just about the fish: chicharrones de Cadiz were utterly delicious but a completely different kettle of pork to their Casa Lola cousins – less scratchings, more a high definition porchetta. The four of us lunched like kings for just over a hundred Euros, and my only regret is that I didn’t find a way to go there every day. I visited the market again in 2023, but just to buy supplies, and although that corner bar was calling to me we had other lunch plans. They were good enough, fortunately, to dispense with any regret.
Mercado Central de Atarazanas Calle Atarazanas, 10
10. La Cheesequeria
La Cheesequeria, a cheesecake cafe on Calle Carreteria, was another recommendation from the Instagram follower that tipped me off about Palodu. And given how much I’d loved Palodu, and my cheesecake from La Cosmopolita, I made a point of stopping off there to pick up a slice of cheesecake to enjoy in the comfort of my apartment. It was also a payoyo cheesecake and if it hadn’t been for La Cosmopolita it would have been the best cheesecake I’d ever eaten. Instead it will have to settle for being the second best.
La Cheesequeria does both sweet and savoury cheesecakes. I imagine the latter, some of them looking on the sweet side even for me, do very well locally but I was drawn to the savoury ones. Next time I’ll eschew the payoyo and go for a something with blue cheese – don’t knock it til you’ve tried it, blue cheesecake is out of this world – or the thing that nearly swayed me on this visit, a cheesecake made with 24 month aged Parmesan. That I can’t even imagine what that would taste like is, to me, reason enough to try it.
La Tranca remains one of my favourite bars in the whole wide world, a scruffy and vibrant place which welcomes anyone who wants to drink vermouth or beer, eat good food and enjoy people-watching amid a crowd who all have the same laudable priorities. The music is Spanish, and the LPs behind the bar are a retro anorak’s dream. I can honestly say that this is a happy place at the epicentre of a happy place, and all my visits in 2021 and 2022 were superb fun.
It is a tribute to its growing fame, and I think the growing popularity of Málaga in general, that every time we wandered past on our most recent visit, daytime or evening, it was too rammed for us to find a space there.
Although you can drink beer or vermouth here my preferred drink is the aliñao, a mixture of vermouth, gin and soda which slips down dangerously easily. After a couple of them, you find your life goals slowly shifting from whatever they were before to “how can I buy an apartment within stumbling distance of La Tranca?” And that’s without talking about the food – wonderful four cheese empanadas with a tang of blue cheese or some of the best jamon I had on my holiday, sliced there and then and presented glistening on a board, waiting to be pinched between fingers and devoured. And fried olives – did you know fried olives were a thing? Me neither, and now I feel quite devoutly that they should be a thing everywhere.
On a previous visit, we’d bumped into an Italian singer-songwriter who had a long and fascinating story of jet setting from one European city to the next, la dolce vita in action. A tad randomly, we all follow one another on Instagram now, so when we returned to La Tranca in 2021 Zoë took a goofy selfie of the four of us and sent it to him. “That’s really sweet of you!” came the reply from elsewhere on the continent in next to no time. “Enjoy the journey in beautiful Málaga. I miss it.” It has that effect on you.
Whether this too is a product of Málaga’s increasing popularity, or just that the week I visited in December had two public holidays in it, Antigua Casa de Guardia was also too packed for me to visit this time around. Nevertheless it has always been, for me, the other place in Málaga to stop for a drink – a long thin room with a long thin bar where you pick from the sweet wines, sherries and vermouths in the barrels behind. They keep a running tab on your bar in chalk and as barely anything you can drink tops two Euros you do feel it’s rude not to stay for another, and another.
It’s standing room only, with only a few high tables, so settling in for a prolonged session is probably beyond most people, but to stand there sipping from your copa and watching the bar staff, all of whom seem like they’ve been doing this for years, is a quintessential Málaga experience.
Every time I’ve come to Màlaga I’ve visited Birras Deluxe, the craft beer spot on Plaza Merced, and each time I’ve liked it more and more. It came under new management before my 2021 visit and they’ve spend the intervening years making it better and better. It’s still a little small and scruffy but the range of beers is outstanding and it now feels like they’ve got the balance right between classic Belgian beers, which used to dominate their list on keg, and beers from up and coming Spanish breweries, whether they’re local ones like Attik Brewing or ones like Basqueland and Garage with a more international reputation.
In the past my choice of beer venue has been an out and out choice between Birras Deluxe and La Madriguera, just around the corner. On this visit I found Madriguera had slightly lost its shine – their Instagram wrote a cheque that the experience in the bar couldn’t cash – so now it’s an out and out choice between Birras Deluxe and the next place on my list.
Another Gourmet Gorro tip, I’d always overlooked Central Beers on previous visits to Málaga, thinking it was too big, too Belgian-focused, not quite authentic enough. Well, that was my loss because I dropped in their twice on my most recent holiday and both times it was excellent. It’s spacious, with plenty of big, sturdy tables. The table service is excellent and efficient. It’s a lovely place to while away an evening and the beer list is superb, featuring lots of breweries I’ve never heard of like Ireland’s Hopfully Brewing or the Basque country’s Laugar. If that isn’t enough, the fridge had a lot of strength in depth, including an imperial stout by French brewery Prizm, based not far from Montpellier, that might have been my beer of the holiday.
The other thing I loved about Central Beers was its surprisingly good and very broad menu featuring perfect beer food and bar snacks. Much of it is international in nature – more gyoza, again pretty impressive, or gnarled karaage chicken with a thick teriyaki-style sauce and slivers of apple. But the battered salt cod, served simply with aioli, brought it all back home. They also, and this is quite rare for Malaga, have a half-decent vegetarian offering which comes in handy if you’re out for dinner with someone who wants a little bit more than another portion of patatas bravas.
In the old days there were two places for churros in Málaga, Cafe Central and Casa Aranda. And then, tragically, at the start of 2022 Cafe Central closed because of a dispute with the landlord: how very Reading. It’s now a purgatorial looking “English-style pub” called “John Scott’s” owned by the Swedish company behind Kopparberg, which in my book makes it inauthentic in about half a dozen ways: if you’re tempted to visit it while you’re in Málaga, seek professional help.
Anyway, that just leaves Casa Aranda which fortunately is excellent. It’s grown and grown to the extent where it appears to take up a whole street and the waiters hang around at one end, managing an orderly queue to find you a table. Even though it looks rammed the process is impressively brisk, so you’re normally seated in no time. If you’re lucky, you’re outside with some sunshine, a view and some people watching opportunities. If you’re less fortunate you’re ushered into a slightly unlovely room. Either way, the churros are champion.
El Pimpi is a Málaga institution, to the extent where including it in this guide is a little obvious. A huge, sprawling bar with lots of little rooms and corridors, and a lot of outside space looking out on the Alcazaba, I surprised by how much I liked it. It was touristy, but not to its detriment, and it had all the things Antigua Casa de la Guardia was lacking, like seats, and toilets you could actually bring yourself to use.
My glass of Pedro Ximenez had that sticky, syrupy quality and the richness of thoroughly coddled sultanas and I would happily have stayed for more. There’s always next time, as I increasingly told myself as my holiday drew to a close. Antonio Banderas, a native of Málaga, is a big fan (he allegedly owns an apartment overlooking the bar), so there are a lot of pictures of him on display. A lot. Many of the barrels are signed by celebrities – including, after he stopped by on his recent Channel 5 series about Andalusia, Michael Portillo of all people.
Santa has grown, to the extent that it now has three branches – one big one near Atarazanas, a smaller one near the cathedral and my favourite, in Soho. There are usually seats outside, the people watching potential is exceptional and their coffee is solidly, reliably excellent. Although I’ve never eaten a full meal there the brunches look decent, and I do have a soft spot for their alfajores – a hefty, delicious biscuit enrobed, as marketeers are wont to say, in chocolate.
Part of the continuing explosion in Málaga’s coffee scene, Next Level was a new one on me and has two branches. The original one, on Calle Panaderos near the market, is more rough and ready. The second, which is a little more upmarket and has some excellent outside space, is on Calle San Juan and is all round a little nicer. Both, and this is the important bit, serve really impressive coffee: two top-drawer lattes cost a little over five pounds.
They also sell beans to take away, and the ones we bought, from Rotterdam’s Manhattan coffee roasters, might well have been the best coffee I had at home in 2023. Spain is very lucky that this thing called the Common Market allows them to buy the best coffee from anywhere in Europe without worrying about taxes and delays and paperwork. I can’t see it catching on here, more’s the pity.
Next Level Coffee Calle Panaderos 14/Calle San Juan, 27
9. Kima Coffee
Kima, which is not far from La Cheesequeria, was the underdog coffee house that I really grew to love on my last trip to Málaga. It’s small – little more than a kiosk, although there are stools for three people inside. In reality the clientele often stand up at the counter and chat away to their barista until the next lot of customers come in, which I found really likeable. It reminded me a lot of Mia Café, which I loved in their old home, and I suppose like Mia if they are successful they will move to a bigger place which I might like less and make more money, which to be fair is kind of what they’re supposed to do. I hope they do, but I’m glad I got to enjoy their coffee before they hit the big time. Two lattes here – brace yourself – will set you back less than four quid.
El Ultimo Mono translates as “the last monkey”, for reasons I still haven’t managed to figure out. This was my go to place for coffee on the move on previous visits to Málaga, but when I went in 2021 I found that it had moved location. Its new home, tucked off a main street, slightly lacks the charm of its old one, but it’s got a little outside space and has developed quite a nice cosy feel.
Anyway, the coffee is still rather nice and a sensible size for drinking on the go. And if you have it in, it comes in the most beautiful cups: I very nearly went up to the counter and asked where they’d got them from.
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One final bit of gastronomic navel gazing to close out the year: it feels like the blog has been a little (by which I mean “even”) more inward-looking than usual. That has a lot to do with the tenth birthday celebrations and a series of pieces covering Reading’s game-changing restaurants, its saddest closures – which of course went to print before the awful news from the Grumpy Goat – and Reading’s 50 best dishes. The latter in particular risks having some overlap with this year’s awards, so whatever you do don’t scurry off to read those posts just to point out that the gongs I’m giving out today don’t bear close enough relation to what I said in September; three months is a long time in Reading restaurant politics.
As I said in my round-up of 2023, it’s been another extraordinary and record-breaking year on the blog and although I’ve cast my net more widely this year, travelling to Oxford, London, Bristol and – no, this isn’t a typo – Swindon in search of good restaurants to review, there have still been an enormous amount of terrific dishes on display in Reading.
Some, sadly, were available when the year began but aren’t as it ends – the beautiful pizzas at Buon Appetito, for instance, Cairo Café’s cracking shawarma, the Reuben at the Grumpy Goat or San Sicario’s white crabmeat tumbled onto rosti. And other dishes were on menus but have since been whipped off to make way for the new (those troublemakers at the Lyndhurst are particularly prone to this, much to my chagrin).
But even with all that said, deciding these awards has been every bit as difficult as ever. Sometimes it’s hard enough to pick the best dish offered by a particular restaurant – especially with the likes of Reading’s holy trinity, Clay’s, Kungfu Kitchen and the Lyndhurst – let alone the best dish of the year in the whole of town. Those three restaurants, to me, still represent the apex of Reading’s food scene but, I have to say, there’s an awful lot of strength in depth when you consider all the other independent restaurants, pubs, cafés and bars in town.
And when Reading doesn’t quite have what you want, well, the Elizabeth Line is making it easier and easier to find it elsewhere; more people may commute into Reading for work than out of it, but I do still worry that, far from bringing the brightest and best to Reading, Crossrail might have the opposite effect. Maybe this time next year my awards will be a series of dispatches from Hounslow and Farringdon rather than Tilehurst and Woodley. Stranger things have happened.
But anyway, let’s celebrate the best of the year from a town which still, very much, contains the capacity to surprise and delight. And before I start opening virtual envelopes, let me also wish you all a very Happy New Year – whether you’re down the pub, living it up in a tap room, out for a fancy meal or sitting at home on the sofa watching When Harry Met Sally. Given that the latter is one of my very favourite ways to see out the year, top marks to any of you going down that route. Wherever you are and however you celebrate – or don’t – I shall raise a glass to all of you on Sunday night.
STARTER OF THE YEAR: Korean chicken wings, the Lyndhurst
I’ve had these a lot in 2023. There was a period when they were on the main menu – replacing the Lyndie’s karaage chicken, I was quite upset about that at the time – and then they just cropped up on Wednesdays when the pub does a portion of wings and a pint for a tenner. That, like so much the Lyndhurst does, is a bargain so ridiculous that you could be forgiven for wondering how they make money.
I have never been a big fan of chicken wings and the reward to faff ratio they seem to embody. They’re up there, for me, with stuff like crab and lobster where I want somebody else to go to the effort for me. And yet I am absolutely hooked on the Lyndhurst’s Korean wings. The sauce has that complex, savoury depth that only gochujang can offer and it’s remarkably easy to plough through ten of the blighters almost without noticing.
If they take these completely off the menu next year and put the karaage chicken back on I will be just as devastated, and then I’ll fall in love with the replacement all over again. Korean food is having a bit of a moment in Reading, with two new places opening in the second half of the year. But trust the Lyndhurst to do it first, and do it better. It’s just typical of them.
Honourable mentions go to Clay’s impeccable pork belly, which is far too nice to share even though I always seem to end up sharing it with someone when I go there, more’s the pity, and last year’s winner, Kamal’s Kitchen’s thhicheko aalu, which remains the best potato dish in town bar none.
CHAIN OF THE YEAR: Honest Burgers
When you consider that the main new chain to open in Reading this year was the deeply mediocre Popeyes, it’s perhaps no surprise that the main contenders for this award are the same as they were last year. But for me, this year, Honest has edged it for consistency. When I’m in town short of time, or coming back from work and not wanting to cook, I have found myself falling into Honest on a fair few occasions, often after a medicinal beer a few doors down at the Alehouse. And it never lets me down.
Honest is in danger of being forgotten these days, because it’s been part of the scenery so long. I can’t remember the last time I went when it was heaving, but it’s never empty either and it’s seen off arguably its closest competitor in the shape of 7Bone, which has given up on the town centre and now trades out of Phantom. But in any case I was always on Team Honest and this year, if anything, they’ve improved. Their chicken burger, after a slightly indifferent start, is now on a level with the rest of their menu and now that Wild Weather have upped sticks and moved to Wales the restaurant stocks beer from Windsor’s Two Flints instead, which if anything is a trade up.
Honourable mentions go to Pho, which is very reliable but possibly better as a takeaway option than to eat in, and Shree Krishna Vada Pav, which has become a very enjoyable part of my lunchtime regime.
LUNCH VENUE OF THE YEAR: Picnic
I have visited Picnic a lot more this year: it’s Zoë’s choice of lunch venue, especially when she’s cutting down on the carbs, because their weekly salad boxes hit the spot. Initially I joined her grudgingly, having a little moan about the prices, or the quality of the coffee.
But a lot has changed since I was a regular at Picnic – the coffee is at a different level now, and they’re the only place in Reading I know of that still uses beautiful Lacey’s milk. And the salads get more and more inventive and delicious, whether it’s sticky edged chorizo and butternut squash or warming, sublime chicken shawarma. Their toasties, which also nudge close to a tenner, are a little on the pricey side but they’re also executed superbly: one I had this year with burrata, ‘nduja and peppers, the outside properly buttered and bronzed, was up there with my favourite lunches of the year.
Honourable mentions go to Madoo, still one of my favourite places to while away a lunchtime (although their coffee needs to improve to match their toasties and cannoli) and Shree Krishna Vada Pav. If I’m in a real rush at lunchtime I’ll saunter over just to have one of their vada pav: glorious, affordable carb-on-carb high jinks.
OUT OF TOWN RESTAURANT OF YEAR (BERKSHIRE): Knead Neapolitan Pizza, Maidenhead
The frequency with which I have visited Knead this year has surprised even me. Fancy a quiet few weekend drinks at A Hoppy Place but need to line the stomach beforehand? Knead it is. Want to have lunch with my old friend before going to watch Maidenhead United serve up some absolutely dogshit football at York Road? Off to Knead, just round the corner, first. And when my Canadian relatives were in the country, and we wanted to find somewhere to meet halfway between Reading and their London Airbnb for beer, good food and a proper catch up, Knead fitted the bill superbly.
That makes it sound like the location was everything, but that doesn’t do the place justice. The service is terrific, the specials are great, the local beers by nearby White Waltham brewery Stardust are a treat and they get the basics very right. Much as I love some of the pizzas on offer in Reading there’s still a bit of me that would love to pick Knead up and drop it somewhere convenient in Reading – where O Portugues used to be, for example. They’ve now introduced an anchovy pizza, which pleases predictable me very much, but the “Hello Gourd-Geous” – with pumpkin, blue cheese and ‘nduja – is a knockout.
MAIN COURSE OF THE YEAR: Monkfish tacos, The Lyndhurst
The Lyndhurst has always done tacos well – I fondly remember their shredded pork tacos, in the latter half of 2020 – but the monkfish tacos on their menu until recently were just outrageously good, a high end re-imagining of fish tacos at a crazily approachable price. Generosity doesn’t even come close – each taco was crammed with two huge pieces of monkfish in the lightest of batters, with guacamole, hot sauce and lightly pickled red onions. They were so crammed that rolling them up and eating them was a feat beyond me: I’d have needed bigger hands and a far bigger gob.
Although I’m sad that the Lyndhurst has taken them off the menu – though they may still crop up on the specials menu – it was probably for the best, for my imagination and my bank balance. Because there were many weekday evenings where Zoë and I would begin a conversation, me on the train home and her finishing her shift, and it was only a matter of time before one of us cracked and said “or we could just have monkfish tacos tonight”. Perhaps if it had been on the menu for less time I would have reviewed even more restaurants in 2023. As it is, I am nothing but grateful that I got to enjoy it so many times.
This was an exceptionally hard category to judge and either of my honourable mentions could easily have won it on any other year. One was Clay’s yakhni pulao, a dish which started as a special and graduated to the main menu, a mound of rice cooked in broth and marrow and coronated with a sticky lamb curry, the perfect synthesis of Nandana’s and Sharat’s skills in the kitchen and, somehow, as emblematic of their partnership as the restaurant itself. The other was Bakery House’s boneless baby chicken, a dish which, like Bakery House, is every bit as good as you remember.
CAFE OF THE YEAR: Workhouse Coffee
Despite losing Tamp a few years back and, of course, no longer being able to drink Anonymous Coffee at the Grumpy Goat, Reading remains a superlative place to drink great coffee. And Workhouse is very much the eminence grise of Reading’s coffee scene. For my money it still does Reading’s best latte and even if it’s in a tricky spot with a troublesome landlord and a guano spattered courtyard which isn’t the outside space it once was, it remains a strangely magical place to sit with a contemplative coffee.
I have lost track of the number of coffees I’ve had there – first thing in the morning on my way home from acupuncture, at lunchtime grabbing half an hour with Zoë or on a weekend, pretending to read a paperback while constantly hitting refresh on Twitter. It never lets you down and the service – from Steve, Kirsty, Rachel or any of the rest of their happy brigade – is always terrific. I saw recently on social media that the Oxford Road branch was even open briefly on Christmas morning, which gave me a little proud glow. We’re lucky to have Workhouse, even if sometimes it’s easy to overlook because it’s been there so long.
Honourable mentions go to C.U.P., and in particular its Blagrave Street branch which I really do love, and to Minas Café out in Whitley. I can see myself having more coffees there next year.
OUT OF TOWN RESTAURANT OF THE YEAR (OUTSIDE BERKSHIRE): COR, Bristol
COR was my meal of the year, a rare example of me going somewhere before it was discovered by every Tom, Dick and even bigger Dick. I loved it when I went there in February and reviewed the place, and I made sure that when I went back to Bristol I dragged Zoë and some other friends there. It not only gives small plates restaurants a good name, but everything is so beautifully executed that you could eat three different meals there on three successive nights, never repeat yourself and never have anything short of magnificent.
I know I get occasional stick for reviewing places outside Reading, but you don’t quite know what Reading is missing until you go somewhere like COR and then it does come remarkably into focus: we are missing places like this. I think of everywhere I’ve reviewed in 2023 COR is the one I would most recommend without reservation or qualification, and I would love Reading to have more restaurants even half as good. At my most recent readers’ lunch a couple of the guests told me they’d gone out of their way to visit it earlier that year: that gave me almost as much pleasure as eating there myself did.
Honourable mentions go to Manteca – the best meal out I’ve had in London for many years – and to the gorgeous Los Gatos in Swindon. There may not be a huge amount of reasons to visit Swindon, but when one of them is Los Gatos you don’t need any others.
SERVICE OF THE YEAR; London Street Brasserie
Earlier in the year I had a Saturday to myself and I decided to have a solo lunch, sit at a table for one, sip a glass of red and read Olive Kitteridge between courses. Ironically I only went to LSB because the Lyndhurst was closed for a private function, and they happened to have a table available online there and then. And then I went, and they put me at the best table in the whole restaurant – the big round one in the corner with a view of the whole ground floor – and they were unfailingly lovely from start to finish.
I am absolutely certain they didn’t know who I was, not that I’m anyone. I was just some random Joe who as good as came in off the street and the treatment I had was just fantastic throughout. From my excellent vantage point, I could see that I was literally nothing special. Every table got that attention from a really hard-working, happy team, and I think if you can make a solo diner feel as welcome and looked after as a boisterous, bustling table for six you have the knack of something really important, something not enough restaurants can do. My meal was good but not great – I might well have eaten better at the Lyndhurst, and certainly cheaper – but as an experience it was hard to beat.
It really saddens me to only be able to give this award to one restaurant. Vesuvio and Minas Café, in very different but equally valid ways, are both worthy runners-up in this category. And I have to mention Barista & Beyond here too, because the service (and the experience) there made me think hard about hospitality and how lucky we are that some businesses are so good at it.
DESSERT OF THE YEAR: Peanut butter ice cream, Clay’s Kitchen
Many years ago I held a readers’ lunch at Clay’s and I had one guest at it, a lady called Alessia, who couldn’t eat any of the desserts Clay’s usually does because of her allergies. Nandana made a vegan peanut butter ice cream, just for her, and it was so phenomenal that everybody else had dessert envy. That’s the genius of Clay’s, that they can cater for restrictions and make something which made everyone else feel like they were missing out. Nandana gave me a little bowl of it to try that day, I had a few spoonfuls and then I passed the bowl around because I felt guilty that I had tasted it and others hadn’t.
Fast forward to September, at a lunch to celebrate ten years of the blog, and I asked Nandana to make it again, on the menu for everybody this time. She did, and it was such a hit that it’s now on the main menu so everybody can experience what first Alessia, then some other guests at that lunch, and then a bunch of other diners years later got to try. It is a glossy, rich and beautiful thing and very richly deserves this award. And before any of you say but it’s just ice cream or words to that effect: try it first.
This is another category with entries positively jostling for the top spot. My runners up are Minas Café’s gorgeous, sweet and sunny passion fruit mousse and Sarv’s Slice’s outstanding tiramisu.
NEWCOMER OF THE YEAR: Sarv’s Slice
I quite liked Sarv’s Slice last year when it was a semi-permanent trader at Blue Collar, and I particularly liked their carbonara pizza. I thought it was a clever move for them to take up residence at the Biscuit Factory: I rather liked my pizza there when I visited on duty. But I don’t think I could have realised, at that point, what a boon they are for Reading.
Their pizzas have got better and better – keeping the classics superb but then adding specials which nudge up the quality, pizza by pizza. The carbonara made a brief comeback, but even better was a Spanish special with aioli, confit garlic potatoes and chorizo piperade: a number of Italians who follow the ER Facebook page were up in arms, but I say they were missing out. And then further through the year Sarv’s Slice started turning out Detroit style pizzas – deep pan beauties with an airy base and crispy, cheesy edges. By that point my warm feelings towards Sarv’s Slice had morphed into a full-on love affair. The Biscuit Factory is lucky to have them, as are we.
Honourable mentions in this category go to Minas Café, which to be honest deserves some kind of award just for being Minas Café, and to Vesuvio which really pleasantly surprised me when I went to review it back in October, with no particular expectations.
RESTAURANT OF THE YEAR: Clay’s Kitchen
Clay’s has always been a phenomenal restaurant, right from the start. Some places take a while to find their feet but Clay’s, in terms of the food, had everything spot on from day one. Five years later, they are the restaurant that has put Reading on the map – more than Kungfu Kitchen, despite its brilliance, more than the Lyndhurst, which never gets the credit it deserves, and way more than the Lido, which has burned through chefs and made the most of its connections to the broadsheets but never really lived up to its potential.
But Clay’s wins this award this year because, to me, this year it became the restaurant Nandana and Sharat always wanted it to be. The big, tasteful, buzzy, classy space in the heart of Caversham, with that open kitchen, the gorgeous high tables, that skylight making all the dishes photogenic, the wonderful drinks menu and all those marvellous dishes.
There isn’t any menu in Reading that can quite match Clay’s for quality and depth. And even if I was just talking about their main menu, that would be true. But this was the year that Clay’s also launched a world-beating small plates menu which can match anything you’d get in Bristol or London and, for a while, their equally gorgeous brunch menu. For the time being, Clay’s has scaled back to its standard menu (although, Clay’s being Clay’s, they had a separate Christmas menu, and a separate menu for Christmas Day, and another for New Year’s Eve) but as a statement of intent it showed you exactly what Clay’s is about.
It would grace any town or city in this country, and that Reading has it should be a source of enormous pride. I have loved every meal and every dish I’ve had on Prospect Street this year – and I know I’ve been there far less frequently than many of its adoring fans. But, like them, I can’t wait to see what Clay’s comes up with in 2024.
THE ER ACHIEVEMENT AWARD – Greg Costello, Workhouse Coffee
What is there to say about Greg Costello that hasn’t already been said? Well, I imagine many others are far better qualified to pay tribute to him than I am, but none the less, here goes: when Greg set up Workhouse Coffee, back in the mists of time, Reading was a very different place. There was no coffee scene, and coffee in Reading still meant Costa, Coffee Republic and the retro delights of places like Platters and Chelsea Coffee House. And although the landscape has changed enormously, Workhouse has never lost its place at the heart of things. It remains Reading’s landmark coffee shop, and has influenced countless others – Tamp, Anonymous and C.U.P. would not have existed, but for Workhouse.
That Greg is still visible (well, let’s be honest, hard to miss) in Workhouse is quite an achievement, especially as in the same time he’s done other jobs in coffee like working for Nude. I read a recent review of Gordon Ramsay’s three star London restaurant by food spod Andy Hayler where he called out that Workhouse supply their coffee. “Coffee was from speciality coffee roaster Workhouse Coffee in Reading and was very pleasant” he said, and if you’ve read Hayler as much as I have you’d know that such faint praise is as good as him jizzing in his y-fronts. It made me strangely proud of Workhouse, and Reading, and yet this isn’t something Costello goes on about at all.
He is a complicated and iconoclastic character, which I rather love. My favourite story about Greg – a man who perhaps shouldn’t be allowed near his company’s social media – is when I did a Tweet about Workhouse Coffee back in 2019. I said that you had to hand it to them: that they didn’t have wi-fi, didn’t have a loo, didn’t publish a price list and didn’t take card payments under a fiver. I said I admired their “take it or leave it” approach to customers. Greg responded in classic irascible fashion, missing the point that really, I was paying him a compliment. Because all those whistles and bells, that other cafés might have, were beside the point compared to the quality of Workhouse’s product.
As someone who also occasionally divides opinion – surely not, I hear you say – I recognise a kindred spirit in Greg and I can’t think of a more appropriate recipient for my first ever ER Achievement Award. Not that it will mean anything to him at all: I suspect he either won’t react at all to getting this award or will shrug and say it’s worthless. In this, as in many things, he’s probably right. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t deserve it.
Edible Reading 