The Walrus and the Bentobox

The latest twists in my life have been taking me on somewhat of a ride - up hills of effort, down descents of excitement and in contrast to working for my previous employers seems to be keeping the doldrums and depressions short and snappy rather than protracted and bitter. It's much more fun working for myself.

So that's all good yes? Anyway one of the exciting new things on the cards may involve me going to work in Germany for a few months... which having told my ex brought up rather a lot of unpleasant reaction over the weekend, harking back to our breakup (and most worryingly seeming like she was editing the story somewhat) making me feel very very upset. Didn't help that I was rather hungover mind... In the end it got to the point where we were both sulking at each other and I just figured it wasn't any good having this going on around the kids and said my good-byes.



So the therapeutic lunch was at Walrus - where they have a rather neat five-pound "bento box" deal.

Walrus itself is all very Northern Quarter cool - and environment wise feels a bit overly WHITE... very very white... white banquettes all around with little white tables and white stools and the odd bit of duck-egg blue trim. It's also starting to look a touch shabby for all the scuff marks despite only having been open a year or so. On a busy night perhaps it makes sense, but for me on a quiet monday lunchtime it's a little jarring.

The food though wasn't bad - rice alongside meat or fish or veg in a sauce and a couple of nice little oriental nibbles on the side. For a fiver this is really rather exceptionally good - the nearest equivalents like Rice seem to cost slightly more and not be anything like as refined. It comes served in a lozenge-shaped wooden box with mandatory chopsticks. To my mind there was perhaps a bit too much sauce going on with my chicken and perhaps not enough sauce with my companion's vegetables but it was all quite tasty.

The service was order-at-the-bar where there was a slightly bored looking young Russian guy who I spoke to for a while about the betrayal of the socialist revolution and cultural variations in tea-drinking habits and education systems. The food arrived reasonably quickly and was as fuss-free as one would expect for a cheap lunch. And yes - it really is a very very good deal and despite the whiteness I will be doing it again.

The next encounter with my ex we just got on with the usual stuff and didn't talk about it... but I have a sense of foreboding...

[update, nov 2010] the bento boxes have gone down-hill somewhat of late; I went in there a few weeks back and the nice gyoza have been replaced with over-salty cremated chicken bits. Not good. Staff changes and cutbacks by the taste of it.

Falafel - or is it safe to come out yet?

Probably not... but nuts to it. [This is edit #5]

I’ve had a funny few months since the last post, including a number of ongoing changes to my life. However I’ve been pretty quiet here. Why? Because ultimately I’ve been put off by some goings on in my personal life and crossed wires on the internet. To those involved I sincerely apologise for my part in surfacing this all over the last few days. Time to move on.



I figure I may as well review Falafel in Rusholme. Manchester’s curry mile is a bewildering place - full of neon, flashy asian lads driving their souped-up micras and mondeos up and down causing hazards to navigation, jewellery emporiums, sari shops and endless endless restaurants.

I have a very close friend who lives there, someone I've never grown tired of spending time with and think the world of... one of our favourite places among the melee is Falafel - a thoroughly Palestinian purveyor of deep fried crispy chickpea delights. Falafel’s falafel is truly excellent, and while not quite on a par with Hashem in Amman it certainly tickles the spot. It’s a basic café-type place, no pretensions of restaurantness here, but formica tables and padded benches and top notch felafel, foul, mutabal and salads.

Also worth a go are the fatyer however DO NOT have the spinach one as it’s rather disgusting and tastes like the spinach has come out of a can; lamb or cheese are both much better. It’s also pretty cheap - for a few quid you can get a felafel wrapped in a soft naan with salad and a pot of mint-infused tea. If you’re not too far away it’s well worth the pilgrimage for lunch or a swift and inexpensive supper.

#piemob

There is a new anarchistic culinary passtime going down in Manchester. Piemobs are impromptu twitter-organised outings to eat pie of a Friday lunchtime. Preferably with mash, peas and gravy.

Cup in the northern quarter gets a bit of a bad rep on the intertubes for lacklustre, disorganised and unfriendly service however they do do Pieminister pies which while not exactly made on the premises are always very passable. Sadly as a mob it was a bit of a mess as a number of people bailed out leaving only three of us.



A couple of weeks later a second sitting was organised at the Bay Horse, just a few doors down Thomas Street from Cup. This time our mob counted thirteen and the pub was even warned of our impending arrival by one of the twitterers. However come 1pm their pie selection had got rather limited. There was some kind of thai-fish pie and a vegetable pie. They may have been home made but neither were really up to the mark particularly when the blackboard had various interesting sounding gamey pie items on it which were not available to us. The food all came out very haphazardly, pies followed later by gravy followed by peas followed (once we'd pretty much eaten all the pies) by chips. The peas were really the only saving grace being minty and made of gently mushed garden peas rather than processed-to-death marrowfat ones.

The bar seriously needs raising here - so if anyone has any particularly good sources of pie in central Manchester please do leave a suggestion in the comments, or call it on Twitter using the #piemob hashtag. If we don't get any good ones we might have to abandon it all and have #falafelmob instead.

Journey to the centre of Earth

Yet another tucked away hidden gem of the northern quarter is the Earth vegetarian café. It shares a rather amazing old warehouse building with the Buddhist centre - and given the large golden Buddharupa at the end of the dining area probably shares a little more than just a building.



So why am I here today. I’m in the throes of paranoia. Basically I’ve got something on the go relationship-interest-wise, with someone who is stunningly beautiful and cute and clearly pretty nicely warped. But for now it’s just that. A bit of interest. And I’ve got to stop kidding myself that anything will necessarily come of it - or on the other side talking myself down into thinking that I’ve already fucked it all up by sending silly messages or just generally being a nutbag looser. Where we are at at the moment was some kind of loose arrangement for a date tomorrow but no response to my last missive and suggestions re what to do. Thus paranoid.

So here goes the next phase of my mid life crisis. The self-doubt phase. The thing is I suppose I’ve never really done dating per-se. Is there something about me that makes people not want to communicate with me? Am I upsetting people and they are being too lilly livered to let me know? Am I just a douchebag? Am I actually so marvellous that I’m intimidatingly marvellous? Or am I just one of those most dangerous of creatures: a marvellous douchebag.

So I’ve been thinking about these kind of things. While doing so I ate a plate of mushroom roulade, broccoli, roast spuds and gravy. It was a good fill of food - the roulade thing quite cinnamonny, gravy pretty passable considering lack of meat, the veg very fresh and not over-done. The kicker though was that this and a large freshly squeezed (and admittedly astounding) drink of pear and ginger came to OVER A TENNER. Cripes it’s a canteeny-type place and prices like that make no sense whatsoever. On my way out I realised that the drink was pushing 4 quid and the veg/spud/gravy is considered 3 separate items on top of the dish itself. Harumph.

A saving grace though - the wifi is free and paswordless and the people while a little dozy with the delivery of my juice were very pleasant. All in all not a bad option for lunch - but when bringing vegetarian friends here do remember to select the wealthy ones or go sparingly on the sides. I will now restore the electricity to Buddha’s lighting array which I unplugged on arrival - as I am in a state of Moksha however this offence will not count towards my karma either way.

Koh Samui

Rainy old Manchester... after a very odd and random encounter near Oxford Road station with someone I’ve not seen in 10 years I walked up into Chinatown, walked down Princess Street, toyed with the idea of going to swanky looking Obsidian and found myself in Koh Samui instead. And I regretted it.

It was busy so as I was on my own they put me in a rather dank corner underneath the window. It had that rather unpleasant smell which reminds me of flats I've lived in where the scumbag landlord is too tight to fix the roof, pointing, etc. There is probably not much they can do about it without digging up the road but it wasn't nice.

To get me going (and because I was starved) I got a bowl of prawn crackers with some “minced beef” dip stuff. Now the dip tasted rather like some combination of pork, mayo, peanuts and chilli-oil and so it may have been. Either it was something incredibly authentic or perhaps it was a joke-dish. I don't like mayo very much at the best of times.

The fish soup tasted good but was severely let down by the rather chewy bits of shellfish, once a scallop has got to the point of looking like limestone pavement it’s ruined. Really. Prawns and squid just as bad.

For mains I had "crispy" belly pork with morning glory. The morning glory was interesting, though I did have to remind myself that it is a bit like eating bind-weed. Sadly the pork wasn't the melty glorious experience I had hoped for and was more chewy than crispy.

The other diners, western mostly, seemed to be having a good time on christmas or end-of-term parties and perhaps this is the more appropriate method to visit such a place. But really I didn't rate it and won't be going back.

Dough and Apotheca

A new restaurant landed in the northern quarter last week looking rather like a classy pizza place. Walking past I see tables and so forth but no indication of what it's called other than some very squiggly bits of red neon. What does it say? Dougal? Dongh? Dough!


A cold and hungry Sunday evening arrived and buoyed by the shout-out from Sarah Hartley earlier in the day I thought that instead of sitting at home and eating noodles, bacon, veg and peanut butter again I'll brave the cold and go check it out. I dithered at the door and thought I'd pop in to Trof for a quiet drink while I try and rustle up some kind of companion with whom to test Dough. Then I saw a nameless bar. What's this? Oh it's actually part of Dough, but it's a bar. Inside they reliably inform me that it's called Apotheca and that the sign will arrive next week. The bar is dark and classy and typical Northern Quarter, all cocktails-and-kegs. They have a huge photograph of some sheep on one wall and fittings lovingly reconstructed to look like an old chemist. The aesthetic is that characterised by the Mighty Boosh as "elements from the past and the future combining to make something not quite as good as either". I sneer slightly but it's quite pleasant and I look the part with my laptop and pint of Peterman. It's a mash-up!

My search for a companion drew a blank - albeit a blank with a promise to do something else some other time. So it's just me. I sat, chatted with a friend who had walked in looking for a job (though didn't try to entice him into dining as he has a gig next-door) and perused the menu. My mate assured me that the cocktail menu was pretty diverse and that (in his professional experience) you don't just don't get that in many places round here - perhaps in "socio-rehab" but that's it. I remain non-plussed. The food menu by contrast was pretty much pizza and pasta but with one or two interesting twists here and there. Moroccan pizzas, special-dietary versions - gluten or dairy free.

So I want some food. There are big glass doors between the bar and the restaurant however they remain rather closed and with half a pint in my hand all I can do is knock and beckon at a waitress on the other side who acknowledges me and vanishes. Seconds later she emerges from a door and explains that I have to follow her down some stairs where there is another bar, past the toilets and into the restaurant. This makes me realise quite how huge it is as the already capacious upstairs dining area extends into another relatively big space downstairs. Upstairs it now has only two other people in it (excluding staff) and was rather cold. I know it's a false economy to run the heating when there's no-one in a place but however ecologically sound the reasoning might be it's not nice. The other couple still had their scarves on. We all know that an empty restaurant is never a good advertisement for itself particularly when the windows are so big so they've really got to get some bodies in here somehow and keep em warm.


Starters - cured meats in a red wine sauce. Read bits of various hot salami-type-things in a pool of liquid - dirty but nonetheless very very tasty. I must reek of garlic now - could perhaps have done with a bit more bread to soak up that sauce (again there's the European in me coming out) but terribly tasty and enjoyable with the various chunks seeming to have radically different flavours.

Then I had gnocchi with bits of beef. The gnocchi themselves perhaps a little soft but in general very passable with strips of tender beef, sundried tomatoes and a heaping of mozzarella on top. It was pretty heavy, but then it's supposed to be heavy.


Ultimately my verdict is that they need to decide one way or the other as to how integrated the two halves of the place are. On a Friday or Saturday night it may make sense to treat them as distinct entities but on a Sunday when it's quiet there is no reason why they shouldn't open up the doors and let people travel through. And if you're eating it shouldn't be great shakes to put the bar bill on the tab with your food. It's early days yet and there are clearly teething issues to be worked out but if it can run slickly with a few hundred people in there it will certainly fill a gap in the Northern Quarter eatery ecology. Provide them with the bodies they need and check it out.

Red N Hot, Chinatown

Manchester's Chinatown is a slightly daunting place with restaurants, supermarkets and a hundred and one associated emporiums crammed in a few blocks of tall northern brickwork. Making a decision as to where to go can be pretty tough.

One of my favourites which I found pretty early on in my wanderings is Red N Hot an authentic Szechuan restaurant, tucked away up a flight of stairs on Faulkner Street. The restaurant has been refurbished recently and taken on a much more stylish appearance with it, before this it was pretty basic feeling but consistently packed with Chinese people tucking in to all manner of peculiar things. I've rarely seen many western faces in there, perhaps because the stairs and the fact that you can't see in from the street puts off the less intrepid visitors.

So how brave are you? A must is the hotpot - you are delivered a cauldron of boiling stock (normally divided into spicy and not-spicy segments) and a tray of raw ingredients which you cook yourself in the pot. The selection of fish, meat, noodles, veg, mushrooms and other bits can of course tailored to your dietary needs - though it's likely the stock isn't of purest vegetable origin... Chuck a few things in and fish them out when you're happy with how they're done. Take your time. They have recently replaced the gas burners and bottles in the tables which really hampered legroom, the new electric hotplates being way more sensible.



The regular dishes can be just as daring - fancy a plate of "Duck tongues" or "Pigs ears"? I tried them both at the same time which was a bit much. If you're in for a bit of a banquet they do a marvellous pork hock which is devilishly huge - the manager described it along the lines of "In Chinese families it's the dish we cook when the prodigal children come home from the big city".

Update: Apart from the upgraded tables (edited in above) they have also introduced ordering via laptop - which seems like a bit of a gimmick but somehow managed to deliver our starters phenomenally quickly. In combination with the hotplates I suspect we may find that the laptops have nice melty edges after a while...

Live from the Met

Didsbury isn't really my normal stomping ground but this Sunday afternoon (while recovering from an excellent and really quite silly party) I found myself in The Metropolitan, a very very large and exceedingly busy pub. For the lunchtime shift you have to negotiate your way past hoards of yummy mummies cooing sickeningly over their tiny spawn who are of course happily ensconced in their obligatory Bugaboos. It's that or bright young things being seen in the place to be seen - a balance which presumably tips more in their favour later in the evenings.

We were first told we'd have to wait a while for a table down at the back end of the place but miraculously a different one at the front became vacant and we pounced. Being crammed to the rafters this Sunday wasn't exactly making the staff happy - our initially rather surly waitress came and asked us if we wanted to order food and when we said "Yes" she wiped the table down and promptly took our menu away. Erm.... Helpful. However once our menus had been returned, a few other tables wiped down and the order had finally been taken and paid for (in advance mind) the time from kitchen to table was actually pretty quick. The menu clearly is carefully designed to make this an efficient ship.

The food is of typical pub variety but with a classy edge; soups, starters, roasts, burgers, and risottos (i.e. veg/pescetarian slops) each of which containing some kind of slightly fancy ingredient or other. The menu also has some "interesting" touches involving use of "quotations" like Sirloin of "Cheshire" beef and Risotto of "native" seafood. Quite where the seafood is "native" to was not mentioned and we tittered over the concept of mock-welsh lamb.

My burger was presented with a dollop of blue cheese, some tomato relish, a little salad and some much needed chips. Oh and the inevitable cocktail stick stabbed through its heart. The meat was perhaps a tad chewy but then this is supposed to be a posh burger made of nuggets of real meat and not factory scrapings. Steak hashé it ain't but it was just what I needed. It wasn't even over-cooked, with a bit of pink left in the centre - I hadn't specified or been asked how I wanted it doing though.

My fellow diners seemed pretty content with their selections and certainly very glad to be fed. With wallet ten pounds lighter and stomach much improved for being loaded back up I bade farewell to my ashen-faced companions, went back home and totally failed to get to sleep till 5am. Too much stuff churning in my head and general feelings of stressyness... waaaaa....

Meat defeat at Pau Brazil

It's another Northern Quarter Novelty Eatery... Pau Brazil is on the corner of Lever Street and Great Ancoats and is open from noon-til-midnight every day.

The fatal mistake to make is to think it's like a Chinese buffet and load up your plate with heaps of stuff from the central counter. There are lovely stews there (melty oxtail mmmm) but by filling yourself too quickly there is the danger that you'll miss out on the main event. It's a drink and graze kind of place, not a big fat heap of food on your plate and stuff it all in job.

The "churrascaria" concept exemplified here is that you sit down, get some drinks and perhaps a bit of salad and the waiters will meander around the restaurant with large bits of meat on spikes and slice some chunks off for you as they pass. You are also given a set of coloured discs with which you can control the waiters' attention traffic-light style. Green for "more meat", red for "leave us alone". It took us quite a long time to figure this out - by which point we were very very full.

The meat on spikes thing - I think you can afford to be a little fussy with... don't be shy to send a cut of meat away if it looks a little dry, there will be another one along in a minute. Saying which bit you want - "I want that nice juicy fatty bit from the top please" is perfectly acceptable form.

For £22.50 a head (fixed price, not including drinks) it's really not a cheap dinner, but it is good fun and certainly memorable. Again it does get busy and is worth booking ahead. Hopefully if I can find a suitable meat-eater to accompany me I'll get to try Manchester's other (and marginally cheaper) Brazilian offering, Tropeiro. Oh and next time I'll prepare myself for taking it all very very slowly.

Did I say - don't try taking vegetarians out here. You'll look very stupid okay!

Ning nang nong

It's been over a year though I've not been missing out on lunches, dinners or otherwise in the meantime... Just missing out on passing them around the gentle readers of this blog. A few recent encounters with fellow mancloggers though has given me the strength to pick up the ailing laptop and hit the keys. Let's just damn well get it out there. Thanks folks.

So... What's been happening? I'm living in a nice little flat somewhere in central Manchester (no longer time-sharing with my mum) and having a complicated old time dealing with the changes in my domestic life.

So where have I gone when things go wrong? To Ning (nang nong) on Oldham Street - which is a most wonderfully excellent Malay / Thai / Indonesian restaurant suitably bedecked with fancy wallpaper and lightfittings. I've been there a bunch of times with friends (and not easy-to-please ones at that) and apart from being conveniently near my flat is an absolutely guaranteed crowd pleaser.

Hitting the slightly-non-standard oriental boxes while being accessible (offal is in short supply here) they manage to conjure up very flavoursome food packed with more peanuts than a Marathon bar and enough chilli to make your brains explode a few times over the course of the night (not in a constant way like a vindaloo mind - contrast is the thing here).

It's popular - if you're going there on a weekend really make sure you book. I've been turned away on several occasions and squeezed in begrudgingly on a few others. On a weekday there is a bit more slack but really it's a plan worth executing with some forethought.

My favourites here, starters being a major temptation; the Gado Gado salad, the "street style" fritters (real name escapes me but they are amazing!) nicely cooked calamari, and actually just pick things at random that you've never heard of and you really can't go wrong. Vegetarians can just about get by here and they seem happy and able to do vegetarian versions of many dishes, fish and meat eaters will be very happy bunnies.

And if you really want to get stuck in they do cookery classes - the perfect gift for any special chef in your life.... I'd like a special chef...

Red Chilli

Here's one that got away - and a very nice one at that. We're back in Chinatown on Portland Street. Reassuringly Red Chilli seems to use a one-stream approach to chinese quisine so no need (as Neil Sowerby sort of said) to go for off-menu macho jackass behaviour. And best of all it's not just boring old Cantonese. When I was in there it was heaving with happy diners, mostly oriental. A good sign. Sweet Mandarin by contrast was totally British though I suppose in a very different catchment area.

For starters I had "beijing dumplings" which I have fond memories of eating far too many of when my dad's friend Chen cooked for us back home in Lancaster when I was about 7. Never seen them at a restaurant before.

Then I think for the main I had some kind of bird-nest-fish-basket thing which was pretty spicy as I remember. It was fine but I was already creaking under the weight of all those dumplings. Perhaps I should have read the rest of Neil's review and had the Lamb dish. Well worth a visit and definitely to be returned to at some point.

Sweet Mandarin

I went to a very glass-fronted place in the northern quarter (opposite the previously reviewed TNQ) called Sweet Mandarin. It looked nice enough - quite modern with nice wall-size photos of rice in fields and origami cranes instead of the washed-out paintings of pagodas and those funny gold cats with the waving arm.

The service was pretty slow. They were quite busy but not exactly heaving so not really an excuse. The food certainly passable. I started with a wanton soup which was fine - quite heavy on the sesame oil - but tasty and really not bad at all. The main course was sweet and sour king prawns. The menu enticed me with fancy names thinking that this might be a little different from your average S&SP but really it wasn't anything special. Ultimately I felt a little fobbed off by the flowery descriptions.

This didn't come cheap - but to add insult, at the end they managed to get my bill wrong to the tune of a tenner. I was not best pleased and in my ire refused to pay the service charge once they had worked it out properly.

Update: A return visit recently revealed little new of note. I went with a couple of friends and while the food was certainly passable it wasn't in the same league as the star attractions of Chinatown.

Simple

A long day at work - getting out around six I ended up on a Victoria train again. Wandering through meant that my impulsiveness got the better of me and I headed into Simple as I had thought it looked nice from the outside a few times. I sat down, asked for a beer and swiftly realised that the musky smell that had been following me around for the latter part of the day was my own BO. I stink. But after some kerfuffle with an out-of-date menu (no leffe, no crabcakes) I've committed to soup and a rare burger. I feel like I've got a green mist around me... Where is my emergency Mitchum when I need it?

Simple is a cafe bar type afair - with big floral wallpaper and huge chunky ornate mirrors, the odd cheap-looking crystal chandelier and some bits of modernity (stripes) to balance it all out. It's about 60% tables 40% sofas.

The tomato and basil soup was fine. It contained vegetables but was nothing too amazing. Came with some ciabatta bread. Nothing to report, bit of a boring choice/option really. Then again the place is supposed to be "simple". Perhaps that is the point....

One good thing about it - they have very easy wireless access, just connect to the one called "NETGEAR". I'm writing this live for a change. Simple. But keeping their SSID (and presumably the router's password) on the default is slightly more clueless than simple to be honest.

Then comes the main. A rare burger with blue cheese. It came in a bun with a bit of salad and some not-too-fat potato wedges. It was certainly rare enough and actually a very tasty thing. In fact I think I've got it now. It's just simply a burger and quite a nice one. Simple init. I'd better get out of here before I start driving the other customers away.

Shang-Hi and beyond

The other night a friend came over to Manchester and we went out, to a few pubs bars and one of the innumerable chinese buffet places near the flat. We had a good time - reminiscing, bitching, coming up with photographic projects involving dressing up as Batman and standing on rooftops, that kind of thing.

Shang-hi seems to be marginally classier than your average buffet. Before we got anywhere near the buffet they brought us (completely unbidden) some crispy duck with pancakes and various meaty dainties. Declare any vegetarianism at the door I suppose. Anyway it was pretty good but after a plate full of noodles and mains I felt like Mr Creosote and really couldn't eat any more despite really wanting to. I think the rule has to be that you should starve yourself for the rest of the day before going to such a place, one I had clearly neglected.

I felt distinctly queasy after the meal and was taking it pretty easy on the beers. We went to the very arty Sandbar off Oxford road (one of my mate's old haunts) and thence meandered up to the Northern Quarter. He had to get the train back to Macclesfield around 10 but after he had gone I hung about for a bit, missing one or two attempts at being pulled; first by a lady who was falling asleep and wanted help - what kind of help? a bed... I extracted myself from her arms. Then by some girls who were bothering the bouncers outside and shouted "coming with us?" when they got their taxi. I think on balance I'm just not in the space for such encounters yet. My mate thought a good shag would do me good. Perhaps one day.

New Samsi, Whitworth Street

I came in to town via Victoria which gave me the excuse to sit for a while in an armchair on the top floor of Trof - mainly blogging previous meals. They sure get excited when you ask them to do a cocktail in there, the barman was tossing Tabasco all over the place. I figured my liver would probably benefit from my stopping drinking already, headed back to the flat to get my camera and came straight back out to the New Samsi Japanese restaurant on Whitworth Street.



I've not had much proper Japanese food before but what sushi I've had, mainly from Marks and Sparks, I have greatly enjoyed. I asked for a pot of tea and perused the menu for interesting looking things. Octopus sushi. That sounds nice. And erm what else. I asked my pretty kimono-clad waitress what was good and she asked if I wanted something really Japanese, pointed down to the bottom of the menu where there was something involving pork and "sweet egg". Sadly I chickened out and went for the eggless version above it - next time I promise to be more brave.



The octopus was very thinly sliced, had suckers and wiggly bits and looked like four little works of art when delivered on their little porcelain shelf each wrapped with a little bit of rice. It seemed such a shame to hack them into their constituent parts, smear them in soy and wassabi and eat them, but that's what had to be done. The octopus was a little rubbery but then they just are aren't they.



The next course arrived and looked rather like a Viener Schnitzel. With a bit of salad on the side and some sweet sticky sauce poured over. Schnitzel are normally lean but this was proper full-fat melty pork belly inside and was very very nice. I finished my tea, took a few more photos for good measure and left feeling full and content.

Paella at the Cornerhouse

I quite like the Cornerhouse, as do half the trendy arty Powerbook-weilding bods of Manchester. No trouble fitting in there then but it can get pretty crowded - or convivial perhaps. I came, had some coffee, used their wi-fi for a while and I realised I was hungry. I'll have a bottle of Entire Stout and a paella please. And you know what, there was nothing wrong with it at all. Massive juicy (tender and in no-way rubberised) prawns, bits of chorizo, mussels, chicken and lots of nice yellow rice. All served in one of those cast iron things with handles. I ate every scrap.



I've had the food in there a number of times now - and considering that it isn't their core business (that would be drink followed by the cinema I suspect) for a nice lunch at semi-reasonable prices it's very good. The menu is basically Mediterranean in style, pizzas, bowls of meatballs (ask for extra bread to mop up the sauce if you get these), paella and so forth. Sit, sup, open your laptop and for god's sake try to look cool.

Happy seasons, Chinatown

It was Sunday night - in all honesty I was still a little wonky after going out on Saturday so rather than cook the various things I had in the fridge I went out for some Chinese. I find trying to research Chinese restaurants in Manchester a very confusing business as most of the reviews seem to be either WRITTEN IN CAPITALS and/or very very short. I had better not let the side down:



HAPPY SEASONS IS A GREAT RESTAURANT IT'S NOT BIG BUT THEY HAVE REAL CHINESE PEOPLE IN THERE AND UPSET SOUNDING DANES. CHINESE PEOPLE DRINK TEA AND USE CHOPSTICKS. DANES USE KNIVES AND FORKS AND DRINK BEER. I HAD VERY GOOD SOUP WITH WANTONS IN IT AND SOME KIND OF PORK AND CABBAGE DISH.



Stop shouting for goodness sake. Thing is there are SO many restaurants I need to go to a few more to get a proper handle on where is actually good. This place certainly had a bit of not-posh charm and was indeed full of genuine Chinese people ordering a completely different sub-set of food from the westerners. Chopsticks in one hand, little spoon in the other, a big slurp of tea, and bones left scattered across the table they came in ones and twos for a quick fix or in parties for lingering conversation.

The two-stream approach does bother me a bit - like they take the same food but take the bones out if you're European. It's like having the crusts cut off the bread by a well-meaning but ultimately mis-guided parent. Call me strange but I can't stand such mollycoddlement. Next time I go to one of these places I'm going to ask for tea, get talking to the staff and see if I can get the good stuff. Rant over.



The food was pretty good really, particularly the soup which was lovely and watery and full of good things. The menu so extensive that there must have been all sorts of interesting stuff hiding in there - I was very tempted by the rather expensive scallop dishes in the seafood section at the front but think I didn't exactly do badly with the pork with preserved cabbage. It doesn't matter what culture you come from, pork and cabbage is always a winner!

The Castle - return visit

Not content to go straight home I went down to the Castle again. I figure a good way to establish oneself in a community is to go to the pub a few times. Tonight I got as far as the back room and found the piano and a bunch of very very worse for wear welsh people with long hair. They were playing guitar very badly - only about three strings remained. According to the girl who was with them they had been totally fucked for about three days now. I suppose that's what passes for rock and roll. Sad. I was on my second half of Old Tom by the time they asked if anyone played the piano. I sheepishly raised my hand and tried to follow the three string chaos. We got some giggles from the bearded local biker types which was the best accolade available.

The piano is of course totally fucked as well. It's way out of tune and there are many many missing notes. Middle C was a great start being quite absent. I think some kind of piano restoration fund might be needed here. Still, limitation is probably the mother of invention and I enjoyed just going with it.

I might pop back for the open mic night next Monday - sounds like they are ok and it's so long since I've done anything like that. Could even prepare some little samples to go with if I get the time. I should sample the piano to get a hold on the tuning first.

Note: This is not an eatery, they do not do food.

Update April 09: The Castle has re-opened resplendent with new landlords and toilets. A piano restoration fund has been officially established and is doing well. Pay them a visit and follow them on twitter @thecastlehotel and do stick some pennies in the piano pot!

Happy Birthday Yann

Now I do somehow have to reconstruct some kind of life so I've taken a few opportunities (on doctors advice I might add) to go out and get ratted and meet people.



My latest attempt at this was on Saturday night when I meandered my way along to Oldham Street and the Castle Hotel. I had read on the internet that it was an un-fucked-about-with pub which did good real ales and sometimes saw impromptu gigs by the real musos. I'm not so bothered about the real musos but the real ales and some friendly un-fucked-about-with people would be fine. Can't go wrong really.

On the way there I inevitably got accosted by some Gypsy flower ladies and couldn't resist a quick chat in Romanian. They were only too happy to oblige and gave me a carnation for my trouble. In hind-sight I really ought to have given them some pennies for it but wracked with guilt I figured I was better giving it to the pub rather than not paying for it and then throwing it away. That would just be sad.

I don't know who this guy is but he has a very nice tash

I had a bloody great night. I sat at the bar, drank quite a bit of their incredibly dangerous Old Tom, talked nonsense with incoming punters who miraculously wanted to buy me Tequila. I photographed the ornaments, the barpeople and then leaving the kind man who bought the Tequila a rather long way behind marched down to the Night and Day Cafe. The bouncer let me in with an "is it just you on your own?" which I thought sounded a bit odd - only to discover that it was the owner Yann's 60th Birthday party. Not a bad party to crash on my first night out in Manchester I'd say. The rest of the night starts to blur - but I did try not to overdo it too much from then on as I knew I had to be out and sober by lunchtime. Many languages were spoken, some human. Happy birthday Yann - it was nice to meet you. It was nice to meet everyone else too. I'm sure I'll be back for more...



Note: Night and day do food during the day but I've never eaten it

The Northern Quarter (TNQ)

This was the day that I left my partner. I dragged my bag and pan into the office, phoned my mum, agreed to go stay with her for the night and went out for some dinner while I waited for her to get home from a prior engagement. I rolled into Victoria station and meandered around looking for a suitable spot. I was almost tempted by Nosh but then thought I'd had enough Chinese lately and that I would carry on walking a little. Soon I found myself at The Northern Quarter or TNQ - as you might have guessed it is named so because it is in the Northern Quarter. Go figure. It has very big windows and seemed busy despite it being a little early. I walked in, worked out where to sit and got a glass of wine while I perused the menu.

Being a little bit skint at the moment I thought I shouldn't be too naughty (who am I being naughty at anyway? erm it's up to me for goodness sake) and went for the two courses for 9.99 early bird menu. I had squids and noodles again as a starter and a burger for the main. Both were very well presented - the squid peppery and tender, the burger chunky and satisfying. BUT had I not been so preoccupied with my domestic situation I probably should have asked for the burger to be done rare. Having been brought up on french steak hache dripping with blood, it always feels rather disappointing when burgers - particularly good quality ones - are totally cooked. Hey, there is always next time. The chips were almost certainly pre-prepared frozen chips - which I thought they could have done themselves, but hey what do I expect on the cheap menu. Next time I'm going to have the a-la-carte menu and ask for my food still twitching.

There are no pictures on the walls in the main body of the restaurant however by the entrance to the toilets there is a large picture of Luke Skywalker. Is he inviting constipated patrons to use the force? Perhaps. The staff took a few moments to look blankly as I said this before coming out with peels of laughter and whispering among themselves.