REVIEW | The Bronx, Knutsford

NOT since a flesh-eating squirrel stalked the mean streets of Knutsford has there been such a sense of fear and outrage amongst the professional pearl clutchers of Cheshire. At least that’s what the owners of its newest bar The Bronx are hoping.

Maybe she is right – vulgarity is no substitute for wit after all

One is a tough borough that became a byword for urban decline and the birthplace of hip-hop. The other is a comfortably off (and comfortably conservative) commuter town. You can see why the New Moon Company, the enterprise behind Beef & Pudding and The Old Sessions House, decided that what Knutsford really needed was a dose of gritty urban edge. Of course, the fact that the Northern Quarter sees a good quantity of what those New Yorkers call the Bridge and Tunnel crowd (and more importantly their money) of a Saturday night, happily spending a fortune on burgers and beer, might have had something to do with it.

Chef patron David Mooney says of The Bronx in the marketing patter: “Shit hot cocktails and dead small pizzas in a cool place your grandmother wouldn't be seen dead at!” He is definitely right in one sense, my grandma is way too busy sipping whisky and bumming cigarettes off all my male friends to be bothering going to a Cheshire market town pub that has mistaken itself for a New York dive bar. But I felt riled on behalf of grandmothers nevertheless, so I borrowed one for the day and took her to The Bronx for pizzettes and alcohol.

The Bronx, Knutsford

Unfortunately, it was less a case of Nans-Gone-Wild and more Cestrians-Gone-Mild. I’d love to know if the New Mooners have ever actually been to the Bronx, New York. The website declares: “Customers are transported to the cool laid-back vibe only the New York boroughs offer.” Laidback isn’t the first word I’d associate with an area with some of the most violent crime in New York and among the lowest median income. Still, contrary to the menu’s tough-guy attitude, which declares ‘Get off your ass! Order at the bar!’, the staff are complete sweethearts, trying hard to be as helpful as possible. Grandma was impressed, though she was puzzled as to why the young gentleman behind the bar was wearing his hat indoors. ‘It’s a beanie, for keeping your head warm’ I point out. ‘So why is he only wearing a t-shirt?’ She’s right, I can’t explain that one.

As for the interiors, unsurprisingly styled with industrial lighting and graffiti, Grandma wasn’t crazy about the neon artwork which declared: ‘Trust Me. Love Me. Fuck Me.’ ‘I just think it’s rather unnecessary,’ says the Dowager Duchess next to me. Maybe she is right – vulgarity is no substitute for wit after all. Still she doesn’t seem to mind when it comes to the cocktail list, settling for the White Limes (£8, and I don’t tell her it’s named after drugs), which is powered by two different types of rum. My own cocktail, the Englishman in New York (£8.50), is a fabulously smoky affair, with a beautiful rosy colour. Built on rye and sherry with a dash of absinthe, it’s strong enough to knock Sting’s socks off. We need some food, quickly.

Englishman in New York (£8.50)

Vulgarity is no substitute for wit

The Bronx sells pizzettes. 'Pizzette' is the diminutive of pizza (I suppose ‘mini-pizza’ sounded too much like some floppy piece of molten cardboard you got for your tea in the 80s). Apart from a sprinkling of “stomach liners” (nibbly things such as olives or popcorn) that is all it sells food-wise. Clearly, drinking is the main occupation in this bar and I like this restriction. The Bronx could be churning out the same old tired burgers and mac’n’cheese and hotdogs formula that restaurateurs seem to love so much. The pizzette ‘concept’ doesn’t purport to be much more than something to soak up the booze. That’s fine, but they still need to taste good, at least when sober.

I ordered nine, yes NINE pizzas (ok pizzettes), so I’ll only mention the best or the worst here. The current deal is that one pizzette is £5, two for £9 and three for £12. They are slightly bigger than I thought they would be (you’d probably need two to feel satisfied, three on a really hungry day). They all come on boards (of course) with sweet little pizza rollers. The dough is slightly spongier than usual, making them a little bit like those Middle Eastern pizzas baked on flatbreads.

The Bronx's Pizzette

Gritty Knutsford

Grandma’s favourite was the Scotch Oak, topped with smoked salmon, tomato and vodka mascarpone. Personally, I don’t think being blasted in a hot oven is the best thing for smoked salmon, but this was robust enough in both flavour and texture to take the punishment. I particularly liked the Grass Box, which featured torn spinach, sun-blushed tomato and artichoke hearts. I also enjoyed the Fromage Homage, with its sweet balsamic onions and light grating of orange zest to offset the richness of all that cheese.

The meaty pizzettes were not so successful. The Duck & Bury, featuring smoked duck, black pudding and vimto sauce was a predictably oversweetened affair, while the broken burger meat and dill pickle of the Royale with Cheese weighed heavily on the crust, creating a damp pizza. The most effective meat-based pizzette was the Heatball, with Italian meatballs, tomato, chilli flakes, oregano and parmigiano, which had a satisfying kick.

It’s a truism that trying to be cool is perhaps the most uncool thing of all. Or perhaps trying to assess whether a bar in Knutsford is cool is more uncool. I don’t know. The pizzettes are, on the whole, decent, the drinks are good. Do the people of Knutsford want this sort of thing on their doorstop or would they prefer it to be back in the city (which city is debatable) where it thinks it belongs? Only time will tell.

The Bronx, 21 Princess St, Knutsford, Cheshire WA16 6BW

Rating: 11.5/20

Food: 6/10 (Grass Box 8, Fromage 7, Heatball 7, Scotch Oak 6, Royale 5, Duck & Bury 3)

Service: 3.5/5 – attentive and friendly

Ambience: 2/5 – about as cool as Gary Barlow doing a rap