Long time, no see. Sorry (again).
Life got busy — new city, new job etc. But when I first launched this little newsletter, I never promised consistency. I still won’t. I have always written this on the side on my actual day job, using it as a platform for when I get those sporadic moments of creative inspiration that need an outlet.
Particularly as I find myself writing restaurant and bar profiles most days, you can see why I wouldn’t want to do it after work hours. But when I returned to Bristol this last weekend with a little free time on my hands, I knew I had to get something out there. After all, I missed writing on here.
So, here’s a short one on Sonny Stores, my favourite restaurant in Bristol, if not the world.
I turned 25 last weekend.
I also hate birthdays. I tend to use them as an excuse to eat lavishly without regret. This year was no exception. My first port of call while returning to my hometown was a place I have often talked about, but never fully written about.
I arrive at the unassuming front door of Sonny Stores straight off the westward train from London. At this point, I have lost count of the amount of times I have visited this restaurant. Yet, the only real thing I know about it with certainty, is that I will never know what I’m going to end up eating that day.
Its menu, the now ever so popular blackboard on the wall situation, changes near-daily. It will always gravitate towards smaller plates, often supercharged by wisps of cured Italian pig fat, alongside a varied assortment of pastas and meatier options. The pizzettas are also a staple, but toppings change every visit, ranging from potato and anchovy, to artichoke, guanciale and pecorino and more.
Entering without expectation is key. Don’t try and plan ahead. Walk in the door and be pleasantly surprised. Letting yourself choose food intuitively is always far more rewarding anyways.
So, all seemed natural after I had sat down and taken my ritualistic photo of the blackboard menu on the wall. It was, however, a shock to learn that it was offering three courses for just £25. Choices from the menu for the deal are more limited, but it’s also so concise and refined that no choices here are bad choices.
The first plate, a quadruple of gnocco fritto is faultless. Sat atop each crunchy and golden pillow is a layer of lardo, made glistening and translucent by residual fry-heat, finished with a drizzle of hot honey. Crunchy, salty, spicy — the only holy trinity I believe in.
The main, pappardelle with a pork shoulder, chili and soave ragu, is just as noteworthy. Its loosely bound sauce balances heat, richness and acidity astutely, with masses of gently braised pork clinging to each wide ribbon of pasta. In the haste of hunger, I splash sauce all over my white t-shirt, resulting in some kind of wearable Jackson Pollock situation. I now understand why most good food writers wear black.
Tiramisu is the concluding point, and the best version in the city. Bristol is blessed by numerous good Italian restaurants, none have mastered the classic dessert like Sonny Stores. It is deeply satisfying but not overbearing, as the sweetness plays off the bitterness of the sponge fingers saturated with espresso strength coffee. Apparently people often bring the tiramisu home with them as they can’t fit it in. There’s no need for that here.
My time in the restaurant is short but sweet. I leave the restaurant gleeful, filled with the same giddiness to return that I felt after my first ever visit. And second. And third. And so on. I live across the country now, so my chances to visit home are slim. But I will always find an excuse to fit a trip here into my agenda.
In an article a few months ago about here, a writer complained about the inconvenience of Sonny Stores’ seating. Aside from the article diving headfirst into the tired literary tangent of elaborating in great detail about the woes of eating alone — literally nobody cares — , the writer speaks highly of the food, but places it lesser to Upstairs at the Landrace in Bath, because the direction you face while you’re eating is nicer, apparently.
Without wanting to overtly describe the above as absolute drivel, it does seem to miss the point. A major part of the charm of this place, and many others similar to it, comes from the fact it is so homely — mostly because it was originally designed as a house. Tables vary in size and height, but are chosen carefully to maximise the space of what was once someone’s living room without making you feel crammed in.
The food, too, reflects this philosophy. None of the dishes here play vicariously with presentation, high-end technique or otherwise. They don’t need to. Each plate is a masterclass in simplicity, plated with care, but a zero tolerance for superfluity. A restaurant like Sonny Stores will always pull at my heartstrings.
Within my day job, it is my responsibility to regularly interact with those at the very precipice of modern gastronomy and mixology. These bars and restaurants, for whom the sky being the limit will never suffice, are inspirational through their ability to repeatedly reinvent, reimagine, and refamiliarise the world with food and drink it has long loved through unfamiliar mediums.
I often get the privilege to experience these venues first hand, and they are truly exceptional. But I don’t eat like this on a regular basis, nor would I ever want to.
In the past, I have often dodged the question when asked what the best restaurant in the city is. I will never give a concrete answer. The truth is, Sonny Stores is my favourite restaurant in Bristol, or even the UK. It’s far from being the most technically proficient or creative (both of those crowns belong to Wilsons within the city), but it doesn’t need to be.
Food here is hearty and homely, away from the strict shackles of attempts to push culinary frontiers or otherwise. For people interested in food, whether writers, gourmands or casual eaters simply in search of great bites, it’s often so easy to get tangled in the search of finding “the best” that they often lose sight of what matters. In reality, not every meal you will eat will be revolutionary, so there’s no point dousing every one of them in superlatives. So, while I will never say what the best restaurant in Bristol is, but I can say with certainty that Sonny Stores is my favourite.
At times, people often describe this kind of place as a “neighbourhood restaurant.” A place with astute dependability, affordability, and character that works harmoniously with its surroundings. Tucked away on a quiet residential street in Southville, Sonny Stores, pushing out deeply satisfying food at truly astonishing value, may be the archetypal modern neighbourhood restaurant. It’s just a shame it’s not my neighbourhood anymore.