Jan Ostle is outside Wilsons when we arrive, looking effortlessly cool in Birkenstocks, socks, and shorts, apron still around his neck as he runs from one business to another before doing the school run. He congratulates us on the wedding(s), asks how the honeymoon is and darts off. Sophie appreciates that someone who she has never met before recognises her and shows her the decency of stopping to wish her well, something that happened the following day at Row on 5 with Spencer Metzger and a man she correctly identified as Jason Atherton some two hours after eating there. So yes, this is another post from last month’s honeymoon, and probably my last one given that I’ll keep Row on 5 to just us. As an already dead David Bowie sang on the release of his ‘Blackstar’ album, ‘I Can’t Give Everything Away’. There has to be elements of life that are free from some lonely freak in Reading having a meltdown to both of his readers about, and he would have a breakdown for sure when he read about the amount we spent on champagne and sweet wine that day. And apologies if that comes across as braggy or rude, I’m just so bored of being stalked by people who like to say that they have no interest in me when clearly it is a worryingly dangerous obsession. It’s not just him. It happens daily in Birmingham, too. Move on, please.
We booked the Bristol leg of the tour because British Comedy Garden was on and we wanted to see three of our favourite acts on a bill. We needed lunch and Sophie had wanted to go since I’d been there a couple of times and absolutely loved it. I told her that it is the best restaurant in Bristol – and I still think it is – and quickly we were off the train from Cornwall, dropping the bags off at the hotel, glass of wine nearby and onto Wilsons for a Lillet Spritz whilst they talk us through the ethos and the menu. And I’ll say this now to save you reading all of it; if this wasn’t quite as brilliant as my last meal here, it’s down to the hyper-seasonality of the farm and whether or not that tiny snapshot of time works for your personal preference. The cooking is still at a ridiculously high standard. The same standard that saw them finally awarded a star. They cook whatever is best at that very second and it just happened to not entirely align with my personal taste. That, and maybe the fatigue of the previous ten weeks of non-stop eating and drinking in some pretty great places.
That ethos means that the wonderful heady and almost Bovril-like venison broth comes with a variety of greens – stalks and all – as a kind of pressed and rolled terrine. It’s all flavour, even if some of the bits require more jaw work than I’d like at this point of the meal. It’s followed by a tartlet of pickled beetroot, and a little cracker of liver parfait that’s less soft parfait and more bracing offal flavour. Bread, superb bread with a rich, almost funky butter and whipped roe with herb oil. A big start, loaded with purpose, a sure fire statement that the Michelin star has done nothing to tame them.
Cured mackerel in an elderflower broth with radish is an interesting way of bringing a new take to some fairly familiar ingredient combinations. Like everything they do it’s lifted by a little twist, this time a smoked creme fraiche that adds a backbone to the delicate flavours. Cod with turnip puree and crab sauce could be any starred restaurant until they release the scotch bonnet oil that brings it all to life. Desserts aside, and I’ll get to them shortly, this is the cooking that we travelled for; astute and confident. Absolutely perfect technique. And then there is the hogget; thick cut of animal with a thick ribbon of charred fat. Glossy sauce beaded with fat that’s an ode to the blackened bones in the pan with the hint of tropical notes that fig leaf brings. Broad beans, lettuce, and a pokey puree of wet garlic, which I assume to be normal garlic that’s been aroused and know to have too much on the plate of. Anyway, it’s great, as was the little lahmacun roll full of perky organs.
The last two courses steal the show. In 2022 I gave the herb sorbet my second spot on the top ten list. It’s still unique and remarkable and downright delicious. Fragrant and verdant, the perfect juxtaposition for the meringue that has been made with the bare minimum amount of sugar, though I actually think the following dessert is even better. Macerated strawberries are the star throughout, with the addition of pine oil and currant leaf to add subtle green notes and dare I say it, slightly exotic coconut tones. The genius is in the foam of strawberry and cava that covers the dish, shimmering with acidity and general loveliness. I don’t think of Wilsons as a dessert restaurant but here we are, two of the best desserts I can recall eating in recent times, back-to-back on a tasting menu.
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That tasting menu is £75 and with the Lillet spritz, good bottle of red, and service our bill hits £260. Service was excellent, and we headed off to a not-so-great wine bar, followed by the always wonderful Filthy XIII, and a frankly average evening at the comedy. I feel like we are barely scratching the surface of Bristol and it’s a place that I’m keen to keep on coming back to. Maybe there is a better restaurant than Wilsons, who knows. What I do know is that it’s a place I’ll never get bored of returning to.
9/10
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