Feature: Go here instead

On April 26, 2024September 7, 2025 By ediblereadingIn Features3 Comments

The inspiration for this week’s feature came from something that happened to me last week: I had an evening to myself and, fresh off the train, I stopped for a very quick dinner in one of Reading’s two branches of Nando’s (don’t judge, I like a Nando’s: it’s a very occasional treat). I went for my standard order there and it was, as chains always are, a known quantity and perfectly okay: not amazing, very far from terrible and precisely as it is every time I eat in the Nando’s on Friar Street.

As I was eating I found myself thinking about how chains, like everybody else, have hiked their prices over the last few years. My food cost fifteen pounds – hardly a fortune in today’s money, but I kept coming back to the fact that there were better ways to eat similar food, but higher quality, for less money at one of Reading’s great independent restaurants.

I went home, I posted about that on the ER Facebook page and mused that maybe there was a feature in this, running through the most prominent of the town’s many big chains and pointing people in the direction of equivalents, most of them independent, offering better food and better value. I wasn’t sure whether the idea had legs, but quite a few people told me to write it. So it’s mostly my fault, but you can blame them too.

The reason I initially thought there might be no point to a feature like this was good old-fashioned confirmation bias: I assume that if you read this blog you might already know all this stuff. I do review the occasional chain, if it’s new, small or unusual, but I’ve never made any secret of the fact that the focus of this blog is more on the stuff that gives Reading character and makes it different, and in the most part that means independent businesses.

But quite a few people said that, all the same, they thought it would be useful to have all these suggestions in one place. Besides, I’ve become increasingly aware this year of more newcomers happening upon the blog. Some of that might be the demise of Berkshire Live creating a gap in the market, and some of it seems to be the peculiarities of Facebook’s algorithm, but either way it means this may be useful to some of you.

If it helps a single person have a more interesting lunch or dinner it will have done its job. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve ambled through Christchurch Meadows on my way to Geo Café of a Sunday only to pass more than one person gripping a Costa cup. The popularity of Caversham’s Costa is for me, like the electoral success of Tony Page or the survival of Wild Lime, one of Reading’s great unsolved mysteries.

Sitting comfortably? Right, here we go – ten well-known chains and their excellent alternatives.

THE CHAIN: Nando’s
GO HERE INSTEAD: Bakery House

I don’t mind Nando’s, and it definitely has its place. But wading through my butterflied chicken breast, rice and rainbow slaw my mind kept drifting to Bakery House’s boneless baby chicken. They don’t make you choose between breast, thighs or half a chicken, they just give you the whole lot, marinated, skin scorched, bones removed, fighting for space on a plate with a big pile of vegetable rice and a well-dressed salad. And they give you all that for fourteen pounds, which remains one of Reading’s ridiculous food bargains.

Recent tweaks to the chilli sauce have made it a little punchier, while the garlic sauce is toned down to the extent that you won’t repel people at work; I miss the old one, but I understand why they did it. I know that Bakery House isn’t Portuguese (nor, for that matter, is Nando’s) so it isn’t a like for like comparison, but I still think Bakery House’s chargrilled chicken is miles better than the stuff from Nando’s. And if you want some of the other things Nando’s can offer – halloumi, houmous and pita or even a sandwich made with chicken livers – well, Bakery House does those far better too.

Bakery House
82 London Street, RG1 4SJ
https://bakery-house.co.uk

THE CHAIN: Wendy’s or Five Guys
GO HERE INSTEAD: Monkey Lounge

People complain all the time about Reading having too many burger joints, but actually there are fewer than you might think – since 7Bone left the town centre to cook out of Phantom (and, as a result, give greater priority to Deliveroo) there has been little to challenge the primacy of the big chains – except Honest, which is itself a small chain. Couple that with the closure of Smash N’ Grab earlier in the year and there are probably fewer spots to get a good burger than there have been for a long time. As if to compound that, The Lyndhurst itself does an excellent burger but closes in a couple of weeks’ time.

So my recommendation is the proudly independent Monkey Lounge, a little way out of the town centre on Erleigh Road. Their burger is miles better than it needs to be, given their captive audience of local students drinking the house lager and watching sport on the big screens. Nonetheless it’s a delight and one of the most pleasant surprises I can remember after doing this reviewing lark for a very long time – a very well executed coarse patty, a timeless sesame seed bun rather than modish brioche, bacon and cheese as standard. Even the chips, which are bought in, are thoroughly decent.

Monkey Lounge
30 Erleigh Road, RG1 5NA
https://monkeylounge.uk

THE CHAIN: Pizza Express
GO HERE INSTEAD: Sarv’s Slice at the Biscuit Factory

Again I don’t actually mind Pizza Express at all, although I miss the one on St Mary’s Butts where I had lots of happy occasions: the more soulless one on Oracle Riverside has never done it for me. For that matter, I also have fond memories of many a boozy evening eating Pizza Express’ wares takeaway in the Allied beer garden with a pint of Stowford Press on the go. And again, pizza traders in Reading are fewer than they used to be with the closure of a Pizza Express, Franco Manca and of course Pizza Hut, which had traded in the Oracle since the day it opened. Buon Appetito closing last year reduced the options still further.

It’s too early to judge newcomer Zia Lucia, although it comes highly recommended by hereditary columnist Giles Coren among others. And outside the town centre there are still options, with Papa Gee and the Last Crumb flying the flag north of the river and Vesuvio doing a tidy job out west. But for my money the finest pizza in Reading right now is by Sarv’s Slice at the Biscuit Factory – both the traditional Neapolitan pizza and the comparately recent addition of deep, airy Detroit pizza with its distinctive frico, the crown of cheese that makes it unlike anything else in town.

They also do regular specials, traditional ones like the classic anchovies and capers along with others that push the envelope: I still fondly remember their carbonara pizza, and a never to be repeated Iberian effort with chorizo, confit garlic fried potatoes and smoked paprika aioli which might be the best thing they’ve done. Day to day though, I find it hard to look beyond the diavola with salami and ‘nduja, perfected with a sticky drizzle of hot honey.

Sarv’s Slice
Biscuit Factory, 1 Queens Walk, RG1 7QE
https://www.sarvsslice.com

THE CHAIN: Zizzi, Prezzo or Bella Italia
GO HERE INSTEAD: Mama’s Way

I find Reading’s chain Italian restaurants somewhat interchangeable, a perception which probably isn’t helped by the fact that I haven’t eaten in any of them for the best part of fifteen years: I fondly remember one of the very first Prezzos in Richmond, before private equity bloated and ruined the place. But actually, even with the closure of Coco Di Mama, the chains have won the battle for spend when it comes to Italian restaurants – only Pepe Sale, really, keeps going as a full-on Italian restaurant within the IDR.

That said, my recommendation is to try Mama’s Way in what someone recently described to me as Very Little Italy, that stretch of Duke Street that encompasses Mama’s Way and near neighbours Madoo. It is a tiny place, little more than a hole in the wall with just the three or four seats inside and three stools out on the street. But if you grab one of them you feel like you’ve really hit the jackpot. The Aperol spritz is exemplary, there’s a great selection of wines by the glass and I’ve heard they do a barrel aged negroni too, although I’ve not yet tried it.

There is a small selection of pasta dishes – and pinsa too, if you want something almost as carby. But they also have an incredible array of cheeses and cured meats and will do you a veritable smorgasbord of either or both. With some of these places, like Veeno, I always think it’s a shame to have such a great space but to buy in relatively uninspiring produce. Mama’s Way absolutely gets that when you have the good stuff you just need to serve it up and bask in the reflected glory of your excellent taste and buying power. They do that superbly, and their menu is an excellent shop window for their produce – a shop window which, if you play your cards right, you can eat in, making passers-by jealous.

Mama’s Way
10-14 Duke Street, RG1 4RU
https://mamasway.co.uk

THE CHAIN: Pho
GO HERE INSTEAD: The Moderation

I know this might seem harsh, as Pho is one of the chains many Reading folk like, with good reason. But my standard order there is their fried rice with chicken and dried shrimp, and I was very aware on my visit to the Moderation a couple of weeks back that the Mod’s nasi goreng is far better than Pho’s dish. You get a lot of it, packed with chicken and enormous prawns, with prawn crackers, pickled veg, a fried egg and a chicken satay skewer. If the two dishes were Top Trumps, the Mod’s wins on every category.

Not only that, but for me the pan-Asian menu at the Moderation gives you alternatives to most of Pho’s great dishes and more besides. The rendang is better than Pho’s curry, there are rice and noodle dishes in abundance and there’s even a ramen, if you want an alternative to Pho’s eponymous dish. I would say that I haven’t tried the Moderation’s spring rolls, and it’s hard to imagine that they’re better than either of Pho’s terrific spring rolls, especially the ones crammed with crab, prawns and pork. But given how good the rest of the Moderation’s food is, you might not bet against it.

The Moderation
213 Caversham Road, RG1 8BB
https://www.themodreading.com

OR TRY: Bánh Mì QB

If you think the Moderation isn’t quite a like for like comparison, how about Bánh Mì QB? You have to hand it to this restaurant for having the balls to open a Vietnamese restaurant a couple of doors down from what was previously Reading’s only Vietnamese restaurant. But to me they pull it off and have created an excellent independent alternative. It might not have the polish of Pho, but their spring rolls are also excellent, their crispy roast pork is an utter joy and, unlike their rival, they actually serve bánh mì, one of the great Vietnamese dishes and a genuine lunchtime treat.

Bánh Mì QB
Unit 8, 19-23 King Street, RG1 2HG
https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100083120421618

THE CHAIN: Taco Bell
GO HERE INSTEAD: Mission Burrito

Most weeks on a Wednesday or Friday, and most weekends, you can probably go to either Blue Collar’s weekly market or its permanent site on Hosier Street and find someone doing tacos better than Taco Bell’s. Or you could just buy the distinctive yellow packets from Old El Paso, go home and knock something shoddy up in a frying pan: it would still be better, provided everything you used was still in date.

But for a permanent option, I still think Mission Burrito is the right choice. One of the only even vaguely independent restaurants in the Oracle (technically a chain, but there are only four of them), it’s been resolutely doing its thing for many, many years. And it’s still very good and an extremely consistent choice if you want a light meal slap bang in the town centre. I used to love their tacos, but my tastes have graduated to a carnitas burrito with smoky black beans, cheese and chipotle salsa. They’re a handful, and almost impossible to eat tidily but they hit the spot.

I think Mission is always a little forgotten about when people talk about town centre options but even if it’s unshowy it’s very good indeed. It’s seen off many of the restaurants on that bank of the Riverside – Wok To Walk, Franco Manca, The Real Greek – and you wouldn’t rule out it outlasting most of its other neighbours. Except perhaps McDonalds: I suspect that McDonalds, like cockroaches, would even survive a nuclear holocaust. Mission Burrito gets bonus points from me for stocking A&W root beer, possibly my favourite soft drink in the whole wide world.

Mission Burrito
The Oracle Riverside, RG1 2AG
https://www.missionburrito.co.uk

THE CHAIN: Wetherspoons
GO HERE INSTEAD: Oakford Social Club

Have you noticed how Wetherspoons fanboys (they’re always men) are so often awful people? They invariably crop up on social media, the eternal sealions, to defend the pubs, or the way they “rescue” heritage buildings, or stick up for their spiritual king Tim Martin (or “Timbo” as they like to call him). Come off it: Wetherspoons is just Brewdog for penny-pinchers. Personally, I aim never to set foot in one again.

And I know I’m on shaky ground here because although the Oakford positions itself as indie and hipster it is in fact a Mitchells & Butlers pub, part of their “Castle” portfolio which also includes the Hope & Bear. And yet here I am saying you should go here instead of Wetherspoons: why is that? Well, first of all, the benchmark to be better and more palatable than Wetherspoons is not the most exacting standard in the world.

But secondly, the Oakford has acquired the status of Reading institution over the course of over fifteen years opposite the train station, to the point where I don’t think anybody cares that it’s an M&B establishment. And its food is surprisingly good, I think, especially their fried chicken and crispy onions, which are a bit like an onion bhaji that’s had the crap beaten out of it. They have a good-looking menu, from ‘nduja and pecorino croquettes to poutine, schnitzel and beef dripping tater tots. Exactly the kind of stuff you want with a beer in a buzzy pub, and unlike Wetherspoons you can have some confidence that a microwave oven didn’t play a starring role.

Oakford Social Club
53 Blagrave Street, RG1 1PZ
https://www.oakfordsocialclub.com/

THE CHAIN: Costa, Caffe Nero or Starbucks
GO HERE INSTEAD: Coffee Under Pressure

I might be on to a loser with this one because I know some people are very wedded to their enormo-cups of coffee from the three big coffee chains that dominate Reading. It’s a sign of how things change – we used to have four Burger Kings, now we only have the two, we may have lost a Starbucks on Queen Victoria Street (and the one on Oracle Riverside closed this week) but Reading Station has two branches alone. I’ve lost track of the Costas in Reading, and we still have three Caffe Neros.

That’s a lot of places to drink middling coffee. And yet in the time they have proliferated we’ve lost Tamp, Anonymous, the Grumpy Goat and now the town centre branch of Workhouse. Next time an independent coffee place opens, I hope we don’t have to endure the cries of “not another one” from dullards, but I expect we will.

This is all the more reason to spend your money at Coffee Under Pressure instead. Their big and busy branch is the one off St Mary’s Butts, and the outside space is a great summer spot to see and be seen. But my favourite is the one on Blagrave Street, and I love sitting up at the window there on those stools, looking out on the handsome Victorian brickwork of the Town Hall. C.U.P.’s mocha is a work of art, as I’ve said many times, but they also do an extremely respectable latte and some great spanakopita.

Coffee Under Pressure
53 St Mary’s Butts, RG1 2LG and 7 Blagrave St, RG1 1PJ
https://www.coffeeunderpressure.co.uk

OR TRY: Compound Coffee

Almost as good, and definitely among the best coffee in Reading these days, Compound Coffee does a fantastic job operating out of the ground floor of the Biscuit Factory. You have to hand it to the Biscuit Factory – you can have great coffee in the morning, unbeatable pizza for lunch or dinner and then avail yourself of their admirable selection of local beers. I’ve been there loads of times, and I’ve not even seen a film there yet. That might make me a philistine – but at least I’m a well-fed, well-caffeinated philistine.

Compound Coffee
Biscuit Factory, 1 Queens Walk, RG1 7QE
https://www.instagram.com/compoundcoffeeuk/

THE CHAIN: Pret or Gail’s
GO HERE INSTEAD: Shed

I’m treating Gail’s and Pret interchangeably here, even though everyone knows that Gail’s is to Pret what Pret is to Greggs. But for these purposes I’m lumping them into the single category of lunch places with ideas above their station which are remarkably expensive. Gail’s, to be fair, isn’t terrible, although its chairman Luke Johnson is. I have a harder time liking Pret, whose prices have gone up and up and whose sandwiches are claggy, costly and usually sodden with mayonnaise: their coffee has hit the skids too, since they introduced a subscription scheme.

Anyway, I think Shed wipes the floor with both of them. A recent refurb has made their upstairs dining room an even nicer place to while away time, but in nearly twelve years Shed has turned feeding Reading’s discerning lunchgoers into a fine art. The Top Toastie, a magical combination of chorizo, chicken, jalapeños and cheese, is rightly fêted, as is its sibling the Tuna Turner. But Shed doesn’t rest on its laurels and a more recent addition – the Chaat, with samosa, mango chutney, sev and mint yoghurt – is an absolute riot on a plate.

Shed
8 Merchants Place, RG1 1DT
https://theshedcafe.co.uk

OR TRY: Picnic

The other veteran of Reading’s lunch scene, Picnic, is another venue far more deserving of your money than the chain neighbours on what used to be called Coffee Corner. It’s nearly seventeen years old, and on my recent visits it’s been better than I ever remember. They went through a phase where I didn’t much like the seating arrangements but they’ve clearly given that more thought and make much better use of the room now.

Better still, they’ve restored the stools up at the window which gives you one of Reading’s best people watching opportunities. It’s mad to think that I’ve been doing that for the best part of seventeen years, on and off. The coffee is as good as it’s ever been, too, and credit to Picnic for using heavenly milk from Lacey’s, the only place in Reading to do so.

Their food is going through a purple patch as well. The toasted sandwiches are terrific, especially if they have their coppa, burrata and grilled peppers on offer, but the real draw here is the salads which gradually get better and more imaginative. There are always two salad boxes, one of which is vegetarian, but I have an enormous soft spot for their chicken shawarma salad and find it hard not to order it.

I don’t know if there’s a Couscous Marketing Board but if there is, they really ought to put a plaque up outside acknowledging Picnic’s sterling commitment to shifting bucketloads of the stuff over the years. Oh, and the cakes are also great (although the one Pret product I will defend to the death, come to think of it, is their brownie).

Picnic
5 Butter Market, RG1 2DP
https://www.picnicfoods.co.uk

THE CHAIN: TGI Friday
GO HERE INSTEAD: Literally anywhere else in Reading

No, seriously. Don’t act surprised – you do read this blog, don’t you? TGI Fridays was comfortably one of the very worst places I’ve reviewed in 10 years, with dirty glassware, Legendary Glaze that could strip tooth enamel, staff leaving me a voicemail halfway through my meal asking why I hadn’t turned up and sizzling platters that didn’t. Worst of all, the really mediocre food was at elevated prices. I thought it was very expensive for what it was when I went there five years ago so I dread to think what it’s like now, but even if they’d inflation-proofed their menu and you were still paying 2018 prices it would be shocking value.

I’m not saying I’d rather lick a bin lid, but I find it hard to imagine a restaurant in Reading I wouldn’t pick over TGI Fridays: Cosmo, Taco Bell – which is at least cheap – or anywhere with a hygiene rating of zero from the council. The fact that the Oracle bunged Tampopo, a superb restaurant, over half a million pounds to make way for this dross tells you everything you need to know about how the Oracle, ultimately, is not a force for good in this town. Hopefully this piece, Mission Burrito notably excepted, gives you the inspiration to eat elsewhere.

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Pub review: The Moderation

On April 19, 2024December 30, 2025 By ediblereadingIn Reviews2 Comments

In 2013, the first year of this blog, I reviewed the grand total of fourteen Reading restaurants (don’t hold it against me, I only started in August). And there must have been something about those very first venues, because the majority of them are still going strong: Picasso, The Warwick, The Lobster Room, Kyklos and Forbury’s are no longer with us but the other nine are still going over ten years later. I won’t list them all because I don’t want to jinx anything in the here and now – 2024 is hard enough as it is – but you get the idea: for those restaurants still to be trading, a decade on, is truly no mean feat.

But time has passed and those reviews have become increasingly out of date; they might have reflected what a restaurant was like back in those days, when I wasn’t yet forty and mistakenly thought I had the rest of my life figured out, but you couldn’t necessarily use them now with confidence. So over the last couple of years I’ve been gradually revisiting the survivors from the class of 2013 to write new reviews and see how it all went so gloriously right. And generally, with the exception of Zero Degrees, I’ve had some good meals in the process.

Not only that, but I’ve left some of those Reading institutions delighted that they’re still with us. In a world where everything seems to change beyond recognition, more and faster, with every passing day, I was relieved to find that London Street Brasserie, for instance, was still a reliable benchmark in the centre of town. I was pleased that Pepe Sale, at the time freshly under new management, was recognisable as the place I had so loved on my first ever review. And returning to Café Yolk I found that the slightly iffy brunch place I wrote off eleven years ago had blossomed into a polished and Instagrammable performer.

All those places were older and wiser, as you would expect: I, on the other hand, was probably just older, but you can’t win them all. And that brings us to the subject of this week’s review, The Moderation, a place I really should have revisited long before now. When I went there in December 2013 I remember thinking they’d had an off night, because I’d eaten there a few times before that visit and always enjoyed it. I tried to say something to that effect in my review, but ultimately I was a little underwhelmed.

Back then the Moderation was part of a little chain, under the name Spirit House, along with the Warwick Arms on Kings Road, now closed. I’m pretty sure that at one time or another that group also included The Queens Head up on Christchurch Green and even the Lyndhurst, in a far earlier incarnation. The theme with those places was that they did pub food with a sideline in Thai food, as was the fashion ten years ago, and when I went to the Moderation on duty I found it a little unspecial, not bad by any means perhaps not quite as good as the Warwick in the centre of town.

In the intervening ten years I’ve been back a few times, but only really for drinks. I’ve always had a soft spot for the Moderation’s garden, a natural suntrap that never seems to get the plaudits it deserves, but the location has always been a little tricky for me: if I’m in that area I’m probably at Phantom instead, and if I was crossing into Caversham I’d wind up at the Last Crumb. So despite being fond of the Moderation I’ve made it there rarely.

I’m also not sure I’d have been entirely welcome there anyway, because I blotted my copy book with them a few years ago. It was in the run up to the 2019 General Election, when the Tories had selected car crash candidate Craig Morley to fight Reading East and he turned up in the constituency, not a place he knew well by the sounds of it, with Sajid Javid for a spot of campaigning. They were photographed pulling pints behind the bar at the Mod before scooting over to the Caversham Butcher, presumably to massage some gammon, and I’m afraid I might have been less than my usual diplomatic self about that on social media.

Anyway, there’s been a lot of water under Caversham Bridge since then. Craig Morley is now just a surreal footnote in Reading’s history, I’ve been known to purchase the occasional sausage at the Caversham Butcher and I reckoned it was about time I reassessed the Moderation. After all, Alok Sharma visited But Is It Art in the summer of 2020, maskless, less than a week after displaying Covid symptoms in the House Of Commons, and I still buy all my birthday cards there. So last Saturday I headed there with my old friend Dave, visiting from sunny Swindon, to honour a reservation we’d made – in his name, just to be on the safe side.

Pub review: The Plough, Shiplake

On April 12, 2024May 18, 2026 By ediblereadingIn Reviews9 Comments

I still remember the first time I gave out a really good rating on this blog. It was towards the end of 2013, when we were all a lot younger and more carefree, and my blog had been running for just over three months. I wasn’t drunk on the power (next to nobody read the blog in those days) but even so giving out a rating in the high 8s felt like a proper stake in the ground. This is my kind of thing, that rating was saying. Go here on my recommendation and I promise you won’t regret it.

Ten years on, unlike a lot of restaurant reviewers who think their pronouncements should be on tablets of stone – why do so many of them write like they’re on coke? – it still feels like a big thing to say. And a presumptuous one, too: for me, that trepidation about writing a rave review has never quite gone away. Nor has the euphoric relief when anybody visits a restaurant on the back of one of my reviews and tells me they didn’t hate it, let alone loved it. I know the blog’s free, so nobody can ask for a refund, but I can’t give anybody back the money they’ve wasted on a bad meal.

The recipient of that first rave rating, a rating that wasn’t beaten for two whole years, was a gorgeous pub called the Plowden Arms in Shiplake. Run by married couple Matt and Ruth Woodley, it was the most beautiful spot – snug in the winter, with a fantastic garden in a little corner of South Oxfordshire for the summer. The crockery was vintage before everyone jumped on the chintz and retro bandwagon, the menu revived classics from the pages of Mrs Beeton and there was 20s jazz playing all the time. I adored it, and I went there often – with friends, with my partner, with my family, with anybody I could persuade to head to Shiplake.

Just over three years later, the Woodleys left the pub. It reopened under new management, but it wasn’t the same. You looked at the menu and thought that food was just something the management thought it should offer, all function and no passion. It was the first in a long string of disappointments, of places that had the temerity to close despite my loving them. Since then there’s been Dolce Vita and Buon Appetito, and soon there will be the Lyndhurst, but that first one stung. I wish I’d gone more often. As Andy Bernard says in The Office – the funnier version – I wish there was a way to know you’re in the good old days before you’ve actually left them.

When it closed two years later, I wasn’t surprised. It sat vacant by the side of the road, and for a while it looked like it would just be the latest pub to turn into accommodation, the latest community to lose a hub and gain a handful of extra residents with nowhere to drink. It was empty throughout Covid, but then in summer 2021 there was an interesting development: the owners of nearby Orwells announced that they had saved it from near-certain demolition and were going to open it as The Plough in early 2022.

That news was welcomed beyond the narrow confines of Shiplake: Orwells has a lot of fans, and I’m sure they liked the idea of a more affordable, more casual venture from the same people. But then something strange happened in 2022. The Plough didn’t open early that year and at some point – I suspect we’ll never know exactly why – Orwells dropped out of the picture. But the Plough did open, just before Christmas 2022, owned instead by Canadian-born Jill Sikkert, her first hospitality business after a career in interior design. Last month she appointed a new chef, Charlotte Vincent, who has been on Great British Menu and got one of her previous venues into the prestigious Top 50 Gastropubs list four years ago.

All very impressive: who needs Orwells anyway? But I would be the first to admit that the revitalised Plough isn’t the kind of venue I would normally review. A lot of that’s down to accessibility: I know that the countryside around Reading has plenty of food pubs which ordinarily would interest people, like the Dew Drop Inn at Hurley, the Crown at Burchett’s Green or even the Wellington Arms at Baughurst. But as a non-driver who relies on public transport they don’t generally fit my catchment area, so you’re more likely to hear about restaurants near a train station, like Seasonality.

Besides, you don’t need me for those kind of places because they’re the province of the website Muddy Stilettos, which you may know. They love rural gastropubs, and they gush about them in their weirdly infantilised language where things are “yummy” or “scrumptious” and go in their “tummies”, where food and drink are summed up as “scoff and quaff”. Apparently if you like this kind of restaurant you also like twee: I even read one review which referred to something called a “Michelin twinkler”, presumably this is awarded when your scoff and quaff are particularly yummy and scrumptious. Goody gumdrops!

If I say more about Muddy Stilettos – especially that their annual awards are an exercise in epic grift where they get small businesses slogging away to promote their website while giving back nothing in return – I’ll probably get in trouble, so let’s move on. I found myself reviewing the Plough because a very good friend got me one of their vouchers for my birthday last year, so Zoë and I finally found an opportunity to get there on Good Friday, at the end of our holiday, literally days before it expired. So I suppose, technically, I only paid for part of my bill: I wonder if that gives me something in common with Muddy Stilettos?

The makeover the Plough has received is quite something. In its previous incarnation it looked like a pub, like a beloved local that also happened to serve food. Now it is a really gorgeous series of rooms – you can tell Sikkert has a background in interiors – that take advantage of the pub’s good bones, its bricks and beams and parquet floors, but create something much more luxe. That said, the chairs looked better suited to lounging than dining, but that’s probably just me being a bit old-fashioned.

We were seated in a room I remembered well, having eaten in it many times when it was the Plowden Arms, and yet it felt completely familiar and totally different all at once. Even though it was the end of March there was still a nip in the air and the fire was burning, and it felt properly comforting: I can’t wait for summer to come, but I’ll miss the smell of woodsmoke.

The menu is written in that way that was modish a few years back, listing ingredients but nothing else: sea trout pastrami, mussel, apple gremolata, that kind of thing. I know this annoys some people but it didn’t bother me – it was more detailed than other examples I’ve seen and, besides, a little element of surprise when you order dishes can add to the experience. Perhaps I’m just getting soft.

As is the fashion there were snacks, starters, mains and desserts – most of the snacks just over a fiver, the starters just over a tenner, the mains between twenty and twenty six pounds, desserts a tenner. You’ll have your own views about whether that’s steep, but I compared it to what things cost at London Street Brasserie these days and decided to judge it at the end, not the outset.

There’s also a no-choice set lunch menu, twenty-seven fifty for three courses, which didn’t overlap with the main menu. But in honesty I think if you’re going to only offer one option on a menu it has to be more interesting than the likes of swede and carrot soup, so I gave it a miss. The Plough could learn from the likes of Quality Chop House, whose set lunch costs about the same and seriously makes you consider swerving the à la carte. Besides, that voucher was burning a hole in my satchel – in for a penny, in for a pounding, as my fiancée likes to delicately put it.

We got some snacks while we made up our mind about everything else, and they were the first indicator that it wouldn’t all be plain sailing. Homemade focaccia/blue cheese butter was the first thing we tried. Now, I don’t object to minimalist wording provided there isn’t anything significant in the dish it neglects to mention, and so long as what you’re told will be there is actually present and correct.

So the menu really should have said homemade bread/garlic butter, because that, weirdly, is what I got. The picture below is one of the dullest ever to grace my blog, but I put it there for a reason, to demonstrate that this bread wasn’t springy or spongy or aerated. It wasn’t open-crumbed at all. It wasn’t permeated with olive oil, it didn’t have salt or rosemary or anything else to zhuzh it up. The reason it was none of those things is that it wasn’t focaccia.

It was, instead, perfectly serviceable bread. And as for the butter – well, we went from the blue cheese in this must be very subtle to there’s no blue cheese at all in this, is there? before ending up at isn’t this garlic butter? The menu wasn’t just economical with words, it was a little economical with the truth too.

The second snack was a lot more enjoyable. I’ll do away with the stripped down wording from here on in, but this was a clump of battered, fried enoki mushrooms, strewn with shoots, more mushrooms (pickled, I think, but my mind might be playing tricks) and a little Walnut Whip of mushroom ketchup. This was far more like it – wild mushrooms cropped up in a few places on the Plough’s menu, and the mushroom ketchup, lending gorgeous depth, was the star of the show.

But at the risk of nit picking again, the ratio of the enoki to batter was so out of kilter that I felt like I was eating a savoury churro that just happened to have a tiny bit of mushroom in the middle. That said, if it had been described as that on the menu I might still have ordered it. Anyway, it was only a fiver.

The starters proper were more successful, and started to give me an idea of what the kitchen could do. My pork terrine wasn’t bad – a slab of pork, bound up with jamon iberico and strewn with gubbins – cups of onion with thyme crumb nestling in them, and more of those little shoots. I would have preferred some acidity in the mix – a piccalilli, or some caperberries – and without them it was nice but a little well behaved for my liking. A tad too fridge-cold, clean and pristine where it needed to be gutsy.

This came with what was billed as sourdough bread – I wasn’t sure it was sourdough but if anything, it was more open-textured than the focaccia had been. This dish felt sanitised, but it would probably have been a hit with the Muddy Stilettos crowd – every time I read a review by them, the reviewer practically apologises for having three courses and makes a tired joke about undoing the top button of her trousers. I never feel like I have to apologise to you lot for ordering too much food: it’s one of the reasons I’m so fond of you all.

Zoë had chosen scallops, a couple of plump specimens in a puddle of dashi beurre blanc, topped with some kind of sea vegetable whose name I’m sure I used to know but have since forgotten. I wouldn’t have ordered this – I’m not sure beurre blanc is improved by cross-pollinating it with dashi – but Zoë really enjoyed it. Unfortunately I wasn’t allowed to try any, and when I asked her for a more detailed critique she said “I fucking loved it, I’d order it again, what more do you want from me?”.

This will please fans of her expletives, and I know there are a few of you out there, but probably isn’t of practical help. She did eventually tell me under cross-examination that the scallops were beautifully cooked, the contrasting textures managed just right, but that’s all I have for you.

At this point I was feeling slightly underwhelmed, but the Plough rescued things with two exemplary and very different main courses. Fish and chips – just described as “day boat fish”, so I have no idea what it was – was outstanding. A thick cylinder of pearlescent, just-cooked fish was hugged by brilliant, almost ethereal batter. I was allowed to try a bit and it was miles better than I’d been expecting, and weirdly it made me think of my dad. He has a bit of a habit of ordering fish and chips in fancy restaurants, so I’ve seen him try it at Rick Stein’s place in Padstow, at the Beehive in White Waltham and in my opinion, the Plough’s rendition was better than either of those.

The accompaniments were bang on too – excellent peas which were crushed rather than mushy, and a tartare sauce Zoë could tolerate, which meant that it wasn’t quite vinegary enough for me. Having it with fries, although that was clearly communicated on the menu, felt a little strange to me. They were very good fries but, in an inversion of how I feel every time I look in the mirror these days, I’d sooner they had been chunky rather than skinny.

If that covers the pub classics end of the menu, my choice was cheffier and one of the best plates of food I’ve eaten this year. Lamb rump was just stellar – thick and tender, accurately seasoned, the perfect shade of pink with just the most beautiful stripe of fat, the kind of thing I could eat all day. It came with a little of everything wonderful – more onion, this time smoked, chewy and delectable nubbins of Jerusalem artichoke, a sweet and glossy puree, a little jus and, by the looks of this picture, some extra virgin olive oil thrown in for good measure.

Oh, and I neglected to mention my other favourite part of this dish – described as hash browns, they were a couple of golden pyramids of pressed and fried potato that were worth the price of admission by themselves. I truly loved this dish, and it single-handedly justified the trip to Shiplake. A few forkfuls in and that dense non-focaccia and the slightly timid terrine were completely forgotten. All was forgiven: this dish was twenty-six pounds and, I reckon, worth every penny. Even looking down at the picture I can remember how happy it made me.

As it was a little light on the veg I’d ordered some green beans on the side with pickled chilli and soy sauce. They were well enough executed, the beans with a little bite, but I didn’t think they quite worked: the sauce didn’t adhere, so you ended up with a pool of the stuff at the bottom. I’ll go for the ubiquitous hispi cabbage next time.

We both wanted dessert, which is a good sign, and we both wanted the same dessert. So we had it, unrepentantly and without loosening any garments. Again, it was good but not perfect and again, it wasn’t quite as billed. It was allegedly a dark chocolate cheesecake but, for my money, it wasn’t in any way dark. And texturally I didn’t think it entirely worked – that huge layer of chocolate was a tad gelatinous, the base so heavy and thick that you couldn’t get a spoon through it without risking injury to passers-by.

And again, it was a pity because the minor details were all excellent, from the chocolate soil on top to the blobs of yuzu gel and – especially – the warming, boozy cherries. I finished it, because it’s rude not to, but I would have liked something slimmer and more refined. That is something I often say when I look in the mirror, come to think of it.

Replete and satisfied, we asked for our bill and prepared for the trip home. And it would be remiss of me not to mention at this point that – more than once on my visit to the Plough – Zoë had raved about the bathrooms. “Seriously, you have to go to the loo before we leave” she said. “I think they’re some of the best restaurant toilets I’ve ever seen.” So I did, and they were indeed very chic and the handwash smelled magnificent. But, just as with Zoë and those effing scallops, that’s all I can remember. I wish I’d taken a picture.

Our bill for all that food, a non-alcoholic cocktail called a tropical something or other which Zoë found too sweet (and at nine pounds, a little too rich) and a couple of bottles of sparkling mineral water – because I was on antibiotics – came to a hundred and thirty-eight pounds, including a 12.5% service charge. And it feels like an insult to shoehorn the service in here, between the loos and the conclusion, because it was faultless from start to finish. We had just the right level of attention, enthusiasm and smiles from the moment we were greeted to the point where we said goodbye and went out the front door. It made me think what a boon this place must be to genuine locals, although if you live in Shiplake I imagine you had enough to be smug about even before the Plough came along.

I’ve ummed and aahed since about what I made of the Plough, on balance. In the debit column, some of the dishes were underpowered or didn’t work, and the feng shui menu didn’t always reflect what turned up on the plate. I suppose I compare it in some ways to the robust, magical cooking of somewhere like the Bell at Waltham St Lawrence, and it doesn’t quite match that standard. But on the other hand, some of the dishes were exceptional, especially the mains, and the little touches with much of the food show an imagination which quite won me over. And then there’s the room, the welcome, that open fire and – yes, let’s mention them again – those bathrooms.

But the main thing I took from my trip to the Plough was a feeling of being in really capable hands, of a menu that could please almost anybody and managed to walk that very fine line where it was accessible and clever. That’s not an easy balance to strike, and many chefs or restaurants, despite their best intentions, end up falling clumsily on one side or the other. That the Plough has avoided that pitfall, and that the team have created somewhere so universal but sophisticated is a more skilful trick than you might think.

“This is the kind of place we could take your dad and stepmum” said Zoë in the car on the way back to Reading, and that’s as good a summary of its appeal as I can think of: it might mean more if you’d met them, but hopefully you get the drift. I think you could take anybody here for a meal – either for a special occasion or for no reason – and have a properly charming time.

This might not read like an out and out rave, I may not have talked about tummies or the fact that they might be awarded a Michelin twinkler at some point, but regular readers will know that this is me saying I was quietly impressed. This is my kind of thing. Hopefully, if you go here on my recommendation, you won’t regret it.

Nope, still feels presumptuous.

The Plough – 8.0
Plough Lane, Shiplake, RG9 4BX
0118 9403999

https://www.theploughshiplake.co.uk

City guide: Ghent (2024)

On April 5, 2024July 21, 2026 By ediblereadingIn Travel9 Comments

If you’re here for the Edible Reading Bruges city guide, a brand new expanded and updated 2026 Bruges city guide is now available on the blog, and can be found here.

Back in the mists of time, in the prehistoric year that was 2018, Ghent was the first ever city guide I wrote. I went in a drizzly October week and, despite that, it completely won me over. It had gorgeous winding lanes and modern architecture, brown pubs and craft beer, excellent coffee, really cracking restaurants and street food, superlative baked goods and street art everywhere you looked. I loved it and I resolved to go back, although Covid conspired to prevent it for another four years.

When I went back I did it, as I always have since, as part of a two centre holiday with Bruges. It’s easily done: the two are less than half an hour apart by train. The problem was that the next time I wrote a city guide to Ghent, it shared the billing with Bruges, and I have been back to Bruges far more often since than I have to Ghent, despite loving the city. And over the years, with one thing or another, Ghent has increasingly felt like an afterthought. Which isn’t fair: it deserves more than that.

So this time round I have finally got rid of the uneasy cohabitation and separated them out. This guide covers my old friends and new discoveries from a very happy visit to Ghent in 2024 and the Bruges stuff – I’ll stop using the B word now – can be found elsewhere. When I visited Ghent in 2024 the thing that surprised me the most was that the secret seemed to be out. I wasn’t used to seeing crowds of tourists in Ghent, but on this occasion they seemed to be everywhere, and I thought that perhaps a city that had always flown under the radar was finally getting some recognition.

Quite right too. If you’re a photographer, it has some of the best buildings and architecture you can find – all the pretty stuff, but plenty of contrast too. You can do a street art tour of the city, using a map you get from the tourist office, and if you like this sort of thing – as I do – you can spend a very enjoyable few hours ambling and snapping. Ghent is a university city and, like many other great university cities – Montpellier, Bologna, even Oxford – that means it has a vibrancy, edge and lack of stuffiness that other, more conventionally beautiful cities might envy. Not naming any names.

Although I haven’t included the places from my 2018 guide, because I’ve not been back since, many of them are still alive, kicking and well worth a visit: spots like Oak for Michelin starred dining, Du Progres for unbeatable chateaubriand (Du Progres will never go out of fashion because it doesn’t care about being in fashion) or Himschoot for outrageously good pastries.

And although this guide might be small, don’t be deceived: it is mighty. I’ve had few meals as good on my travels as the one I had at Roots, only a handful of European cafés anywhere I’ve been were as enjoyable to sip and people watch in as Take Five Espresso. And two of the bars in this guide – Gitane and Django – are two of my favourite places to drink in twenty years of travelling Europe being an attempted flâneur, and eight years of writing about it. It really is a wonderful place, and saying this makes me want to go back sooner rather than later. On its own, not sharing the limelight next time.

1. Roots

Roots, sadly, closed at the start of July 2026. The owners are opening a new restaurant, Klaar, on Donkersteeg on 24th August.

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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