The Highland Laddie, Leeds

At first, you can't quite believe what you're seeing. Right in the middle of a cluster of modern high-rises, behind a large neon-lit casino and steps away from a giant ugly motorway junction, is a beautiful little brick-built pub that seemingly has no business being there. How it's managed to survive presumably several attempts to raze it over the years I don't know, but it stands there proudly now, like the New York tenement block from Batteries Not Included, tastefully restored and full of happy customers. Even if I didn't quite need to book my table there 6 months in advance, well, I'm glad I did.

Inside, there are two cozy rooms, one it seems mainly for drinks (the beer and cider list is excellent) and one serving as a little restaurant. It would be well worth a visit to this gorgeous space just for a pint and a packet of crisps - and like any good gastropub, they have absolutely no problem with you doing just that - but the Laddie also serve a food menu so full of excitement and invention it deserves to be spoken about alongside some of the very best pubs in the country.

We started with oysters, 8 of them so we got to try two of each of the suggested serving methods between us. My favourite - as is often the case - was plain lemon juice but the house hot sauce, a remarkably punchy fermented affair, also drew some appreciative noises. The oysters, as you might hope from a city with some of the best fishmongers in the country, were perfectly opened, lean and fresh. That above is one of the few photos I took that evening that's in focus, too, so apologies for the others that follow below.

A half pint of prawns were perhaps if I'm going to be brutal very slightly overcooked and underseasoned but still perfectly edible. The Marie Rose sauce was great though, and I love the fact that serious gastropubs are still doing pints of prawns because they're as much a part of proper English pub tradition as steak and ale pie or fish and chips.

Paneer kebab had a lovely delicate touch of the coals, with nice blackened bits on the grilled veg and paneer that was crunchy on the outside and fluffy and soft inside.

Scallops, each served with a good, dark crust all sweet and salty, would have been worth an order served straight up, but here they came in a fantastic vinegary smoked bacon broth which had everything you needed to bring out the best in the scallops.

I didn't get a chance to try these stuffed Jersey royals - they look nice though don't they. I'm only really putting the picture up out of completeness and because it's almost in focus, which is more than you can say for the rest of the dishes.

Asparagus demonstrated another technically impressive way with a charcoal grill, were seasoned perfectly, and came with a very decent Bearnaise, packed full of fresh tarragon.

So far so lovely, and the Laddie would be the top of my list of Leeds recommendations if we'd stopped there, but it was with the larger dishes towards the bottom of the menu that the kitchen really started showing what it was capable of.

Firstly there was this giant pork meatball with wild garlic butter, an intensely flavoured yet remarkably light and easy to eat dish which was so packed with umami I think they may have put some parmesan cheese in the mince as well as on top. But either way, it was a brilliant thing and one of the highlights in a meal not short of highlights.

And this giant pork schnitzel, with a bubbly, golden-brown crust and draped in fried eggs and anchovies, which everyone agreed was something else they'd definitely order again. Schnitzels always come with the risk of being too greasy (or maybe I've just been unlucky) but this had just the right balance of greaseless, crunchy coating and thick, tender pork and was an absolute delight.

Also a delight was the house sliced ham "from the fire", which as well as being extremely good in its own right came with a bloody mustard menu, a new experience for this jaded blogger. And also not pictured was a brilliant rabbit hot pot, seasoned well and full of flavour and a wonderful texture - not easy to achieve with rabbit stew.

I'm sorry, then, the photos tailed off towards the end, and if you have a look at the final menu for 8 people you'll see yet more dishes I've not mentioned, but you'll have to take my word that everything was at least good, and occasionally superb - even the house bread (sorry, "dinner roll") was sweet and soft and salty in that brioche-y style. And it would be criminal not to mention the service too, who made you feel like you were invited to dinner in their own houses - it's a style of service, warm and friendly but also staggeringly efficient, that really lifts the whole experience of eating there onto another level.

So yes, I had an absolute blast at the Highland Laddie and urge you to book a table as soon as you possibly can. Unfortunately, due to its tiny size, its growing reputation in Leeds and elsewhere, and the fact it won the Good Food Awards number 1 best pub in Britain not to long ago (way to spoil our fun, guys), that's easier said than done, but if you do squeeze in you'll be rewarded with one of the most enjoyable and singular menus in the whole country. This pretty old interwar (I think... internet is inconclusive) pub, having already survived 100+ years of upheaval and change, looks towards the future full of confidence and brimming with talent. A jewel of a place.

9/10

The Three Horseshoes, Batcombe

We were incredibly lucky with the weather on a mini-break to Somerset, in that it only rained some of the time, not all of the time. I am a huge advocate of tourism in rural UK, and have yet to find a part of the country I didn't get on with at all (and I've been to Blackpool), but the fact is it really really helps if you get a bit of sun. Pootling around the back lanes of Batcombe in the morning sun is a joy - slightly less fun is battling your way home through driving rain in soaked jeans under a £7 Boots umbrella that really isn't up to the task.

To offset the threat of inclement weather spoiling our attempts to holiday, then, we find it helps to have a nice gastropub dinner to look forward to. The Three Horseshoes is owned and run by Margot Henderson, of Rochelle Canteen fame (a place I enjoyed very much), and this village pub in a quaint 18th century building was the hook from which we'd hung our four day trip. If nothing else, even if the skies thundered and gales blew, we'd be able to escape the storm for a few precious hours of a Tuesday night and have a nice hearty dinner.

Events kicked off brightly enough, with a martini. It's probably too much to expect a local pub to have space to keep frozen glasses, but they'd made up for it with a superbly cold drink, and how many local pubs do you know that can make a martini anyway? Was only £10 too - take that, London.

Food-wise, things began more shakily. My own starter of mussels was pretty disastrous - unseasoned, almost entirely flavourless things in a thin, characterless "sauce" which tasted of little more than sweet vegetable stock, it must have taken real skill to turn fresh (I assume) mussels into something so insipid. The one saving grace was a slab of toasted sourdough underneath which was - bizarrely - lovely, although when we asked for a separate portion of the same bread they said they didn't have any. Odd.

Other starters were good, though. Fish soup had a robust flavour and the rouille/mayo loosened it all up nicely. This came with giant chunks of more excellent fried sourdough they didn't have, adding plenty of crunch.

Early season asparagus were also excellent, served slightly warm under a blanket of genuinely great sauce gribiche, chunks of pickles and egg and herbs bound with a tart mustardy sauce and topped with crunchy breadcrumbs (that they didn't have). It's baffling that a kitchen capable of the fish soup and these lovely asparagus would think those mussels were worthy of sending out, but maybe they were a genuine mistake.

My main course was lamb and laverbread sausage, and a very fine thing it was too - lean and salty and packed full of flavour, even if this was just a case of sensible sourcing (presumably from a local butcher) rather than technical skill. However, the lamb jus that surrounded it was also superb, silky smooth and a perfect balance of umami, salt and fat. The creamed leeks - despite the addition of wild garlic - were a little bit boring but maybe there would have been too much going on if these had been as powerfully seasoned as the sausage and sauce. Overall there was still plenty here to enjoy.

Wild garlic also featured in the brill en papillote, a nice little traditional French affair which means the fish and all the veg steam together like a kind of buttery stew. The fish itself was lovely - meaty and bright white, lifted by a good amount of the wild garlic which we had seen growing all over Batcombe earlier in the day. And full marks to the Three Horseshoes kitchen for flexibility when it came to a dairy-free member of our table, who got the same fish simply grilled with a side of kale - a concession they were under no obligation to make but which was really appreciated.

But best of all - and I'm not being facetious here at all - was a portion of chips cooked in dripping, which had a brilliant deep flavour and stayed crunchy and crisp right until the very last one.

Desserts were also notable - particularly a rhubarb "pavlova" which despite looking like someone had dropped it from a height had the most amazing flavour, richly creamy and spiked with vanilla. Cider sorbet was decent - perhaps the texture was a bit rough but that could just be personal preference, it still didn't last long. Washed down with a glass of Somerset cider brandy, it made for a very enjoyable end of the evening and the calvados did a good job of fortifying us for the journey home - only a 10 minute walk to our Airbnb on the other side of the village but in conditions best described as "difficult". I must remember to buy a better umbrella.

But the Three Horseshoes was, despite the weather - or perhaps because of it, worth the effort. With plenty to drink and eat the bill came to just over £75 per head, pretty reasonable for 2026 and certainly less than you can pay elsewhere for a similar sort of thing. They're not reinventing the wheel here in Batcombe, they're just serving a solid, accessible selection of seasonal gastropub dishes that (mussels aside) generally deliver on style and flavour, and if I wouldn't make a special journey all the way out to rural Somerset to eat here, if I was local and looking for somewhere to shelter on a cold and wet March evening, it would be my first choice. And, admittedly, my only choice. But not a bad choice at all.

7/10

The Hart, Marylebone

In an ideal world this would be a post about the 'proper' upstairs restaurant at the Hart, a serious (though not by all accounts stuffy) dining room serving seasonal British food in the heart of Marylebone village. Unfortunately, due to a combination of my own lack of organisation and the wild popularity of the Hart (despite it only being open a couple of months), the 'proper' dining room was full, and so on this particular Saturday lunchtime we settled for a series of the Hart bar 'snacks' served to our cozy, Christmassy corner table downstairs.

I say 'snacks' in inverted commas because the Hart team (also behind the brilliant Pelican in Notting Hill) do not do anything so straightforward as bar snacks as you might know them elsewhere. At first glance they may look like familiar stuff - pork scratchings, cheese straws, pork pie - but they're all made in-house in the same kitchen that's churning out the full A La Carte upstairs, and are level above what you might expect for the pretty reasonable prices they're charging.

These are the cheese straws for example - warm (probably not baked to order but at least nicely reheated) and crispy and gooey and topped with shaved gruyere (I think) - three giant pieces for £6.

Radishes were crisp and full of life and although I perhaps would have preferred the usual salt dip than the mayo-mustard (actually, ideally both), they were still extremely easy to enjoy. I wonder if one day we'll ever see the giant tennis ball-sized radishes in this country that I fell in love with in Seville a couple of years back? I'm keeping my eyes open.

The pork pie did seem like quite good value on paper (well, chalkboard) until you realise you're only served half of one. But it was a very good pie, with just enough salty, savoury jelly to season without being too much, and came with a dollop each of powerful English mustard and chutney.

The Hart make their own pork scratchings too (of course) and these were distressingly addictive - just the right amount of crunch without being tooth-shattering, enough soft fat without being sickly, and again seasoned perfectly. These disappeared almost as far as anything else on the table.

Sardines on toast came in the form of a kind of smooth whipped paté, evenly spread on excellent toasted sourdough. A fairly straightforward thing I suppose, but fish on toast in its many forms is one of my favourite things in the entire world (see also L'Escala anchovies on tomato-garlic bread) so I devoured this enthusiastically.

Next, chicken liver, a wonderfully cheffy silky-smooth version which spread like butter and tasted many times more rich and indulgent than its price point (£11) suggested. Toast was super thin and crunchy and melba-like and it also came with some very nice pickled pear (I think it was) chutney. No reusing of house chutneys in different dishes at the Hart, thank you very much.

And then finally the main event - something the Americans might call a loose meat sandwich but which the Hart call a 'mince roll'. A giant mound of gooey, salty, beefy rubble spilled out of and soaked through a toasted brioche bun, making the eating of it a rather messy but ultimately hugely rewarding process. When Quality Chop started doing their mince on toast back in the day I had optimistically assumed it would be the start of a new mince revolution, but I think it still feels to most people like too low-rent an addition to a modern British menu. Well, I love it, and I love the Hart mince rolls.

This wasn't an invite, but I was very kindly treated to this lunch and didn't see a bill. But with a couple of pints each (the beer list is good - we went for Deya Steady Rolling Man) and a mince roll each (I was hardly about to share, now, was I) I imagine the total would have come to around £140, so about £47 each - perfectly reasonable for a good couple of hours entertainment on a Saturday lunchtime. And the upstairs menu seems equally good value - starters £17 and under, no mains over £28 (not even the steak) - it's no wonder the place is popular.

The cliché always used to be that there were no good gastropubs in London and that you always had to travel out into the countryside for this kind of food without paying a fortune. Of course, it was never quite that black and white - the Drapers Arms has been a little slice of the countryside in Islington for many years, ditto the Red Lion and Sun, and more recently the Baring (Islington), the Audley and the Barley Mow (both Mayfair) have added themselves to the kind of places you can drop in for a pint of something interesting and a carefully crafted menu of modern British snacks without having to remortgage your house. And so welcome to Marylebone, then, the Hart - may London's gastropub tradition long keep evolving and maturing.

8/10

The Knave of Clubs, Shoreditch

I wouldn't normally feel comfortable sticking a score on a place after sampling just 2 dishes from a menu, but I will make an exception for the Knave of Clubs for two reasons. Firstly, they have put the rotisserie "centre stage" at one end of the large dining room and that is what, I imagine, the large majority of their visitors will be ordering. Secondly, I bloody loved the place, so I don't think they'll mind me writing about it even without trying most of what their kitchens can offer.

We started, though, with oysters - an extremely reasonable £20 for 6 large, lean specimens supplied with all the correct condiments. In a town when the average price per bivalve is hovering around the £5 mark (and in some cases is well above that), it's nice to know that there's somewhere still offering value like this.

The same sense of value is evident in the rest of the menu. They really could charge a lot more for a whole chicken than £38, especially given the quality of these birds (from arguably London's best butcher Turner and George), and even if they didn't come with a giant helping of sides. For your money you get loads of chicken fat roasties, a nice sharply-dressed green salad, some slices of baguette and a little pot of light, homemade aioli.

All of this generosity would have come to naught if the chicken itself wasn't up to scratch, but fortunately thanks to the provenance I mentioned, plus judicious use of brining (not too salty but just enough to ensure every bit of the flesh is tender and juicy), plus a really lovely chermoula spice rub, the end result was a truly impressive bit of rotisserie - the best pub roast chicken I've had the pleasure to tear into in recent memory; certainly the best value. We absolutely demolished the chicken then spent many happy minutes mopping up the chermoula cooking juices with the slices of baguette, and for a while, all was well with the world.

The bill, with a £32 bottle of wine came to £51pp - you really can spend a lot more than this and get a lot less, and not just in central London. In fact the whole experience, including the lovely and attentive staff, made me forgive the only real complaint I have about the place - bloody communal tables. But the spots are spread out around them quite generously, and actually just gives me an excuse to return and try the bistro-style One Club Row upstairs in the same building, where chef Patrick Powell (ex- Allegra) is really stretching his wings. I bet it's great. Watch this space.

9/10

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The Parakeet, Kentish Town

I'm going to start this post about the Parakeet, with - unfortunately (for them, and possibly for you) - a bit of a rant. Why is it that no matter how much money has been lavished on a place, no matter how starry the chefs, how extensive the wine list, how exclusive the whisky collection (the Parakeet has some very interesting bourbons), the beer offering is almost always absolute garbage? I've lost count of the amount of gastropubs I've turned up to for a pre-dinner pint that seem to think it's OK to serve an exciting, seasonal modern British menu with a straight face alongside Camden Hells, Moretti, Guinness and bugger-all else. There's nothing poisonous about any of these bog-standard beers, and not everywhere can be the Wenlock Arms, but honestly guys, it's not difficult - serve the mass-market crap if you must but why not have one or two taps available for something from Deya, or Verdant, or Signature, or Pressure Drop, or god knows how many other great independent craft breweries on your doorstep? Would it really kill you?

So yes my evening at the Parakeet got off to a bit of a humdrum start, with a pint of something entirely forgettable, but I'll give them this - at least, unlike so many 'gastropubs', it's still a proper pub, with a handsome and tastefully restored high-Victorian bar area supported by banquette seating at least equal in size to the dining section. And they're both beautiful spaces, with stained glass details and dark wood panelling, the dining area theatrically unveiled with the raising of curtains at the beginning of service.

They can do a good Negroni too, and know how to put together a supremely attractive Spring menu, with a lot of my favourite words - crab, asparagus, wild garlic, oysters - offered at prices that, these days at least, seem almost modest. The point is, the Parakeet are doing lots of things right and so when they do slip up it only serves to remind you how much better it would be if they'd paid slightly closer attention to the details.

This, for example - described on the menu as "Poached oysters & sea buckthorn granita". Now I'm going to be generous and forgive the plurality as a typo, rather than anything more sinister, because it's £5 for a single beastie is pretty much the norm these days. But am I right in thinking "poached" means served warm? This was ice-cold and tasted raw - again, perfectly fine if that's what you want but not as described. And doesn't "granita" mean a kind of shaved-ice frozen affair? This was a very nice dressing, with what can be a sharply astringent sea buckthorn element tempered by apple juice, but I wouldn't call it a granita.

Duck hoi sin tartlets were very pretty little things which tasted as good as they looked - bags of salty, syrupy hoi sin flavour and with nice soft chunks of pink duck.

Crab lasagne bites contained a good amount of crab meat and a very seductive cheese-toastie style arrangement of textures. They were also something I'd genuinely never seen before on a menu, which for this jaded blogger after nearly two decades in the game is impressive by itself.

Hopefully it's not too much of a criticism to say that this plate of artichoke, broad beans (properly peeled, thank you) and sunflower seeds possibly would have been better described and sold as a side, rather than a starter. It had nice shaved artichokes, plenty of big juicy broad beans and the seeds added an attractive crunch, but in the end there wasn't quite enough going on to justify itself as a standalone dish. Nevertheless, we did quite happily polish it off.

The only real dud of the evening, food-wise at least, was the turbot. Under-seasoned, with an unattractive flabby skin and a strangely blobby-textured, soily flesh, it really wasn't a very pleasant thing to eat and was a poor advertisement for what can otherwise be one of the best fish to eat on the planet. The pickled white asparagus and grape dressing it came with, however, was lovely, which although hardly making up for the turbot did mean there was at least something to enjoy on the plate.

Bizarrely though, considering the poor state of the turbot, this battered, deep-fried red mullet was an absolute joy. Inside a nice crunchy greaseless batter was a fillet of superb mullet, every inch of it properly seasoned and bursting with flavour. I'll forgive them missing to remove a few bones from one side - they were easily dealt with, and the masala and curry leaf sauce it came with was rich with tomato and spices. I know through bitter experience that red mullet does not always taste this good, so this was a surprise as well as a delight.

Desserts were enjoyable, but didn't seem to have had the same amount of care lavished on them as the savoury courses. Chocolate mousse was tasty enough and a bed of crunchy puffed oats (I think they were) gave it a bit of texture, but it's not really the best chocolate mousse I've eaten this month (step forward, yet again, the Devonshire) never mind longer ago.

Citrus Bakewell tart was slightly more interesting and I liked the fragile ribbons of caramelised fruit they'd draped on top, but the cake element was slightly dry and crumbly.

Overall, though, the Parakeet are doing more things right than wrong, and if that seems like damning with faint praise it still puts them ahead of a lot of spots in town. I hesitate to mention service on invites like these but everyone seemed very enthusiastic, and kept exactly the right balance between friendliness and professionalism - they also passed the folded napkin test with flying colours. And although the food menu wasn't exactly at the budget end of the scale, they do offer a house white for £29 which is approaching a genuine steal these days. So yes, if I was going to spend this amount of money and take a journey across town for this kind of food there's a few places (not least the Devonshire, but also the Baring, the Drapers Arms and the Pelican) that would be ahead of the list. But if I was a local, I think I'd be pretty happy to have the option to visit. And perhaps that's all that matters.

7/10

I was invited to the Parakeet and didn't see a bill, but totting up what we ate and drank from the menus comes to about £70pp which isn't bad really.