Latest news with #localCuisine
Condé Nast Traveler
07-07-2025
- Condé Nast Traveler
Laguna Coast Resort — Resort Review
Why book? For a privileged perch from which to savor fiery sunrises over the Aegean Sea and drift off under clear, starry skies after dining on local Naxos ingredients during the sun-drenched Cycladic summer season. This is an intimate boutique resort of Naxian vernacular architecture that sits within an ambitious regeneration project aimed at improving the flamingo-filled lagoon beside it. Set the scene Idyllically sandwiched between the Aegean Sea, the Cyclades' largest lagoon wetland, and a boulder-strewn hillside, Laguna Coast Resort occupies a petite yet completely captivating corner of the fertile 166-square-mile island of Naxos, known for its rich culture that draws visitors back in time. Its footprint is a mere 2.5 acres, yet the boutique-sized bolthole of low white beveled-edge buildings, part of Small Luxury Hotels of the World, is a dynamic representation of the wholesome charm and extraordinary beauty of its surroundings. Just 30 minutes by prop plane from Athens and not even five minutes by car from teeny Naxos Airport (JNX)—or 35 minutes by fast ferry from Mykonos—it's a divine place to relax in quiet bliss during the season, May to October, and get your fill of island-grown cuisine, some of it prepared by genuine Naxian grandmothers. The luminous resort, with its ethereal sky-lit lobby featuring Greek artwork, a hammered silver wall, and heavenly smelling products from The Naxos Apothecary fragrance brand, also serves as an ideally located springboard for exploring the quintessential whitewashed mountain villages, blue-domed churches, ancient ruins, rolling farms, exquisite beaches, and many other wonders of Naxos. Exceedingly relaxed, this is not a place of dress codes or show-offy ensembles, but instead the majority American guests—both honeymooning couples and plenty of families with young or grown-up offspring—tend to wear casual island attire and linen in the whites and blues that have become synonymous with Greece, with no particular emphasis on designer duds. However, made-to-measure leather sandals can be seen on patrons who visited the beloved family-run leather goods shop Pagonis in the main town. Things tend to stay quiet during the day, as most guests head out after the bountiful Greek breakfast to adventure their way around the dynamic, down-to-earth island. The backstory It was 2022, and born-and-bred 30-something Naxian entrepreneur Antonios Pittaras had already decided to build a luxury resort minutes from his hometown and steps from the Cyclades' largest lagoon when, on a site visit, he witnessed a flamingo land on a power line and get electrocuted, falling to the road. The horror of it motivated the environmental protection PhD candidate to do several things. One, start a campaign to underground nearly 2,300 feet of electrical cables (through a collaboration with the public electricity company DEDDIE). Two, create the private, science-driven Laguna Coast Foundation to initiate environmental actions ranging from habitat restoration to infrastructure development across a now-protected 480-acre wetland preserve where a flamboyance of migratory bright-pink flamingos flock to the Alyki Lagoon from March to May, and in September. And three, reimagine his project as a sustainably minded hotel that organically blends into its environment and helps push a regeneration agenda through responsible hospitality. Before the resort opened, CEO Pittaras, who runs a luxury yacht operation, Actionseaze, with his brother, presented his masterplan to Pope Francis at the Vatican and at the World Economic Forum in Davos. Since its inception, the foundation has worked to clean up the coastline and lagoon and partner with international universities for biodiversity research projects. Birdwatching platforms and a wooden boardwalk are in the works, expected in late summer, so guests can take in the wildlife without impacting the sensitive ecosystem. In five years, they hope to operate with zero emissions at the resort, which opened May 1. Another ongoing initiative of the foundation has been Amazon's Smart Island project, a pilot program involving implementing smart farming technologies in several local potato farms to reduce pesticide use, water usage, and chemical runoff into the lagoon and improve sustainability—they aim to help the entire agricultural community to adopt these practices in coming years. Provenance and sharing Naxian heritage are so important to Pittaras that there is a large outdoor kitchen on the resort for hands-on, farm-to-table Cycladic cooking classes over open fire that will soon be led by executive chef Panagiotis and local grandmothers, featuring ingredients harvested on the island including, quite likely, those very potatoes. The rooms As much as summer on Naxos is prime time for enjoying fresh air and sunshine outside—and Athens' Modulus Architecture certainly made the outdoor experience of each residence highly appealing and comfy—the interiors of the resort's suites couldn't be more attractive, or Greek feeling. I stayed with my family in a 1,044-square-foot Golden Reef villa with two bedrooms across two floors and a private pool set into the sizable wooden deck. We thoroughly enjoyed its smart use of space and volume plus touchy-feely textures, especially the boucle sofas and fluted travertine walls. Contemporary leaning and entirely off-white, it felt very much like a stylish home, with a doorbell, a complete compact kitchen including full-size refrigerator (each of the residences has a kitchen), outdoor dining, and two full bathrooms, one lined in gorgeous red travertine, and both with bath amenities from The Naxos Apothecary in a fruity-musky Koronos scent. The solid side tables were carved of white crystalline marble from the famous marble island (the Acropolis was built with Naxian marble), the beds wear linen skirts and, for another snug touch, the owner's grandmother crocheted a pillowcase for each of the 21 suites bearing the initials LC. A focal point of our residence was the graceful brass light installation in one corner of the lofty living room meant to evoke the reef beyond. Upstairs, ours had a pristine view out the bedroom window of Chora, mountains, and the sea, plus stunning sunrises that kept us from closing the blinds at night so we could wake up to the breathtaking sky. The other room types are of a similar aesthetic persuasion thanks to consistent materiality but are varied in layout and vibe. I'd book a Cedar Forest suite if I were traveling with only my husband and not kids. They are 840 square-feet with the most privacy and some beautiful statues and styling, with timber ceilings. The Flamingo Valley suites are the smallest at just over 600 square- feet and the most social, oriented around a shallow pool ode to the lagoon and its birds that inspired the hotel, each with its own petite outdoor jetted jacuzzi tub. These are the owner's favorite accommodations for their community nature that feels like a friendly Greek neighborhood, and I found something so beautiful about the softness of their fabric awnings billowing in the wind juxtaposed against the rugged backdrop of primeval boulders. The landscaping is still growing in, but features mostly endemic plants, including on the grassy rooftops, which should be like little savannas in several months. Food and drink I've found that breakfast has the power to set the tone for a hotel, and in this case it's a heart-warming and soulful one. I awoke each morning and counted down the minutes to 8 a.m., eager to dive into a glass (or two) of fantastically vibrant squeezed-to-order orange juice and, under a ceiling of striking hammered brass pendants, fill my plate with a smattering of Greek specialties, both sweet and savory. I was especially taken with the addictive cheese pie made by the owner's own mother (his family grows the lemons dotting Naxos-made ceramic bowls around the resort, too) and French toast made with Tsoureki bread typically reserved for Easter Sunday. I also devoured the kagianas—like a Greek shakshuka, but with scrambled eggs and higher ratio of feta—off the small breakfast menu. Inside, there are tables beside the buffet counter, but the best seats in the morning are outside on the generous patio, half covered by a pergola and half open to the bright blue skies dotted at times with quilts of puffy white clouds. In the evening, however, Raw Evo restaurant's dinner tables are set on the rooftop strung with fairy lights and boasting 360-degree vistas of diverse natural landscapes (and the island of Paros), a decidedly lovely place to enjoy grilled octopus with white tarama dip and chive oil with a tasty Figroni cocktail featuring fig-infused Campari. On one extremely windy night my husband and I shared a two-top inside by the dry-aging refrigerator and obsessed over the beef carpaccio, which was Naxian through and through with local beef, fleur de sel, goat cheese cream, and adorable little chips from the island's famously high quality potatoes. Mostly chilled lunch options—most winningly a fabulous village-style Greek salad featuring a healthy slab of feta and plump, salty capers—are served in the same setting as breakfast, yet under the name Collatio Beach Bistro. One minor disappointment was our kitchen-cum-minibar's lack of snacks and potential mixers for the bottled liquor, however there is a small in-room dining menu, including a couple cold late-night options, for guests' convenience. The spa Compact as it is, the resort dedicates space to wellness, with an outdoor shaded fitness center featuring a smattering of luxury Technogym equipment and a glass-fronted sauna that is complimentary for guests to use, however they must request it be heated some 45 minutes in advance. Absent a traditional spa, guests can treat themselves to a half-dozen styles of massage and two facial treatments in either a fabric-draped pavilion or in their accommodation. ADO e-bikes are available to rent, too. The area I found the location incredibly ideal: It was a five-minute drive from one of the most flawless beaches I've quite literally ever seen (and that's coming from someone who lives on Bali), called Agios Prokopios. The long stretch of clean, sparkling turquoise is lined with umbrellas and lounge chairs belonging to various restaurants and beach clubs, and is equipped with a Seatrac wheelchair track making the ocean accessible for those with disabilities. Ten minutes away by car is the main town of Chora (which nearly half of Naxos' 20,000 residents call home), where it's possible to spend an entire day weaving through sweet alleyways, shopping for Naxos-made jewelry, wandering the Venetian Castle, and watching yachts sail past the Temple of Apollo's grand and famed remains. The hotel offers its guests access to a robust array of water- and land-based activities that range from private windsurfing and kitesurfing lessons, guided snorkeling in sea caves, and catamaran day trips to secluded beaches to escorted hikes to the top of the Cyclades' highest peak, Mount Zas (Zeus), as well as tours of the island, horseback riding, and olive oil museum visits. There is so very much to do on Naxos, and Laguna Coast feels right at the heart of it. The service From the moment we arrived in Laguna Coast Resort's electric Mercedes-Benz van and were greeted warmly by name by two young women on the team, it felt like we were being graciously welcomed into a Greek family's chic home. Our next encounter with the highly personable staff was at breakfast, where an Albanian server named Redon kindly and thoroughly toured me through the mouthwatering buffet, telling me the stories behind various Greek pies and pastries. This is not a place with private butlers and pretense, but rather low-key and attentive staff almost entirely from Greece, including from Naxos, where everyone gets to know everyone. I got quick replies from the front desk staff to all my WhatsApp queries, and they organized a handful of experiences for us, including a sunset catamaran sail and babysitter. For families Our two little ones were far from the only kiddos in residence in late May, so the resort's high chairs got good use. It feels very family friendly, thanks especially to the endearing staff and each accommodation's swimming pool or tub, though there is not a kid's menu or specific play area for them. There are, however, many bookable experiences that younger guests are sure to adore. I recommend in particular the visit to a Naxian farm where my daughters fed sheep, collected fresh chicken eggs, and helped make goat cheese, and a delicious private food tour to enchanting Apeiranthos led by a highly engaging Naxos-born mom of two. On this island, as is probably true through much of Greece, little ones are honored with the best of everything and treated like little gods and goddesses. Eco effort In a place where solar panels are restricted due to archaeological protection laws, Laguna Coast Resort uses thermal facades and heat pump systems to reduce energy needs, and opts to not heat its pools to save further. Single-use plastics are banned on property, and they're aiming toward zero waste in the kitchen, a cleverly delectable policy that sees chef make a different creative turndown sweet treat each night using kitchen leftovers. Also keeping the carbon footprint low is the fact more than 70% of the ingredients served are sourced on Naxos, a bounteous agricultural island that is incredibly self sufficient. Many of the building materials, too, are local, including stone and marble. Accessibility There is one handicap-accessible Flamingo Valley suite, and the lobby, lower level of Raw Evo restaurant, and public restrooms are accessible, too. Anything left to mention? I wish I had known how much a rental car—ideally an electric one, as the resort has EV charging stations—would have served us in a quest to explore the island freely and make it to sites such as the circa 530 BC. Temple of Demeter, the first example of monumental architecture even before the Parthenon. Taxis are quite expensive (think $25-$30 for the couple-mile trip to Chora) and luckily the hotel was generous with its driver when possible for our short trips to the beach. But I love the sense of freedom that my own vehicle brings, and Naxos is one of the friendliest places I can imagine for delightful and surprise-filled joyrides through spectacular landscapes. After all, Laguna Coast Resort is not a hotel trying to hold its guests hostage, but one that's eagerly opening wide the doors to its treasured island.
The Independent
23-06-2025
- Entertainment
- The Independent
Aulis vs Gorse: When does a Michelin star really earn its keep?
I started this column with one question: when is it really worth it? Restaurants have never been shy about separating you from your money, and lately it feels like they'd charge for air if they could get away with it. Some meals, though, make you glad you handed over your card at the end. So I try them for you – the splashy openings, the whisper-quiet gems, the big-ego tasting menus and the surprise bargains – and report back so you can decide if your wallet (and your patience) can take it. This time, I did the unthinkable: I left London. Not that you'd know it from the evidence. The martini still arrived before anything else, the bump of roe was suspiciously large and I'm fairly sure someone was paid to whisper 'foraged' every fifteen minutes just to keep the Londoners calm. Some habits die hard. But the comparison was too tempting to resist. Two restaurants. Two chefs with big ideas about what 'local' should taste like. Both with one Michelin star pinned to their chests – but worlds apart in attitude, setting and cost. Aulis is a trick door to Cumbria hidden behind a nondescript Soho side street: the city version of Simon Rogan's Lake District empire, where everything is farm-first and the plates make you dream of damp hedgerows and soft sheep's wool. Gorse, meanwhile, sits on a sleepy corner in Cardiff 's Pontcanna, in what used to be a coffee shop – and, frankly, still looks like it might do an oat milk flat white if you asked nicely. Chef Tom Waters earned the capital's first ever Michelin star here, but there's no mood lighting, no moodiness, no fuss. There's just 22 seats, a team in Birkenstocks and a menu that reads like a sightseeing bus tour turned poetry recital: salt marsh lamb, Pembrokeshire crab, seaweed stock in your martini. One will cost you nearly £500 if you lean into the wine list (and you will, because you're only human). The other can be yours for £60 if you turn up at lunch and behave yourself. Both, in their own ways, make a compelling case for what 'fine dining' can be when it means something more than just fireworks and fillet steak. Sometimes you don't need bells and whistles – just a table, an idea and enough trust in the kitchen to let you taste the place for what it is. Aulis, London: Cumbria on the plate, Soho on the bill, but worth every penny Farm-first, fuss-free and so good you'll forgive the bill – proof there's still magic to be found in the capital's big-money tasting menus. Aulis London is the culinary equivalent of a trick door in a fantasy novel – you slip down a side street in Soho and suddenly find yourself somewhere else entirely: Cartmel, perhaps, or a damp hedgerow in Cumbria. You're still in Zone 1, but the air feels cleaner. The food certainly does. That's the whole point. Aulis is Simon Rogan's chef's table, a 12-seat offshoot of his Lake District HQ, where everything – the milk, the trout, the chlorophyll-sticky herbs – comes from 'Our Farm' up north. Provenance is the headline here. And if you spend any time in restaurants, you'll know that telling diners where their food comes from has become both obligatory and exhausting. Peas plucked at dawn. Lamb that did pilates. Trout with an origin story. It's enough to make you root for margarine. Aulis, London Good to know And yet, somehow, Aulis gets away with it. Maybe because Rogan more or less invented the genre – farm-first cooking as doctrine rather than decoration. It's as much part of his personality as marathons are to the over-30s. Maybe because when your plate is this dialled in, you want to know about Trevor who grew the carrots. Or maybe because the food is just… joyous. Canapés arrive first and, to be honest, could be the whole meal. One-bite marvels that prove restraint doesn't have to mean minimalism. Someone should open a restaurant with a one-bite tasting menu. Call it Nibble. Get a Michelin star. Retire. A tartlet of Chalk Stream trout with a sashimi-style sliver of its own flesh – both elegant, one rich and precise, the other cool and clean. A 'truffle pudding' that's mille-feuille by way of Greggs: buttery, starchy, savoury, layered and laced with truffle, not like a luxury tax but an aromatic thread. Galloway beef tartare, no sludge or theatrics, tucked into crisp little shot-sized shells. It's tartare without the usual drag: no egg yolk sludge, no chilli bravado. A chickpea wafer, topped with peas, kombu and fresh curds, is almost absurd in its economy. A square inch of cracker, yet somehow it contains spring, salt, sea and cream in a single snap. I could've stopped there and been thrilled. But this is Aulis, and there are more riffs to play. A scallop, formed into a firm little puck, sits in a pool of buttermilk, with roe that pops like savoury boba. A slab of hispi cabbage is charred and dressed with the kind of intensity usually reserved for ribeye, all smoke and crunch and savoury swagger. Turbot gets the Michelin-starred treatment, which is to say, it's poached and then politely drowned in smoked roe cream alongside asparagus. Do chefs believe there's an asparagus quota that must be filled before the season ends in June? I'm certain I've eaten an entire field of the stuff in the last week. No one – not even Rogan – can convince me we need this much of it. There's also lamb: just a single, blushing fillet, not the usual intimidating trio of loin, belly, confit shoulder or whatever other sacrificial offering is trendy this week, finished with fig leaf vinegar and wet garlic. No flourishes, no drama. Just food that remembers what it's for. The beetroot – salt-baked, pink and purple and blackened – looks like a painter's palette once scraped clean, with blackberries and smoked eel swirled like oil paint. I stared at the bowl longer than I care to admit. If I had wall space, I'd hang it. Dessert is usually when I start looking for an Uber, but the frozen Tunworth cheese, a L'Enclume classic that has not so much haunted me since I first tried it as gently followed me home, returns here with cobnuts and spelt grains. Clever, confident. Like Rogan is saying: 'I know you think you don't want cheese ice cream, but trust me.' And I do. Just not with asparagus. All of which makes the price feel… tolerable, somehow. Not cheap, obviously – nothing in this genre is. You'll part with £195 before drinks, or closer to £500 per person if you succumb to the full-whack wine pairing (yes, you can just order a bottle, or tap water, like a normal person). It's getting harder to recommend restaurants at this level with a straight face. Countless tasting menus in London hover around this price – most with the same farm-to-somewhere shtick, some with more fuss, others with bigger names – but few feel quite so worth it. I can't fully explain why Aulis still does. Maybe it's nostalgia; I peeked behind the curtain in Cartmel once, saw the farm, listened to the staff talk about turnips with the fervour of newly minted cult members and let myself be indoctrinated. Maybe it's because Rogan's flavour logic has never strayed into ego or gimmick. Maybe it's because, unlike so many other fine-dining flagships and spin-offs, there are no near-misses here. Every mouthful feels like it has a point to make. There are tasting menus you book because you want to say you've eaten the chef's name (Ducasse, Ramsay, Smyth). There are ones you go to to mark an occasion, or because your mum heard it was nice on TripAdvisor. And then there's Aulis – which is the tasting menu as show home for what this style of eating should be. It's as much about the cooking as it is the concept; a meal first, a flex second. It doesn't try to reinvent the wheel. It just smooths it out, oils it and rolls you somewhere quieter. It's expensive, yes. It's a bit wishy-washy in places, sure. But somehow they never make you feel like you're paying to be dazzled. You're just paying for good food, handled with care, which, in this city, is rarer than it should be. I still long for L'Enclume – the original, the farm, the whole damp Cumbrian dream of it – but Aulis London gets me most of the way there without leaving Zone 1. Which is, really, the magic of the place: that trick door at the edge of Soho that, for three hours or so, whisks you somewhere with softer edges and more hedgerows – then deposits you gently back on St Anne's Court, blinking at the noise, wondering if you dreamt it. 16 St Anne's Ct, London, W1F 0BF Open: Tuesday to Saturday for dinner from 7pm, Friday and Saturday lunch from 12.30pm. The experience usually takes around three and a half hours. Price: Tasting menu £195, wine pairings from £95 to £295, non-alcoholic pairing £79 (wines by the bottle available) Bookings released on the first Tuesday of each month for two months in advance. | 020 3948 9665 | aulislondon@ Gorse: The tiny Cardiff star showing Wales was always more punk rock than pastoral No techno, no tweezers, no £400 bill – just Welsh soul, smart cooking and a bill that won't make you weep. Meanwhile, over in Cardiff, a restaurant is doing the opposite – not transporting you somewhere else, but insisting you stay right where you are. Well, after a three-hour train and a brisk walk, obviously. Gorse, with chef Tom Waters at the helm, sits on a quiet corner in Pontcanna, in what used to be a coffee shop (and actually what still looks like a coffee shop). It's now home to the city's first-ever Michelin star, earned less than a year after opening. That fact alone should be enough to tell you how overdue this is. Wales has always had the good stuff, like the country's larder everyone borrows from but rarely celebrates properly until there's a feast to impress the neighbours. Salt marsh lamb, crab plucked from Pembrokeshire, seaweed thick on the tide. A national bounty hidden in plain sight. Still, there's no fanfare at Gorse. Just 22 seats, a small team in Birkenstock clogs who move with the calm efficiency of a ballet company, and a menu that doesn't so much perform as it does reflect. If Ynyshir is Welsh dining on a nightclub bender – techno, tweezers, £390 price tag – then Gorse is the morning after. Not in a bacon sandwich and Berocca kind of way, but in the sense of clarity that comes when the noise fades. Waters takes the raw materials of Welsh cooking – mutton, seaweed, oats – and does what Rogan does for Cumbria at Aulis: refines them, sharpens them, lets them speak for themselves. Transformed not beyond recognition, but into something cleaner and quietly sure of itself. If you're looking for theatre, you won't find it here. What you will find is an excellent martini that gives the capital a run for its money. Gorse's house version has been on since day one, a gentle wink that they knew exactly how to coax in Londoners, even this far west of Paddington. It's made with seaweed stock, Dà Mhìle gin and local vermouth, and it's as saline and elegant as the coastline it conjures. A coastal dirty martini, if you will, but one that washes your sins away instead of compounding them. The first thing you eat, or rather the second thing you drink, is a seaweed broth – the kind influencers try to sell you as a miracle detox elixir, only this one isn't part of a green juice pyramid scheme. It's briny, mushroomy and served in a handmade mug that looks like it's been prized off a rock pool. Welsh seaweed, and indeed the Welsh coast, is a lot like the Japanese, just treated differently. They dry theirs into nori sheets. The Welsh boil theirs for 10 hours and turn it into a thick black sludge called laverbread. Because here in the British Isles, we like to cook things until they forget what they used to be. And yet, this one is delicious. Not quite Tokyo, not quite Tenby, but a compelling case for the in between. Maybe I'll start flogging it myself. And so it goes. The meal builds like a memory. A disc of celeriac in a slick of buttermilk-laverbread sauce does its best impression of that scallop dish you've clocked a hundred times on other tasting menus but is entirely of itself: earthy, saline, oddly nostalgic. There's crab from Solva, pureed with horseradish into a smooth, orby blob somewhere between quenelle and custard, topped with a bump of roe so generous it might start a rumour in Soho. Between that and the martini, it feels just like home. It's a menu that starts like a sightseeing bus tour (but with better snacks) and ends like a whispered folk story – Waters uses Welsh ingredients the way a poet uses dialect: familiar but reborn in your mouth. There's Pembrokeshire mackerel under another slap of horseradish, apple and lovage giving bite and brightness. Mutton from the Gower arrives robust and just a little feral, with wild garlic and a neat fillet of neck on the side – no nonsense, just the good stuff. But for all his respectful nods to the land, Waters isn't shy about bending its rules. A mushroom and pickled juniper cone – basically a miniature forest disguised as a Cornetto – lands in one bite: earthy, creamy and weird in all the best ways. Mushroom ice cream is surely just one plucky investor away. I'd buy the six-pack. Dessert, once again, does the heavy lifting. This time it's sucan – or llymru, or flummery, depending on how deep you want to dig into Welsh culinary trivia. Once a humble, tangy oat pudding for labourers, now a slick, silken finale with apple caramel and smoked raspberry jam, all subtle sourness and deep comfort. It'd look perfectly at home behind a polished glass counter in a Parisian patisserie, but feels truer here, on a quiet Cardiff corner, exactly where it belongs. It's not the kind of pudding you expect from a Michelin-starred kitchen, but then again, that's sort of the point. The wines follow the same rhythm – unfussy, quietly interesting but well worth paying attention to. A glass of Grüner Veltliner from Loimer starts things off with just the right amount of zip: crisp, citrusy, faintly peppery, like it's been designed to wake up your palate without elbowing the food out of the way. The 'Ava Marie' Chardonnay from Restless River comes in later – cool, elegant, lightly oaked, with that chalky sort of backbone that makes mackerel taste even more like mackerel. And with the mutton, a natural Anjou Rouge from Domaine des Brumes, all juicy red and gentle grip, with enough dirt under its nails to meet the wild garlic head-on but still feel light on its feet. There's a four-course lunch at Gorse for £60. The seven-course is £95. Go all in with 10 at £125 and you're still, somehow, paying less than at most London restaurants trying to sell you a story half as well told. Because that's what Gorse does so elegantly: it roots you in Wales not with fanfare or flag-waving, but through the slow build of ingredients, rhythms, rituals. You come expecting polite heritage. You leave realising Wales was always more punk rock than pastoral. If Aulis is the tasting menu as magic trick, a rabbit pulled from a Cumbrian hat in central London, then Gorse is the tasting menu as map. Not the shouty kind with arrows and landmarks, but the sort you fold into your pocket and keep, just in case. One experience is imported, the other is homegrown. One bends place to the plate; the other lets place speak for itself. And that, perhaps, is the joy of this column: not just finding where the food is good – and, crucially, where it's worth the price tag – but where it means something. Sometimes it's a sleek Soho counter conjuring the Lake District in 10 courses. Other times it's a former coffee shop in Cardiff, whispering stories of seaweed, oats and salt marsh lamb. Different destinations, same principle. And dining, when done right, doesn't need to travel far to take you somewhere. 186-188 Kings Rd, Cardiff, CF11 9DF Open: Tuesday to Thursday 18.30-20.00, Friday and Saturday 12.00-14.00 and 18.30-20.00
