Underground Manchester restaurant Beluga is buried by a lack of ambition, and some poor fundamentals drive the nails in.
Manchester's Mount Street restaurant Beluga comes as a surprise, an expansive dining area secreted underground beneath a modestly sized (shiny) bar.
As a space Beluga works; it makes a wonderful first impression, all levels, lights, booths and hidden nooks, and fairly crackles with the kinetic buzz which you should feel in a restaurant.
An exposed pass which juts out into the dining space, and puts you right in touch with the process of preparing your food only adds to this welcome feeling of bustling kitchen serving a busy restaurant.
Factor in some snappy service from the Maitre d', and we were already talking, before even having ordered, about a return visit with friends.
This, I think it's fair to say, was the crest of our enthusiasm for the place.
The Beluga menu is dull. I was going to say staggeringly dull, but the bland safety of the food on offer doesn't deserve an adverb.
The menu, despite a few linguistic flourishes, reads like that which you might find in a good pub; sharing platters, steak pies and Caesar salads. Even the laminated menu spoke more of pub grub than city centre dining.
From a limited choice of starters we plumped for Chicken Liver Parfait (£5.95) and Thai Fish Cakes (£5.50).
The parfait, which was subtle in flavour and dense in texture, came served on a toasted brioche with a sweet onion and balsamic confit.
Pleasant enough, if a bit redolent of a store bought pate, the parfait had to fight its own battles as the confit was a watery tasting and fairly insipid addition.
The fish cakes - a misnomer incidentally, as only one fish cake turned up – disappointed my dinner guest, damning them, in the faintness of her praise, as edible and palatable. Quite what made them Thai fish cakes we're not sure about, as they had no distinct oriental flavour beyond that which was manually added to them from a (again pub-like) side pot of sweet chilli dipping sauce, fresh from the bottle.
The main courses brought a tasty highlight in the inventive form of a Baked Coley in Smoked Salmon (£14.95). Served on a bed of crushed rosemary sweet potato, with a creamy, buttery Prosecco sauce, the dish felt like a comforting, deconstructed fish pie, with the smokey flavours in the salmon laying a gentle arm around the shoulders of the coley.
Not without flaws in its execution – the rosemary and Prosecco elements were again really indistinct – the dish was at least something a little bit different and interesting on an otherwise staid menu.
My Roast Duck Breast (£12.95) was ruined unfortunately. Advertised as being 'pan roasted until pink', the duck breast arrived a sort of grey-brown colour, sad and dry where it should have been moist and full of gamey joy. It shouldn't be difficult to cook duck breast, amateur cooks make a good job of it at home, and this missed by absolutely miles. It was well over, even the simplicity of Beluga's own menu seemingly beyond them.
The rest of the dish, of pancetta and buttered cabbage with a wine, raspberry and thyme reduction was actually good, with the zing of the reduced raspberry sauce harmonising with the deep musk of the herb, but you don't buy your ticket to the show to see the support act, however good they may be.
We didn't make it to dessert, having been told that Beluga were between menus and offered an unappealing choice between cheesecake, chocolate cake and carrot cake. The drab squib of a conclusion to our meal didn't help with the pervading feeling of boredom in Beluga; it says a lot that we decided to pick a pudding up from Tesco on our way home rather than give the Beluga desserts a try. We had hardly been inspired to expect greatness.
The dining equivalent of the middle part of a long distance race, Beluga is safe, predictable and solid but not a lot of fun.
Our Rating: 
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Rating: 5.0/5 (2 votes cast)
Category Food and Drink, Manchester |
Strong Wales throttle disjointed England, but Capello's men eke out grim victory
For Fabio Capello, an unspectacular, unconvincing 1 – 0 win against Wales will be considered job done, but for the 67,000 fans who braved the elements to sit quietly in a gloomy Wembley, and for those watching at home hoping to see England's triumphant return to terrestrial television, the performance will have been less than satisfying.
A stuttering start from England set the pattern of play for the Euro 2012 qualifier, with England stringing the occasional stirring passing move together but otherwise allowing Wales to dominate possession.
For their part this Welsh unit do not look like a side reckoned to be 113 places below fourth-ranked England, thanks to some quirk in FIFA's mathematics.
Robust and aggressive in defence Wales denied England's narrow midfield trio, of Lampard, Barry and Milner, space and ultimately prevented the home team from exerting any real influence over the game.
Wales, boasting in Arsenal's Aaron Ramsey the best and most creative player on the night, looked tidy, if largely ineffectual, in possession and impressed against superior opposition, blossoming under manager Gary Speed's philosophy of continental style passing football.
The state of play mid-way through the first half was so stale and unpromising that ITV's camera's turned to a suited Theo Walcott sitting in the stands, as sure a sign of desperation and straw clutching in a TV editor as it is in a football manager.
- Young and Downing celebrate England's 1st half winner
It was slightly against the run of bring play then when 10 minutes before half time, England took temporary advantage of the flexibility and fluidity that Capello's latterly preferred 4-3-3/4-5-1 should allow.
James Milner broke from his central birth to give England an option out wide, and while his cross came to nothing, the second wave of the attack saw Wales unsettled by the earlier movement, with a couple of sharp passes releasing Stuart Downing to hit the byline.
Downing's cut-back found fellow winger, and left prong of England's promising attacking trident, Ashley Young, who tucked away the chance at the near post.
It was the best move of the match, and it showed what could be good about this England system; versatile Milner popping up on the right wing, Downing able to beat his man and go on either foot and Young appearing as an auxiliary centre-forward. That, sadly, was pretty much that for England, though they put their foot on the gas for the rest of the first half.
The problem was not with England's front three, who actually looked good. It was a pleasure to see an invigorated Wayne Rooney strutting around and having fun on a football pitch, as he did when he first emerged into the Everton team as a precocious teenager. He and Young in particular played with a infectious enthusiasm for the game, full of cheek and smart, sharp thinking of the sort you don't see from England internationals often enough. A quickly taken corner from Young, for example, probably should have resulted in a goal for Rooney, albeit from an unflagged offside position.
No, the forwards were not the issue, but rather the baffling creativity vaccuum seleted to occupy the middle of England's midfield.
Frank Lampard was abject; a passenger for most of the evening, when he did get involved he looked short of ideas- glaring especially as he must have been selected to make the play and dictate terms- and woefully short of pace. Lampard though was positively greyhound-like compared to holding midfielder Gareth Barry.
Wayne Rooney looks positively inspired since investing some of his inflated pay-packet in a hair transplant; Barry though appears to have made a rather less wise purchase with his oil-soaked Manchester City salary, picking up some heavy-looking solid gold boots which cause him to run like drunk old man wearing a barrel.
Too slow to be an effective holding midfielder, unable to offer the fleet-footed cover the position demands, and lacking the vision to unlock stubborn defences Barry is at best a solid workhorse, a pragmatic solution for Capello in the absence of Jack Wilshere.
Only James Milner emerged with any small amount of credit, thanks more to his industry and heart than to a display of talent. He too is only makeshift central midfielder, dragged away from his more natural wide-berth by the lack of pace that so typified England's midfield display.
England started the second half brightly, buoyed their goal, but after a couple of spry moves in the first five minutes soon lost their way. In truth Wales bossed the match after the break, and should really have punished England's sloth and disorganisation with an equalising goal.
Chris Smalling, a good prospect pushed into the England team too soon because of a dispirting lack of full-back talent, gave away the second of two successive free-kicks, each born of his inexperience, in a dangerous position.
- England dealt with Wales' dangerman Gareth Bale
From the resulting set piece, the excellent Aaron Ramsey tested England's back line with a devilish ball into the 6-yard box and, via a defection or two, the ball fell to Robert Earnshaw.
On as a sub for exactly this situation, the journeyman poacher spoon-blazed his shot high over the bar from close range. It was the best and easiest chance of the game, and it would have made the game very testing for England for the remainder of the 90 minutes.
Wales probably deserved something out of the game, but it would have been cruel luck for Gary Cahill whose block tackle led to the chance.
Cahill looks right at home in an England shirt, appearing to have oodles of time on the ball. He is confident in possession, strong and rugged both in the air and in the tackle and blessed with the sort of pace which means a recovery is never out of the question.
In an unrewarding, unenlightening sort of game – result as expected, performance all too familiar - Cahill's continuing emergence as a defensive talent was a rare bright spot. Like the English weather, but with less capacity for the spectacular and unexpected, England are insistently grey and soggy too often, and bright (especially in the summer months) all too rarely.
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Rating: 5.0/5 (1 vote cast)
Category Sport |
We've eaten a lot of lovely pizza, and I mean a lot, in order to bring you this review of The Northern Dough Co's new range of pizza dough. I know, it's a tough gig.
The Northern Dough Co was born when Chris and Amy decided to turn the home-made pizza dough that so delighted their friends into a handy, freshly frozen product that everyone could take home and enjoy.
It's a neat idea, but the landfills of history are stuffed with recipes, sauces, gizmos and doo-dahs which couldn't make the leap out of the family kitchen and into the public consciousness. You only have to have seen one episode of Dragon's Den
to recognise the sort of thing I'm talking about.
What makes The Northern Dough Co's range of pizza doughs different from this crowd of early fence-fallers and half-thunk ideas is its execution, and its brilliant simplicity.
In each of the smartly designed packages you get two 220g doughballs, each of which makes a good size thincrust pizza. Each dough ball comes in its own cellophane parcel; just take the parcel from the freezer and leave it on the side or in the fridge (depending on how soon you'll be making pizza).
The dough begins to proof, expanding as it heats up to fill the packet and leave you with a fresh batch of dough. It's a very cool and slightly mystical process (it will blow your kids' socks off ), and I'm tempted to set up a time-lapse camera just to prove it's not the work of pizza elves or Italian witchcraft.
It's as easy as that, the dough is now ready for you to cook (and play) with; as it says on the packet, simply roll and create.
The dough itself is from a family recipe, created in the esteemed Bacup bakery, C Cheadle & Sons, and passed down to Chris.
C Cheadle & Sons supply their exactingly-made bakery products, including their special pizza dough, to several restaurants, some of which you've likely eaten in, so with the Northern Dough Co you're able to get your own floury hands on restaurant quality pizza dough in the comfort of your own home. It feels like the best of all worlds to me.
The proofed dough is great to work with, all bouncy, light and elastic. You can feel the quality of the product in the palm of your hand.
If you've tried to make your own dough you'll know that, as much fun as it is, the results can be variable and the process can be time-consuming. With these pre-packaged dough balls, you cut out a lot of the fuss and mess and get straight to the fun bit, designing your own custom-built, you-centric pizza.
The really great part is designing a pizza to suit your exact specifications. Unlike a frozen pizza, or even just an unadorned, ready-to-top pizza base you can dress your NoDoCo pizza to your taste, with your favourite toppings and to the size and thickness you prefer.
A versatile product, Northern Dough Co pizza dough is a blank foodie canvas. As well as regular pizzas, you can make blini-style mini pizza canapes for parties or dough balls for dipping. We stuffed our dough balls with mozzarella and salami, but there are lots of recipes on The Northern Dough Co website to get your creative juices flowing.
As well as the original recipe, Northern Dough Co pizza dough also comes in two exciting alternative flavours. For a sweet, mild burn in your pizza base you can try the chilli variety, which is a subtle tweak on the original for those who like a bit of extra bite. The rosemary infused dough is a more potent twist, filling your kitchen with a pleasing herby aroma while it's cooking and creating a more complex experience when you're eating the finished pizza. It's somewhere close in flavour to a posh rosemary focaccia bread.
- Look out for the ever popular Northern Dough Co stall
The two extra flavours open up a new spectrum of recipe ideas. We found that roasted vegetables made fine bedfellows with the rosemary dough while the sweet heat of the chilli dough worked great with a fusion-y cross cultural Mexican number. I'll stop, because this is making me hungry.
As well as having a great taste, this pizza dough is reassuringly made of quality ingredients. The Northern Dough Co use only the best quality ingredients, including authentic olive oil as opposed to cheaper alternatives, and it's all natural stuff. We were happy to see that the only preservative is one essential to the freezing process. Put good stuff in and get good stuff out, right?
Amy and Chris have will be selling their wares at Liverpool Food and Drink Festival this weekend (3rd and 4th September) so pop along and meet them and try the Northern Dough Co for yourself.
If you miss them this weekend don't worry, as they'll be touring the food markets of the North West and beyond, selling their two-packs of dough at £3.00 a box- with details of their travels on the website- and there are plans in the pipe to get your pizza in the post (you're welcome, alliteration enthusiasts) with packs delivered directly to your door. Like their dough itself, we predict a swift rise for The Northern Dough Co.
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Rating: 4.0/5 (4 votes cast)
Category Food and Drink |
Sunny Sunday at Green Man 2011 is low-key, smokey and folky
Wandering over, in customary fashion, to the main stage, first up we saw Manchester's The Travelling Band who have, fittingly enough been touring Europe vigorously to plug their latest album Screaming Is Something
.
Clearly at home under sunny skies, TTB's multi-headed, The Band-ish, cosmic country rock is a perfect fit for an early festival slot and they seized their moment, playing their harmony-soaked socks off at a festival which they have previously attended as patrons. Solid, sweet, if unadventurous, songs played by a talented collection of beards and haircuts. Good fun.
Bleeding Heart Narrative
took on, and took over, the Far Out Tent as the baroque London septet swarmed the stage armed with guitars, strings and an alarming number of mics.
They put them to good use, with an interesting mix of folk and drone, and an undercurrent of the cleverclogs jerky awkwardness that typifies bands like Yeasayer
and Dirty Projectors
. While BHN aren't quite in this elite difficult/brilliant league, they do make an interesting and engaging racket, led by the keening vocals of main man Oliver Barrett. I thought some of the tunes sounded a bit like Spandau Ballet
, but in a good way, and absolutely buried in breakers of strange and beautiful noise.
- Michael Kiwanuka
At the Green Man Pub, Michael Kiwanuka
capitalised on the fact that, come the sunshine, we love a beer garden.
Kiwanuka could not have expected to play to so many people, but his laid-back 70s soul justified the crowds. The Londoner's fine gravelly vocal, set to spare acoustic guitar and liquid bass, was the ideal soundtrack to Sunday's sunshine, and his baked LA soul joints channelled Bill Withers (he finished on a Withers cover) to glorious, smile-widening effect. Could be a chart-botherer.
Tweak Bird were probably the loudest act of the weekend (bar Squarepusher maybe) - no mean feat for a guitar/drums two-piece – hammering out a set of spacey, psyche rock stuffed with ferocious, out-of control drum rolls and huge, filling-loosening riffs. Spontaneous and tetchy, Tweak Bird's apparently fractious, not-quite-telepathic-enough fraternal relationship fuelled this mesmerising high-wire show. Spectacular in its own scuffed-up way and featuring bonus theremin.
Laura Marling
is a Green Man favourite; the festival can probably claim to have discovered the folk tyro, and she played an early evening main stage set to a big, big crowd. Clearly a huge talent, with a fine voice, Marling's steady set drew, from us at least, little more than polite applause and a shrug. Pleasant without being particularly engaging.
The Low Anthem were typically uncompromising, spending much of their long set gathered around a single microphone within inches of each other, leaving the rest of the massive stage empty.
They played quietly through the delicate songs from their slow-burning hit album Oh My God, Charlie Darwin
. The Rhode Island three-piece have a reputation for being difficult live for the uninitiated, and they certainly didn't festivalise their set here, or play to the masses.
The gentle steam-engine thrum of To Ohio
was reduced to walking pace, and the playing was so spare as to slip beyond consciousness at times. Concentration and patience was to be rewarded though; the big stage became ever more intimate as The Low Anthem drew us into their quiet chamber, before showing us a neat parlour trick with adjacent mobile phones and the loudspeaker which filled the Green Man crowd with the sound of electronic chirrups and trills. Lovely, in the end.
That done, we were left with a choice of final night headliners. Having been burned at a bizarrely funky Iron & Wine show before, we went to see Gruff Rhys
.
- Gruff Rhys headlined the Far Out tent
Technical difficulties meant that the Super Furry Animals
man came on a bit late, but he soon won the crowd back with some friendly mumbles (in English and Welsh) and his infectious pop songs.
Weaving a course between whimsical folk, stoned, frazzled pop and hair-brained glam riffery, Rhys and his band kept the tempo up and turned in a set that was sharp and tight in its own baggy, shuffling way.
Eminently weird and likeable, Rhys finished, as is his wont, with a 20-minute long theatrical number about a bomb, a plan and a mediocre actress that would have made more sense if we could properly hear the lyrics. Still fun, it was the most curious among all of Rhys' baffling and delightful curios.
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Rating: 0.0/5 (0 votes cast)
Category Music |
100m finals drama as devastated Usain Bolt is disqualified after a big false start; team-mate Yohan Blake sprints to victory.
As endless slow-motion replays of Yohan Blake's 100m Finals winning run rolled by, commentators and pundits alike did their very best to talk about the race.
Blake won, American Walter Dix powered back late to take second and 35 year old Kim Collins from St Kitts & Nevis took a bronze medal after an electric start.
If the 123 looks a little odd, seems like it's missing something, its because the real story happened before the race got started in earnest.
The starter called for quiet in the crowd and summoned the heavily muscled, race-primed athletes -the fastest men on earth- to their marks.
With the eight sprint finalists crouched in their blocks, the Daegu air thicker than usual with the ectoplasm of tension, anticipating the crack of the starter's pistol, the start of everyone's favourite ten-second drama and maybe the chance to see something special, the unthinkable happened.
Red hot favourite Usain Bolt, expected not just to win but to win comfortably, broke from his crouch early. Bolt is used to winning, but this victory in a race against the snap of the gun isn't one that the charismatic Jamaican will cherish.
Bolt had false started. Not just a twitch in the blocks, but a great premature leap from his starting position in anticipation of, rather than in reaction to, the “B of the Bang.”
The rules as they stand, dictated by tight TV schedules, state that a false start means an automatic disqualification from the race. And Bolt knew it.
He ripped his vest over his head, and a look of disbelieving anguish cracked instantly over his usually smiling face. Bolt screamed to the Daegu skies, his giant hands - which had playfully tugged at his hair and beard while he played to the cameras pre-race – now clutched at the back of his skull in a manifestation of his massive, gut-wrenching disappointment.
The steward's red card , barely acknowledged by Bolt, was a formality. Rules is rules. It was though, painful and deflating to watch the champion elect removed from the marquee race of the championships, and worse to see him pace and prowl around, beating the walls and howling abject rage, impotent as his one-time competitors settled back down to start a race which had become, moments earlier, a little less special.
In the absence of the world's best sprinter, the eventual race felt flat, less spectacular. Though it had its own story, and was won powerfully with a quick time by Bolt's training-mate Yohan Blake, the finals were undoubtedly devalued by the removal of Bolt's aura and singular talent.
Bolt's reaction – both the one which saw him break early and the furious one which greeted his disqualification – showed that he meant business, he was up for this race, and that he was taking this 100m sprint lark seriously. He wanted to put on a show.
It is a show that will have to wait until his appearance in the 200m now, where Bolt will look to put this failure behind him and set the record straight. Something tells me it might be worth watching.
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Rating: 0.0/5 (0 votes cast)
Category Sport |
