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

Barnacle, Liverpool

If it sometimes feels like Liverpool is short on quota of restaurants of sufficient quality befitting a city of its size (something that, fortunately, is increasingly improving), then it can never be said that there are a shortage of beautiful buildings to potentially host them in. The School for the Blind on Hardman Street is a stunning spot - an elegantly proportioned, early Victorian honeyed stone building borne of the golden age of Industrial Age philanthropy. It's an absolutely beautiful thing, and if nothing else it would be worth visiting Barnacle just to thank them for taking on custody of this place and not having it turn into another awful chain bar or hair salon.

And once inside, first impressions were good. Staff were friendly and (initially) efficient, bringing us a nice cold martini (not a frozen glass but you can't have everything) and another very pleasant long drink involving gin and basil ("Barnacle Bill"). A third cocktail advised "Allow 11 minutes" but was worth the wait, a rum and coconut concoction called Lost at Sea which came all frothed up with egg white like a big cold soufflé.

In the meantime, we were served genuinely lovely pickled oysters with buttermilk and dill. There was a time when I wouldn't entertain anything happening to oysters apart from being opened and served raw, but it turns out that when a good restaurant poaches - or batters and fries, or pickles - the things they can be just as enjoyable in a different way. The pickling process here was very subtle, just enough to take that very ocean-y, briny edge off and replace it with something smoother and cleaner.

Miso Scotch egg had a good loose texture, nice crisp coating and the yolks were timed perfectly, which are pretty much the only things you need to get right in a good scotch egg.

The only vaguely disappointing snack were the "cheesy chips", a slightly clumsy pile of skin-on potato wedges and melted cheddar, with the odd sliver of crisp Jerusalem artichoke. Not inedible, just a bit uninteresting and the kind of thing you might expect to find on the menu of one of the aforementioned awful chains. You know the ones, I'm sure.

Snacks and cocktails despatched, we were onto the starters. New Liverpool chowder was a rich, comforting mixture of thick dairy, smoked haddock, clams, potato and sea herbs which was a real highlight. Crisp fried potato skins, Parkers Arms-style, provided crunch and it looked the part with its drizzle of dill oil, but the broth itself was the real star here - everything you could possibly want from a chowder. Everyone who tried it loved it.

Fried chicken tenders topped with Avruga "caviar" was perhaps a slightly less ambitious dish but just as enjoyable in its own way, with greaseless fingers of crisp batter containing lovely white chicken meat, topped with creme fraiche and a generous dollop of the Avruga. It's very easy to make chicken tenders bland and cloying, but these were very good.

Then, we waited for the mains. And waited. And waited. And after about 45 minutes, they arrived. My own venison was good - the meat itself would have benefitted from a bit more of a crust (or in fact any crust at all, the fillets had the consistency of gammon although they tasted nice) but the accompanying sauces were top-notch, both the glossy 'chocolate peppercorn sauce' and the little blobs of parsnip (I think) puree. Fried shallots on top added the crunch that the venison lacked, and kale did its usual job of soaking up the rest of the sauce. Yes, it wasn't perfect, but I still enjoyed this dish - more went right than wrong.

Cod was a little bland despite some potentially good strong flavours - a shame as with a heavier hand with the salt it could have been really impressive. The fish itself was good quality though, and all the accompaniments were cooked properly, it just all needed a bit more attention to seasoning to really shine.

Ironically, flat iron steak had the opposite problem to the cod - it was cooked and seasoned properly and had a good flavour, but was tough and stringy and quite difficult to eat. Still, could be worse - and the chips were very nice.

For desserts, we were relocated to the noisy, crowded bar because, we were bluntly informed, "we need your table back". Don't spend 45 minutes bringing out the main courses, then, is my advice, because it was hardly our fault everything took so long. They didn't even seem that apologetic about it, just needed us out of the way. So I'm afraid our desserts (objectively pretty nice, a rum and banana sticky toffee pudding, and a Guinness and chocolate cake topped with blue cheese and mascarpone) suffered in the context of wanting to get out of that bar, where the music was so loud normal conversation was impossible. And did they take anything off the bill for our trouble? Did they buggery.

So there's plenty to enjoy about Barnacle, and lots of things to admire. The food itself, for example, is well worth the prices they're asking for it, and with a closer attention to service detail the place has the potential to be another mid-budget crowdpleaser in the realm of Wreckfish or Belzan. But I'm pretty sure neither Wreckfish or Belzan would make you feel like an inconvenience for a mistake of their making - an unforgivable misstep for a restaurant with ambitions like Barnacle. And I'm not going to break the habit of a lifetime and score the food and service and ambiance separately, because none of these elements exist in a vacuum - a restaurant is a product of all things working side by side. Can I recommend Barnacle? Right now, just about. Maybe. But there's certainly room for improvement.

6/10

Compartir, Cadaqués

Compartir, a restaurant in the seaside village of Cadaqués, has lots going for it. The most obvious thing it has going for it is Cadaqués, a tourist town but not troublingly so, with its own unique identity - bohemian, somewhat eccentric, traditionally popular with artists and writers - and its own architectural style - grey slate walls, irregular oblong cobblestones and whitewashed narrow alleyways decked with bright purple bougainvillea.

The shady courtyard of Compartir makes the most of this unique style and is a lovely place to sit and eat, even if, unlike the majority of the most popular restaurants in town, there's no sight of the sea. Instead your view is of a tasteful selection of Mediterranean plants and, of course, fellow diners - a well-heeled-looking lot - on pleasingly well-spaced tables.

First thing to arrive on the table was a little house aperitif of orange juice and Campari. It tasted a little subdued - any fresh juice from any number of coffee shops in the area would have had a stronger hit of orange - but was a nice enough gesture given it was free. Alongside were a little row of pillow-shaped crackers dusted with tomato powder, and again they didn't taste of much considering the effort that had clearly gone into them - the cracker would have been like cardboard on its own, and there wasn't enough tomato powder - or it wasn't strongly flavoured enough - to offset the bland cracker.

Fortunately Compartir found its feet with the first course proper, a tuna "cannelloni" (tuna tartare rolled up into a neat tube) surrounded by a colourful and cleverly patterned sauce of olives, capers, various herbs and who knows what else, topped with trout roe. This was genuinely inventive and genuinely lovely, the tuna never overwhelmed by the other flavours on the plate and all the ingredients clearly of very high quality, treated well. This is apparently a Compartir signature dish, and you can really see why - it was a real highlight.

Crab and avocado was very nearly right. Plenty of fresh crab meat (plus a good amount of brown, always nice to see) and exquisitely presented, with dots of what I assume was a very light mayonnaise dancing around a generous dollop of roe. But there was something slightly off-putting about the texture of the avocado - it had been blitzed to within an inch of its life to a strange, characterless, cold avocado-flavoured cream which rather than complimenting the crab just ended up relying on it for seasoning and texture. Also - and I'm quite prepared to admit this is my own personal hill to die on - if you use a particular animal's form to serve a dish, whether it's a scallop shell or as in this case a ceramic sea urchin or anything else, it really should contain some element of that animal in the dish itself. And I don't think there was any sea urchin in this. Or if there was, we couldn't taste it.

Then we were right back on track with these grilled Roses red prawns. There's always a risk when you shell out ('scuse the pun) a lot of money (by Spanish standards - in London they'd be three times this price) on top ingredients that any mistakes in the kitchen could render your investment void. These, though, had been treated very well - timed to just under with regards to some of the larger animals but always so that the meat pulled out of the shell in a satisfying single piece, they were beautifully sweet and smoky from the grill, a brushing of chicken jus the perfect extra touch. Well worth the €39.

Then next, roasted scallops with potato and spinach. Plump little slices of sweet scallops alternated with soft potato, topped with spinach, pine nuts and lemon zest (such is the Catalan way) and all of it soaked in a lovely glossy, meaty jus, it was another intelligent, beautifully presented course that showcased just how good this kitchen can be. It would have been the perfect end to the meal.

Because we really, really should have stopped there. In my defence though, "Breaded fried rabbit ribs and artichoke with apple Aioli" sounds like it might be nice, doesn't it? In my mind I was imagining a painstakingly French-trimmed rack of rabbit ribs, lovingly rolled in herb breadcrumbs, roasted and served sliced into little cute rabbity lollypops. What arrived was essentially fried rabbit bones, with so little meat on them to make the effort of attempting to find some under the opaque breadcrumb coating a distressing chore, none of it seasoned properly and the whole affair feeling like some kind of elaborate practical joke played on gullible foreigners. We pointed out the complete inedibility of this dish to a waitress.

"Ah yes that's the speciality of the house, we're famous for it." she replied. Yes, you should be, I thought, but not in a good way.

"But we can't eat any of it. How do we know what's just breaded bone and what's meat? How do we eat them?"

"You just eat them." She replied. Then perhaps realising this was less than helpful, added brightly, "You eat the bones. They're crunchy!".

Now, I am prepared to believe that somewhere, somehow there is a breaded fried rabbit dish, perhaps even involving bones, that may be worth eating. But to suggest that we should ignore our own dental - and mental - health and attempt to chow down on whole rabbit bones, marrow splintering and cracking in our injured mouths like an urban fox working its way through a discarded box of high street fried chicken, is one of the most absurd things I've been asked to consider in all my years eating in restaurants. And I'm in my late 40s. Of course, we sent it back. It still appeared on the bill.

We probably should have kicked up more of a fuss about being charged for rabbit bones we didn't eat or want, but by this point we just wanted to get the hell out of there and convince ourselves that we weren't going completely mad. "Did she really suggest we were supposed to eat whole animal bones?", we kept asking ourselves for the rest of the trip. "Does anyone else eat them? Do they throw in free dental reconstruction work as well?". We just ended up with more and more questions. I'm not sure any of them will ever be satisfactorily answered.

So, scoring the place is a little bit tricky. When it was good, Compartir was very, very good. And when it was bad, it was life-threatening. So in the end I suppose I'll have to go for the midpoint between 10 and 1 and hope that if you ever decide to go yourself, you end up only ordering dishes that don't threaten to put you in hospital. Maybe check with your waitress first, and if anything sounds like it might be a bit too gum-splitting, steer clear. As for me, well, I've done it now and don't feel the need to go back, not with so many other lovely seafood restaurants in that part of the world for a lot less than €60pp. If you need me, I'll be at the orthodontist.

5/10