Tag: 4****
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Mercure Oxford Eastgate Hotel: A Properly Oxford Place to Stay
Some hotels just get where they are. You know the sort: they don’t try to be something else, or to reinvent the wheel, or to pretend Oxford is in Dubai. The Mercure Oxford Eastgate is one of those rare spots that understands its brief perfectly: be Oxford, stay Oxford, breathe Oxford. And it does. You…
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The Talkhouse: Thank God This Pub Still Exists
Thank God places like this still exist. Honestly. Before I’d even parked the car, I could feel my blood pressure dropping. A thatched roof straight out of an Enid Blyton daydream, crooked old beams that probably remember the Civil War, an open fire crackling away as though it’s been waiting centuries just to toast your…
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Queens Lane Coffee House – Probably Quite Old.
I love it when venues claim to be the biggest, the best, or my personal favourite the oldest. It’s such a gloriously unverifiable boast. No one’s really going to cross-reference parish records or trawl through 17th-century shipping manifests to check whether your “since 1654” claim is true. And even if they did, what are they…
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The Ivy Oxford Brasserie — “Nice” in every possible sense
The Ivy brand holds an interesting position in the British psyche. It’s the restaurant equivalent of saying someone’s lovely. Not brilliant, not exceptional, just… nice. It exists in the nice parts of nice towns, where nice people go for a nice meal. The décor is nice, the service is nice, and the food, well, it’s…
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Rembrandt, Ruffs and Radioactive Bathrooms: A Business Stay at the Leonardo
Right, so I’ve just come back from a couple of days in Amsterdam, ostensibly on business, which, in my case, involves a laptop, an expense account, and the ability to identify a decent gin and tonic at twenty paces, and I was billeted at the Leonardo Hotel Amsterdam Rembrandtpark. From the outside it looks like…
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Mangosteen, Bristol: Thai Tapas That Would Make the Spanish Spit Rioja
Right, so Mangosteen on Cotham Hill. A Thai tapas place. Which is not a thing. I mean, I’m not sure they have tapas in Thailand. I imagine the word would cause the Spanish to storm out into the streets, slapping their thighs in horror and waving jamón ibérico in protest. Because “tapas” are their thing.…
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Home Farm: Glamping for People Who’d Rather Be at The Ritz
Let’s be absolutely clear from the start: I don’t camp. Anyone who’s read my reviews on my website or stumbled across me elsewhere online will know this. Camping, to me, is about as appealing as elective root canal surgery performed in a field. Four-star hotels I can handle, five stars I actively adore, but sleeping…
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Starbucks at Bristol Airport: Lukewarm Glamour, Hot Coffee
It is 7.30 on a Monday morning and the Starbucks team are ready. Four of them, finely tuned, a slick caffeine machine primed for battle. Orders fly, cups stack, names are misheard with military precision. You cannot fault them. They are sharp, cheerful, and efficient in a way that feels almost suspicious in an airport.…
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Noah’s Bristol: Beurre Blanc and Bikers’ Bladders
This is a tale of two halves. Or more precisely, a tale of two halves glued together with monkfish mousse and chip-shop grease. On the one hand, Noah’s is very good indeed. The food is excellent, the service bang on, the view of Clifton’s Regency crescents is beautiful. On the other, you’re eating your hand-caught…
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Côte Brasserie, Quakers Friars, Bristol – A Hug in Slipper Form
Sometimes — and I know this will offend the ‘small-plates-served-on-slates’ brigade — you just want to go somewhere nice, sit down, and have a good meal without the faff. No QR code menus, no foam, no bloke in a beard explaining the origin story of your butter. Just food. Hot. On a plate. With cutlery.…
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The Travel Critic 