Nix O’Hares by Yum Yum Foods
Disclaimer - The restaurant in question and this review are entirely a work of fiction. They are excerpts from my novel called The Curse of Gluttony , an inter-generational battle between the old and new world of restaurant critics.
The Cotswold’s get a bad rap sometimes. Over hyped, over manicured, and heavily populated by the silver generation and their undeserved final salary pension pots. You think of Jilly Cooper novels and Pimm’s in the garden. Jolly hockey sticks. Very middle England.
When you enter Nix O’Hare’s you immediately feel that your soul is being soothed. You have been transported back in time. Somehow it doesn’t feel right for your phone to be on the table. Dear reader that is a biggie for us gals.
The décor is traditional, lots of dark wood, gorgeous stone floors. It is intimate, you would be happy to be here on a hot date or possibly catching up on the goss with your bestie.
The two servers Mia and Madison are utterly adorable. We developed a secret girl crush on them. Not only are they fun and sassy, but they really know their stuff. They effortlessly tell us where all the products had come from. Nothing was a problem even though we can be a couple of fussy dames sometimes.
And so, to the food dear friends. The menu changes regularly but chef tries to stay local and play with the seasons.
Having spent so much time in London recently we have grown tired of crazy mashups (I give you the Peruvian/Algerian restaurant from last month). It is comforting to be somewhere happily serving great food, without worrying about where the latest bandwagon jumpers are heading.
Daisy: No booze for us today. So happy to stick to the San Pell, still the aqua king of fizzy water.
Poppy: Now I love a good Scotch Egg, but this one went up several levels. Instead of the usual boring pork, this one has succulent venison and unctuous black pudding. On cutting it open it was slightly orgasmic as the yolk melted out. The piccalilli was clearly home- made, packing just the right spicy punch.
Daisy: An orgasm, oh my you kept that one quiet. How very When Harry met Sally. I choose the mackerel. Cute back story, one of their locals caught it himself. This perfect oily fish had been carefully pickled to give both a salty and acidic explosion to the mouth. Carefully offset by some shredded fennel. The crème fraiche was like nothing I have ever had before, sweet, and creamy. I will never use shop-bought again.
Poppy: For mains I went with the Halibut, caught in the Severn. I love this fish, big and bold, almost like a steak. The lemon beurre noisette was a revelation. Velvety brown butter perfectly cut with acidic pops from the tiny capers.
Daisy: Now I am a lamb girl. Get it wrong and I turn in to a bad ass bitch. This was sublime, cooked to utter perfection. Moist and slightly rare, you could use a butter knife to cut it. It had a warm middle eastern kiss from the cumin. It felt like I should eat it with my hands, legs crossed in a far-off bazaar in Marrakech.
Poppy/ Daisy: There is something very comforting about sharing a dessert. It pulls you in closer to each other. As we gently break the sugary top of the orange Brulé, we are rewarded by triumphantly scooping out the perfect custard. We should have ordered two or maybe three.
Daisy: Then there is the chef. Olivia Johnson is the co-owner and chef at Nix O’Hares. This girl is drop dead gorgeous and a proper little gastro-punk. It is a loving family affair, and in one beautiful moment we saw her emerge from the steaming heat of the kitchen to serve her daughter a plate of spaghetti pomodoro. Our hearts soared when we saw this. Cute as F.
So, people here is the verdict. Get yourself down to Nix O’Hares you will love it.
Much Love,
Poppy & Daisy
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