I am invited to an acquaintance’s birthday meal annually in a rather cheerless commuter town near Bristol and it’s difficult to find somewhere reasonably priced in the area where one can stay with one’s dog. Hence I usually stay in an overpriced moderately mediocre gaff belonging to a continental chain (which promises more than it delivers) near Temple Meads and which reflects closely the decline of England’s hospitality industry as the number of little pleasures, comforts and services the hotel supplies to its guests are gradually taken away from the guests (do they think we don’t notice?) while the room rate increases rapidly. But enough of that.
There are a number of recommendable places at which to eat Sunday lunch in Bristol but on my annual November visits over the last couple of years I have eaten at Gambas in Cargo 2 in Wapping Wharf and a very pleasing Sunday lunch I have eaten there on both occasions. So, though I was tempted to branch out and do something different this year, I once more made a reservation for lunch at Gambas, the restaurant being within a Sunday afternoon relaxed pace walking distance from my hotel and the weather being what it is in this late autumn and doing its best to dissuade one from travelling very far to other parts of the city. The was a strong wind and frequent outbursts of charmless drizzle.
And so, though it may be repetitive, here is another report of Sunday lunch at Wapping Wharf. The interior of Gambas, warm, atmospheric and inviting, looking particularly attractive as one enters it, with the wind howling outside and the rain lashing Cargo 2, a conglomoration of independent businesses all located in a large two storey building constructed from containers. The lighting is just right, the warmth (including that of the welcome) is just right,and the diners are just rightand give the restaurant its identity.
There’s a very self-aware, flamboyant middle-aged couple, self-consciously Bohemian in appearance, both wearing fancy hats (the man determinedly ignoring ancient etiquette that men do not wear their hats at the dining table, though, I suppose, he might just have been hiding his baldness); a man in his thirties eating a bavette steak, cutting off pieces for his small daughter who was sitting by him at the counter and dressed in a pretty floral frock; a good-looking, well-healed couple in their early thirties, looking to me like a pair of young doctors on a first date, he, neatly bearded and trendily bespectacled, talking too much and she, at times, looking bemused (I considered whispering to him that he was trying too hard); everyone there well off and living the Bristol life. Through the widow, a replica of Cabot’s ship, the Matthew, could be spotted through the crepuscular mirk of the afternoon, Atmosphere. Atmosphere. Atmosphere. If I were a painter I would have run riot recording on canvass this scene with its interesting characters and I would have felt like Toulouse Lautrec at the Folies Bergère.
There was a regular menu and a special menu made up of small plates as on previous visits; some of the items on the latter were not available, I was, I suppose, having a rather late lunch. I could not resist the salt cod croqueta which was cooked to be enticingly crispy with a nice creamy, subtly flavoured interior. The patatas bravas were, it’s true, a little less bravas than I would have liked but they were generously portioned and went well with the tender, tasty, accurately cooked 84 day aged Belmont Estate beef picanha which was aptly matched with a smooth celeriac purée and a jus which I might have liked to have had just a little more of.
Gambas is the sister restaurant to the equally excellent Bravas in Clifton, a stone’s throw away from Clifton’s railway station and nestled comfortably in the heart of this profoundly middle class hipster community. Clifton is an upmarket version of Moseley or Kings Heath and where Stirchley or Harborne may strive to radiate shabby chicness, Clifton is head and shoulders above them both in the obvious wealth of the locals and their success in recreating an English Bohemia for the 2020s. It is clearly a socialist population living very comfortably under the Conservative government which they would no doubt be the first to complain about.
I lunched at Bravas in early August on a warm and bright sunny day which added to the pleasure of it all. Given the choice of eating outside or in the interior dining area I chose the latter but was sat at the window looking out so it seemed that I got the best of both worlds. I was able to sit watching what the locals were up to - though this was midweek there appeared to be so many young people lounging about, doing nothing useful apart from immersing themselves in whatever was appearing on their mobile telephone screens. Why on earth were these people not at work?
I turned my attention away from the uselessness of youth and concentrated on the menu which had many of the same dishes as Gambas, the meals were being as small plates, to be delivered to the table as and when they were available. In view of the heat of the day, a cold Gazpacho-like soup proved to be appropriate and was served with a remarkably generously sized piece of tuna and an egg. This was excellent and if it wasn’t authentically Spanish then it should have been. This was looking very promising.
I inevitably opted for patatas bravas which were very good, crispy and nicely salted and served separately from the spicy sauce. Salt-grilled wild red prawns were very well cooked with garlic and chilli and the croquetas I ordered were crispy and very tasty. Best of all, and a contender for my dish of the year, was the fabulous, quite superb presa a la plancha, delicious beyond imagination Iberico pork with charred rosemary. A very fine dish.
The denizens of Bristol are very fortunate in having Bravas and Gambas on their doorstep. We have Purnell’s Plates which I have seen described as serving authentic Spanish dishes but to be honest, and it pains me to write it, the restaurant really does have some way to go before matching the Bristol duo.
Rating:- 🌝🌝
