The Travel Critic

There’s a thing that happens when you live in or around Bristol long enough. You start throwing around the word institution like it’s seasoning. The Lido this, The Ivy that. But when it comes to food – proper, grown-up food that doesn’t come with a side of TikTok – there is one place that quietly, assuredly, earns that title. The Riverstation.

Now, I’ve been here many times, which is more than I can say for most people’s gym memberships. But this time? This time we did it right. A group of four to six – the sweet spot between feeling like a gathering and not needing a group chat with a spreadsheet. Some wine, some sun, and that perfect Bristol thing of being just a little bit smug about being in Bristol.

The Riverstation is smart without the kind of stuffy pomposity that gets the napkins ironed and the waiter sneering when you mispronounce jus. It’s a restaurant for grown-ups who still want to be friends at the end of the meal.

We started with a raw hand-dived Orkney scallop – which sounds like a euphemism, but isn’t. It came with cucumber, shimeji mushrooms, and a whisper of horseradish, and while the flavours were bang on – fresh, clean, like licking a glacier in a greenhouse – the texture was, how shall I put it, slightly slippy. Not bad slippy. Think passionate kiss in the rain, rather than elbow on a nightclub floor. Could’ve done with a crunch or two, but I’m nitpicking.

Main was a ribeye steak with a red wine sauce deep enough to lose your phone in. Cooked with confidence and swagger – none of that sous-vide softness or the obligatory burnt shallot tower. Just beef, sauce, and chips that had seen better days. As in, they weren’t exactly crispy, but they also weren’t sad enough to complain about. You don’t come here for chips. You come here because your colleague suggested it, and for once you’re not furious about it.

The thing about Riverstation is that the views are exactly what you want: interesting, but not the main event. A bit like sitting next to someone attractive at a dinner party – you clock them, sure, but the food’s good enough that you don’t need to flirt.

Is it the best meal you’ll have in your life? No. But it doesn’t want to be. It wants to be the place you come back to. Again and again. Like a favourite jumper that still fits. Or that friend who always picks the right wine. And that, my friends, is what makes it a proper institution.

Go with good people – ideally four to six of them – order a decent bottle, and relax. This is Bristol doing grown-up dining exactly right.