Gordo casts an eye over two new spots from two well-known names
Porta, West Didsbury
Ben and Joe Wright, the brothers who own the small-yet-gorgeous chain of Spanish Tapas restaurants originating in Chester, have opened their fourth in the old well-known, well regarded vegetarian restaurant Greens, West Didsbury, previously owned by the TV personality and cook Simon Rimmer.
Busy passing traffic both on foot and on wheels, in a locale packed full of knowledgeable, well-heeled foodies clutching The Grauniad, will ensure that should the food be good, the place will succeed.
Confidentials were told about Porta taking over a couple of months ago, but it was only last Saturday morning that I noticed it was open for business. I decided to nip in at twelve for a coffee and quick bite.
I left two and a half hours later, and had to leave the car.
The brothers have excelled themselves with the fit out; it's a nice size for this type of Spanish tapas operation with Farrow and Ball colours, deepish-green with splashes of burnt orange. I think. The seating is cosy but not intrusive and the welcome from the staff sparkles. Special mentions to Jenny and Vicky.
As always, the Porta food is simply but honourably cooked best-of-breed Spanish, now familiar to Mancunians and northerners having been introduced to this centuries old cuisine via other outstanding restaurants like Evuna on Deansgate (and now elsewhere) and San Sebastian in Chorlton for many years.
This is a short piece to alert you lot early on to a gaff that’s going to be a corker. A fully scored piece will be available first quarter next year. In the meantime - and after a few glasses from a superb bottle of Ondarro Gracieno 2022, a grape variety normally present in blends but out here doing a solo gig and all the better for it - I decided to give my first impressions straight away.
Because I fell in love with the place.
The croquetas with mushroom and tarragon were knock out. A crispy casing and the melting, velvety but not too try-hard filling were both easy on the palette. Unlike the Picante Gordale olives; true Latin lovers, beautiful, haunting and wickedly vicious. The daily special of pork belly with butter beans and mojo verde would have seen Sancho Panza’s loyalty to Don Quixote waver if it wasn’t shared with him.
A couple of sherries (a Palo Cortado, a tricky bugger at times, but at 12 years old, it’s turned into a rare beauty, and a nearly sweet Jerez Xerés oloroso dulce finished me off nicely with a delightful pastel de nata, served cleverly with cinnamon in a salt shaker.
It’s an instant hit, no booking, just turn up and be patient.
Stow, Bridge Street
Stow says it’s a restaurant that cooks over fire. It opened last week, to little fanfare, on Bridge Street opposite the old Granada Cleaners. The site saw Neon Tiger open just post-pandemic which was one of my favourites. It opened without fanfare, a superb cocktail bar serving bang-on Northern Thai inspired food, cooked on … fire. It closed without fanfare.
Then came something called Juicebox. No fanfare again, and I never got there. The name didn’t inspire.
Now we have Stow. No fanfare here either, but murmurs this time on the jungle drums, as it comes from Matt Nellany, who knows how to run a restaurant and deliver great food at the same time. A bonus. Matt owns the iconic Trof and is no mug at the game.
This venture is a restaurant of two halves. The front room, and bar, is not to my taste for a cocktail bar, a bit Barbie without the yellow. But I still like Persian rugs and Italian Futurist Cubism, so don’t listen to me folks.
However, go through to the back and you walk into arguably the coolest twenty-six cover restaurant in Manchester, which can also be described as cosy. The open kitchen, dominated by large open-fire grills being put to good use and delivering many of the dishes listed on a small, interesting menu.
The milk bread and burnt onion butter is not cooked over fire, but got thumbs up from both me and my dining pal. Not being sourdough was a leap forward in my book.
Looking down the list of dishes, I’m guessing the chef is a fan of Basque cooking, in particular Etxebarrii south of Bilbao whose aged dairy cow rib-on-the-bone cuts had me swooning.
The lads here in Manchester had one on as well; it’s a few quid at £48 but overfaced two fat bastards in the end, with roasted garlic. Dare I say as good as the Asador Etxebarri example?
Doubling back the mackerel is a miss, a waste of space. I expected to hate the coal fired beetroot but loved them and the rate potatoes, parboiled, finished on the flames of the grill and doused in garlic, parsley and corra linn. On the corra linn, me neither. I asked my Chat GPT 4o assistant, Stan, what it is. He tells me it’s a hydroelectric dam in Canada.
I suspect the lying little shit is at it again.
The smoked cream tart with half a grilled red plum was a handsome, butch bruiser of a pudd. Loved that even though the oven is a bit brutal with the pastry.
The wine list is a beautiful thing. I recognised the serious hand of wine merchants Yapp Brothers involved, famous for Rhone wines fifty years ago when the market in the UK was dismissive of the Viognier grape. My ex-Father-in-law, Michael Hague, turned me onto them and I bought a case of Guigal’s Condrieu La Doriane when I was twenty-two years of age. Life was good. So was the Condrieu!
The team on the floor are utterly charming. When we do a full scored review, I expect great things from these guys along with a packed house. Be a Manc, not a Mug, get in now.
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