City guide: Bruges and Ghent (updated 2025)

The Bruges section of this guide has been further updated after two more visits to Bruges in January and October 2025 – I’ve added quite a few new venues, and removed one which has now closed. Where a visit dates from 2025 I’ve tried to make that clear, and where a 2024 entry was also visited in 2025 I’ve tried to make that clear, too.

This city guide is far and away the most popular piece on my blog, so thanks in advance for reading it, using it or sharing it with anyone you know who is planning to visit Bruges or Ghent – it really is appreciated.

My last guide to Bruges and Ghent was a bit of a patchwork quilt: I first published it in summer 2022 after a trip to both cities, and I’ve gradually added to it over the past couple of years because of three intervening trips to Bruges. In that time I’ve uncovered more and more interesting places to eat, and gradually fleshed out that side of things. By contrast, the Ghent half of it looked a tad neglected. 

Anyway, I’ve just come back from spending the best part of a week across both cities and rather than update the 2022 guide again, making it somewhere between Trigger’s broom and Frankenstein’s monster, I’m publishing a new 2024 version. Where the recommendation dates from a couple of years ago I’ve tried to make that clear, and where it’s more recent I’ve said so. Where possible that means new text, which means that this supersedes my previous guides to both cities. 

As I said in my 2022 guide, both cities are very easy to get to – Ghent is half an hour from Brussels, Bruges an hour. Both are on the same train line, which makes them easy to do for a two centre holiday. Yet although both cities are gorgeous, both well worth your time, they’re surprisingly different with different things to recommend about them. 

Of the two, Bruges is prettier and more chocolate-boxy, all absurdly beautiful buildings, canals and bridges. It’s lovely in summer but arguably lovelier still in winter when the place has a brooding splendour and the snug comfort of those brown pubs truly comes into its own. I’ve taken to going there at the start of the year when the doors are still bedecked with garlands and Christmas beers are on tap everywhere. It is especially gorgeous then. 

And if your focus is more on beer, Bruges is the place to go because it boasts possibly the best pub in the whole wide world: more on that shortly. I think its dining scene was possibly the thing that lagged behind, but even in the short time I’ve been going there it feels like the range of restaurants has expanded and moved beyond moules joints and tourist-pleasers. 

Ghent on the other hand is larger in every way. It still has the canals and the splendour, but on a bigger scale – bigger buildings, wider bridges, grander squares. But it also has a more modern edge. Part of that is down to the university but there’s also a far bigger retail scene, more craft beer options rather than just the traditional Belgian stuff, public transport, trams and, I would say, a range of inventive places in which to dine. 

But that’s not all. For me Ghent has a better coffee scene, a couple of excellent galleries and museums and a lot of street art – the tourist office even does a street art map, and you can spend a very enjoyable afternoon ambling from one piece to the next. 

Having done both cities in a week, I still find it difficult to pick a favourite. Bruges probably edges it, though I wish I could pick up a few Ghent restaurants and drop them in Bruges (Bruges is a trickier place to get a great light lunch, for instance). But then if I could move the Little Bear to Ghent, the choice between the two would be almost impossible. 

The only other thing to say is that in previous guides I’ve said Bruges was more touristy than Ghent: that may have been true in the past but the huge quantities of guided tours I saw in the latter suggest that’s no longer necessarily the case. 

Bruges

Where to eat

1. Bij Koen en Marijke (In’t Nieuw Museum)

One of the highlights of my January 2025 visit, Bij Koen en Marijke (it’s still referred to as In’t Nieuw Museum in some places, so I’ve used both in the heading) is a magical restaurant which does a handful of things absolutely brilliantly.

Run by married couple Koen and Marijke, both of them larger than life and exceptional at service, it has a perfect division of labour: he tracks down the very best meat and cooks it superbly over fire, she selects outstanding and interesting beers to accompany them. They have their own sidelines, too – home cured charcuterie for one, a couple of beers Marijke has brewed exclusively with brewery Hophemel for the restaurant for another.

You may read that and check out immediately because you’re not a carnivore, or more of a wine drinker. But if not, go here when you go to Bruges. I had a riot of an evening, and everything was marvellous. It’s a lovely spot off the beaten track, in a corner plot which positively glowed with welcoming light when we approached it on a dreich January evening. It has two rooms, a main dining room and a very tasteful extension – so tasteful, in fact, that I didn’t mind being seated there.

The food is really, really good. We were brought a little plank of home-cured coppa while we made up our mind what to eat and it was as good as any I’ve had, with what felt like accents of juniper and rosemary. A full charcuterie selection showcased gorgeous pancetta and a corking fennel salami, and our other starter – plump home made fennel sausages with the restaurant’s home made raspberry vinegar – made me very happy indeed.

But the meat? Well, the meat truly was next level. You can have smoked pork fillet, or châteaubriand, or crown of lamb, but the trick is to ask for Koen’s ribeye – for one person or two – cooked as the chef decides. And he makes excellent decisions – our ribeye was possibly the best piece of meat I can remember eating, beautifully marbled, perfectly buttery, medium rare and very, very special. A salad, dressed with more of that raspberry vinegar, was essential rather than garnish. And the potatoes, also grilled over fire, were truly gorgeous.

There’s a very famous restaurant in the Marais called Robert et Louise which does this kind of thing and is very popular with tourists; I ate there once, stuck in a joyless basement, and did not get the fuss at all. Bij Koen en Marijke is the restaurant Robert et Louise wishes it was. I should also mention that the tiramisu, shot through with Biscoff, was also exceptional.

But really, the other thing I should talk about is the other half of the restaurant, the beer. Marijke knows her beer, and her list features lots of excellent Belgian breweries you don’t see on many other beer lists in the city, like Hophemel, Brambrass and De Dochter van de Korenaar. The imperial stouts section alone is an absolute joy. I particularly enjoyed the milk stout brewed by the restaurant in collaboration with Hophemel, while De Dochter’s Fleur Sauvage – a barrel aged version of their Belle Fleur IPA – was possibly Zoë’s beer of the trip.

I didn’t get to return to Koen and Marijke’s place during my October 2025 visit, mostly because they aren’t open Saturdays. But in the meantime, something lovely happened: two readers of the blog used it to plan a trip to Bruges and Ghent to celebrate a 50th birthday, and sent me a picture of them posing with Koen and Marijke after a lovely meal there. The couple at the next table were Australian, and they got to talking about how the Australian couple had chosen this restaurant for dinner. Apparently they’d found it on some little blog called Edible Reading; what are the chances?

Bij Koen en Marijke
Hooistraat 42, Brugge
https://www.koen-marijke.be

2. TouGou Fijnproeverij

In the U.K. in 2024 the broadsheets all got their knickers in a twist about a restaurant called The Yellow Bittern that – shock horror – only opened at lunchtime. Big deal: TouGou, my other 2025 discovery, only opens at lunchtime and yet when I went it was full of people with the temerity to consider that perfectly normal behaviour.

I recommend making the time to have a lunch there if you go to Bruges, because it’s an absolutely exquisite restaurant that gets everything right, with a menu that will cause you serious anguish. The first section is made up of bites, both hot and cold, and you’re encouraged to order and share, tapas-style. And it is full of really clever touches. I enjoyed the lamb koftes, studded with pine nuts, and I loved the chicken samosas, completely crammed with minced, spiced chicken.

But I adored what were described as fried duck ravioli, which were actually a European gyoza, a fusion duck a l’orange stuffed to the gunwales with shredded duck and served with a tart orange sauce. And then, as if that wasn’t enough fun, a mini burger of black pudding and lobster. If I have a better sandwich than that in 2025 I shall be very surprised. By this point I felt like TouGou was almost more Andalusian than Flemish, with all those sharing dishes and little sliders. It reminded me, a little, of Malaga’s Gastroteca Can Emma.

All that would have earned TouGou a place in this guide, but then they sprang a main course which had all my favourite things in it. Four hugely generous ravioli, packed with crab, in a sauce with a hint of curry and a fair whack of Oud Groendal cheese. Samphire with beautiful saline firmness on top, a bed of sweet, buttery leeks underneath. I don’t want to dust off superlatives so early in the New Year, but this was a perfect plate of food.

We were there on the restaurant’s second day back in the New Year, and they were buzzing, almost completely full and totally on it. TouGou is another husband and wife team – where would hospitality be without them? – him in the kitchen, her running the front of the house, both of them brilliantly friendly and welcoming.

At the start of 2025, I said: “Without any exaggeration, next time I go back to Bruges booking this place for lunch will be the first thing I do.” And when I went back in October, that’s exactly what happened. Many of those small plates were still on the menu, and I ordered them again, but my main – a delicate piece of swordfish on a bright lemon risotto – was new to me, and superb.

TouGou Fijnproeverij
Smedenstraat 47, Brugge
https://www.tougou.be

3. Lion Belge

I think Langestraat is my favourite street in Bruges. It starts at Molenbrug, the Mill Bridge, and heads out of the city, getting less and less touristy, more and more interesting. Some of the other businesses in this city guide are on that street, others – like Rock Fort, Franco Belge or ‘T Hof van Beroep – are on my to do list for future visits. Right at the other end you’re at the canal that rings the city, not far from the windmills.

Lion Belge was recommended to me by a regular reader of the blog, and I finally made it there on my most recent visit in October 2025. It’s no reservations, and its fame must have spread because turning up at a deeply unfashionable half-five, when it opened, I was by no means first in the queue. Inside it was fetching, all deep red accents and cosy little tables. A neon sign on one wall glowed Sip. Eat. Share.

I’d thought Lion Belge was quite a trad place, but the menu did a great job of hedging its bets. Starters or small plates were pretty global, from sliders to grilled octopus with polenta and chimichurri, mortadella naan bread pizza or tuna carpaccio with mango. Mains were far more conventional – pork knuckle, meatloaf, hare and the like.

In that sense it felt like it was doing the same thing as TouGou, albeit in a slightly less coherent way. But actually, brilliantly, everything we ordered worked. I thought the pork dumplings, four of them in a brick-red miso sauce of astonishing depth, were a complete joy and the crispy chicken with kimchee and sriracha mayo, though not quite as good, was still respectable.

And the mains went down a treat: my half roast chicken came slathered in a sauce singing with plenty of tarragon, accompanied by some of the best rough-edged frites I’ve had in Belgium, or indeed anywhere else. My friend Dave, always a sucker for venison, had a stoofvlees made with the stuff, served with some potato croquettes that couldn’t quite match the frites.

I would definitely go again, although paradoxically the fact that you can’t book would make me less likely to go all the way out of town on the off chance. Nonetheless this one is for you if you like an early bird dinner, so you can devote more time to post-prandial beer. Stop at De Kelk, as I did, on your way back into the centre.

Lion Belge
Langestraat 123, Brugge
https://www.instagram.com/lion.belge/?hl=en-gb

4. Bruut

Bruut is in a handsome building next to an absurdly beautiful bridge overlooking the canal, and inside it’s all rather convivial – leather chairs, fetching tiled floors and exposed light fittings. But there are a few al fresco tables by the side of the bridge with a gorgeous view, and that’s where I sat when I had lunch there in 2022, one of my meals of that year. Chef Bruno Timperman offers a no-choice, no-substitutions set menu for lunch or dinner and comes out to introduce and talk through many of the dishes himself. And put simply, the man is a wizard: I don’t normally talk about chefs in my blog but this is all very much in his image and it’s very much his show.

Nothing I ate was short of dazzling, and there were almost too many highlights to mention, but a steak tartare made simply with high-grade beef, salt and milk to draw out all the flavour was a tender, mineral miracle. A pre-lunch nibble of prawns, cooked whole and dusted with a vivid raspberry powder was like nothing I’ve eaten. And our dessert, cherries halved, hollowed and filled with rose-coloured chocolate, topped with discs of elderflower jelly and sitting in a cherry gazpacho dotted with cherry balsamic, has stayed in my memory ever since. My one regret was not taking up the wine pairing – although in my defence it was only lunchtime, and the beer list had excellent lambics on it which made for an original alternative.

I made a repeat visit in January 2023 for dinner and sampled the full whistles and bells experience, although with no booze because I was a little below par. Not everything worked – a beautiful piece of cod wrapped in crispy nori and topped with caviar was submerged under an icky spooge of what Bruno called “plankton sauce” and wasn’t quite my bag – but he served the most tender pigeon I’ve ever eaten, with a pigeon confit ragu wrapped up in a leaf on the side, an astonishing scallop with a Belgian take on XO sauce and a poached pear with yoghurt parfait which made a tried and tested staple seem fresh and new.

Bruut
Meestraat 9, Brugge
https://bistrobruut.be/en/

5. Assiette Blanche

More classic and formal and a little less cutting edge, Assiette Blanche has an attractive wood-panelled dining room and every meal I’ve had there has hit the spot with unerring precision. They have a set menu or an à la carte in the evening, although you can sort of switch between the two. It’s old school, but not fussy, and it’s always packed with customers, many of whom seem to be regulars. 

The food matches the room. The dishes here are generous – robust but not clumsy, but certainly not a fiddly-plated exercise in nouvelle nonsense. On my most recent visit in January 2024 I was really impressed with the standard, loving a carpaccio of scallops with cauliflower couscous, hulking wedges of black pudding with apple, pickled beetroot and little dabs of foie creme and a beautiful sabayon with blood orange.

They also do a more economical set menu at lunchtime which is both delicious and excellent value, and comes highly recommended. And if you want to try a Dame Blanche – the ubiquitous Belgian dessert of vanilla ice cream and chocolate sauce – you won’t find one better than the one on offer at Assiette Blanche. 

Assiette Blanche
Philipstockstraat 23, Brugge
https://www.assietteblanche.be/nl

6. Más

Más is only open evenings Wednesday to Saturday, and is walk-ins only, although they very nicely take your number and ring you when they have some space, leaving you free to enjoy a beer somewhere (this guide has a couple of excellent options, De Garre and Cafe Terrastje, for that). It’s worth jumping through those hoops, because Más’ Mexican food is as delicious as it is incongruous, from beautiful cheesy quesadillas to pork belly skewers with salsa, from tacos to their excellent fried chicken.

On my first visit in 2023 I ate up at the bar, and it was reminiscent of some of my happiest meals in more Mediterranean parts of Europe. Returning in January 2024 I found that, if anything, the food had got even better. The fried chicken now came with a tomato sauce with a deep touch of mole about it, the quesadillas were even more decadent and all three types of taco I tried were simply brilliant, although my favourites remained the shrimp, peppered with crunchy little nuggets of chorizo.

They have cocktails on tap too, apparently, although I’ve never given them a try. They have a good range of beers from Brussels Beer Project, though, which went nicely, and the excellent Lupulus NEIPA which has, to my palate, notes of mango. It pairs perfectly with one of the two desserts on the menu, the “Solero Solero” which tastes exactly as you would expect from the name, only more so.

I made a really happy return to Más again in March 2024 when they looked after my combined stag and hen do party, fifteen very hungry and extremely grateful diners. As before, the food was fantastic but there were further revelations, like the fact that Más made what I think may be the only sweet potato fries I’ve ever truly enjoyed. The churros at the end, served with chocolate spiked with a little chilli, were exquisite. But what I’ll remember most was the natural, charming service, making us feel incredibly welcome and no trouble – no mean feat when you’re handling fifteen raucous punters.

We went back in January 2025, eating at Màs on our final night in the city. The room was jumping at half six on a Thursday night and the food was as good as I remembered, although if anything the fried chicken had got even better, something I’d not thought possible. The owner, who had gone to so much trouble to sort out our stag and hen do the previous year, recognised us and wished us a happy new year, ten months later. That’s the kind of place Màs is.

I didn’t make it there in my October 2025 visit, but am determined to return when I am back in the city early next year. That said, the team behind Màs opens a new Japanese small plates restaurant called Shibuya right next door in December, so what to do? I might just have to eat at both.

Màs
Academiestraat 10, Brugge
https://www.instagram.com/mas.brugge/?hl=en

7. Onslow

Onslow was the discovery of my trip in January 2024. I absolutely loved it there. Slightly off the beaten track in Bruges’ Sint-Anna district it’s the kind of achingly-cool-without-trying restaurant you wish was just around the corner from you, and I detected some similarities with some of my favourite places in the U.K., like Bristol’s Marmo, along with Ghent’s sadly-closed and much missed De Superette. It’s all plain unshowy tables and bare white walls, but the place had a real verve when I visited.

The menu is made up of a handful of snacks and a bunch of sharing plates, and the enormously personable staff tell you to aim for about two sharing plates per person. I over-ordered on my first visit and returning in March 2024 for lunch in a bigger group we stuck firmly to that approach. It paid off handsomely, and across both meals the food was outstanding.

Actually I’d go further than that and say that even in a few short months the food had gone up a level. Since my first visit to Onslow it had been awarded a Bib Gourmand by Michelin and it really showed, especially when comparing dishes common across both visits. Onslow’s fried chicken back in January was some of the best I can remember eating but in March, with the addition of lemongrass and an even crunchier coating, it was improved further.

There were other stupendous dishes both times I ate at Onslow, from a yoghurt dip smothered in gochujang to top-notch salmon sashimi topped with something like smacked cucumber. Calamari were light, tender and so moreish we ordered a second portion. Pork belly came with kimchee, a really exceptional steak tartare was strewn with enoki and coriander and broccolini was better than broccoli has any right to be. “Why is it never like this when we cook it at home?” asked Zoë – a very fair question, even if it sounded more like an accusation. It’s also worth mentioning that although the wine list is good the beer list, including some excellent sours from Dust Blending, matches it glass for glass.

As a result it was the first place we booked for our return visit in January 2025, and I do have to sound a note of caution, because it wasn’t quite up to its usual standard. Some of the dishes felt smaller, or had been tamed and toned down or, in the case of the yoghurt with gochujang, both. The fried chicken, though, is still almost worth a visit in its own right.

Onslow
Jeruzalemstraat 53, Brugge
https://www.onslowbrugge.be

8. Amuni

You might think it’s a little meh to have pizza in Bruges, and you might be right. But I have a soft spot for Amuni, and if you want somewhere for a good lightish lunch that isn’t a moules frites place I think it’s a handy restaurant to know about.

Just next to the Burg it’s a stylish space which does excellent pizza – although my favourite thing there was the vitello tonnato. We foolishly ordered it to share back in 2022 and returning in March 2024 I was dead set on having my own portion, only to find they’d sold out. A nicely done scamorza and ‘nduja bruschetta went some way to making amends. Another reason Amuni is worth having in your back pocket is that if you find yourself in Bruges on a Sunday, when nearly all restaurants seem to be closed, it will sort you out.

Amuni
Burg 9, Brugge
https://www.amuni.be

9. Goesepitte 43

Another January 2024 discovery, Goesepitte 43 is a very accomplished restaurant in a handsome townhouse in the south-west of the city. I went there for my final lunch of the holiday, partly because chef Jan Supply offers a no choice 34 Euro set lunch even on Saturdays and I wanted to see if it was any good. It really is, and you eat it in a really beautiful dining room with top-class service: one man covers all front of house, is perfectly bilingual and charm personified.

It’s so nicely judged and a great place to go if you want an excellent lunch where you leave thoroughly satisfied but not stuffed. An amuse bouche a little like a mushroom duxelles set the scene nicely, but far better was to come: a risotto with fine herbs, edged with olive oil, was topped with a beautiful slice of parsnip, cooked on their Mibrasa oven (whatever that is), carrying a precious cargo of toasted pine nuts and dill. Pork was served pink on a slab of charred cauliflower, its fractal edges blackened and savoury. 

And if I was a little underwhelmed by my chocolate and coffee ganache, it might mostly have been envy from staring at the dame blanche opposite me. Even so, my meal was easily enough of a treat to make me want to explore the a la carte next time. Not only is the wine list great, and the aperitif cocktail equally so, but the drinks list also contains some excellent beer – especially Dupont’s Avec Les Bons Voeux – if that’s more your scene.

As luck would have it, I went back in October 2025 for that rare thing, a solo lunch. I had been intending to repeat that set lunch menu but I suspect Goesepitte might have done away with it, because only the à la carte was available. But I really enjoyed everything I had – from a focaccia-style pinsa topped with ricotta, iberico ham and wild mushrooms to a very good piece of chicken bathed in a vin jaune sauce so good I wished I’d held back some bread.

Some things never change, though, so this time I made a beeline for the dame blanche and was a completely FOMO-free zone. Oh, and the service is just as good as I remember: the same chap, still effortlessly brilliant. I did him a disservice, though, because watching him charm the socks off the French couple dining opposite me it turns out he’s at least trilingual, if not even more of a polyglot than that.

Goesepitte 43
Goezeputstraat 43, Brugge
https://www.goesepitte43.be/en

10. Brasserie Raymond

The one gap that always existed in my Bruges repertoire was the traditional Belgian restaurant. I went to Gran Kaffee de Passage and found it hit and miss, the interior better than the food. My friend Dave raves about the moules at Brasserie Cambrinus, though I’m yet to try them. But on my trip in March 2024 I had a booking for sixteen at Brasserie Raymond, and I came away very impressed with the place. It had been recommended to me over a year ago, by the couple at the next table sitting outside De Windmolen on a sunny afternoon, and I’d made a mental note but never got round to it.

It’s squarely in the grand brasserie tradition, very much Franco-Belge with a huge and interesting menu that covers a lot of ground from lobsters and oysters to chateaubriand and steak tartare. I saw the chateaubriand arrive at my table for others and was more than a little covetous, especially of the gorgeous frites, but I felt a lot less resentful once a bronzed, fat skate wing was placed in front of me, covered with capers, glossy with beurre noisette, served with a salad and baby potatoes with more than a hint of smoke to them.

I was determined to return next time for the full three courses, the whole nine yards, the Mr Creosote Experience. So we went in January 2025 and were rewarded with a really stonking meal. My smoked duck salad with choucroute and sweet slivers of foie gras was a kaleidoscope of flavour, and Brasserie Raymond’s chocolate mousse is as smooth and glossy as any you’ll find anywhere. But I had the skate wing again, because I couldn’t not. I’ll try something different next time, and there will be a next time.

Again, on a quiet Tuesday night in the epicentre of the low season, the restaurant was properly bustling in a way that spoke of a great reputation. The staff were twinkly and absolutely at the top of their game, and there were several really gorgeous wines available by the carafe: restaurants should make a New Year’s resolution to offer these, if you ask me. And the table next to me, two preposterously foppish men and their debutante dates who seemed to have wandered in from Whit Stillman’s Metropolitan, were part dinner theatre, part installation art and thoroughly watchable.

Brasserie Raymond
Eiermarkt 5, Brugge
https://www.brasserie-raymond.be

11. Cuvee

Bruges is a beer city, no doubt about it. So you really have to admire the pluck and persistence of Cuvee, a wine bar right in the centre which has been going for something like 20 years. Not only that, but for over 15 of those it has exclusively stocked natural wine, which makes it a trailblazer in more ways than one. The owner told me all about this as I settled our bill at the end of a hugely enjoyable lunch in January 2024.

She said it was especially tough when they switched to natural wine, and that this made them a bit of a figure of fun in Bruges’ food and drink fraternity. Well to quote the great Alan Partridge – needless to say, Cuvee has had the last laugh. Because what they’ve built is quite something: a deceptively huge, incredibly tasteful space packed with cool furniture and gorgeous bottles of wine. There’s space out front for groups, a little snug at the back which would be perfect for drinking with friends and some tables for dining, looking up at the counter. 

There is also, I am happy to say, a really terrific menu of the kind of food that goes well with wine. On my first visit I adored my duck rillette with piccalilli and thin melba toasts, and was blown away by a couple of enormous cheese croquettes, so glossy under their crisp shell, completely different from their distant Iberian cousins.

We made a mental note to return and descended on the place in a bigger group in March 2024 – ten of us, sitting at the long central table sharing small plates and tasting a range of very enjoyable natural wines, one sparkling, one white, one orange and one red. And the food was even better than I remembered. I loved the plate of capocollo, adored Cuvee’s marinated salmon with olive oil as much as I had on my previous visit.

And then to finish, two knockout dishes. First, a nutty, just-right risotto with asparagus, samphire and beautifully done monkfish, and then a cracking chocolate mousse dressed with olive oil and salt flakes. Throughout we were treated so brilliantly, and the passion and energy the staff had for each of our wines was properly infectious. I was already a Cuvee convert, but that experience made me an evangelist.

Cuvee
Philipstockstraat 41, Brugge
https://cuvee.be/en/

12. Ribs ‘n Beer

On my most recent trip, in October 2025, I went to Bruges with my old friend Dave. He fell in love with the city when he came to my stag and hen do the year before, and had been back since with his wife, and one of the things Dave really loved was a ribs place called Mozart where they do bottomless ribs. Yes, this is a thing it turns out: servers wander the restaurant with trays of extra ribs and tongs, dishing more up on request. This might surprise regular readers, but even I can see the appeal of that.

So we nearly booked at Mozart but my Bruges mole Jezza, who loves the city so much he moved there from London and maintains the excellent Bruges Beer Guide, told me that Ribs ‘n Beer was even better. That was good enough for both of us, so we had an early dinner there on a buzzing Saturday night. It really was packed which was brilliant to see, even if some of the tables were occupied by the kind of dreary British lads who cheer every time a server drops something. That’s not the restaurant’s fault, after all.

In the world of Bruges dining, Ribs ‘n Beer is very much a value proposition: all you can eat ribs along with potato wedges and coleslaw will set you back something like 26 Euros, although they do have set menus too if you want to add croquettes and a dessert (although why would you, when you’re giving away valuable space in your rib compartment?).

What distinguished Ribs ‘n Beer from Mozart, Dave told me, was that not only could you have your ribs grilled, as they are at Mozart, but you can also opt for them to be slow-cooked. And really, that’s the way to go because the meat slumps off the bone, leaving you with a row of piano keys on your plate waiting to be chucked into the tall tin they give you to dispose of them.

You can have them drenched in smoky or spicy barbecue sauce, or some wasabi and apple concoction which sounded modish to me, or a chocolate and beer sauce which managed to be very nice without tasting hugely of either. It’s not a dinner to linger on – we were out in just under an hour – and there is a little bit of a sense of diminishing returns with your top-ups which maybe aren’t as heavily sauced as they could be. But it’s still a very good cheap and cheerful option and if you do wander away from the Sports Zot I was on, the beer list is pretty decent too.

Ribs ‘n Beer
Ezelstraat 50, Brugge
https://ribsnbeer.com/home-brugge/

13. Kottee Kaffee

For an actual light lunch, instead of a pizza or small plates, I highly recommend the muted but chic Kottee Kaffee. It’s just past Ribs ‘n Beer on Ezelstraat, a likeable street with a scattering of tasteful boutiques, and it offers a menu which is sort of Le Pain Quotidien but independent. So there’s lots of lovely bread and salted farmhouse butter, cheeses and charcuterie but the menu offers lots of more brunchy stuff if that’s your bag. Very fetchingly put together, decent value and there’s good coffee too. But perhaps just as winning were the staff and the constant playlist of 90s music, most of which they enjoyed singing along to. 

On my first visit at the start of 2023 we asked how long they’d been there and apparently they’ve been open less than a year. You’d never have known. Returning a couple of times in 2024 I was delighted to see it thriving, and as stylish and buzzy as ever. I enjoyed both their tartiflette and their baked eggs, and enviously eyed the waffles with halloumi materialising at a neighbouring table. The coffee is better than you might expect from the tall, old-fashioned latte glasses, and if you feel even remotely sub-par their ginger shots are a positive tonic.

Naturally I went back in January 2025 and enjoyed that feeling that comes from knowing somewhere is an absolutely safe bet. I had a ham pizzette with a little spiced oil drizzled on top, which was solid and reliable, a good latte and a better ginger shot. Zoë had some kind of croque monsieur made with waffles instead of bread, an inspired if slightly nuts concept, and I resolved to pick it next time.

Kottee Kaffee
Ezelstraat 68Brugge
https://kotteekaffee.com/en/

14. Sanseveria Bagelsalon

The thing my Bruges guide always lacked, with the exception of Kottee Kaffee, was places to go for a light lunch. Not a light three course lunch, or a set menu, but a properly light lunch. So in January 2025 I endeavoured to redress that by heading to Sanseveria Bagelsalon, a place I’d heard of many times but never got round to visiting (there’s also a brunch place people rave about called That’s Toast, but in truth I’ve never been able to get past the name).

Sanseveria was just round the corner from my hotel, and I absolutely loved it. It’s small and cosy and yes, it only really does bagels. But beyond that the number of variations on that theme is quite impressive, with good options for vegetarians and vegans. I think bagels have fallen out of fashion somewhat in the U.K. (which is a shame, because I used to love eating them at the Santa Fe Coffee Company in Bracknell, of all places), but my lunch at Sanseveria made me think we were missing out.

This wasn’t a mingy, dense supermarket bagel. It was a huge, golden, sesame-speckled brute of a thing, and mine came with very good, buttery avocado and crispy ribbons of hot, just-fried streaky bacon. The menu said it also came with black pepper, which I thought nothing of, but the way it had been deployed managed, in the immortal words of Brazzos, to send the investigation into a whole new direction. Zoë’s bagel, with brie, bacon, walnuts, apple and honey, was apparently equally ambrosial.

The coffee was decent, if not top tier, and the freshly squeezed orange juice was sweet and very welcome. But the other thing I have to say about Sanseveria is that the chap’s work ethic was amazing. Just one guy, taking orders, making drinks, prepping bagels and then scuttling into the tiny kitchen out back to cook bacon, or toss cubes of butternut squash in a frying pan. I felt a little tired watching him, but also grateful and, if anything, slightly in awe.

So that’s lunch in Bruges sorted in future. Oh, and you can book online which gives you one less thing to worry about in terms of getting a table. I went back, in October 2025, for a solo lunch and had exactly the same thing all over again. They’ve still got it.

Sanseveria Bagelsalon
Predikherenstraat 11, Brugge
https://www.sanseveria.be/en/

Where to drink

1. ’t Brugs Beertje

It’s criminal, really, to wait this long in the city guide to introduce the best pub in the entire world. Sorry about that.

The Little Bear is the Belgian pub elevated to its ultimate form, a welcoming little place with a great selection on tap and an eye-wateringly huge and brilliant list of bottled beers, including many Belgian breweries I’d never heard of and a “vintage” section which gave you the chance to try dark beers and lambics which had been properly cared for across the best part of a decade. My favourite drink on their list was an aged imperial stout, a Cuvée Delphine from 2013 by De Struise which has the kind of depth and complexity the uninitiated wouldn’t necessarily associate with beer.

But more than the impressive selection, it just felt like the perfect place to stop, drink, eavesdrop, people-watch and potentially get into random conversations. The middle room – complete with plaque to original Belgian beer spod Michael Jackson (not that one, a different one) – was nice, but the front room was where you wanted to be, at a table with your favourite person, making inroads into that excellent list, in no hurry to be anywhere else. It reminded me of the Retreat in its previous incarnation under Bernie and Jane when it stocked shedloads of Belgian beers, and always the right glasses to go with them, and it made me miss the Retreat of years gone by.

But either way, whether you were there as a pair or, as I’ve experienced several times, in a big raucous group of beer obsessives, all diving into the depths of the gigantic beer list, congratulating one another on their choices and swapping anecdotes and in jokes, it is for me the epicentre of Bruges, and absolutely not to be missed.

Before I went I don’t think I understood the hushed tones with which Zoë and her beer fraternity referred to it. How good can it be? I thought. It’s just a pub. Well, that shows what I knew because it’s not a pub, it’s the pub, and once you go you will compare everywhere else to it, in some way; I’m fairly sure that if George Orwell had got to visit, through some wormhole in space and time, he would never have written “The Moon Under Water”. Instead he would have penned a paean of praise to the Little Bear, one far better than this.

It opens at 4pm and, happily, it’s open on Sundays when so little of Bruges is. And it doesn’t have lock-ins per se, but I have no idea when it really closes. I’ve certainly never been the last to leave, which is a life goal to keep on the list. On one particularly beautiful evening there we settled up, well past midnight, put our coats on, stepped through the front door, looked back at the golden glow of the windows and thought what the fuck are we doing? We went back in for one last nightcap.

’t Bruges Beertje
Kemelstraat 5, Brugge
https://www.brugsbeertje.be/en/home-2/

2. De Garre

De Garre is right in the centre of Bruges, up a little alley just off Breidelstraat, the road that connects the city’s two grandest squares. That’s what de garre means – the alley. It feels completely hidden away, and its opening hours are a little erratic: on some of my trips to Bruges they’ve just been closed the whole time, off on holidays which never seem to be announced in advance, anywhere.

But if you do stop by, and they are open, and you can grab yourself a table on any of their three floors, finding your way up the steep stairs, you are rewarded with a drinking experience quite unlike anything else. Classical music wafts through the rooms and most tables are enjoying the Tripel De Garre, a house beer brewed exclusively for the pub by Brouwerij Van Steenberge and only available on draft there (a few select Bruges restaurants offer it in bottle, but not many).

The likes of Pellicle have already waxed lyrical about De Garre, and that beer and its distinctive, fishbowl-like heavy-bottomed glass. They’ve done all the stuff about how the beer is poured effortlessly so the name of the beer appears as if written in the foam of the thick, creamy head, in prose purpler than I can manage, or would want to.

But they, and everyone else who raves about De Garre, are right. Because there is something about that beer, that is only available in that place, in those rooms, in those glasses, that is somehow magical, like you are experiencing one of the wonders of the modern world. It’s wickedly strong stuff – 11% – and they limit you to three of them, but there is something about seeing that oval tray turn up, complete with paper doily, two glowing glasses and a little dish of cubed cheese that feels like the most incredible still life you’re not only allowed but positively encouraged to consume.

I have to be honest and say that although I’ve been to De Garre many times, usually for just the one, I don’t think I ever really “got” it. It was only on my October 2025 visit when I went with Dave, a De Garre fanboy and a Tripel De Garre addict, and we spent a proper evening settled in on the first floor that I finally appreciated what the fuss was about. I do think, really, that you have to like that beer – I don’t think I saw a single table without at least one of those telltale glasses on it – but if you do, De Garre is positively unmissable.

De Garre
De Garre 1, Brugge
https://degarre.be

3. Café Rose Red

From hearing Zoë talk about Café Rose Red I was expecting to like it a lot, and I wasn’t disappointed. A rather attractive room, all red walls and roses hanging from the ceiling, it had a decent if not incredible beer list and an interesting range of options on tap. I’d heard good things about the food and so we ordered a few bits and pieces to graze on.

The assorted cheese and charcuterie was surprisingly disappointing, but I think the trick is to go for dishes that the kitchen has cooked rather than simply dished up: the kibbeling – battered chunks of fish with a mild, soothing tartare sauce – was the equal of any similar dish I’ve had in Andalusia. This is also the place to try Orval, one of Belgium’s signature Trappist beers, and Rose Red’s list has multiple vintages if you want to be super fancy.

My understanding is that in the last few years Rose Red has moved from being a bar more to being a hotel restaurant so reservations are increasingly required if you want to try it out. It’s also worth noting that following a recent refurb they now have a very nice outside space – something many Bruges beer places lack – in an attractive internal courtyard.

Café Rose Red
Cordoeanierstraat 16, Brugge
https://www.rosered.be/nl/

4. De Kelk

De Kelk, closer to town than Lion Belge and on the other side of the road from Cherry Picker, further down this guide, is quite unlike the other beer places on this list. Although it does have an excellent range of Belgian beer, the list leans more towards the wider craft scene with fascinating beers from breweries I’d never come across before. I tried a couple of beautiful DIPAs from Madrid’s Cerveceria Peninsula and Latvia’s Ārpus, and if I’d stayed longer there was plenty more to explore. Their bottle list contained countless imperial stouts I would dearly have loved to try.

The interior is cracking too – a far cry from Belgium’s more traditional pubs with a tiled floor, high leather stools and lighting that’s more speakeasy than boozer, with some random streetlights used to good effect. I also loved the bar snacks, which included some disgraceful keesballen and very creditable jamon serrano. I went back in January 2024, January 2025 and October 2025 and if anything it cemented its place in my affections. I was especially delighted to see a beer by Spanish brewery SOMA, from Girona, whose IPAs I have loved in both Granada and Oviedo.

Normally I go to Bruges with Proper Belgian Beer Enthusiasts and it’s hard to lure them into De Kelk because it’s more my bag than theirs; I think they feel like going somewhere that does the cream of European craft beer when you’re literally drinking in the OG of craft beer is missing the point. I get it. It’s brave to be like De Kelk in a city full of brown pubs and Belgian beer. But personally, I wish them every success.

De Kelk
Langestraat 69, Brugge
http://www.dekelk.be

5. Cafe Terrastje

I’ve always wanted to make it to Cafe Terrastje, a picture-perfect pretty spot on the edge of the canals not far from Jan van Eyckplein. But I generally visit Bruges annually in early January, when it is invariably closed, so it’s not until my most recent trip in October 2025 that I finally managed to drink there. It’s hard to imagine a more welcoming vision than the light shining out through those scarlet doors, though I imagine its eponymous terrace would be a marvellous place to drink on a summer’s evening.

Inside it positively exuded ‘what took you so long?’ vibes. It was snug and cosy with wood-panelled walls, a red ceiling and beautiful beams, and felt like a place to settle in and shut out the cold outside. Jazz seeped through the speakers, everybody was chatting and having a marvellous time and my Brugse Zot on draft was a positive joy. I had been missing out on previous visits, I decided.

The landlord and landlady, another husband and wife team, were really welcoming and so Dave and I decided to fortify ourselves with some of the tapas available on the menu. The landlady was refreshingly honest that “he makes some of it and we buy the rest in” and we fared reasonably well: bitterballen were crisp-shelled and enjoyable, kibbeling was good, if not as good as Rose Red’s version. Only the chicken satay skewers were slightly swervable, the peanut sauce rather good but the chicken itself bouncy and homogeneous.

Nevertheless I loved Cafe Terrastje and, if it’s open, it could definitely do you a turn: space for an al fresco beer when it’s clement, or a comforting boozy cocoon when it’s not. And if you need somewhere to drink while you’re waiting for a table to come free at Màs, it’s hard to imagine you could do better.

Cafe Terrastje
Genthof 45, Brugge

6. Bernie’s Beer Bar

It can be a challenge getting a decent beer before around 4pm in Bruges. Many of the places in this guide open around that time – De Garre notwithstanding – and that means that if you want a beer just before or after lunch it can be tricky. On previous visits I’ve tried a place called The Pub, which is central and has a decent range but wasn’t my kind of thing, or De Windmolen, the next entry on this list. But De Windmolen is on the edge of town, and an afternoon tripel at De Garre might wipe out the rest of the day. So where else?

Dave and I faced this exact dilemma when we walked into the city with our suitcases, fresh off the train from Brussels Midi, keen for a sharpener before checking into our B&B. Fortunately Jezza’s excellent Bruges Beer Guide came to the rescue, recommending Bernie’s Beer Bar, a spot off the Zand, the large square with the concert hall at one end where all the buses depart from.

The interior had plenty of character, like a modern updating of the traditional brown pub that didn’t veer into kitsch or airport Wetherspoons, far more the thing than, for instance, The Pub had been. The range of beers was excellent with a good range on tap – many of them from De Halve Mann Brewery – and so my first beer of the trip was their iconic Straffe Hendrik Tripel. But there was also a regularly rotating guest tap and, if you’re into your lambics, a great range of sharing bottles from the likes of Cantillon and 3 Fonteinen.

Overall, Bernie’s Beer Bar struck me as better than it needed to be, and after a somewhat strong beer and a sharing portion of keesballen we were fortified and ready to start exploring the city. Oh, and if you do want to pair Bernie’s Beer Bar with pre or post lunch drinks, it’s a short stroll from TouGou.

Bernie’s Beer Bar
Vrijdagmarkt 16, Brugge
https://bernies.bar

7. De Windmolen

De Windmolen, out past De Kelk at the edge of the city and a stone’s throw from the windmills from which it takes its name, isn’t a place for beer purists. It’s sort of part-pub, part day café and most days it closes at 8pm. The inside is pleasingly eccentric: when we went this month one table was taken up by a very competitive-looking card game. The beer list tends to bottled triples, although they do have Brugse Zot on tap which never disappoints.

But for me it’s a special place – especially when I visited in October 2022, and could sit outside, coatless, while the back of my neck was gently baked by the completely unseasonal autumn sunshine. Worth a stop, even if only for the one.

De Windmolen
Carmersstraat 135, Brugge

8. Dees Specialty Coffee

There are four other Bruges coffee places in this guide, garnered over the course of going to the city many times over several years. And they’re all good in some ways, less good in others. They’re either small, or rammed, or out of town, or not totally comfortable, or erratic with their opening hours. And then in January 2025 I checked out Dees, not far from where I was staying, and I thought oh, perfect, I’ll just come here then.

They’ve been roasting for something like four years but only opened the café in October 2024, in a spot which used to be a wine bar called Riesling & Pinot that I never got round to visiting. When I went you would never have guessed it was three months old, it had that feel of somewhere that had been open forever. Comfy, cosy, not too packed in, well lit, tasteful and making amazing coffee (which comes served in tinted glass beakers that I coveted immediately).

I went every single day, and might have gone multiple times in a day if that wasn’t so ridiculous. The coffee was gorgeous and mellow, and of course they sell beans to take away, along with brewing paraphernalia. I became really attached to the place, and quite sad that I was leaving the city before the English language barista lessons advertised on their blackboard were due to take place, and that’s before we get to the chess tournament they had scheduled at the end of the month.

In case I haven’t lavished enough praise on Dees, I noticed on their Instagram stories, towards the end of my stay, that the default milk they used in their lattes was oat milk: they’ll give you dairy, if you specifically ask, but otherwise it’s oat. I didn’t feel conned, or ripped off, or tricked. I just thought good for you, because your coffee is magnificent. I went back on my final morning, with half an hour to spare before the Uber to the train station, and had one last latte. I did not ask for dairy.

Dees Specialty Coffee
Hoogstraat 33, Brugge
https://deeskoffie.be

9. Vero Caffè

Bruges has lots of pretty patisseries where the priorities are the cakes and pastries and the coffee, though perfectly pleasant, plays second fiddle. Far better, in a little square with some outside space, was Vero Caffè. It also sells excellent squidgy brownies, exactly as you would like them, so it gets my vote. They were packed to the rafters when I returned in January 2024 but still doing superlative coffee – along with a decent carrot cake and sublime dark, fudgy chocolate cake.

Vero Caffè
Sint-Jansplein 9, Brugge
https://www.facebook.com/VeroCaffeBrugge/

10. Cherry Picker

Come for the music, stay for the atmosphere! is the slogan of this record shop in the east of the city. Come for the music stay for the coffee, more like, because it served one of my favourite coffees in Bruges. I love places like this – it reminded me of Truck Records, out on Oxford’s Cowley Road – and I’d have happily whiled away longer sitting outside or inside with a good book.

Multiple return visits have confirmed that it’s simply one of the nicest places to sit nursing a coffee, and I simply love the fact that the coffee is so much better than it needs to be. Make sure you have Shazam installed on your phone before you go to Cherry Picker, because you will end up using it.

After the boozy lunch at Cuvee in March 2024, most of our party wandered off to De Garre, one of their favourites, to get back on the beer. But a small splinter group of us, including me, beetled off to Cherry Picker because I couldn’t imagine a trip to Bruges where I didn’t pass at least half an hour there drinking coffee and daydreaming that I lived just round the corner. As always, it was blissful.

Naturally when I visited in January 2025 I made a beeline for Cherry Picker and it was, again, excellent. But on this trip I found out why, because I complimented the chap on the coffee and he told my that they bought it in from Dees, above on the list. Makes perfect sense. So of course I went back again in October, drizzle spattering the streets outside, and enjoyed coffee, good company and blues on the stereo, knowing I intended to do a long walk to a beer shop out beyond the canal but, somehow, not quite ready to leave.

Cherry Picker
Langestraat 74, Brugge
https://www.cherrypicker.be

11. Coffeebar Adriaan

On my visit in October 2022 I became a regular visitor to Adriaan for the first coffee of the day and I became thoroughly attached to the place – it’s a tasteful, classy spot, all muted mint green and comfy furniture, the antithesis of craft coffee places in the U.K. (and abroad) with their over-reliance on chipboard. The coffee was pretty good, the pastries spot on, the service friendly and speedy.

I’ve been back on subsequent 2024 visits and if it isn’t Bruges’ best coffee it might be one of Bruges’ more reliable place to find one – it’s open when it says it is, including on Sundays, whereas some of the other coffee places I like do seem to be closed on random days, or shut early just because they feel like it.

Coffeebar Adrian
Adriaan Willaertstraat 7
https://coffeebaradriaan.be

12. AVI ’38 Speciality Coffeebar

The final spot on my guide for coffee used to be filled by a place called Cafune, which subsequently changed its name to We Are Coffee Makers. I loved their coffee, but they were intensely frustrating: they couldn’t decide on a name, or when they were or weren’t open, and sometimes it felt like they didn’t want to be open at all. So I wasn’t surprised, hugely, when I got to Bruges in October 2025 and found they had closed for good. Where to go instead?

I tried out a couple of options. One was a place called Two Point Oh Coffee, off one of the main shopping streets, which I rather liked. It was very pink – so pink your phone camera thinks its white balance must have gone for a Burton – from its chairs to its seat cushions to its banister and the glittery herringbone tiling on the bar, and the music was a little relentless. But I liked their flat white, and I noticed a tin on one of the shelves: their coffee was by We Are Coffee Makers.

But in the end, the final spot in my guide went to a place discovered by Dave on our final morning in the city, AVI ’38. It’s also very pink – though more muted, dusky pinks – and that potential tastefulness is slightly offset by the glitterball hanging from the ceiling and the neon sign on the wall, promising F*CKING GOOD COFFEE. The chairs were Tolix, the walls racing green metro tiles, the overall look confusing. Dave, I should add, loved it: he also said that the loo was a whole other matter (“they even have different music playing in there” he said).

But Dave also told me that AVI ’38 made the best coffee he’d had in Bruges, and that claim deserved to be tested. And actually, I think he might be right: it was a really silky, very enjoyable latte. And the provenance probably had a lot to do with that, with beans from Antwerp roastery Kolonel, who I hadn’t heard of, and Rotterdam’s Manhattan, who have roasted some of the best coffee I’ve tasted anywhere on the continent.

So all told, I don’t think Dave was miles wide of the mark. For the overall ambience, for just one coffee in Bruges, I would still pick Dees but I do think that if you’re a coffee purist, AVI ’38 might well serve the single best espresso or latte you’ll have on your trip. Their Instagram says they plan to open a second branch in Ghent, a fitting segue into the second half of this guide. They’ll fit in well there.

AVI ’38 Specialty Coffee Bar
Niklaas Desparsstraat 8, Brugge
https://avi38.be

Ghent

1. Roots

Roots was one of my favourite finds of last month’s trip to Ghent, a small and exceptionally tasteful restaurant in the Patershol district, possibly the prettiest part of the city. It’s a really beautiful space, the staff speak the kind of English that made me ashamed of my nonexistent Dutch and the lunch menu, a crazy forty-five or fifty-nine Euros for three or four courses, is an utter bargain.

I loved everything I had on a beautiful fish-led menu to the point where it was difficult to single anything out. But a langoustine tartare served on little lozenges of toasted brioche, like an open sando, was simply terrific. So was deft and delicate sea bass with potatoes and a leaf called bulls blood, which was a new one on me. But even better was a precisely cooked piece of ling with whey, draped in lardo, crowned with broccoli and striped with an intense, deep sauce.

Throw in an exemplary cheeseboard and a dessert of pear, chocolate ganache, chicory and caramel and you have as good a lunch as I can remember in Belgium. The fact that the room is so gorgeous was just the icing on the cake, as was the presence of a very agreeable-looking courtyard for the summer months. When I go back I’ll have dinner there and do it properly, but it will have to go some to top this magnificent first impression.

Roots
Vrouwebroersstraat 5, Gent
https://rootsgent.be

2. Boris & Maurice

Boris & Maurice was the Ghent restaurant I expected to adore, but merely came away really liking. It’s in Sint Amandsberg, a suburb out to the east a short bus hop away, in an area which is resolutely for locals and not tourists. In case you’re wondering, that’s a good thing: I loved the fact that the wait staff told us they didn’t have any English language menus, not realising that if anything that was a draw rather than a disincentive.

It is – as seems par for the course with Ghent restaurants – an impossibly stylish place full of impossibly stylish people, and if we got the least appealing table, nearest to the door, it merely proved to me that they had no intention of lowering their standards. Fair play to them for that. The restaurant has connections to a place, now long closed, called Bodo that I ate at and loved in 2018, and the menu is every bit as tempting as Bodo’s was: not masses of options, just a handful of snacks, three starters, mains and desserts and a cheeseboard to choose from.

Much of what I had was gorgeous, from bone marrow with gremolata and sourdough toast to a veal tartare with anchovy tapenade and capers, all the way through to a spot-on onglet with béarnaise, frites and something which was referred to as “spicy salad” (it wasn’t, really). All that makes the menu sound very robust and meat focused, which is unfair to the place because there was also white asparagus, hake with brandade, sea bass carpaccio with fennel vinaigrette. I just wasn’t in that mood when I went there, so I can’t tell you about those.

What I can say is that my dessert – rhubarb on crushed sablé Breton, punctuated with citrus and moated with crème anglaise, an upside-down crumble – was one of the nicest things I ate all week, and a dish I thought about a fair few times the next day. Other than that I found Boris & Maurice more amiable than exceptional, but I’d still go back. Especially because, as you’ll see shortly, it’s a brief walk from the most amazing bar.

Boris & Maurice
Antwerpsesteenweg 329, Gent
https://boris-maurice.be

3. Aperto Chiuso

Although Aperto Chiuso has been on my Ghent to do list for some time, I only finally managed to tick it off last month. It was open on Monday evenings, which many Ghent restaurants appear not to be, and the dining room was packed when we took our table at half seven. It’s on the beautifully named Sleepstraat, which is the road where Ghent stops being pretty and starts feeling gritty, and I’ve noticed it before because of the front half of a Fiat 500 gazing out of the window.

Inside the dining room is all dark muted tones – I love the picture of the Last Supper on one wall, looking down on the diners – and the menu looks a darned sight more authentic than many Italian restaurants you find both in the U.K. and elsewhere in Europe. Interestingly it offers antipasti, starters and desserts yet all but one of the main courses were pasta dishes – almost no secondi here, and no pizza.

Everything we tried was utterly glorious, offering that comfort which Italian food brings quite unlike any other. It was a drizzly night, I felt a bit jaded after three consecutive evenings of boozing on Belgian beer, and Aperto Chiuso turned out to be exactly what I needed. Bruschetta came as little canapés topped with tomato and mozzarella, red pesto, anchovy butter. Burrata, so often derided in the U.K., was superb with blood orange, toasted hazelnuts and coriander seeds and an olive oil infused with lavender and honey.

And then my main course was the best spaghetti carbonara I’ve ever had – not a white creamy blob of blandness but a bundle of beautifully al dente, top quality pasta hugged by a a thick, mollifying sauce of egg, bacon, parmesan and nothing else. Honestly, it was as close to a panacea as I’ve ever found in a bowl, and when I’m in Ghent again I will eat it again. All that and a stonking house red for a ridiculous four Euros a glass: I wandered back down Sleepstraat well-fed, full of carbs and ready for a little sleep of my own.

Aperto Chiuso
Sleepstraat 82, Gent
https://apertochiuso.be

4. De Rechters

Still my favourite place in Ghent for traditional Belgian food, De Rechters is a contemporary-looking restaurant which is far better than it needs to be given its plum spot next to St Bavo’s Cathedral. When I visited in 2022, I got to sit outside in the sunshine and it made a good meal, if anything, even better. We drank Orval, and Zoë pointed out to me that her beer and mine were bottled on different days, which explained why mine was fizzier than hers: I love it when she goes full Raymond Babbitt about beer like that.

Never having had moules in Belgium – I know, such an oversight – I had some as a starter, cooked simply with thyme and they were plump and fragrant. But next time I’ll go the whole hog and have them as a main with garlic and cream, which for me is the only way really to eat moules, dipping your bread and frites into the sauce until you are truly replete.

The frites, incidentally, were a bit wan on that visit – which is a shame, because frites are something Belgium does better than practically anybody. But the stoverij, beer slow-cooked in beer until the whole thing is a symphony of dark brown, almost-sweet ambrosia, is worth the price of admission alone. You can get frites anywhere but beef like that requires patience and skill, both of which De Rechters has in abundance.

De Rechters
Sint-Baafsplein 23, Gent
https://derechters.be/nl/

5. STEK

STEK, in between the centre and Sint Pieters train station, is a lovely little cafe and a perfect spot for brunch, a meal which Ghent, in my experience, does better than Bruges. On a previous visit in the summer I sat out on their gorgeous terrace and enjoyed an exemplary avocado toast with crispy bacon, a splendid latte and a great dose of people watching.

This time around the less clement weather meant I could sample their indoors, a very tasteful space full of cool people and foliage – not necessarily in that order – and very friendly and attentive service. The coffee was as good as I recalled, the fresh lemonade with ginger was a sinus-tickling treat and the lunch game was, if anything, at a higher level than before. I had a potato salad with hot honey smoked salmon, caramelised onions, yoghurt dressing and pistachios which felt relatively virtuous while tasting a little sinful. I got there just before noon and grabbed pretty much the only table which wasn’t either occupied or reserved, so it might be making a lunch reservation online if you fancy giving STEK a go.

STEK
Nederkouter 129, Gent
https://www.stekgent.be

6. Take Five Espresso

I really loved Take Five when I visited Ghent in 2022, and on last month’s visit I was there every morning without fail for a latte, to sit inside at those big windows and enjoy what could feel like Ghent’s single biggest sun trap. The coffee is exceptional, the service is brilliant and they play effortlessly cool jazz – as you’d expect from the name – to soundtrack the start of your morning. The pain au chocolat from Kultur next door are so good that I’ve never tried Take Five’s food, but if it’s as good as their coffee it would be a treat indeed.

I follow Take Five on Instagram and there’s something about some places you visit on holiday that means you feel invested in them long after you have headed home with a heavy heart. So when I heard that Take Five had been so successful that they’d expanded and taken a second site across the city, I was as happy for them as I would have been any Reading-based business. But the original branch on Voldersstraat, with its beautiful tiled floor and its soothing, sophisticated atmosphere, will always be my first port of call.

Take Five Espresso
Voldersstraat 10, Gent
http://www.take-five-espressobar.be

7. Café Labath

According to their website, Café Labath was the very first third wave coffee joint in Ghent, opening twelve years ago. And I felt like I could sense that when I stopped there for a latte, that this was a place that didn’t feel the need to try too hard, that was comfortable in its own skin, knew what it was about and had nothing to prove. That showed too in the beautiful space they had created, all parquet floor and Ercol-style chairs, making best use of the corner plot and the huge windows to allow the very best people-watching experience. I loved the way that, as with Take Five, the public seating outside had been worked into the space, giving multiple options for al fresco drinking in better weather.

If anything, the less calculated interior led me to underestimate the coffee, but when my latte – ordered through a QR code at the table with no need to queue – turned up it was creditable. I had only stopped at Labath on the off chance to grab a quick shot of caffeination before lunch in the area, but when I return to Ghent I plan to have a far more leisurely drink there.

Café Labath
Oude Houtlei 1, Gent
https://www.cafelabath.com

8. Clouds In My Coffee

Clouds In My Coffee is one of the most stylish cafés I’ve seen in over a decade of going to Europe and seeking these places out. Quite aside from the Carly Simon reference, which manages not to be naff, the inside is truly gorgeous, like something out of Living Etc. From the street it looks small (and is surprisingly hard to find) but through the back is a wonderfully light, airy extension and beyond that another of those idyllic secret gardens that Ghent cafés seem to all have up their sleeves.

Did I want a coffee? Absolutely. Was my latte delicious? Of course it was. Did I look at the menu and wonder if it was too early for an Aperol Spritz? You bet I did. And did I feel like I was soaking up design tips for the duration of my visit? Yes, along with thinking Why doesn’t Reading have anywhere like this? The only drawback is that Clouds In My Coffee is the epitome of the best house on a bad street: Dampoort, where it lives, is an up and coming part of Ghent that, from my visit, has more upping and coming to do (the cafe’s website calls it a “multicolour fuse”, which I think is nicely poetic). The walk there from the tram stop involved walking through an Aldi car park and, for an awful moment, I thought I’d wandered through a wormhole in space and found myself on the outskirts of Basingstoke. Still worth a visit though, if only to go somewhere that fitted in about as much as I did.

Clouds In My Coffee
Dendermondsesteenweg 104, Gent
https://www.clouds9000.com/en/cafe-gallery

9. Het Waterhuis aan de Beerkant

On my first visit to Ghent, at the tail end of autumn 2018, I rather liked Het Waterhuis aan de Beerkant, a tall building by the canal (aren’t they all?) with rooms across several floors: the room right at the top reminded me of mid-90s boho drinking culture in a way which somehow summoned up memories of Bar Iguana. But it wasn’t until I went back on a hot July afternoon in 2022 that I really got what the fuss was about – sitting at a sunny table, overlooking the canal, surrounded by other afternoon revellers of all shapes and sizes it was an extremely agreeable place to while away a few hours and sink a tall, cold Brugse Zot on draft. We don’t have a word, really, for what time spent like that is like but I believe the Dutch describe it as gezellig.

Het Waterhuis aan de Beerkant
Groentenmarkt 9, Gent
https://www.facebook.com/Waterhuis-aan-de-Bierkant-171209319595287/

10. Dulle Griet

There are two very traditional beer places in Ghent with enormous lists, the kind of places CAMRA types hit up on a tour of the city. One is Trollkelder, which I’ve never really taken to – I had a drink outside it once but was faintly perturbed by the models of trolls in the window, glaring at you as you sip your beer. But Dulle Griet, named after a character called Mad Meg from Flemish folklore, was more my sort of thing.

On previous visits I’ve had a drink outside in the front room and enjoyed the idiosyncratic decor: just look at all the random shit hanging from the ceiling. But I now realise that didn’t really do it justice, and on my most recent trip we had a few drinks there in the evening, sitting in a little booth out back, admiring the way any good Belgian bar covers every inch of wall space with signs, mirrors and memorabilia from the country’s seemingly limitless roster of breweries.

The beer list is indeed extensive – around 500 different options, apparently – and so intimidating that it makes the Little Bear’s look like a pamphlet. Prices are elevated compared to their neighbours in Bruges too, with many of the beers a few Euros more expensive (in fairness I’ve never settled up at the Little Bear without thinking is that all?), but I’d say it’s worth it for the experience. I was there on a Thursday night when the place was rammed, and when I gave up my plum spot left before closing time, knowing that I had packing and an early checkout in my future, I felt something of a wrench.

Oh, and however hungry you are, don’t order the cheese. I don’t know what that stuff is, but it’s not cheese in any meaningful sense.

Dulle Griet
Vrijdagmarkt 50, Gent
http://www.dullegriet.be/en/

11. Gitane

Gitane remains my favourite bar in Ghent, and one of my favourite bars in the whole wide world. When I went to Ghent in 2018 I fell completely in love with it, although when I returned in 2022 it was in the summer, the whole world was sitting outside and being at the only occupied table indoors felt a little bit forlorn and neglected.

Well, I don’t know why I thought that, because returning last month I was reminded of just what a wonderful place it is. It’s all panelled walls and red banquettes – I know I overuse the word “conspiratorial” to describe places like this, but I’m yet to find a better word. It’s louche without being sleazy, dimly lit without being dingy, and I like it a great deal. It helps that the beer list is good too – a model of pared-down focus compared to the bloat of places like Dulle Griet, but with a great yet compact selection including options from less widely seen breweries like Brouwcompagnie Rolling Hills and the always excellent De Leite.

Gitane
Meerseniersstraat 9, Gent
https://facebook.com/100054309860476/

12. Django

When I booked a table at Boris & Maurice, in Sint Amandsberg, I thought it would be nice to have a pre-dinner drink in the area. And the only thing I could find that was suitable, really, was a bar just over five minutes away called Django. We’ll go there, I thought. How bad can it be? And I love it when this happens, because it was the find of the holiday.

It was so louche, so hip, so suitable for nighthawks that it made Gitane look like the Hope Tap. From the red lighting to the formica topped tables, from the leather booths out back to the neon sign on the wall, from the wood-panelled bar to the textured concrete ceiling with a mirrorball hanging from it, it was an interiors nut’s Christmasses all come at once. It even has an upstairs balcony floor, nearer that mirrorball, where you can look down on all the ineffable coolness below. Why had I never heard anybody talking about this place, or ever seen a review anywhere? It was almost the perfect bar.

All it needed was great drinks. Except it transpired that they had those too, with brilliant Belgian pale Ouwen Duiker and iconic Tripel Karmeliet both on draft. The barman even apologised for bringing the latter in the wrong glass, something you would only ever hear in Belgium. So really all it needed was great food – but the local sausage with mustard, yours for three Euros, was coarse and unbelievably delicious. To think people in the U.K. get all excited about a packet of Tayto: they must be laughing at us on the continent. And although I didn’t get to try it Django also did a very attractive range of pizzas – just looking at the menu made me want to cancel my dinner plans.

Next time I go to Ghent I will spend a whole evening here, although if I do I may be sorely tempted to go the whole hog and move to Sint Amandsberg. I wonder if Ghent needs an itinerant restaurant blogger?

Django
Antwerpsesteenweg 330
https://www.instagram.com/djangogent/?hl=en-gb

13. HAL 16

HAL 16 is the craft beer capital of Ghent, a combination of food hall and tap room for local Dok Brewing out in the docklands, about ten minutes from the centre by bus or twenty on foot. It is honestly one of my favourite places in Ghent and since discovering it I’ve never visited the city without giving it a try. My first visit was in January 2019, when I think it had just opened, but it and the complex around it have gone from strength to strength on every successive visit.

I turned up on a Wednesday evening around 6 o’clock after buying some beer at the excellent De Hopduvel just around the corner, and the place began to fill up almost immediately after, the long tables being taken by group after group of young, cool, happy urbanites. None of them were saying dreary stuff like “but it’s a school night”, and they were probably drawn by the colossal range of beer on offer. Thirty lines on keg, many of them by Dok Brewing but with a number of guest beers including stuff you just wouldn’t otherwise see. On my most recent visit I got to try a sharp, peachy sour by tiny Trial & Ale Brewing, from Edmonton, Alberta, and I really loved it.

But the booze isn’t the only draw, because HAL 16 also has three terrific food traders to make sure you stick around. One, Officina Raffaelli, does pizza, pasta and antipasti and the stuff I’ve had from them has been decent. A second does burgers, and I’m sure they’re excellent, although I’ve never tried one. But the reason for that is that the third trader, RØK, does some of the best barbecue I’ve ever eaten – better than anything in the U.K., and for my money better than Copenhagen’s Warpigs. In the past I’ve raved about their pork chop, rhapsodised about their lamb neck.

But on this trip, although I liked my confit duck leg and absolutely adored Zoë’s beef rib, smoked for 10 hours, the standout dish was a vegetarian one – cauliflower, brick-red and sticky with a savoury marinade, its perimeter blackened and crispy from the grill, the whole plate festooned with a zigzag of curry mayo. Even writing this makes me hungry and sad because we only ordered one dish of it, shared it between two and then moved on somewhere else. This is how you get people to become vegetarian, by offering something this good so everyone wants their own, reluctantly sharing some beef rib into the bargain just to keep up appearances.

HAL 16
Dok-Noord 4b, Gent
https://www.hal16.be

14. Stadsbrouwerij Gruut

Gruut is the city centre’s only working brewery. It’s far more central than Dok Brewing and far more trad – they serve an amber ale, a blonde beer, a wheat beer, a brown ale and a triple and that’s it, no sours or lambics or more esoteric stuff. And they have a rich brewing heritage – their little booklet shows you that founder Annick De Splenter, who began the business in 2009, comes from a veritable family tree of Belgian brewing expertise.

So it might not surprise you to hear that it’s a really lovely, quirky and slightly eccentric place to while away some time. I tried their amber ale, which I really enjoyed, on a quiet weekday afternoon when the weather wasn’t quite nice enough to take advantage of their outside seating: a British delegation, seemingly from CAMRA, were camped outside before 2pm waiting for the place to open and had no such qualms. It’s a lovely place and I could happily have dallied there longer but I had places to go, food to eat, other beers to drink and, ultimately, a guide to write. Plus they charge you fifty cents to use the loo, according to one of the signs, and who carries cash any more?

Stadsbrouwerij Gruut
Rembert Dodoensdreef 1, Ghent
https://www.gruut.be

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City guide: Granada (updated 2024)

Although this guide dates from September 2023, it has been updated as the result of another visit in September 2024. I have added a number of restaurants and cafés, and tried to make clear whether each entry dates from 2023, 2024 or a combination of both. I have removed two entries from this list, Bar Aliatar and the Mercado de San Agustin, because I didn’t visit them in 2023 or 2024. But they are still in the original 2019 guide if you want to read about them.

Of all the city guides on my blog, the guide to Granada is the oldest and creakiest: it was written over four years ago and I’m very conscious that a combination of Covid and life making other plans meant that I hadn’t been able to return to the city, one of my favourite places on earth. It was only this month, finally, that I got to renew my acquaintance with it: it was every bit as happy an occasion as any post-Covid reunion I can think of.

The previous guide talks about my own history with Granada and I won’t rehash all that here – by all means read it if you’re interested – but instead, after four years away, I wanted to set the scene by talking about just what a magical city Granada is, and why it’s worth considering if you’re trying to decide where your next city break should be. Because I think there’s nowhere quite like Granada, and I’m going to have a stab at explaining why.

First of all, there’s the obvious stuff. By which I mean the Alhambra, an eternally beautiful place full of placid gardens, burbling fountains and stunning Moorish architecture, tiles and carvings and woodworking which will stay in your mind (and on your phone) for the rest of your days. To this day it remains pretty much the only tourist attraction I’ve ever visited to which hype cannot do justice. But the people who bus in on a coach, see the Alhambra and then sod off miss out on one of the most beautiful, and certainly the most interesting, cities I have ever been to.

The other obvious thing is tapas, and Granada’s tapas culture. Tapas isn’t unique to Granada, or even necessarily to Andalucia any more, and the word has been culturally appropriated by everyone trying to sell you not much food for rather a lot of money. But if those people ever went to Granada, if they had any shame, they might just die of it. In Granada free food with every drink is a way of life – and not just shitty lip service food but good, interesting little dishes. You could hop from one bar to the next living on whatever accompanies your caña of cold, crisp beer but often – and this is the genius of the place – it sends you scurrying to the menu. If that’s what you get for free, just how good could the other dishes on offer be? Maybe it’s just me, but that gets me every time.

But there’s more to Granada than the Alhambra and tapas – although that, alone, would be enough to justify a visit. It’s many cities rolled into one. You have the gorgeous whitewashed side streets and traversas of the Albaicin, the ancient Arab quarter of the city. There are miradors looking out on the hills the other side of the river, at the majesty of the Alhambra and the mountains beyond.

Connecting the Albaicin to the centre are steep streets lined with teterias, houses serving beautiful tea, fragrant with mint or spices. And then there’s the faux market of the Alcaiceria, a little grid of lanes which serves as a pocket version of Istanbul’s Grand Bazaar, only without the haggling. Beyond that there is the serene beauty of its cathedral and monasteries, and gorgeous tree lined squares where the birdsong is deafening as the evening begins. 

If that wasn’t enough, there’s also the Realejo, a district full of street art and scruff, busy bars, craft beer and third wave coffee. And of course there’s the Carrera del Darro, possibly Granada’s most beautiful street, hugging the banks of the river, crossed by little bridges, before it opens out into the Paseo de los Tristes, a beautiful square which affords you a gorgeous view up to the Alhambra.

I could go on. The shopping is surprisingly good, the coffee scene has come on in leaps and bounds since I visited in 2019 and the more modern parts of the city, away from the cathedral or the main drag are full of great restaurants and bars, many of which are largely untroubled by tourists. Truly I love everything about the place, from the bollards in the shape of pomegranates (the symbol of the city) to the tiny red buses that crisscross its narrow streets. Have I convinced you yet?

If I haven’t, a few final extra things might. It always used to be tricky to get to, but Vueling flies there direct from Gatwick once a week – out on a Tuesday morning and back on a Saturday evening, the perfect duration for a city break with a day to pack beforehand and a day to reacclimatise afterwards. And last of all, I struggle to think of a better value city break. Even our best meals there came nowhere near to breaking the bank and not only does the beer come with food but things like coffee are unbelievably reasonably priced. A top notch, third wave latte will set you back less than two Euros. The shops and markets are full of things you can’t get at home – you know, niche stuff like fresh fruit and vegetables. Really, for my liking, it’s pretty close to heaven on earth.

This guide is completely revamped from its 2019 precursor. I have added a number of venues and taken a couple out – in the vast majority of cases where I’m recommending somewhere I recommended in 2019 I went there again on this trip and the writing (and, where possible, the picture) is brand new. There are only two recommendations carried over from 2019 which I did not get to revisit, and where this is the case I’ve clearly said so. I hope you find it useful, or at least enjoy reading it: all I can say is that I very much enjoyed living it.

1. Atelier Casa de Comidas

Atelier Casa de Comidas, a short walk from El Corte Inglés in the newer part of the city, received a Bib Gourmand from Michelin. And as so often that accolade, far more so than the overhyped Michelin star, is a reliable indicator that you’re going to have a fantastic meal.

It’s a beautiful, tasteful dining room and a menu full of temptations. In the evenings you can get a full tasting menu but I went for lunch in 2023 and everything I had was beautiful. I loved an appetiser of patatas bravas spiked and given a new lease of life with a hefty kick of kimchee and was in raptures about a phenomenal dish of nutty green peas in a rich, savoury broth with prawn foam, pickled prawns and fried prawn heads (not the kind of thing I’d normally eat, but enough to convert any doubter).

Pluma iberica – glazed almost like char siu – was up there with the best I have ever had and a dessert of chocolate ganache with ginger and rosemary was a fantastic way to end a meal. So why, even having had one of my lunches of the year, did I find myself thinking about the savoury croissant, loaded with slow-cooked oxtail, that my companions had had the sense to order and I hadn’t? C’est la vie, I suppose.

I should also mention that the restaurant had some of the best service I’ve experienced in a long time. The staff were trilingual (some speaking English and others speaking French when our English and Spanish respectively weren’t up to the task) and the sommelier was magnificent, picking us some outstanding cava, wine and sherries for all of our dishes. The single most expensive meal of the entire holiday, it cost barely more than fifty pounds a head.

I said in 2023 that when I went back to Granada this would be the first reservation I make. And so it proved, because on my final night in the city in 2024 we returned for the tasting menu. On this occasion the staff were not as trilingual, or even as bilingual, as I might have liked so I missed the nuance of some of the dishes but there was no mistaking the quality of the execution. It was a real fireworks display, from watermelon treated almost to have the taste and texture of meat, to a fantastic sea bass tartare with kimchi and caviar, to rudely pink Iberian pork, cooked superbly.

Atelier Casa de Comidas appears to have lost its Bib Gourmand since I went there first. But on the most recent display, they seem to have loftier goals in their sights.

Atelier Casa de Comidas
Calle Sos del Rey Católico, 7, 18006 Granada
https://ateliercasadecomidas.com/en/home/

2. Betula Nana

I had another truly lovely lunch in 2023 at Betula Nana, a small chic restaurant just opposite Granada’s small and perfectly formed Botanical Gardens. It’s a great spot which reminded me a little of Bordeaux’s Echo, and its menu was also compact and bijou. But it was also brimming over with inventiveness and delicious flavours. I had huge envy for my companions’ squid ink tortilla, black as night, swimming in a garlic sauce and garlanded with clams, but had a starter, in the shape of a carpaccio of king oyster mushrooms with tiny nuggets of candied, caramelised beetroot which was unlike anything I could remember.

Main courses, if anything, induced more envy – my confit bacalao was a dish badly in need of some carbs, and I wished I’d gone for Zoë’s pork cheek curry, all retro Vesta flavours, the sauce seeping into a bed of potatoes crushed with olive oil, or Liz’s beautifully done tuna tataki. But that’s life. For dessert, because the four of us couldn’t decide, we ordered all three desserts – a wobbly tart, a gooey chocolate cake and a colossal tiramisu – and attacked them between us. Our lunch came to just over forty quid a head, helped by the fact that you can’t find a bottle on their wine list costing more than twenty Euros. I love this city.

Returning in 2024, I found that if anything Betula Nana had raised its game still further and everything I had was just terrific. I wouldn’t say the menu had changed drastically in the intervening year, but a cecina and fig salad was far more enjoyable than salad has any right to be, and squid in its own ink served on a pillow of basmati was a Stygian miracle. This time I chose more smartly, and the tuna tataki – an ever-present on menus on the continent – was one of the most memorable dishes of my trip. Betula Nana only has about 18 covers, seems to be busy every lunchtime and can only be booked by WhatsApp. But it’s well worth doing so.

Betula Nana
Calle Málaga, 9, 18002 Granada

3. Bodegas Castañeda

Bodegas Castañeda, on a random weekday night nearly twenty-five years ago, was the first place I ever went in Granada. It was love at first sight – a long bar, all the beer and vermouth you could drink and a tapa with every single one. A different tapa every time, too, because they keep track. Since then I have never visited Granada without going back to Bodegas Castañeda, usually multiple times, and it’s invariably the first place I visit. 

On my 2023 trip I went twice in one day – once mid-afternoon with Zoë to check that it was still heaven on earth, and then in the evening with Zoë, Liz and James because few better places exist to kick off an evening. It seems to be busier every time, and now they have a lot of tables in the alleyway outside, but I still prefer standing at the bar, bustling and jostling, and enjoying it for as long as I can. 

That said, I went back in 2024 and again, sat in the alleyway, and for the first time got the sense that Castañeda was perhaps trading on past glories. The food was a little scruffier, a little lazier, a little underseasoned and lacking in finesse. The furniture was tatty, and I wondered whether my favourite place for a quarter of a century was being superseded, not just by the whippersnappers but also by the old stagers like Los Diamantes and Los Manueles which had expanded to multiple locations across the city while Castañeda, in the same place as ever, stood still.

Even saying all that, I know that the next time I go to Granada I will still go there, just to check in on it. It’s what you do with very old friends.

Bodegas Castañeda
Calle Almireceros, 1-3, 18010 Granada

4. Taberna La Tana

Like Bodegas Castañeda, I have been going to Taberna La Tana for a very long time. It is a fantastic place to drink wine and eat tapas, and for many years it was a relatively well kept secret. But Anthony Bourdain visited it in 2013 for an episode of Parts Unknown, and now that secret is out. That means it is always busy, which is no bad thing, but also that it is full of Americans, which may or may not be your idea of a good time.

On my previous visit to La Tana in 2019 it was still a place to arrive early and hug the bar – preferably at lunchtime when you could guarantee a space – and if you were really lucky and got practically the only table in the entire place you felt like the king of the world. But that has changed. In 2023 La Tana had plenty of tables in the alley outside and you could book them for a two hour early or late evening sitting. Somehow this didn’t feel very Granada, but I suppose it meant fewer people being turned away because it was full. So not the old magic but a new, different and equally valid kind of magic.

Returning the following year I found more change afoot. The front room now had tables in it too, and they had expanded further into the neighbouring room. Menus were on QR codes, and the whole thing felt brisker, slicker and more focused on maximising returns. And that’s all well and good – restaurants need to make money, and good restaurants deserve to survive, but I had a sense that the La Tana of 2024 felt a world away from the place I fell in love with over a decade ago.

Did it mean I didn’t have a brilliant evening? Absolutely not. The wine was exquisite (and having access to the whole list via a QR code was the right kind of progress), the guacamole was still the best I’ve ever had and La Tana’s tomates aliñado, tumbled in superb olive oil and studded with salt, were the best I had in the city. The anchovies and paletilla were outstanding, too.

If you’d never been to La Tana before and you visited it in this incarnation, you’d think it was the best thing since sliced ham, and you wouldn’t be a million miles off. But for those of us who have a longer acquaintance with La Tana, it’s a little more complex. It’s a wonderful place, but just not the same wonderful place I remember. I almost envy people discovering it for the first time, who never have to feel that tug of conflict between the old and the new.

Taberna La Tana
Placeta del Agua, 3, 18009 Granada
https://www.tabernalatana.com

5. Rincón de Rodri

We went to Rincón de Rodri on our last night in the city in 2023, a Friday night, and I had the best time there. It’s a seafood bar and restaurant – tall tables and the bar at the front, and more conventional tables at the back. We’d reserved a table for four, so we were at the back, and it was all a little faux nautical with blue and white striped walls. Only one other table was occupied, and I wondered if we’d made a bad choice.

But of course, it was because we turned up at half eight, when no sensible Spaniard would dine. And this restaurant is all Spaniards, to the point where they had to send over the only member of the serving staff who spoke any English. By half nine the place was rammed, and an absolute riot from start to finish.

And the food! The food was magnificent. From our opening tapa, slices of meltingly soft swordfish served with crisp white cabbage, to pert fried chipirones, golden and moreish sprinkled with freshly squeezed lemon and dipped in a thick, potent alioli, everything was fantastic. I particularly liked the hake, feather-light and impossible to resist, and a huge hunk of atun rojo, just-seared, still very pink in the middle, brought to a vacant neighbouring table and sliced thickly there and then, easily sashimi grade.

An outrageously good albarino was twenty-five Euros a bottle, and we ordered several. They brought us a shot of a liqueur the flavour of pionono, the cinnamon pastry particular to Granada, and it was like the best Baileys you’ve ever tasted. We rolled out having spent barely forty quid each, and I just wanted to do it again the following Friday night, and possibly every Friday night for the rest of my days. 

At the front, the celebrations were barely getting started. Sitting at a table for four is the civilised thing to do – and, when you’re in group that size in Granada, the only way you can guarantee that you’ll get enough space – but I think the thing to do is go there as a pair and stand outside when it opens, angling for two stools at that bar and all the albarino and tapas you can manage.

I tried to do exactly that on this visit, only to find it was closed and that they were having work done inside. It was my single biggest disappointment of the trip, and I will be back there as soon as possible to rectify that.

Rincón de Rodri
Calle Músico Vicente Zarzo, 3, 18002 Granada

6. Potemkin

When I first visited Potemkin, a little bar in the Realejo, it was a tapas bar that, possibly as a gimmick, served sushi – and sushi tapas – on Wednesdays. Well, they were obviously on to a good thing because when I made a point of returning five years ago I found they now serve sushi – and sushi tapas – all the time, along with some other Japanese dishes.

I don’t think I’ll ever get over the novelty of ordering a beer or a gin and tonic and just randomly being brought a delicate plate of avocado maki. Or ordering a subsequent drink and getting a plate of some other sushi. Going with friends in 2023 I remembered why I had loved the place so much in the first place, and so we ordered some of their other dishes and found their sushi selection remarkably good (and, yet again, cracking value). The gyoza were some of the best I’ve had anywhere.

But more than that, the staff were just marvellous. When we turned up all the tables looked to be booked. But they said we could have one, just for the two of us, until ten pm. And then as our friends joined they found more space, and brought more chairs, and nothing was too much trouble. One of the people looking after us had spent two years living in London and wanted to practice her English and talk about it, and of course we congratulated her on living in the best city in the world. 

At one point there was a spot of rain and with military precision the staff mobilised, grabbed umbrellas and put them up, and within two minutes everybody was back at their seats, ordering more drinks, getting more sushi. And, for the umpteenth time that week, I stopped and thought Can’t I just live here?

Returning in 2024, I decided I’d had enough of only using Potemkin for pre-dinner drinks, so we booked a table on the terrace and bedded in for the evening. Everything was as brilliant as I remembered and, unlike many places in Granada, the tapas doesn’t stop coming just because you’re also ordered from the main menu: maki after maki after maki.

Potemkin
Placeta del Hospicio Viejo, 3, 18009 Granada
https://potemkinbar.es

7. Saint Germain

Saint Germain, tucked away not far from the cathedral, is a cracking little bar, buzzy but conspiratorial. I’ve eaten inside, in a room with stools and a ledge, framed pictures all over the walls and not much else, and had a wonderful time. But on my most recent visit, as when I went in 2019, I was at one of the tables in the alleyway outside and I just had an enchanting time.

Previously I’d been there as a group of five, desperately trying to commandeer space, gradually nicking more stools, using one as a makeshift table. That might be your idea of fun – it was mine, many years ago – but for me a proper table in the dusk, reading menus by the light of our iPhones was much more like it.

Saint Germain has countless wines by the glass, and truly expert servers who will tell you you’ve absolutely picked the wrong one and you’d like something else better. They are, in my experience, correct without exception about that, because they know their wine list and their menu inside out, and have no qualms about ensuring that you make the most of both.

In the past I’ve adored Saint Germain’s chorizo cooked in honey, and I nearly ordered it on this visit, but the specials were calling to me: I don’t think Saint Germain has ever had specials on the menu before, and that fact alone was enough to make me sit up and take notice. And they were stunning: red tuna, surely sashimi grade and barely cooked, arranged in a ring around a gloriously verdant puck of avocado quite captivated me. Beef rib, cooked low and slow until it almost leapt from the bone, was even better, served with a sweet potato purée that rather changed my mind about sweet potato.

I thought we had enough room for the chorizo after that, but our server was just as authoritative about portions as he had been about our wine choices; he plonked down a piece of cheesecake for us to share, as if to say that’s your lot. So all that was left was to ask him for a couple of glasses of Pedro Ximénez to go with it. This time he didn’t suggest something else, so we at least got that right.

Saint Germain
Calle Postigo Veluti, 4, 18001 Granada

8. Bar Minotauro

I first visited Minotauro in 2015, would you believe, with my old friend Dave. It’s a scruffy, lively bar just off Plaza Nueva, in the less beautiful bit of town and I really loved it – full of life, full of beer, no tourists, napkin art on the wall. It was how a bar manages to be cool without trying, which is of course the only way to be cool.

It wasn’t in my plans to return in 2023 but we had time for a caña at that end of town before a late lunch reservation so we went in and I’m so glad we did. It was its usual noisy, authentic self, full of locals getting beers in at the start of their Saturday. One table at the end, raucous and joyful, was a dozen ladies of different ages drinking and laughing. Not because they were a hen party or anything purgatorial like that, just because they were out for drinks.

I didn’t stay long enough to venture past the tapa, a little bagel full of just-fried steak and mayo, but even that had me looking at the menu and asking my companions if we could cancel lunch and stay here. They told me we couldn’t, we kept our reservation and went on to have the worst meal of the entire trip. The memories of that bagel, and the exquisite pleasure of saying I told you so were all I had to show for it.

I made sure we went back in 2024, for just the one, and a tubo of cold beer and another of those bagels cost less than 3 Euros. Enough said: next time I’m having lunch there.

Bar Minotauro
Calle Imprenta, 6, 18010 Granada

9. Bar Lara

This place also falls into the category of “a quick drink before lunch” but it also happens to be in one of the prettiest squares in the city. Placeta de San Miguel Bajo is up in the Albaicin, just along from the Mirador de San Nicolas, the place to look out on the Alhambra. It is ringed by bars and restaurants on one side, with a beautiful, humble church at one end with a tall whitewashed tower. Take a seat on a terrace, drink your beer and watch those little red buses trundle past from time to time – it really is a fantastic spot.

In 2023 we did that at Bar Lara and, again, the tapas was so much better than it needed to be. The first, a beautiful plate of waxy sliced potatoes and green pepper, cooked in industrial quantities of olive oil with just enough salt, was one of the simplest, most effective things we ate all week. The second, little fried fish with diced tomatoes, was both gorgeous and generous. “This is going in the guide”, I said to Zoë. And it did.

Bar Lara
Placeta de San Miguel Bajo, 4, 18010 Granada

10. Poetas Andaluces II

Poetas Andaluces was without question my favourite discovery of my 2024 visit. It has a more conventional restaurant out back, but I loved standing outside when it opened, sitting in the bar and eating and drinking for a happy, blessed evening. In that respect my approach to it was like the one I always take at Málaga’s outstanding Meson Iberico and Poetas Andaluces reminded me more of that wonderful spot than anywhere I’ve been in Granada.

It’s an asador, but unfortunately a lot of their most tempting-looking dishes – suckling pig, roast leg of lamb and what have you – all need to be ordered in advance, which I didn’t know. But even forced to slum it with the stuff you can order on the day I had a meal for the ages. Home-made pheasant pate and foie gras mi cuit were silky and opulent, a revuelto with mushrooms, jamon and garlic shoots quite blew me away. But best of all was rabo de toro expertly stripped off the bone at the table, sticky strands of oxtail mixed in with beautifully made chips and plonked in front of you, a dish of rich, robust comfort. I ate, I sipped an exceptional Ribera del Duoro, I sighed with joy.

The only way to perfect such a meal would be to finish it with a portion of chocolate mousse seemingly the size of my head and a big glass of Pedro Ximénez. And would you believe it? That’s exactly what happened.

Poetas Andaluces II
Calle Pedro Antonia de Alarcón, 18002 Granada
https://www.poetasandaluces.es

11. Bodega Los Tintos

I picked Bodega Los Tintos, a little joint tucked away just behind El Corte Inglés, based on a tip-off on Threads having originally intended to go to Casa Mol, a more modish place on the corner. And I loved it for lunch – a solid, unshowy spot with a great list of wines by the glass and the tapa of your choice with every glass. They do Seis E Seis, one of my favourite Spanish reds, and to have a glass with a huge piece of fried morcilla, served on a piece of bread (as if that made it any less over the top) at no extra charge was one of my favourite moments of my 2024 trip.

The stuff you had to pay for was also good, if more of a mixed bag. Strands of roasted peppers, ever so slightly blackened, with plenty of ventresca on top, was a delight, and I quite enjoyed the torreznos, little cubes of pork belly, even if they made me miss the chicharrones I always had in Malaga. But Bodegas Los Tintos’ berenjanas con miel are meant to be their best thing, and I wasn’t convinced: aubergine fried in thin discs rather than matchsticks was okay, but the oil didn’t feel the freshest. I ordered another glass of wine and consoled myself with some solimillo topped with blue cheese, also technically free. That’s the joy of small plates – if you don’t like one, another is always on the way.

Bodega Los Tintos
Calle San Isidro, 24, 18005 Granada

12. Casa de Vinos La Brujidera

La Brujidera (it means something to do with witches, apparently) is a little spot round the back of Plaza Nueva and it has competition on its doorstep in the form of one of Granada’s many branches of Los Manueles. But I always favour the underdog, so on my 2024 visit I was waiting outside La Brujidera as it opened at half twelve, ready to grab one of its four tables that sit outside on that little sloping alleyway. I’d walked past it the night before, its lights glowing, I’d seen people eating, drinking and gesticulating and I’d felt that pang you sometimes get on holiday when you notice a spot and wish you’d spent your evening there. And I’m delighted to report that it was just as agreeable a place to stop for lunch in the sun.

The wine was beautiful – plenty available, again, by the glass – and if the menu leaned more towards buying well than cooking well the produce was good enough that I really didn’t care about that. Blue goat’s cheese provided a superbly intense hit of salt, the chorizo was very nice indeed and another goat’s cheese dish they brought out (which we didn’t order, though we weren’t complaining) teamed very agricultural goats cheese with the double whammy of sweet onion jam and crispy fried onion. A new one on me, but a decidedly good idea.

Casa de Vinos La Brujidera
Calle Monjas del Carmen, 2, 18009 Granada
https://casadevinosgranada.es

13. La Botillería

I’m pretty sure La Botillería used to be more a bar than a restaurant, tucked away in the border between the centre and the Realejo, but it seems to have pivoted more to sit down meals, and a very meat-heavy menu, since I went to Granada last, possibly because it has competition in the form of the extremely hip Rosario Varela next door.

I booked lunch at La Botillería on the very last day of my 2024 trip, hoping to sit outside and drink wine and eat racion after racion until I was full and happy. At that point I was going to go back to the hotel and snooze on the roof terrace until it was time for the taxi to the airport. And literally none of that happened: they stuck us inside, at possibly the room’s worst table, next to an unlovely pillar. At half-one, the place was empty. We ordered a handful of small plates to get started, thinking we’d order mains later, and when they were finished the server asked us if we wanted coffee or dessert. I felt so fat shamed that we shame-facedly asked for the bill and left: it was all distinctly anticlimactic.

So why is it in this guide at all, you might ask? Well, just for one reason: the salt cod tortilla pictured above is one of the best things I’ve ever eaten and easily my favourite tortilla of all time.

The tired tortilla you often get is cooked through, so all of it is either rubbery egg or waxy potato: nobody likes that. The next best thing, the kind you might get at somewhere like Oxford’s Arbequina is loose and liquid in the middle, a huge improvement on a solid brick but still not always what you want. But the talent to cook something like La Botillería’s, solid outside, gooey but not oozing in the middle, is quite something. Then pack it with phenomenal amounts of flaked bacalao, and you have one of the best things I ate on my holiday, or indeed all year.

So if you find yourself going to Granada, book a table inside of an evening at La Botillería, specifically ask not to be next to a pillar, make them take their time, and don’t let them fat shame you. And have the salt cod tortilla: as I know from personal experience, it’s reason enough to go to La Botillería all by itself.

La Botillería
Calle Varela, 10, 18009 Granada
https://www.labotilleriagranada.es

14. Puesto 43

I was so looking forward to Rincón de Rodri when I visited Granada in 2024, and when I turned up there at eight fifteen, ready to take my place at the front of the queue and grab a table by the bar I was quite nonplussed to find it closed for renovations. I had to find somewhere for dinner without reservations, and fast – but where? Then I remembered Puesto 43, a marisqueria just round the corner which had, until recently, been in the Michelin guide. Would it do as an alternative?

Well, it sort of did. It’s a nice, neutral space with white furniture and tiled walls – there are also tables in the square outside – and it has an extensive menu of fried and grilled fish, seafood and what have you. And I enjoyed a lot of what I had. Calamari maybe had a little too much bounce to be truly fresh, but the coating on it simply couldn’t be faulted. Huge steaks of hake, fried bone-in and served simply with aioli, were decent, though in both cases I would have liked a slice of lemon to zhuzh things up. And the red tuna, beautifully cooked and sprinkled with salt crystals, was as good as any I’ve had in Granada.

But there were still a few misfires. Tomatoes aliñado might have had the best tomatoes in the world but they needed more salt and a hefty glug of a really good olive oil to bring them to life. And our server – another of the genre Granada specialises in who tell you you’ve ordered the wrong thing – persuaded us to swap fried, battered bacalao for a different dish, salt cod on mash with garlic and chillies. It was a pleasant dish (although hard to photograph without making it look like someone had already thrown it up), but when the fried bacalao turned up at the next table I wanted to shake the guy. None the less, as a second choice Puesto 43 was first rate.

Puesto 43
Plaza de Gracia, 3, 18002 Granada

15. Capitán Amargo

Back in 2019 I went to Granada’s only craft beer bar, a place on Calle Molinos in the heart of the Realejo called Colagallo. I liked it very much – I had great beers, and the owner was very friendly – but I wondered how it would fare in a city where beer is cheap and always comes with free food. The place changed its name to Capitán Amargo and returning four years later I was really delighted to see it thriving. And in 2024 it became a regular pre-dinner spot: I got very attached to sitting outside, all the life and noise of Calle Molinos around me, as I drank beautiful beer in the epicentre of the Realejo.

Capitán Amargo has a selection which puts anywhere in Reading to shame – something like thirty lines, with an impressive range from across both Spain and Europe, along with a reasonably priced can fridge if you really can’t find anything you fancy on the wall (the likes of Thornbridge and our very own Siren Craft represent U.K. breweries)

I tried so much that I loved, especially on the most recent visit, from Spanish breweries I’d heard of – like Basqueland Brewing or Malaga’s Attik Brewing – along with a plethora of breweries I knew literally nothing about. So I enjoyed a magnificent dank DIPA from Valencia’s Sáez & Son and an immensely likeable hazy pale from SOMA, who are from Girona: the latter was probably my beer of the trip. But it didn’t stop there, with other beers by Castello Beer Factory (also near Valencia) and Pamplona’s Naparbier also represented.

Best of all, the owner was bright and personable and clearly delighted to see some beer enthusiasts in a city where Alhambra, much as I love it, is ever-present. Not to say that Capitán Amargo doesn’t serve Alhambra, because it does, but it’s a real treasure trove for beer lovers and a great advert for Spanish craft beer. When I visited in 2023 I was a little sniffy about the fact that the tapa on offer was a bowl of Bugles – proper dirty crisps – but, like everything else about the place, I got very attached to that.

Capitán Amargo
Calle Molinos, 28, 18009 Granada
https://capitanamargo.com/en/

16. Café Futbol

There are only really two places to enjoy churros in Granada. One is Cafe Futbol, the Granadino institution which celebrated its hundredth birthday last year. The other is, well, anywhere else that isn’t as good as Cafe Futbol. The inside is that wonderful mixture of dated and timeless that institutions always nail, but on a sunny day you need to be in the plaza outside, admittedly under cover, attacking a cafe con leche and waiting for your churros to arrive.

The latter are the reason to come here and are as good as any I can recall bronzed, piping hot and a true indulgence. Why they’ve never caught on in the UK I will truly never know, but it makes them a holiday treat: it’s only what’s left of my willpower that stopped me having them every day. Round it off with a freshly squeezed zumo de naranja to give you possibly your main vitamin C of the day and you’re ready to explore the city – caffeinated, caloried and fully prepared for whatever it might throw at you. It was round the corner from my hotel in 2024, so I was there often.

Café Futbol
Plaza de Mariana Pineda, 6, 18009 Granada
https://cafefutbol.com

17. Los Italianos

There are plenty of ice cream places dotted around Granada, all boasting decent credentials, but Los Italianos on Gran Via is the one they queue for. It’s only open during the summer months, it’s ludicrously cheap – a large ice cream will set you back less than three quid – and it’s truly brilliant at what it does. 

The queue is at the front off Gran Via, to pick up and go, but you can also get in round the back where they have a few tables for table service and often a shorter queue if you just want to take away. I love their two-stage method, beautifully old school, where you ask for a size from your cashier and get a token reflecting a small, medium or large. You then hand it to the person wielding the scoop, name your flavours and off you go. 

They are good at all the classics, but their off piste options are just as special. So you can have chocolate or gianduja and they will be glossy and rich, and will make you very happy indeed. But if you want something with a little more cut-through on a hot day, their frozen yoghurt is outstandingly tangy and they do a pineapple flavoured ice cream which was smooth, sweet and utterly enchanting. It’s the best ice cream I’ve had in Spain and, appropriately enough given the name, it’s up there with the best I’ve had in Italy.

Los Italianos
Calle Gran Via de Colón, 4, 18010 Granada
https://www.lositalianos.es

18. Odeimos Doughnut Shop

It can’t all be churros and ice cream, you know. Well, actually it can, and that would be just fine and dandy. But I chanced upon Odeimos on a walk back from the Albaicin in 2024 and its doughnuts looked so magnificent that I picked up a couple on a whim. It was absolutely worth it – mine had a sort of salted caramel cheesecake filling which was somehow fluffy and indecently good. My favourite doughnuts in Reading are from Pipp & Co (which used to be called Pippin Doughnuts), but the most recent ones I’ve had suggest they’ve rather lost their way: Odeimos’ knocked spots off them.

Odeimos Doughnut Shop
Calle San Jerónimo, 10, 18001 Granada

19. Despiertoo

Despiertoo – it means “I woke up”, it seems – was my coffee shop of choice on my 2023 trip. It’s a nondescript spot between Plaza de Bib-Rambla and Plaza de le Trinidad, and the inside is very tasteful. They serve an excellent flat white (and, I’m told, an equally good iced latte), and even in 2024 a latte will only set you back a mind-boggling two Euros. It was, I must say, far busier in 2024 than it was the previous year, so its fame must be beginning to spread.

I should also add that Despiertoo roast on site and that if you like coffee at all and make it at home, I highly recommend taking some back to Blighty with you. I had some earlier in the year from my friend Mike who lives out there and it was easily the best coffee, from anywhere, that I’ve drunk at home all year, equally special in an Aeropress or a V60. I have three bags in the cupboard at the time of writing, which will make my mornings working from home infinitely more bearable.

Despiertoo
Calle Jaúdenes, 4, 18001 Granada
https://www.despiertoo.com

20. La Finca

La Finca is the coffee place I remember from my previous visit, but I don’t remember it being this good. I don’t remember it being in this spot either, so I wonder if it has moved since 2019. Either way its spot now, just off from the cathedral, is a superb one and it gets very busy as a result, with the inside routinely rammed and the handful of seats outside at a premium. That’s because they offer some of the best people watching in Granada, in my opinion. We turned up on a Saturday morning in 2023 just as a couple vacated the bench outside, so we swooped, ordered some lattes and enjoyed all the comings and goings, the tourists and the wanderers. Why would anyone give up such a perfect spot, we thought, so of course we ordered another coffee.

And their coffee was cracking, easily up there with the best I’ve had in Granada and definitely the equal of Despiertoo. They too sell beans, and I wish with hindsight that I’d picked some up. But Finca also excels in baked goods – the cinnamon buns and chocolate buns were the most attractive I saw in the city, and I might have had one too if it wasn’t for a double chocolate cookie, crumbly where it should have been crumbly, soft where it should have been soft and shot through with thick plates of chocolate. It was a magnificent way to while away an hour in Granada, a city crammed to bursting with world-beating ways to do so.

La Finca
Calle Colegio Catalino, 3, 18001 Granada
https://lafincaroaster.com/en/home

21. Noat Coffee

Noat was in my 2019 guide, but in 2023 it had moved house and I didn’t get to it, so I reluctantly took it out. Returning in 2024 I was determined to go there, and once I had I ended up going there nearly every morning. It’s on Plaza de los Girones, which despite its name is a lovely tree-lined street heading up to the Realejo, and it has three shady tables outside which is where you want to sit, with a ridiculously affordable latte, a wonderful view for people watching and time to contemplate. I did that a lot in September 2024, and I loved every minute.

Service is a little on the grumpy side, and based on my visits the clientele includes a high percentage of Americans. I’m not saying those two things are necessarily connected, by the way. But it’s possible.

Noat Coffee
Plaza de los Girones, 4, Puerta 3, 18009 Granada

22. Perspectives

Perspectives is a little cafe right at the end of Calle Elvira, near the striking Puerta de Elvira on the edge of the Albaicin. I went a couple of times on my most recent trip, and both times my latte was beautifully made and excellent value. They sell beans on site too, and will tell you which ones your coffee has been made with.

On my first visit in 2024 I initially found the staff a tad sullen, the place was playing The Smiths – Granada maybe hasn’t got the memo about Morrissey, yet – and I wasn’t sure whether it was the café for me. But I think it must just have been my false (pardon the pun) perspective because when it came to settling up the staff were lovely and engaging and I resolved there and then to visit again.

And when I did they were playing cheerier music, there was a nice hubbub from the occupied tables and this seemed like a lovely little piece of sunshine in a part of the city I don’t always get to. They asked me to leave a Google review, but they’ll have to settle for this.

It’s also worth heading round the corner to Al Sur De Granada which sells local produce, gorgeous looking chocolate and natural wines. As I picked up some single variety extra virgin olive oil to take home, I noticed a very appealing menu on the wall. I’ll just have to come back to Granada. Again.

Perspectives
Calle Elvira, 115, 18010 Granada
https://www.perspectives.cafe

(Click here to read more city guides.)

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City guide: Paris

Paris was one of the last places I visited before the start of the pandemic: I was there in November 2019, when only the very well-read and well-prepared had even the slightest inkling of what was in store for all of us. It was my first trip there with Zoë, although back in the day I used to go there on a practically annual basis, and we stayed in the Marais, my favourite part of the city, eating in all my favourite places.

It was a parade of greatest hits. We grabbed a table at L’As du Fallafel and ate their legendary many-layered falafel wrap, studded with sticky cubes of aubergine and all the good stuff. We went to the Marché des Enfants Rouges for lunch and hunkered down at a tiny table to eat Japanese food at Chez Taeko. We had pizza at Briciole in the Haut Marais, surrounded by people infinitely thinner and more fashionable than us. Maybe they were those share-one-pizza-between-two types: I was too busy eating mine to notice.

We strolled out past the Canal Saint Martin, an area so hip I’ve never really tried to explore it, and had a wonderful meal at Le Galopin accompanied by a wine that, at the time, was too funkily advanced for me: I wonder if now, many lambics later, I’d like it better. We sat side by side in Boot Café, a ludicrously Instagrammable place that seats, and this is no exaggeration, the grand total of four people. Imagine living here, I must have said, about a thousand times. We had some iffy meals too – you can’t win them all – but we were in Paris and so really, did it matter that much? At the end of the trip, replete and far more skint, we got onto the Eurostar at Gare Du Nord and I remember parting company with the city with real sadness. We’ll be back soon, I thought. But then three years passed, so it turns out that I wasn’t.

Finally returning this month, I was comforted by how little things had changed but perhaps slightly disconcerted by how much I had. I think my taste for crowds, such as it was, evaporated entirely during the pandemic, so often I found myself thinking that there were just too many people, everywhere. But it wasn’t just that. I think the kind of cities I like spending time in has been subtly changing for years; I like smaller, scruffier, less touristy cities now.

I think that whenever you go to a city on holiday you only really scratch the surface, but in a smaller city you can at least fool yourself that you’ve managed that. In a city as vast as Paris, one you could spend a lifetime exploring, you’ll never come close. That wouldn’t bother everybody, but for a lifelong FOMO sufferer like me it just meant a constant worry that I was missing out on better meals, better coffee, better wine, better bars. I mentioned this on Twitter and someone told me he’d had exactly the same experience when he went to Budapest at the start of the month. “I felt like I was just doing it wrong”, he said.

Anyway, despite all that I managed to have a marvellous time. I tried to pick carefully, not do too much, not beat myself up too much about all the places I didn’t go and generally keep my glass half-empty tendencies in check (in fairness, in Paris, if your glass is half empty it’s never too long before you’re filling it again). It may be a while before I return again, but I know I will: Paris isn’t the kind of place you quit once it’s got under your skin, not really. Besides, just imagine living there: short of re-watching Amelie, holidays are always the next best thing.

This piece doesn’t even pretend to be any kind of definitive guide, but it’s a collection of places I loved eating and drinking on my most recent trip, and they’re geographically spread enough that they might come in handy if you’re going there yourself. I wasn’t sure whether to write this up, but in the run up to going plenty of people said they’d be watching my social media with interest as they had a trip lined up. One person even booked one of the restaurants in the list below and went there the weekend before my visit, a huge vote of confidence.

But I know that Paris is so huge that you might only find one or two entries in here that appeal to you; when I said I was going at the start of the year and asked for recommendations I got plenty that were probably excellent restaurants, but in parts of the city I wasn’t going anywhere near. In any case I hope it gives you food for thought, or even just transports you during your lunch break. There remains something incredible about the city – even if you visit it, as I did, on a week when the chic pavements of Saint Germain-des-Prés are lined with walls of black bags full of uncollected rubbish and crossing the boulevards involves zigzagging through hordes of well-tempered demonstrators.

Where to eat

1. Parcelles

Parcelles was probably the fanciest of the places I visited on this trip – the epitome of the perfect Paris restaurant, all bare stone walls and tasteful terrazzo floor, the warm glow seeping out through the huge windows on to the Marais pavement outside. I’ve seen a lot of buzz about it and bookings online come available about four weeks in advance, so this one requires a little forward planning.

The best of the food was close to perfection too – a slab of pressed beef cheek with a glossy foie gras core, burnished sweetbreads tumbled onto the most buttery mash, the whole shebang surrounded by a moat of jus so shiny you could almost see your face in it. And the chocolate tart was heavenly, liberally topped with candied pecans.

It wasn’t completely flawless – there are good tables and not quite so good tables, and we got the latter only to see later arrivals ushered to the former. And the pacing was a little breakneck, until we reined it in by ordering a bottle of dessert wine and two desserts, one after another, a life lesson I learned from Nora Ephron (and my friend Al). The dessert wine, by the way, a 1996 Coteaux de Layon, was ambrosial – honeyed and golden, so beautiful that somebody from a neighbouring table wandered over to ask what it was.

It was a full-sized bottle and the waiter told us we could save any leftovers, take them home and have them with our French toast in the morning. But that didn’t prove necessary, and we rolled out on to the street afterwards full and happy, drunk on life, drunk on Paris and drunk on all that wine. It was my birthday, after all.

Parcelles
13 rue Chapon, 75003 Paris
https://www.parcelles-paris.fr/en/

2. Double Dragon

Parcelles may have been the fanciest meal of my trip, but I think Double Dragon was my favourite. Out in the 11th arrondisement, this unpretentious and buzzy place served Filipino-French cuisine including some truly astonishing dishes.

Bao came filled with Comte and XO, a combination I would never have dreamt of in a million years: fortunately, Double Dragon did. A tartare made with smoked beef and Korean pickles, humming with gentle heat, might well have been the best tartare I’ve ever tasted. But the piece de resistance was the main, a huge piece of pork roasted, paraded in front of us and then taken away to expertly hack into pieces.

It came back as an adventure playground of flesh and stunning crackling, ready to be eaten with plain white rice, papaya and a chill sauce with the sweet funk of something equidistant between gochujang and hoisin. This felt a million miles from chocolate-boxy tourist Paris, and all the better for it. When I return to the city, this will be at the top of my list to rebook.

Double Dragon
52 rue Saint-Maur, 75011 Paris
https://www.doubledragonparis.com

3. Cafe Du Coin

When I got to Café du Coin I discovered that there had been a mix-up with our reservation, which had been lost, so the only space left was up at the bar. We took it, even though it gave me a fantastic view, in a look what you could have won sort of way, of a bright, well-lit and convivial space being hugely enjoyed by other people. It is, as the name suggests, on a corner and looks like much of the decor hasn’t changed in seventy years (let’s just say, from this trip to Paris at least, that Formica is having something of a resurgence). But even so I instantly took to the place.

And the food, at lunchtime at least, was belting. A simple menu of three starters, two mains and three desserts where you take your pick and it’s yours for twenty-four Euros. No wonder the place was packed. Despite a single misfire – you can bread and deep fry tête de veau and serve it with the nicest kumquat ketchup on earth but nothing can completely conceal its true, worryingly wobbly nature – everything else was superb, whether it was a puffed up pizzette resplendent with scamorza and wild garlic pesto, a densely delicious ingot of bavette with roasted beetroot and crispy capers or a marvellous piece of pollock with bright peas, roasted cauliflower and a creamy sauce made with cime di rapa and tarragon.

For dessert we both devoured a stunning quenelle of chocolate ganache whose only fault was how quickly it vanished, with a sharp, fresh ice cream. Wines were six Euros by the glass and included an extraordinary orange Riesling from the Alsace, and by the end of the meal I would happily have gone back and eaten their food in a broom cupboard it it was all that was available. Do yourself a favour, do a better job of booking than I did and, if you’re ever in Paris, go.

Café du Coin
9 rue Camille Desmoulins, 75011 Paris
https://www.instagram.com/cafe_du_coin/?hl=en

4. GrandCoeur

GrandCoeur, on some levels, is the restaurant you’re most likely to visit from this list – it’s a stone’s throw from the Centre Pompidou, so easy to work in as a pre-culture treat or a post-culture reward. It’s also formed a little tradition for me, being the last place I lunched in 2019 before catching the Eurostar home and playing the same role in 2023. It’s a really attractive room, all exposed stone and wood, marble tables and opulent banquettes, although – that Paris thing with the bad tables again – they initially sat us at a crap table looking out on a gloomy rain-spattered courtyard. The restaurant was empty at the time: what is it with that?

But the food! Well, the food redeems all. Zoë’s wagyu cecina with a few slices of pungent garlic bread was knockout, my hamachi served simply with toasted almonds, verdant coriander oil, blobs of ponzu gel and judiciously applied flakes of salt was as pristine and refined a dish as I enjoyed on my holiday. We both gravitated towards the same main, a square of slow-cooked lamb shoulder, surrendering to the fork, nestled on a sticky-sweet tumble of soft-edged sweet potato, shallot, dates and black sesame. If the dish had more of autumn than spring about it, it was far too tasty to quibble. That said, you could quibble the pace – everything came far too quickly (why is it that the more you spend in Paris, the quicker they seem to want to get rid of you?), so if you go make sure you get them to slow it down a little.

This, by the way, was the restaurant I mentioned at the start of the piece that one of my readers visited the week before I did on the strength of my recommendation. Happily, she loved it.

GrandCoeur
4 rue du Temple, 75004 Paris
https://www.grandcoeur.paris

5. Chez Janou

Now if we’re talking shit tables, Chez Janou gave us one of the shittest tables I’ve ever sat at. It was rammed into a corner of the restaurant which said “this is how we maximise our profits”. Zoë and I sat at right angles to one another: she was facing the wall, and I was facing a group of people at significantly better tables than ours. I honestly don’t know whose view was worse.

Fortunately, after a better table came clear I begged and cajoled and the super-efficient, patient wait staff let us move. And from that point on, it was all gravy (well, jus). Because Chez Janou is a packed, busy, madcap place serving Provencal cuisine, in that part of the Marais close to Place de la Bastille, and it’s a magical place to eat, provided you feel like you’re part of it.

The food isn’t really the point at Chez Janou – it’s very nice, not amazing, but not the whole of the Chez Janou experience. Despite saying that, everything we had was solid and, in its way, quite delightful. I had goats cheese baked with sweet tomato to start, the kind of dish made for dragging crusty bread through until not a mouthful remains. My tuna with braised fennel was a joy – and a huge, expertly cooked piece of tuna at that – and Zoë’s confit duck with duck fat roasted potatoes and a shimmering rosemary jus gave me a little stab of menu-based regret.

I don’t think Chez Janou is for everyone, and you have to throw yourself into it. We were sat next to a couple from Kent who seemed ill at ease. She had asked for the tuna but without the fennel and with the sauce on the side – Sally Albright she definitely wasn’t – whereas he’d accidentally ordered the entrecôte with salad and then had to flag a waiter down to ask for a separate helping of potatoes. I think they’d have been happier somewhere a little less French.

And they made the fatal mistake of not ordering the chocolate mousse: someone comes to your table, plonks a plate in the middle of it, dishes out an enormous dollop of it from an earthenware bowl, hands you two spoons and leaves you to it. Reason enough to go to Chez Janou in its own right, believe you me.

Chez Janou
2 rue Roger Verlomme, 75003 Paris
https://www.chezjanou.com

6. Le Petit Marche

Le Petit Marché, just tucked away off the Place des Vosges, is a restaurant with sentimental attachment for me. I’ve been eating there, whatever twists and turns my life has taken, for the best part of fifteen years. And in that time it really hasn’t changed – it’s a lovely corner spot on the edge of the Marais, it’s dark and cosy and conspiratorial, you sit cheek by jowl with all sorts of people, the wine by the carafe is fucking A and there are few better places to spend an evening. There are dishes on their menu I know so well I can close my eyes and imagine them now – cubes of just-seared, sesame-encrusted tuna with a couple of dipping sauces, or medallions of soft lamb with a basil cream sauce and the best mash in the world. In another life, on my frequent visits to Paris, it was the place I always ate on my first night. It’s how I knew I had arrived.

On this trip it seemed fitting to have my first meal there, for lunch on my birthday, which is how I learned that it’s just as pretty a restaurant in daylight, is ridiculously busy even then and has a real bargain of a set lunch. The first of the French season asparagus – asparagus was everywhere on my visit – was glorious, my blanquette de veau was exemplary, served with a mound of pearl barley and Zoë won lunch, as she often does, with a beautiful piece of haddock served with a sauce corail which was a thing of beauty. They even have a website now, something most French restaurants wouldn’t have been seen dead offering when I first set foot in Le Petit Marché, all those years ago.

Le Petit Marché
9 rue de Béarn, 75003 Paris
https://www.lepetitmarche.eu

7. La Palette

One day we headed along the Seine and across the Pont des Arts, denuded of its legendary padlocks, on the way to the Left Bank and to Saint Germain des Pres, Paris’ most glamorous quartier and, I understand, the stomping ground of the really annoying eponymous heroine of Emily In Paris.

On the way, heading down roads lined with imposingly expensive-looking galleries, we stopped at La Palette, a ridiculously gorgeous street-corner cafe which has been around for yonks and, back in the day, played host to the likes of Cézanne and Picasso. It’s an unbeatable place to sit outside and watch people wafting past, wondering why everybody in Paris seems inevitably more stylish than their counterparts the other side of the Channel. It’s funny how gilet is a French word but somehow it’s hard to imagine that a Parisian would be seen dead in one. Of course, if they did I’m sure they’d carry it off, but I’m equally sure they’d draw the line at fleeces.

Anyway, this was a chance to indulge one of my favourite things – boards of cheese and charcuterie groaning with delectable things and far better than they needed to be, given what a great spot they have. Everything was spot on – small soft cheeses that had given up the fight for structural integrity and were ready to hang over the edge of the table, Persistence Of Memory-style. Multiple other cheeses, unnamed, a mixture of sharpness and tang, all magnificent in subtly different ways. A Comte and a blue, because no cheeseboard is complete without both. Dried ham and an abundance of cornichons to wrap it around, big hunks of saucisson sec to slice and chew in wordless glee. Cubes of terrine with a slight honk of offal, completely compelling, and a deep gamey rillette to slather on bread. Plenty of bread, by the way, with more when you ran out, and the most incredible unsalted butter to boot.

All that, Margaux by the glass and an endless parade of your fellow flâneurs wandering by, a procession you would join just as soon as the archetypal Paris lunch had come to an end. What could be better? Just one thing: finishing the meal with a tarte tatin, all soft apple and golden sunshine, or the most exquisite eclair, piped full of chocolate mousse. How are the French thin when they can eat like this? It must be that mythical quality, self-restraint, that I’ve heard so much about but never possessed.

La Palette
43 rue de Seine, 75006 Paris
https://www.lapalette-paris.com

Where to drink

1. Le Barav

I often make the mistake, on holiday, of having my main meal at dinner time. Well, it’s not a mistake per se (although Paris’ menus du jour can make lunching both a bargain and a pleasure) but it does mean that I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve found myself drinking in a cool bar only to have to grab my coat and scramble to a restaurant, or wandering past cool bars after my meal to find that I’m full, the bar is too and I just can’t face it. Just me?

I was determined not to make that mistake with Le Barav, a bar on the edge of the Marais that I’ve frequented and loved for years. So I had a decent lunch and made sure I was at Le Barav when it opened. There are no reservations, so we grabbed a table in their front room and started making inroads into the wine list.

It really is a wonderful place, and although it was empty when I got there every table was taken within a couple of hours, seemingly none of them by tourists other than mine. Again I got that sense of the real life of a city, not just the Instagram filtered kind (although of course I still put a picture on Instagram: you kind of have to).

The wine is great. Around a dozen – red, white, sweet and sparkling – are available by the glass and everything I tried was terrific. If you feel like really settling in, a bottle from their shop next door attracts a deeply modest corkage fee; I ended up buying something to take home, though I bet it tastes even better drunk on the premises.

Equally importantly, Le Barav has a superior range of bar food. Fuet, a Catalan salami, was sliced thin and fanned out on a plank. Saint Marcellin was baked with honey until it was a decadent, gooey mess, perfect for scooping up with torn baguette. Beef carpaccio was dressed with pesto and Parmesan, every mouthful a beauty. And toasted sandwiches with truffled brie or truffled ham were golden-striped from the grill, cut into meat triangles and perfect for sharing.

Many units and calories later I left my table with a heavy heart, hoping that the next people to sit at it would understand just how lucky they were.

La Barav
6 rue Charles-François Dupuis, 75003 Paris
https://www.lebarav.fr

2. L’Etincelle

Another leading light in the Great Formica Revival Of 2023, L’Etincelle (it means “spark”) is a fantastically scruffy, lively bar just off the Boulevard Beaumarchais. Inside it’s all neon and a slightly unreal pink light with a hugely varied crowd of hipsters, would-be hipsters and people who don’t give a shit whether they’re hip or not: naturally, they are the hippest of all. It reminded me very much of another bar I love, La Perle in the heart of the Marais, but the real difference here is the wine – much of it organic, natural, biodynamic stuff. But unlike some natural wines, everything I tried was intensely gluggable.

I managed to grab the last free table in the place – admittedly the one nearest to the lavatories – and had, as so often, that slight twinge of knowing that my search for the next big thing (the evening’s restaurant reservation, as usual) was depriving me of the opportunity of fully enjoying the current big thing. The menu contained bao and spring rolls, interesting stuff, and I could have consoled myself with the knowledge that it was probably crap. But then, just as we were about to head out into the night, I saw one of the staff bringing a plate of chips out from the kitchen. And wouldn’t you just know it, they were hand cut, irregular, golden and wickedly tempting. Damn it. Next time, I told myself. Next time.

L’Etincelle
3 rue Saint-Sebastian, 75011 Paris

3. Magnum La Cave

Arguably the yin to L’Etincelle’s yang, Magnum La Cave is a chic little wine bar in Village Saint Paul, a gorgeous, sleepy bit of the Marais that hides in plain sight between rue Saint Antoine and the river. It’s on rue Beautrellis – fun fact, this was where Jim Morrison spent his last night on earth, popping his clogs and joining the 27 club in the bath in an apartment just down the street – and I chanced upon it during a wander down to the Seine. We made a mental note, returned the next night and loved it.

Again, it has a great selection of wines by the glass, what look like a cracking set of small plates and the service was warm and welcoming. Again, I didn’t see any other tourists in there. And again, I left sooner than I wanted to with a dinner reservation to make. Perhaps that’s how I’ve been doing Paris wrong all these years. But what I was really thinking, as I shut the door behind me, is that Reading’s not really had anything like this – no, Veeno doesn’t bloody count – and I wish someone would take a chance on opening one. But I’ve been saying that every year for the last ten years, with a brief break when The Tasting House looked like it might become that sort of place, and I wouldn’t be surprised if I do it for the next ten, too.

Magnum La Cave
26 rue Beautrellis, 75004 Paris
https://www.magnum-lacave.fr

4. Liquiderie

Liquiderie, on the other hand, I went to for a post-dinner drink after my stunning meal at Double Dragon, and I’m so glad I did. It’s deeper in the 11eme arrondisement, on the edge of Belleville, but easily walkable from the nearby restaurants earlier in this piece. It’s a really fantastic craft beer bar – not a side of Paris I’d ever seen before – with a friendly buzz and a proper neighbourhood feel.

Again, it has a good menu if you want something to accompany your drinks but really, it’s all about the beer here. Quite aside from an impressive fridge featuring lots of sours and lambics they have fourteen lines and plenty of names from home – Deya, Beak and Polly’s all make an appearance. But I wanted to try some of the local beer and had a devilishly sharp fruit beer (with a hint of Pickled Onion Monster Munch) and a elegant, restrained imperial stout from La Brasserie du Mont Salève, a little brewery near Annecy, along with a DIPA singing with Sabro and tonka from Brasserie Cambier, not far from Lille. Heaven for Untappd geeks like the person I have unexpectedly become, and the icing on the cake of a gorgeous evening.

Liquiderie
7 rue de la Présentation, 75011 Paris
https://liquiderie.com

5. Yellow Tucan

Yellow Tucan was just round the corner from my hotel and it was a really welcome stop, post pain au chocolat, at the start of a day exploring the city. A far cry from the exposed chipboard not-especially-chic of many of the U.K.’s third wave coffee shops, it was a bright, tasteful yet calming space which, more importantly, did a very accomplished latte. Great merchandise too, so if you want a mug with their distinctive toucan on it, or an equally snazzy tote, this is the place for you. One of the latter found its way back to Reading in Zoë’s suitcase.

Yellow Tucan
20 rue des Tournelles, 75004 Paris
https://www.yellowtucan.com

6. The Beans On Fire

First of all, hats off to the name: it’s not the most accurate reflection of what happens in the roasting process, I’m sure, but perhaps the owners are just really big fans of Julie Driscoll or Absolutely Fabulous. However they picked such a random moniker, I’m prepared to overlook it because TBOF’s coffee was among the nicest I tasted in the city. They have a nice little outside space in the 11eme arrondisement overlooking a little square – with a boules court! – and I liked it so much that, no higher praise than this, we gave up our plans for a pre-lunch amble and stopped for a second coffee.

A bag of their beans made it back to Reading in my suitcase, and when it makes it into the V60 I will remember a very happy morning shooting the breeze with no particular place to be. Incidentally they have a second branch in Montmartre, so it’s worth checking out if you’re making a visit to the Sacré Coeur.

The Beans On Fire
7 rue du Générale Blaise, 75011 Paris
https://thebeansonfire.com

7. Recto Verso

Many years ago, when I wrote a very different blog to this one, there was an American in Paris who wrote a blog called Lost In Cheeseland and we read one another’s stuff. Fast forward twelve years or so and Lindsey Tramuta – that’s her name – is the author of two authoritative books about the New Paris with an envy-inducing Instagram feed and almost a hundred thousand followers, while I’m sitting on my sofa writing this. Still, I bet she’s never eaten at Clay’s, the Lyndhurst or Kungfu Kitchen so who’s the real winner here, that’s what I’d like to know.

Recto Verso was a tip from her Instagram and is the newest venue in this piece, opening this month in a sidestreet off the rue des Archives. And it’s a really attractive spot, all stone and wood, reminding me of some of the cafés I’ve known and loved in Bologna, much further afield. We had just fought our way across one of the boulevards, the streets thronged with protestors and seemingly every sidestreet teeming with life, and we really, really needed a coffee. And there in that peaceful space I got quiet and caffeine, and the great reset button of life was gently pressed until you heard a click. Nothing mattered after that.

Incidentally, a street full of aerated Parisians is tricky to cross. But they should try getting across Friar Street this Sunday when the Reading half-marathon is on: these French agitators don’t know they’re born.

Recto Verso
6 rue Portefoin, 75003 Paris
https://www.instagram.com/rectoversocafe/

(Click here to read more city guides.)

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City guide: Bruges and Ghent

Although this guide was written in July 2022 and updated numerous times up to and including January 2024, a new and completely revised version is now available dated April 2024. It can be found here.

Last week’s feature on al fresco dining got a fantastic response from you all, and is already, at the time of writing, the most popular piece I’ve published on the blog this year: thank you so much to everybody who read it, commented, recommended it and passed it on. And after the week we’ve had I have high hopes that it will come in handy for a while yet – in fact the weekend it came out I had dinner outside the Lyndhurst one night, Buon Appetito the next. So if reading it made you feel hungry I can assure you that writing it had much the same effect.

Anyway, by contrast this week it’s one of those pieces that’s a bit more niche, that will only interest a handful of you, so apologies in advance for that. But I had such an enjoyable week in Bruges and Ghent last month that I thought it was ripe for a piece, especially because my last guide to Ghent – the first city guide I ever wrote on the blog – is a creaking three and a half years old. Both cities are well worth visiting, both are gorgeous and ridiculously easy to reach by Eurostar and both offer a holiday unmarred by the flight chaos we might well see for the rest of the year.

Of the two I would say Bruges is smaller, quainter and (even) more beautiful, although it’s very touristy and decidedly sleepy of an evening once the coachloads of day trippers have moved on. Ghent is larger and more sprawling, with much more of a big city feel. Its historic parts are reminiscent of Bruges but it also has street art, a modern art gallery, a design museum and more of a craft beer scene outside the traditional Belgian pubs.

As a tourist, you could easily do Bruges in a long weekend, as a beer devotee you could explore it for a lifetime and never tire of the place. Having now made three trips in just over six months, I completely get its magic and understand why it’s captured the hearts of many people I know. If you aren’t nuts about beer, Ghent might keep you occupied longer. But they’re half an hour apart on the train, so you could easily (as I have) make a two centre holiday of both.

Oh, one other thing before I get started – this is only based on places I went to on this year’s visit. So my piece about Ghent from 2018/2019 is potentially still worth a read, it’s just that I can’t vouch for places like Brasserie Du Progres, Oak, Otomat and Barista (I bet they’re great, though). I can however guarantee that the pastries from Himschoot are as gorgeous as they ever were: they’ve even opened a few additional branches since I was there last.

Bruges

1. Bruut

Bruut is in a handsome building next to an absurdly beautiful bridge overlooking the canal, and inside it’s all rather convivial – leather chairs, fetching tiled floors and exposed light fittings. But there are a few al fresco tables by the side of the bridge with a gorgeous view, and that’s where I sat when I had lunch there, one of my meals of the year. Chef Bruno Timperman offers a no-choice, no-substitutions set menu for lunch or dinner and comes out to introduce and talk through many of the dishes himself. And put simply, the man is a wizard: I don’t normally talk about chefs in my blog but this is all very much in his image and it’s very much his show.

Nothing I ate was short of dazzling, and there were almost too many highlights to mention, but a steak tartare made simply with high-grade beef, salt and milk to draw out all the flavour was a tender, mineral miracle. A pre-lunch nibble of prawns, cooked whole and dusted with a vivid raspberry powder was like nothing I’ve ever eaten. And our dessert, cherries halved, hollowed and filled wih rose-coloured chocolate, topped with discs of elderflower jelly and sitting in a cherry gazpacho dotted with cherry balsamic, will live in my memory for a long time. My only regret is not taking up the wine pairing – although in my defence it was only lunchtime, and the beer list has some superb lambics on it which made for an excellent alternative.

I made a repeat visit in January 2023 for dinner and experienced the full whistles and bells experience, although with no booze because I was a little subpar. Not everything worked – a beautiful piece of cod wrapped in crispy nori and topped with caviar was submerged under an icky spooge of what Bruno called “plankton sauce” wasn’t quite my bag – but he served the most tender pigeon I’ve ever eaten, with a pigeon confit ragu wrapped up in a leaf on the side, an astonishing scallop with a Belgian take on XO sauce and a poached pear with yoghurt parfait which made some tried and tested staples seem fresh and new. If you eat one meal in Bruges, go here.

Bruut
Meestraat 9, Brugge
https://bistrobruut.be/en/

2. Assiette Blanche

More classic and formal and a little less cutting edge, Assiette Blanche has an attractive wood-panelled dining room and the meal I had there was top notch. They have a set menu or an a la carte (although you can sort of switch between the two) and the set, for dinner, starts at a reasonable forty-four Euros for three courses.

The dishes here are generous – robust but not clumsy, but certainly not a fiddly-plated exercise in nouvelle nonsense. I enjoyed the whole lot but my particular favourite was a monkfish saltimbocca, the flesh firm and pearlescent, the guanciale it was wrapped in providing salt and smoke. The whole thing was on a bed of prawns and fregola, cut through with a dressing sporting just the right amount of vinegar. A white chocolate and rhubarb dessert, complete with a sweet, sticky syrup that spoke of time well spent, wrapped things up with a perfect bow.

On a subsequent visit in October 2022 I tried the set lunch menu, which was both superb and excellent value. And then for good measure I went back in January 2024 to find it still very much firing on all cylinders: a carpaccio of scallops with cauliflower couscous, two hulking wedges of black pudding with apple, pickled beetroot and little dabs of foie creme, a beautiful sabayon with blood orange were all simply knockout. For consistent excellence, Assiette Blanche is probably the first place I would book on a return visit.

Assiette Blanche
Philipstockstraat 23, Brugge
https://www.assietteblanche.be/nl

3. Más

Más is only open evenings Wednesday to Saturday, and is walk-ins only, although they very nicely take your number and ring you when they have some space, leaving you free to enjoy a beer somewhere (I had mine at De Garre, where the house triple is 11%: with hindsight not the most sensible choice). It’s worth jumping through those hoops, because Más’ Mexican food is as delicious as it is incongruous, from beautiful cheesy quesadillas to pork belly skewers with salsa, from tacos to their excellent fried chicken.

On our first visit in 2023 we ate up at the bar, and it was reminiscent of some of my happiest meals in more Mediterranean parts of Europe. Returning in 2024 I found that, if anything, the food had got even better. The fried chicken now came with a tomato sauce with a deep touch of mole about it, the quesadillas were even more decadent and all three types of taco we tried were simply brilliant although my favourites remained the shrimp, elevated with little crunchy nuggets of chorizo.

They have cocktails on tap too, apparently, although I’ve never given them a try. They have a good range of beers from Brussels Beer Project, though, which went nicely, and the excellent Lupulus NEIPA which has, to my palate, notes of mango. It pairs perfectly with one of the two desserts on the menu, the “Solero Solero” which tastes exactly as you would expect from the name, only more so.

Màs
Academiestraat 10, Brugge
https://www.instagram.com/mas.brugge/?hl=en

4. Amuni

You might think it’s a little meh to have pizza in Bruges, and you might be right. But I’m yet to find a very traditional restaurant in Bruges that really hit the spot: Gran Kaffee de Passage was a bit hit and miss, the interior better than the food (I’m reliably informed that I should try Brasserie Raymond next time). And you may want somewhere for a good lightish lunch that isn’t a moule frites place: if so, Amuni is for you. Just next to the Burg it’s a stylish space which does excellent pizza – although my favourite thing there was the vitello tonnato which we foolishly ordered to share. It’s far too good to share: make sure you order your own.

Amuni
Burg 9, Brugge
https://www.amuni.be

5. Onslow

Onslow was the discovery of my trip in January 2024, and I absolutely loved it there. Slightly off the beaten track in Bruges’ Sint-Anna district it’s the kind of achingly-cool-without-trying restaurant you wish was just around the corner from you, and I detected some similarities with some of my favourite places in the U.K., like Bristol’s Marmo, along with Ghent’s sadly-closed and much missed de Superette. It’s all plain unshowy tables and bare white walls, but the place had a real verve when I visited.

The menu is made up of a handful of snacks and a bunch of sharing plates, and the bright and affable staff tell you to aim for about four sharing plates between two. We over-ordered with reckless abandon – and zero regrets, because everything was outstanding.

One of my favourite things was yoghurt, positively singing with citrus, smothered in gochujang, crispy chilli and toasted seeds, with toasted naan for dipping. Onslow’s fried chicken is easily the equal of Más’ – big craggy pieces of the stuff executed perfectly with a spiced dip speckled with black and white sesame. A tartiflette pizza was so thin and light it reminded me more of pissaladière, which is emphatically not a bad thing, and beef was served blushing, thinly sliced and served with a sauce of impressive complexity with a hint of help from some Szechuan pepper. A classic old-school dame blanche – just ice cream and chocolate sauce, no cream – was the perfect note to end on.

If I have a more enjoyable meal in 2024 I’ll have done very well for myself, and I will definitely be back. I have to say though that when I do, I will specifically ask for any table other than the tiny cramped corner table they originally put us at: with the table top pressing into my ample middle and the window ledge poking into my back it was like eating in an S shape with a makeshift gastric band fitted. We asked to move the moment a better table came free and I spend some of my time firing sympathetic glances at the poor couple who eventually took our place.

Onslow
Jeruzalemstraat 53, Brugge
https://www.onslowbrugge.be

6. Goesepitte 43

Another 2024 discovery, Goesepitte 43 is a very accomplished restaurant in a handsome townhouse in the south-west of the city. I went there for my final lunch of the holiday, partly because chef Jan Supply offers a no choice 34 Euro set lunch even on Saturdays and I wanted to see if it was any good. It really is, and you eat it in a really beautiful dining room with top-class service: one man covers all front of house, is perfectly bilingual and charm personified.

It’s so nicely judged and a great place to go if you want an excellent lunch where you leave thoroughly satisfied but not stuffed. An amuse bouche something like a mushroom duxelles set the scene nicely, but far better was to come: a risotto with fine herbs, edged with olive oil, was topped with a beautiful slice of parsnip, cooked on their Mibrasa oven (whatever that is), carrying a precious cargo of toasted pine nuts and dill. Pork was served pink on a slab of charred cauliflower, its fractal edges blackened and savoury.

And if I was a little underwhelmed by my chocolate and coffee ganache, it might mostly have been envy from staring at the dame blanche opposite me. Even so, my meal was easily enough of a treat to make me want to explore the a la carte next time. Not only is the wine list great, and the aperitif cocktail equally so, but the drinks list also contains some excellent beer if your tastes skew that way.

Goesepitte 43
Goezeputstraat 43, Brugge
https://www.goesepitte43.be/en

7. Cuvee

Bruges is a beer city, no doubt about it. So you really have to admire the pluck and persistance of Cuvee, a wine bar right in the centre which has been going for something like 20 years. Not only that, but for over 15 of those it has exclusively stocked natural wine, which makes it a true trailblazer in more ways than one. The owner told me all about this as I settled our bill at the end of a hugely enjoyable lunch in January 2024. She said it was especially tough when they switched to natural wine, and that this made them a bit of a figure of fun in Bruges’ food and drink fraternity.

Well, to quote the great Alan Partridge: needless to say, Cuvee has had the last laugh. Because what they’ve built is quite something: a deceptively huge, incredibly tasteful space absolutely packed with cool furniture and gorgeous bottles of wine. There’s space out front for groups, a little snug at the back which would be perfect for drinking with friends and some tables for dining, looking up at the counter.

There is also, I am happy to say, a really terrific menu of the kind of food that goes well with wine. I adored my duck rillette with piccalilli and thin melba toasts, and was blown away by a couple of enormous cheese croquettes, so glossy under their crisp shell, completely different from their distant Iberian cousins. Zoë was hugely taken with a pumpkin and sour cream dip (which also came with naan for dipping: perhaps this is A Thing in Bruges).

But even better was a plate of marinated salmon with thinly sliced spring onion and phenomenal olive oil by natural wine makers Le Coste – quite a paradigm shift for anybody used to pairing smoked salmon with cream cheese or thickly spread salted butter. We left with two bottles of white wine expertly chosen for us by the owner, and a business card. After all, we have a joint stag and hen do to organise and I know just the place for afternoon drinks.

Cuvee
Philipstockstraat 41, Brugge
https://cuvee.be/en/

8. Kottee Kaffee

For an actual light lunch, instead of a pizza, I highly recommend the muted but chic Kottee Kaffee. It’s on Ezelstraat, a street with a scattering of tasteful boutiques, and it offers a menu which is sort of Le Pain Quotidien but independent. So there’s lots of lovely bread and salted farmhouse butter, cheeses and charcuterie but the menu offers lots of more brunchy stuff if that’s your bag. Very fetchingly put together, decent value and there’s good coffee too. But perhaps just as winning were the staff and the constant playlist of 90s music, most of which they enjoyed singing along to.

On my first visit at the start of 2023 we asked how long they’d been there and apparently they’ve been open less than a year. You’d never have known. Returning in January 2024 I was delighted to see it thriving, and as stylish and buzzy as ever. This time I tackled something more substantial, their tartiflette which was a glorious, slowly solidifying wodge of potatoes, cream, cheese and little nubbins of sausage. They serve fantastic coffee too – and if you feel even remotely sub-par, their ginger shots will sort you right out.

Kottee Kaffee
Ezelstraat 68, Brugge
https://kotteekaffee.com/en/

9. Vero Caffè

Bruges has lots of pretty patisseries where the priorities are the cakes and pastries and the coffee, though perfectly pleasant, plays second fiddle. I went to one on my final morning in the city and we waited ages to get served and even longer to get the bill: the pain au chocolat was good, but not that good. Far better, in a little square with some outside space, was Vero Caffè. It also sells excellent squidgy brownies, exactly as you would like them, so it gets my vote. They were absolutely rammed when I returned in January 2024 but still doing superlative coffee – along with a decent carrot cake and sublime dark, fudgy chocolate cake.

Vero Caffè
Sint-Jansplein 9, Brugge
https://www.facebook.com/VeroCaffeBrugge/

10. Cherry Picker

Come for the music, stay for the atmosphere! is the slogan of this record shop in the east of the city. Come for the music stay for the coffee, more like, because it served one of my favourite coffees in Bruges. I love places like this – it reminded me of Truck Records, out on Oxford’s Cowley Road – and I’d have happily whiled away longer sitting outside or inside with a good book. They do cocktails and beer too, although precisely how much they expect you to put away before they close at 6pm is anybody’s guess.

A return visit in January 2024 confirmed that it’s simply one of the nicest places to sit nursing a coffee, and I simply love the fact that the coffee is so much better than it needs to be. Make sure you have Shazam installed on your phone before you go to Cherry Picker, because you will end up using it.

Cherry Picker
Langestraat 74, Brugge
https://www.cherrypicker.be

11. Coffeebar Adriaan

On my visit in October 2022 I became a regular visitor to Adriaan for the first coffee of the day and I became thoroughly attached to the place – it’s a tasteful, classy spot, all muted mint green and comfy furniture, the antithesis of craft coffee places in the U.K. and abroad with their reliance on chipboard. The coffee is pretty good, the pastries are spot on and the service is friendly and speedy. Every city break needs a reliable coffee place like this, although you may find yourself channelling Rocky Balboa whenever you mention the place (or that might be just me).

Coffeebar Adrian
Adriaan Willaertstraat 7
https://coffeebaradriaan.be

12. Cafune

Cafune probably does the best coffee I had in Bruges, and is in a small and likeable spot two doors down from Màs, in a street which also boasts the fantastic and fascinating beer shop Bacchus Cornelius (top tip: head to the back room for the white whales of the Belgian beer world). They roast their own coffee – and very good it is too – and they have a small but comfy space inside, although I got quite attached, figuratively speaking, to their little bench outside.

Just as well, as they were semi-closed for a makeover when I returned in January 2024, only serving takeaway coffee. You could still perch on the bench outside though, so it remains a real happy place in Bruges. One word of warning which applies equally to Cafune and at least one other café in this list – opening days can be a tad random and quixotic, so make sure you have a plan B in case you traipse here only to find them closed.

Cafune
Academiestraat 8, Brugge
https://www.instagram.com/cafunecoffee/

13. Café Rose Red

From hearing Zoë talk about Café Rose Red I was expecting to like it a lot, and I wasn’t disappointed. A rather attractive room, all red walls and roses hanging from the ceiling, it had a decent if not incredible beer list and an interesting range of options on tap. I’d heard good things about the food and so we ordered a few bits and pieces to graze on. The assorted cheese and charcuterie was surprisingly disappointing, but I think the trick is to go for dishes that the kitchen has cooked rather than simply dished up: the kibbeling – battered chunks of fish with a mild, soothing tartare sauce – was the equal of any similar dish I’ve had in Andalusia.

Café Rose Red
Cordoeanierstraat 16, Brugge
https://www.rosered.be/nl/

14. ’t Brugs Beertje

I probably would have liked Café Rose Red a lot more if I’d liked ’t Brugs Beertje a little less, but that was never going to happen. The Little Bear is arguably the Belgian watering hole elevated to its ultimate form, a little conspiratorial place with a great selection on tap and an eye-wateringly brilliant list of bottled beers, including many Belgian breweries I’d never heard of and a “vintage” section which gave you the chance to try dark beers and lambics which had been properly cared for across the best part of a decade. I had a Cuvée Delphine from 2013 by De Struise which had the kind of depth and complexity that haunts your imagination long after you’ve taken your final sip.

But more than the impressive selection, it just felt like the perfect place to stop, drink, eavesdrop, people-watch and potentially get into random conversations. The middle room complete with plaque to original Belgian beer spod Michael Jackson (not that one, a different one) was nice, but the front room was where you wanted to be, at a table with your favourite person, making inroads into that excellent list, in no hurry to be anywhere else. It reminded me of the Retreat in its previous incarnation under Bernie and Jane, when it stocked shedloads of Belgian beers – and always the right glasses to go with them – and it made me miss the Retreat of ten years ago, too.

But either way, whether you were there in a pair or, as I’ve experienced a couple of times, in a big raucous group of beer obsessives, all diving into the depths of the gigantic beer list, congratulating one another on their choices and swapping anecdotes and in jokes, it is for me the epicentre of Bruges, and absolutely not to be missed. It doesn’t have lock-ins per se, but I have no idea when it really closes. On one particularly beautiful evening there we settled up, well past midnight, put our coats on, stepped through the front door, looked back at the golden glow of the windows and thought what the fuck are we doing? We went back in for one last nightcap.

’t Bruges Beertje
Kemelstraat 5, Brugge
https://www.brugsbeertje.be/en/home-2/

15. De Kelk

De Kelk, on the other side of the road from Cherry Picker, is quite unlike the other beer places on this list. Although it does have an excellent range of Belgian beer, the list skews more to the wider craft scene with fascinating beers from breweries I’d never come across before. I tried a couple of beautiful DIPAs from Madrid’s Cerveceria Peninsula and Latvia’s Ārpus, and if I’d stayed longer there was plenty more to explore.

The interior is cracking too – a far cry from Belgium’s more traditional pubs with a tiled floor, high leather stools and lighting that’s more speakeasy than boozer, with some random streetlights used to good effect. I also loved the bar snacks, which included some disgraceful keesballen and very creditable jamon serrano. I went back last month and if anything it cemented its place in my affections – it’s brave to be like De Kelk in a city full of brown pubs and Belgian beer, and I wish them every success. Their bottle list contained countless imperial stouts I would dearly have loved to try.

De Kelk
Langestraat 69, Brugge
http://www.dekelk.be

16. De Windmolen

De Windmolen, out past De Kelk at the edge of the city and a stone’s throw from the windmills from which it takes its name, isn’t a place for beer purists. It’s sort of part-pub, part day café and most days it closes at 8pm. The inside is pleasingly eccentric: when we went this month one table was taken up by a very competitive-looking card game. And the beer list skews to bottled triples, although they do have local Brugse Zot on tap and it never disappoints. But for me it’s a special place – especially when I visited in October 2022, and could sit outside, coatless, while the back of my neck was gently baked by the completely unseasonal autumn sunshine. Worth a stop, even if only for the one.

De Windmolen
Carmersstraat 135, Brugge

Ghent

1. De Superette

Tragically, Superette closed in late 2022.

Whenever I researched places to eat in Ghent, De Superette always came up but for some reason I’d never taken the plunge and booked a table there. And then on this visit I did and in the run up to going I looked on TripAdvisor (as you do) and had a bit of a wobble. Lots of people said it was overrated, or expensive, or small portions or suchlike.

Well, I overcame my fears and went and was rewarded with a superb meal which made me wonder what all the naysayers were carping about. It’s a bakery by day and pizza place by night, offering a really compact selection of pizzas and a little tasting menu of small plates to start you off. It was the kind of place you wanted to click your fingers and teleport back home, just round the corner from where you lived, and the clientele – a huge range of ages and types of groups – were all clearly having a marvellous time.

And the food was excellent. The small plates were clever, inventive and cracking value – glorious, just-cooked peas with guanciale, a moutabal brimming with smokiness, a clever gazpacho studded with pine nuts. And then the pizzas turned out to be some of the best I’ve had anywhere, all fluffy crust and supercharged clusters of ‘nduja. I left full, happy and determined to return. The table next to us, on the other hand, ordered two pizzas between five. Maybe it’s people like that who complain about small portions: if so, I have a really simple life hack they’re welcome to borrow.

De Superette
Guldenspoorstraat 29, Gent
http://www.de-superette.be

2. De Lieve

De Lieve closed in late 2022.

De Lieve featured in my previous guide to Ghent and I’ve eaten there on every single visit. Between my last visit and my latest, though, something happened: De Lieve was recognised by Michelin and awarded a Bib Gourmand, their badge of affordable high quality food. And the De Lieve I went to in 2019 was absolutely the kind of restaurant that gets a Bib Gourmand, but the De Lieve I went to last month feels like the kind of restaurant that’s aiming for a star, and that comes with pluses and minuses.

So it felt like the tables were that little bit closer together, the prices were that little bit sharper and the portions were that little bit smaller. The quality was still top notch, don’t get me wrong – my carpaccio of hamachi was a delicate, pretty, subtle dish, but by the time I finished it (a few seconds later) I was thinking about the bag of paprika Walkers Max back at the apartment and wondering if I’d be breaking into them in the not too distant future.

Fortunately balance was restored with a delicious Basque t-bone with rosemary gratin and a deeply pleasing jus, and a cracking tarte tatin completed an enjoyable, if pricey meal. It felt to me like bumping into a friend after a few years to find they’ve had very good, very expensive plastic surgery done. You know they look great, but in the back of your mind you think was that really necessary? Still, if you’ve never been it’s definitely worth considering on a visit to Ghent: I just miss the days when they had a puck of divine black pudding on the starters menu.

De Lieve
Sint-Margrietstraat 1, Gent
https://www.eetkaffee-delieve.be/nl

3. De Rechters

Still my favourite place for traditional Belgian food, De Rechters is a contemporary-looking restaurant which is far better than it needs to be given its plum spot next to St Bavo’s Cathedral. On this occasion, for the first time, I got to sit outside in the sunshine and it made a good meal, if anything, even better. We drank Orval, and Zoë pointed out to me that her beer and mine were bottled on different days, which explained why mine was fizzier than hers: I love it when she goes full Raymond Babbitt about beer like that.

Never having had moules in Belgium – I know, such an oversight – I had some as a starter, cooked simply with thyme and they were plump and fragrant. But next time I’ll go the whole hog and have them as a main with garlic and cream, which for me is the only way really to eat moules, dipping your bread and frites into the sauce until you are truly replete.

The frites, incidentally, were a bit wan on this visit – which is a shame, because frites are something Belgium does better than practically anybody. But the stoverij, beer slow-cooked in beer until the whole thing is a symphony of dark brown, almost-sweet ambrosia, is worth the price of admission alone. You can get frites anywhere but beef like that requires patience and skill, both of which De Rechters has in abundance.

De Rechters
Sint-Baafsplein 23, Gent
https://derechters.be/nl/

4. STEK

On my holiday in Belgium I tried to learn from previous trips away and put a strict rule in place: one big meal a day. Maybe all of you already do this when you go on holiday, but sadly I’ve never been great at restraint and although it means I’ve eaten some amazing food it does make the post-holiday Monday comedown a downer of epic proportions. What do you mean I can’t have sherry at lunchtime and go to a restaurant? I’ll rail to nobody in particular. Make my own meals? Who does that?

On the plus side, it meant I could discover Ghent’s brunch scene, and that in turn meant a thoroughly worthwhile visit to STEK, an achingly cool cafe halfway between the centre and the modern art gallery. Inside it’s all plants – a lot of monsteras and plenty of other flora I wouldn’t recognise – and outside there’s a serene terrace, a proper secret garden with plenty of space where you feel nowhere near a big city. It reminded me a bit of the surprise you get when you walk through the Boston Tea Party on Bristol’s Park Street to find that massive garden out back or, closer to home, the bang-up job the Collective has done with its outside space.

Since I was embracing lunch and brunch I decided to go the whole hog and order the avo toast. Mine came with superbly crispy, curled, caramelised bacon, a fried egg with the yolk still runny, shoots and leaves and a little side salad and it was as pretty as its surroundings. It tasted phenomenal too, and the coffee wasn’t bad either. Maybe there are pluses to having a lighter lunch after all.

STEK
Nederkouter 129, Gent
https://www.stekgent.be

5. Take Five Espresso

My absolute favourite coffee place of the holiday was Take Five Espresso in the centre of Ghent. I never completely decided whether I preferred being inside, sat up at the big windows watching city life bustling by or outside in the sun (their seating is dead clever, making full use of the public benches on the street). What I did work out though was that their lattes were magnificent and that by the end of my trip it was hard to imagine being caffeinated anywhere else. It was the epitome of café chic and I enjoyed it a great deal. I never tried any of their food, but you can blame Kultur, the excellent bakery next door (and their pain au chocolat) for that.

Take Five Espresso
Voldersstraat 10, Gent
http://www.take-five-espressobar.be

6. Clouds In My Coffee

Clouds In My Coffee is one of the most stylish cafés I’ve seen in roughly a decade of going to Europe and seeking these places out. Quite aside from the Carly Simon reference, which manages not to be naff, the inside is truly gorgeous, like something out of Living Etc. From the street it looks small (and is surprisingly hard to find) but through the back is a wonderfully light, airy extension and beyond that another of those idyllic secret gardens that Ghent cafés seem to all have up their sleeves.

Did I want a coffee? Absolutely. Was my latte delicious? Of course it was. Did I look at the menu and wonder if it was too early for an Aperol Spritz? You bet I did. And did I feel like I was soaking up design tips for the duration of my visit? Yes, along with thinking Why doesn’t Reading have anywhere like this? The only drawback is that Clouds In My Coffee is the epitome of the best house on a bad street: Dampoort, where it lives, is an up and coming part of Ghent that, from my visit, has more upping and coming to do (the cafe’s website calls it a “multicolour fuse”, which I think is nicely poetic). The walk there from the tram stop involved walking through an Aldi car park and, for an awful moment, I thought I’d wandered through a wormhole in space and found myself on the outskirts of Basingstoke. Still worth a visit though, if only to go somewhere that fitted in about as much as I did.

Clouds In My Coffee
Dendermondsesteenweg 104, Gent
https://www.clouds9000.com/en/cafe-gallery

7. Het Waterhuis aan de Beerkant

On my first visit to Ghent, at the tail end of autumn 2018, I rather liked Het Waterhuis aan de Beerkant, a tall building by the canal (aren’t they all?) with rooms across several floors: the room right at the top reminded me of mid-90s boho drinking culture in a way which somehow summoned up memories of Bar Iguana. But it wasn’t until I went back on a hot July afternoon that I really got what the fuss was about – sitting at a sunny table, overlooking the canal, surrounded by other afternoon revellers of all shapes and sizes it was an extremely agreeable place to while away a few hours and sink a tall, cold Brugse Zot on draft. We don’t have a word, really, for what time spent like that is like but I believe the Dutch describe it as gezellig.

Het Waterhuis aan de Beerkant
Groentenmarkt 9, Gent
https://www.facebook.com/Waterhuis-aan-de-Bierkant-171209319595287/

8. Gitane

I waxed lyrical about Gitane after previous visits to Ghent, and it’s still one of my favourite watering holes. But, like Het Waterhuis aan de Beerkant, it was a decidedly different experience on a hot and sunny day: everybody was chattering away at tables which fill the street outside and if you’re forced to sit in, as we were, it made for a slightly Marie Celeste moment.

No matter: it’s still a great place for a cosy drink, all wood panels and tiled floor, and if the list is less compendious than those at Ghent’s more feted bars and pubs it makes up for that with some really interesting choices from some of Belgium’s less established breweries. I had a cracking New England IPA from Brouwcompagnie Rolling Hills which married East Flanders and the Eastern Seaboard very harmoniously indeed.

Gitane
Meerseniersstraat 9, Gent
https://facebook.com/100054309860476/

9. Dulle Griet

The two other “proper” Belgian pubs in Ghent, both with compendious beer lists, are Trollkelder and Dulle Griet. Both are idiosyncratic to put it lightly – I had a drink sitting outside Trollkelder only slightly put off by the weird models of trolls eyeballing you through the window. I liked Dulle Griet better, although both are an experience and you should at least try a drink in one of them. It’s named after Mad Meg, a figure in Flemish folklore who led an army of women to storm the gates of hell. Whether that explains the decor and all the weird figurines hanging from the ceiling I have no idea (I wouldn’t want to do their dusting, put it that way) but it made for an interesting and characterful place to stop for an afternoon beer, especially as they had Westmalle Dubbel, a Trappist favourite of mine, on draft. Given that they boast over five hundred different beers on their list, you’d probably find something to enjoy here.

Dulle Griet
Vrijdagmarkt 50, Gent
http://www.dullegriet.be/en/

10. HAL 16

HAL 16 is a food hall and brewery out towards the docks, and is a perfect place to visit whether you like beer, food or ideally both. I think it used to just be the tap room for local brewery Dok Brewing, but there have been some changes and it now shares the space with three different food vendors: think Blue Collar, but even more cool. There’s also a branch of the excellent bakery Himschoot just round the corner, terrific coffee from the nearby OR Espresso Bar and a beer shop – De Hopduvel – which sells all the beer (and matching glasses) you could possibly want for your trip home.

I had already bought a Dok Brewing glass from a shop in Bruges by then, because I was already a fan. Dok does some truly lovely beer and there are something like thirty taps at HAL 16, with a mixture of beers brewed on the premises and fascinating stuff from breweries I’d never even heard of: the highlight of this visit was a stunningly dank DIPA from Virginia’s Aslin Beer Company. But the other reason to come here is for the food from RØK (they like their block capitals in this part of town) which smokes and grills meat, hispi cabbage and anything else they think might be good.

On a previous visit in 2019 I had a huge, smoked, blackened pork chop, fresh off the grill, which ducked under the velvet rope and went straight into my gastronomic hall of fame without passing GO or collecting £200. This time round it was all about the lamb neck, tender and moreish, scattered with salt and served with a puddle of aioli and a properly zingy salsa verde. We made the mistake of ordering pizza from another vendor first and then picked up the lamb dish from RØK just before their kitchen closed, but when I return – and I will return – I’m ordering everything on their menu, even if it leads to a Mr Creosote situation.

HAL16
Dok-Noord 4b, Gent
https://www.hal16.be

(Click here to read more city guides.)

Restaurant review: Bravas, Bristol

Last week I had my first holiday in eighteen months. Zoë hired a car and we headed to Bristol for a week of eating, drinking and relaxing, with a wedding conveniently plonked in the middle of our break. The feeling of being somewhere else, one I’ve previously had to conjure up by reading a novel, watching Call My Agent or eating in a restaurant, was even better experienced, in long last, in real life: I wish you could bottle it. Perching outside Small Street Espresso with a latte, watching a bunch of people who don’t live in my hometown going about their daily business was a little pleasure to savour, as was sitting in Left Handed Giant’s wonderful brewpub drinking glorious beer after glorious beer. 

This wasn’t a staycation, it was a holiday – but what it really was was heavenly. So it was enormous fun to amble round St Nick’s before settling down to a cracking lunch of American barbecue. Schlepping up Park Street, passing Bristol’s outpost of C.U.P. made me feel oddly proud of Reading. Walking down Park Street later, having saved just enough room for a Swoon gelato, was even better. Everywhere we went you could find excellent food, great coffee and brilliant indie shops in abundance. We spent an idyllic afternoon wandering round Bedminster, Zoë’s old hood, buying artisan chocolates and scented candles and looking at all the amazing street art. How I’ve missed buying poncey shit like artisan chocolate and scented candles. 

“It wasn’t like this when I lived here” said Zoë, and the thought crossed my mind that Bristol was far from Shangri-La when I lived there in the Eighties, back in the mists of time. Oxford is a lot better now than it was when I lived there in the early Nineties, come to think of it. Perhaps if I really wanted Reading to become a fantastic place to eat, drink and shop I shouldn’t bother filling out Reading UK’s latest pointless Surveymonkey questionnaire. Maybe I should just move somewhere else: that would fix it.  

Culturally, Bristol felt different too. Mask-wearing was commonplace, with many shops mandating it rather than using carefully chosen words like “expected” or “encouraged”.  As someone with a partner who proudly works in retail, I get especially cross that the great British public seems to think nothing of exposing those people to risk. One independent shop I saw had a sign up in the window: WE LOVE YOUR FACES BUT PLEASE WEAR A MASK, it said. Quite right too. 

But it wasn’t just the shops. The buses going past had signs saying that you had to mask up, a far cry from the fudge of Reading Buses. If Bristol did have mask deniers or anti-lockdown protesters they were where they belonged, namely out of sight.

Finding somewhere to eat on a Monday in Bristol can be quite a challenge, but we had a table booked at Bravas, a tapas restaurant just off the Whiteladies Road, which has always been one of my favourite places to eat in the city. I partly wanted to go back because I wanted to support the places I’ve always loved, to try and do my bit to help them survive. And clearly many of Bravas’ customers felt likewise: there was a chalkboard leaned against the front of the restaurant paying an emotional tribute to all the punters who had kept them afloat in the past eighteen months. I found it surprisingly moving, and I don’t even live there.

The council – more progressive, predictably, than their counterparts in Reading – had pedestrianised the whole of Cotham Hill, which meant that enterprising restaurants like Bravas had put up al fresco seating. This isn’t unique to Bristol, of course: Soho has been pedestrianised too, and I remember seeing pictures of Arbequina, a restaurant on Oxford’s Cowley Road, the pavement outside packed with extra tables. Is it that Reading just didn’t have any restaurants that could have benefited from a similar approach, or was it the usual failure of imagination by the powers that be?

In normal times I would have loved to sit inside at Bravas – the interior is conspiratorial, buzzy and surprisingly like being back in Spain – but all the things that make that room wonderful in normal times made me reluctant to eat there right now. Fortunately, after a short wait they managed to fix us up with a table outside, in a makeshift decked area (it was very pleasant, although you did feel slightly seasick every time climbed aboard, or disembarked).

Bravas’ menu was relatively small and perfectly formed, with a section of nibbles, cheese and charcuterie and then vegetable, seafood and meat tapas dishes – and some specials up on a board (I’m still sad I never managed to find room for the goat stew they were serving the day I visited). The way to approach a menu like this, I’ve always thought, is to work out all the dishes you absolutely to ensure you eat, divide them into groups and order each group one at a time, only ordering more when you’ve finished what’s in front of you.

So we did exactly that, and I made inroads into a fantastic G&T – made with local Psychopomp gin, olive and rosemary, a Bristolian take on Gin Mare – while we waited for our first dishes to turn up. Zoë was on a Negroni, which Bravas sweetens slightly with a dash of Pedro ximènez, because Zoë is more hardcore than I could ever hope to be.

The first thing we had fell slightly flat. Bristol is packed with excellent bakeries, and I expected Bravas’ bread to be more exciting, less dense and pedestrian. But the alioli it came with was pleasant enough, even if the golden colour slightly oversold it. Better were the jamon croquettes – others I’ve had have leaned heavily on the béchamel but these were sturdier and all the better for it. They were two pounds fifty each, or six for twelve pounds. Immediately after eating one I wished we’d ordered half a dozen, but that’s me all over. Manchego with rosemary was excellent too, especially with lozenges of membrillo to perk them up sweetly.

Things really got into gear with the selection of cured meats. I know all this is more about sourcing than cooking, but buying the right stuff is every bit as much a skill all good restaurants need. And this very much was the right stuff. The best of the bunch was a beautiful lomo, marbled with fat, more like coppa than the very lean lomo I’m used to in Andalusia. But the cecina was the equal of any bresaola I’ve tasted, and the salchichón was coarse and gorgeous. Best of all, it came with plump, sharp caperberries and sweet, tangy guindilla chillies to wrap in charcuterie and pop in your mouth. Better still, because of Zoë’s aversion to pickles I got to eat them all.

We’d ordered a tortilla and a dish with chickpeas and tuna belly, but there was obviously some kind of mix up, because instead we were brought two portions of the tortilla. They must have known something we didn’t, because having to share a single portion would only have caused trouble. It was one of the best I’ve had, soft but not gooey, sweet with potatoes and onions: few dishes can transfigure the everyday so completely.

The other vegetable dishes were disappointing by comparison. The eponymous bravas looked the part, and are a dish I’ve loved in the past – rather than cubes of fried potato, Bravas slices a whole potato lengthways and it looks very striking when brought to the table. But the texture was missing in action, the slices a little bit flabby and limp, lacking in the crispness that makes this dish so addictive. The bravas sauce with them was spot on, but the lack of fighting over the final slices of spud told its own sad story.

Worse still was the special, Isle of Wight tomatoes with rocket, capers and anchovies. Now, some of that is my mistake because I guess, in the cold light of day, when you look at that list of ingredients it sounds an awful lot like a salad. And a salad it was – heavy on the rocket, light on the tomatoes, the capers completely AWOL. And it wasn’t so much dressed as mulchy, sitting in a bowl with a little pool of what tasted like vinegar at the bottom. Given that we were in a tapas restaurant, and the tomatoes got top billing, I foolishly thought they would be the star of the show, as they would have been in Spain. More fool me, I suppose.

Things needed to improve, and fortunately they did with our last three dishes. Presa iberico turned up looking like a still life, served blushing in the middle, artfully dressed with charred rosemary and scattered with hefty salt crystals. And it was very good indeed, but it felt a little too little for too much at eight pounds fifty (although, to be fair, the following night we’d have a similar dish at Michelin-starred Paco Tapas that set you back twenty pounds). 

Cod a la plancha was more successful, a terrific piece of fish which flaked easily with a single artichoke on top, served with a gazpacho verde which felt a lot like a salsa verde to me. But half the fun of a piece of fish like this is a nicely crispy skin: our piece was missing half its skin, and what there was wasn’t crispy. Even so it was an enjoyable dish, although I couldn’t help wondering whether I should have ordered that goat stew after all. Finally, possibly the nicest dish of the meal: chicken chicharrones turned out to be nothing of the kind but just a superb plate of rugged, crunchy fried chicken, with a chilli alioli on top. I wish they’d brought us two of these by mistake instead, but that’s life.

Service was really stretched thin, and a little frazzled all afternoon. I felt for them, because it looked like they’d been badly hit by track and trace pings, to the extent where the chefs had to bring quite a few of the dishes to our table, and others. It was a real shame, and clearly not their fault – when you did get someone’s attention they were unfailingly lovely, but it could be difficult to flag someone down. I suspect we’d have drunk more if we’d been able to do that, but as it was we only managed another glass of wine each. The wine list, incidentally, was great, and both the wines we tried by the glass – a beautifully fresh chardonnay and gewurztraminer blend for Zoë, a robust, aromatic Rioja for me – were knockout.

The waiting staff were also particularly good towards the end of our meal when an elderly gentleman, dapper in overcoat and hat, wandered in from the Lebanese restaurant next door, took a seat at the table next to us, opened his polystyrene takeaway container and starting having at his kebab with a plastic fork. One of them came over and explained ever so nicely to him that the seating was reserved for customers of Bravas, and after they had some trouble getting this point across, patiently and politely, the intruder shambled off to munch on his lunch elsewhere: they earned every bit of our tip for that interaction alone. Our meal – all that tapas, a couple of cocktails and a couple of glasses of wine – came to ninety-two pounds fifty, not including service.

It’s tricky when you go to a restaurant you love and, by their high standards, they have an off day. I’ve enjoyed all my other meals at Bravas, objectively speaking, far more than this one. And yet this isn’t a normal time to weigh up restaurants, and Bravas seemed to be struggling with the pingdemic we are in, like so many hospitality businesses at the moment. 

Initially I was inclined to be more critical of the restaurant, but looking back I can’t help but remember the hotel we stayed in on our first night in Bristol. They’d given us a room up in the eaves where the bed was too big for the room it was in, so you could only really get into bed on one side. The other side, right next to the wall, had no bedside table and no lamp. The tiny TV was on a tiny chest of drawers in the corner which looked like it had been ransacked from an office closure. The 2019 version of me would have called reception and asked to see another room. It’s a life hack I learned from my ex-wife, who did it all the time.

But then I thought: I am away from home, on holiday, for the first time in a year and a half. I have a beautiful king-sized bed to spend the night in and a fantastic partner to share it with. There’s a huge claw-footed bath next door – I adore baths, more than I can say – and the sort of wet room and rainfall shower you could easily spend a long time in. I am fit and well, I’m double-jabbed and all things considered life could be an awful lot worse. And I never watch the TV in hotel rooms anyway. Really, who does?

So 2021 me stopped mithering about my hotel room, and in the same spirit 2021 me had a lovely afternoon at Bravas. It could have been even better, but I’ve spent eighteen months a long way from my best, and they had the decency to take me as they found me. The least I could do, under the circumstances, was return the favour. I dare say I’ll pay them a visit again next time I go to Bristol, and that day can’t come soon enough. In the meantime, I’ll work on being more grateful. It might make me a worse restaurant reviewer, but hopefully a marginally better person.

Bravas – 7.5
7 Cotham Hill, Redland, Bristol, BS6 6LD
0117 3296887

https://bravas.co.uk