This was actually my second visit to Belzan. The first, according to my iPhone photo history, was on 8th May 2020, but was a little bit tricky to review as the building was operating as an improvised deli, with boxes of fruit and veg arranged amongst the booths and benches that would normally be hosting paying customers. Like so many restaurants during the first national Covid lockdown Belzan had pivoted to, well, just about anything they could think of to get them through the End Times and so this friendly neighbourhood restaurant became your friendly neighbourhood greengrocers and wine merchants. I can't honestly remember what I came away with - definitely a box of veg, possibly a bottle or two of natural wine, and I'm sure it was all lovely - but I think I'm confident in saying it's a period of time both they and myself are happy to forget. I started with a "Peter Piper", a kind of dirty vodka martini involving guindilla (Spanish chilli) pickle juice. Like the best dirty martinis it sailed very, very close to being completely wrong while at the same time just about pulling it off - the pickle juice blasted your senses but the vodka and vermouth just about managed to ground the flavours in something approaching normality. That weekend, in a moment of hideously misplaced confidence, I attempted to make one myself using burger pickle juice and gin. It didn't work. The bread course at Belzan - sourdough cooked by "Leila", a local who offered their services during that same first lockdown and has been a supplier since - comes with a choice cauliflower butter, a lovely concoction full of satisfying, earthy vegetal flavours, and oil and vinegar, the vegan option but which they'll happily provide alongside the cauliflower butter if requested. You can tell a lot about a place from their bread offering - the attention to detail here was very evident. Also from the "snacks" was this giant grilled scallop gratin, a lovely plump bit of sweet, meaty seafood (with roe attached I was delighted to discover) draped in bubbling grilled cheese. I don't know why Coquilles Saint-Jacques have gone out of fashion - perhaps they just belong to a period of French cooking that's a little bit looked down on these days - but scallops and cheese definitely need to be a thing again. This was gorgeous. Courgettes came soft and grilled, with bits of blackened skin adding some very nice detail, and topped with a strong, salty pine nut gremolata. Underneath was a hummus made from butterbean, bright white and silky smooth and the perfect foil for the other vegetables. This is one of those dishes seemingly so simple and rewarding it might inspire you to have a go on the BBQ at home, which one day I indeed may do, albeit perhaps with not quite so much of a cavalier attitude as that with which I approached the pickle martini. Grilled hispi cabbage was only slightly less successful than the courgettes, possibly because the Lancashire cheese was asking to do a bit more of the seasoning heavy lifting than it was equipped to deal with. A bit more salt on the cabbage and in the romesco and this would have been better, and perhaps it could all have been a bit warmer, but it was still a fun thing to eat, with the little crispy bits of charred cabbage adding more of those interesting textures. Poached trout came as a giant, well-seasoned and perfectly timed slab of fresh fish and was a joy from start to finish. Underneath a Vichyssoise sauce was full of satisfying earthy flavours and was studded both with runner beans and mussels, the latter being sweet-pickled somehow. Very clever stuff. And finally from the savoury courses, a huge pile of grilled lamb chops, each blushed perfect pink and so deliriously tender you could have cut them with a spoon. They came on an interesting bed of labneh and grilled nectarines, a vaguely Middle-Eastern range of flavours that worked incredibly well, but the crowning glory was a thick, salty, rich lamb jus that I wanted to bottle and take home with me. If you can tell a lot about a restaurant from their bread course, you can tell even more from their ability with sauces. This lamb sauce was as close to perfect as it's possible to get. We found room for one dessert, a strawberry choux bun so delicate and light that, when I attempted to cut it in half, flattened hilariously onto the plate, leaving us with a kind of strawberry-pastry Eton mess. It tasted fantastic anyway, you won't be surprised to learn, as did the sweet (but actually not overly sweet) Riesling I'd picked to go with it. Can't leave a place like this without trying a dessert wine - it's the rules. The bill came to £75 each, which although not a complete bargain (I think the days of restaurant bargains have long gone, with certain notable exceptions) is still great value for the amount of skill and effort that had gone into everything we tried. And certainly, we weren't the only people to think so, with Belzan turning the tables throughout this Wednesday evening, quite a hopeful thing to see from an industry seemingly so consumed with doom and gloom. Should there be? Let's face it - the trick that places like this pull off so successfully is to make the difficult and skilful look easy and effortless, and if after 7 years they've not even opened a second spot in Liverpool never mind attempted to throw their net wider probably tells you all you need to know about the logistics of running a modern British bistro. But then that just makes what Belzan are doing all the more special - if you want great food, made with care and intelligence and served with a smile, then you will just have to come to Smithdown Road. You won't regret it. 9/10

There's a part of me knows, deep down inside, that it probably is possible, if you try really, really, really hard, to have a bad meal in Spain. Burger King exist there, for a start, and although they sell alcohol as a concession to their European location I somewhat doubt they also do an arròs negre special or platter of Iberico ham to keep local sensibilities happy. And I'm sure if you went to the nearest Tex Mex off the Plaça Catalunya in Barcelona or ordered fish and chips from Mike's Bar in Torremolinos it's possible you won't be served anything worth writing home about but then if you were the kind of person who wanted to eat burritos in Barcelona or fish and chips in Andalusia then perhaps that wouldn't bother you too much. But after a recent two-week trip to Catalonia where we didn't have one single meal less than very good, and most were in fact much better than that, I came away with the impression that this is a part of the world where eating well is as vital a part of normal everyday life as electricity or hot and cold running water, and that good food is something approaching a natural human right. In the first few days we would do our research, revisit reliable old haunts and Michelin-showered sure things, and it was all lovely. But after a while we realised that we could basically plonk ourselves down anywhere, order whatever seafood they had available with a few rounds of anchovy toast, and come away deliriously happy. Oh and having spent a pittance, too - that's another thing about Spain. Hardly a likely spot for one of the best lunches of the holiday, I know - but the first clue we were onto something good was that dotted amongst the usual family-friendly offerings of nachos and burgers appeared to be some rather well-selected seafood. First to arrive was a giant plate of clams, drowning in oil and garlic and parsley, which had that fantastic bouncy chew of the best fresh bivalves and a wonderful clean, meaty flavour. Razor clams were also top-notch, dressed in much the same way and presented just as simply and honestly. They arrived alongside pa amb tomàquet - delicate thin coca bread with just enough squishy summer tomato to let them keep their crisp and shape, and a bowl of patatas bravas, lovely crunchy little bites of fried potato draped in aioli. It was all far, far better than it needed to be for a little honeytrap bar operating out of a tourist information office. But if the clams and tapas had been great, these Palamós prawns were life-changing. I have gone on at length on this blog previously how these giant red prawns are some of the best protein of any kind it's possible to eat, and that they are a must-order if you ever see them on a menu. You do occasionally come across similar species in London at high-end places like Barrafina, where they're called Carabineros and are still lovely, except of course in the UK they cost about £16 each. This plate of six plump, salty, expertly grilled beasties that were probably flapping around happily in the Mediterranean sea a few hours previously, were a ludicrous €18 - the kind of seafood mega-bargain that only seems to happen in this part of the world. There were still concessions to the tourist-friendly stuff that keeps the rest of the family happy - burgers were decent (I tried a bit of the wagyu one) and a bowl of cheesy nachos had, well, plenty of cheese, and none of it was unreasonably priced, but the real story here was the seafood - incredible, fresh, cheap, expertly cooked seafood, for what in the end came to about €20 per person. After lunch we stopped by another local favourite - Gelat Artesà de Peratallada, an interesting little independent ice cream shop specialising in, shall we say, rather unusual flavours. Alongside classics like strawberry, mint chocolate chip and coffee you can try Roquefort, or gazpacho, or even l'Escala anchovy - certainly not the kind of varieties you can drag out of the freezer at your local corner shop. Not brave enough to try the anchovy I had a bit of olive oil, which was rather lovely, so maybe next time I should go full seafood. Certainly after the stilton ice cream at 8 I'm convinced that savoury/sweet ice creams are the way forward. Behind the ice cream cabinet at the back of the shop at Gelat Artesà was a new gin bar, where not only do they serve their own gin - Outer Gin (flavoured with various local fruits and herbs) - but will incorporate it into a quite elaborate gin and tonic where the aromatics and dried fruits are painstakingly tweezered in to a giant copa glass. This too, alongside the ice cream experience, comes very highly recommended. 9/10

There are many things about 8 by Andy Sheridan that might rub you up the wrong way. The name, for a start - I've never really been behind the idea of any restaurant being purely "by" anyone; except in very rare cases, these things are surely a team effort, particularly as on this occasion, the titular chef wasn't even on site. And there are few things more off-putting after committing to an evening at such a place than being emailed a giant list of rules, directives and get-out clauses - any modification to the booking less than 7 days(!!) before the event will result the full £120 menu being charged per person, being any more than 15 minutes late on the day is regarded as a no-show (same penalty), only pescatarians can be catered for, not vegetarians or dairy-free or gluten-free... it all tends to give the impression that you're doing them a favour turning up at all, rather than the other way round. So yes, there's a lot about the place that seems designed to irritate, a certain arrogance and swagger that seems unnecessary or unearned. "Here we go," you might think, "another too-big-for-his-boots regional chef who after a couple of Great British Menu appearances thinks he deserves three Michelin stars and a sponsorship deal with Hexclad. I see your game, matey". As much as I try to approach these things with an open mind there was an aspect of the attitude that strongly invites cynicism. And so it's that much more of a surprise and a delight to report that 8 by Andy Sheridan turned out to be so absolutely, flabbergastingly good. The fireworks started from the first bite. A delicate little tomato meringue with a fresh, light burrata filling topped with a generous mound of black truffle. Boldly flavoured, perfectly seasoned, and so carefully constructed the whole thing burst into a tomato-truffle-dairy explosion in the mouth, it was the kind of thing so many places can get technically right but forget to add that extra element of personality. As much as I loved much of what I ate at Bo.tic, very often their food was impressive but emotionally underwhelming. That never happened at 8. Tuna tartare with black garlic, avocado and chilli was another vaguely familiar collection of ingredients that punched way above their weight thanks to an expert balance of textures and seasoning, and a lovely strong chilli kick at the end that made the other elements sing that little bit louder. And then finally from the snacks, a gruyere, liquorice and almond purée tasting - I hope they don't mind me saying - like a very posh marmite butter, where the liquorice element thankfully limited itself to a faint hit of umami, all offset nicely by a layer of sweet Roscoff onion chutney underneath. The textures were, once again, immaculate - the superbly delicate pastry just about holding itself together until eaten - and the flavours rich and satisfying. As a trio of canapés go, these were pretty much perfect. Reseated downstairs in a stylishly-lit (ie. dark - sorry about the photos) room containing just 16 seats arranged in front of two large sushi-style counters with a dedicated chef each, we were presented with the bread course, a "Parker roll" with honey and cultured butter. The top of the rolls were glazed with an interesting variety of dried herbs and the bread itself was soft and sweet and as deliriously addictive as anything outside of The Devonshire. And believe me, that's high praise indeed. The next course was confit trout - a fantastic bit of fish worth the price of admission by itself, but served on a bed of split parsley sauce with pickled green strawberries and fennel it became something even more spectacular. You don't have to do much to one of my favourite fishes to impress me, but here, cooked to buttery, unctuous perfection and in an earthy, vegetal parsley sauce that wished would never end, it was just a world class bit of cooking. I worry about repeating myself. The problem with the food at 8 - at least the problem for me - is that more or less everything was unimprovable; the absolute best it could possibly be. And although that makes for a great evening at the time - and it bloody did, and then some - trying to convey that reality using my own mediocre vocabulary runs the very real risk of underselling it. This pork belly, for example, pulled apart into satisfying firm layers, and was accompanied by a little blob of hibiscus miso purée on the side and a wonderfully complex sigil pal (a Mayan pumpkin-seed-based salsa apparently) underneath. The flavours were incredible - each bit of it deserving a short novel never mind a paragraph on a food blog - but the star remained that pork, careful ageing providing an amazing complexity. Seabass next, crudo, in coconut, peanut and coriander. Despite its seeming ubiquity on restaurant menus these days I always enjoy seabags, though I imagine only the best stuff can be used raw like this. The fish itself was lovely and clean and fresh with a tender bite, and the coconut, peanut and coriander made a kind of ceviche which as well as working incredibly well took the meal in a whole new direction, geography-wise. While much of the ingredients that 8 make use of are resolutely local (or at least as local as makes sense in a modern restaurant in 2025), the inspiration for the flavour profiles come from all over the world. If the pork belly was kind of pan-Asian, the seabass definitely looked towards South America. And with the duck, we went French. Duck and celeriac is a time-honoured match, and I'm sure I don't need to tell you that 8 make a supremely light and smooth celeriac purée and can cook a bit of duck breast to pink, plump perfection. All elements were draped in one of those light summery jus', and I'm very glad I left some of the bread to mop it up because it really was superb. The pescatarians were given the same purée and a very similar jus (presumably one not involving duck) but with hen-of-the-wood mushroom as the main protein, which actually turned out to be even better at soaking up that amazing sauce. One of the things I've noticed about tasting menu joints over the years is that quite often when the savoury courses underwhelm things tend to get a lot more interesting by the desserts, and vice versa - a kitchen firing on all cylinders for the fish and meat courses seem to lose interest when it comes to pud. This is clearly not always the case but it's pretty noticeable when it happens. Any worry that 8 would take their eye off the ball when it came to the sweet courses was blown out of the water by the arrival of this sticky toffee pudding with stilton ice cream, quite the most brilliant twisting and updating of a classic British dessert that I can remember in a very long time. Without the ice cream this would have been a superlative version, all salty and sticky and gooey and full of everything that makes STP so good. But the stilton ice cream was a genuine work of genius, rich and funky from the cheese but thick and cool and deeply, satisfyingly dairy. I remember saying "I can't believe it" out loud, over and over again until my friend told me to stop. The rest of the desserts were hardly any less impressive. A little compote of summer berries was paired with a white chocolate mousse and I think was a lemon verbena sorbet, all of it fresh and lovely and full of colour and personality. But sadly it had to end somewhere and the final dish was an extraordinary collection of techniques applied to Jersey milk - made into crumbs, frozen into a super-smooth ice cream, and even dried and baked somehow into a cracker. Very clever stuff, but as I hope I've made clear by now, never at the expense of joy and enjoyment. Whatever techniques 8 have at their disposal, and by God they have a few, they turn them relentlessly and tirelessly into making their food as good as it can possibly be, from the very first bite to the last. I realise I'm sounding a bit like I'm writing a press release for them, but food this good tends to turn you into an evangelist. I wish they'd done at least something wrong so I could at least give some kind of nod towards impartiality but I'm really at a loss. A special word should go to their resident wine person Declan who was brilliant company throughout the evening and persuaded me to try a dry Riesling with the sticky toffee pudding rather than the Pedro Ximines sherry I would normally have gone for and turned out to be quite right too, damn him. OK, so I suppose the place ain't cheap - the bill came to £210pp but you still get way more than you pay for. And perhaps I'd have liked to have seen a bit more of this historic building's incredible architecture reflected in the restaurant interiors, which felt a little more "provincial nightclub" than "globally important metal-framed glass proto-skyscraper". But again, who cares really. The fact is, restaurants like this don't come along very often, so when they do they should be recognised, cherished and - most importantly of all - supported. If you're worried that £200 seems a lot for dinner - and let's face it, it is - remember that there are certain other spots up the Merseyrail Northern Line that will ask for even more, and good luck walking back to your city centre hotel from Ormskirk. 8 by Andy Sheridan really does deserve to be spoken about amongst the very best restaurants in the country, never mind Liverpool, and I can count on one hand the number of meals that have impressed me as much over the last so many years. And so looking back on that rather bolshy confirmation email now I can see that it wasn't so much misplaced arrogance it showed than a desire to protect themselves and their singular offering from the rather terrifying environment they're having to operate in these days. Now, more than ever, restaurants need you, and 8 by Andy Sheridan need you, and all they can offer in return is possibly one of the best meals of your life. And that sounds like a decent deal to me. 10/10

This is not going to be a long post. Not because Luna - a cosy little new wine bar from the people behind Legare just over the road - isn't good, but rather because it really isn't going to take me long to describe why it's good. Because it's really not rocket science - take an lovely old converted Shad Thames warehouse building, put a good-sized open kitchen on the ground level and a light (if ever-so-slightly cramped) and attractive dining space on a mezzanine level, fill it all with enthusiastic and capable staff and put together a menu of enticing and accessible small plates. The result is the kind of friendly little space that everyone wishes they had on their doorstep. Everything we ate was at least good. Oysters - cool, fresh and lean - came dressed with ginger and finger lime, a combination which enhanced the natural salty minerality of the bivalves without being too strong. They were also cleanly opened with no little gritty bits, which I know isn't a dealbreaker but still isn't a given everywhere. The Aberdeen Angus carpaccio with pistachio was boldly seasoned and full of flavour, with the petals of beef having a good solid bite and healthy, dense texture. This was clearly good beef, prepared and presented well. Lamb cutlets were cooked nicely pink inside and though I would have liked a bit more texture - the crunch of a fiercely-grilled piece of lamb fat is the kind of thing that haunts my dreams - they still had an excellent colour and disappeared quickly, the charred onions and yoghurt providing a perfect accompaniment. But never let it be said that I don't occasionally allow myself simple pleasures because my favourite thing overall was probably the simplest - these matchstick fries covered in Old Bay, which had a deliriously addictive dry-crunch and a good hit of that famous Southern US seasoning. If you came in just for a glass of their excellent wine (a blend from Tenerife was their daily special the day we visited) and a bowl of Old Bay fries you would still leave happy I'm sure - although I bet it would be difficult to resist ordering more. 8/10 I was invited to Luna and didn't see a bill. The dinner above would by my rough calculation have cost about £50pp if we were paying, so not bad really.

You will probably be aware that Catalonia has well more than its fair share of influential restaurants, a tradition that runs from El Bulli through Can Roca and Disfrutar and has fanned out in all kinds of interesting ways across all levels of the culinary scene, from the most high-falutin' multi- Michelin-starred temple of gastronomy to the small-town seafood grill. In fact, you're far more likely to see the words "Ex El Bulli" on a chef's bio in this part of the world than a mention of any culinary school, a result partly of the myth-like status that place in Roses holds over the collective mind of the area but also because Ferran Adrià used to get through junior staff like most kitchens get through blue roll. Albert Sastregener of Bo.tic is that rarest of rare Spanish head chefs - he's never worked at El Bulli (or even claimed to - which is even more unusual) or done time at Can Roca. He did, admittedly, have Joan Roca as a teacher for some of his time at the Escola d’Hostaleria in Girona but most of his culinary style was borne of working in resolutely Catalan kitchens in places like Mas Pau in Palau-sator, or La Cuina de Can Pipes in Palafrugell, restaurants open all year round that seamlessly switch to catering largely to discerning locals when the tourist seasons fade. It's restaurants like these that form the backbone of the Catalan food identity, serving dishes like braised pork cheek, botifarra (Catalan sausage) and aioli, grilled sardines, xiperones (fried baby squid) all alongside never-less-than-perfect-anywhere patates fregides. To this day I do not know why every single restaurant in the north east of Spain is a master of fried potatoes. They just are. Anyway, back in Corçà, a sleepy little town near Girona, while a dangerously dark sky was threatening to unleash all hell outside, our lunch was about to begin. First was a bit of tableside theatre - posh "Bloody Mary's", involving a tomato-vodka consommé, a peeled and frozen cherry tomato and a celery mousse squirted out of an espuma gun. The flavours from the tomato and celery were bold and clean, and I'm never not impressed by anything built tableside (which must be quite a stress for the server given the number of things that could go wrong) - I just would have liked a bit more of a burn from the alcohol. Mind you given that this was the first element out of a few dozen to come over a long lunch, perhaps they knew exactly what they were doing. As mentioned, Sastregener is a resolutely and proudly Catalan chef, and so it would make sense that even in this grandest of fine dining surroundings he would want to showcase everything that makes this part of the world such a joy to eat in, albeit in a format suitable to a €300+ a head tasting menu. So what followed for the next 15 or so dizzying minutes was a collection of dramatically presented morsels that attempted to tell the story of Catalan cuisine one bitesize burst of flavour at a time. So here we have a little mussel escabeche presented in a hard shell-shaped cracker (rather too close to eating actual mussel shell for my liking, but the flavours were great); "Peanut", a kind of freeze-dried and reconstituted peanut biscuit which had a fantastic texture and rich, satisfying savoury flavour; a cute square of L'Escala anchovy on a pillow-shaped cracker filled with tomato and topped with some kind of fish roe; a wonderful ball of potato and onion omelette which was soft and warm and comforting; and a piece of very lightly battered squid standing in for that staple of Spanish childhood, calamares a la Romana. We continued with another set of canapés laid out on the branches of a metal tree, because why not. Here is a grilled leek buñuelo (doughnut) topped with romesco sauce, a nod towards the traditional Catalan calçotada winter feast; a dainty cup of melon juice and "sea ham" (dried tuna belly) which I'm not sure is very Catalan (though could be wrong) but had that nice nostalgic 70s throwback vibe; octopus salpicón (salad) in a glossy, richly-seafoody mousse on a salty cracker; chunks of white prawns from Palamós in a clear seafood aspic which tasted sweet and garlicky; a completely brilliant foie gras and corn nut candyfloss creation which melted in the mouth releasing buttery, meaty flavours so utterly moreish I could have easily made myself sick on these if there was enough available to hand; and finally a shot of tomato, basil and parmesan, kind of a liquid salad which also worked incredibly well. Then a serving called "roasts" which involved bitesize versions of three more famous Catalan dishes - "Cannelloni", slow cooked beef mince draped in luxurious béchamel; "Suquet", basically a Catalan bouillabaisse containing chunks of fresh fish and seafood in a salty, thick, deeply satisfying broth; and "Senyoret" rice, a bitesize paella full of yet more beguiling seafood flavours. Incredibly there was still one more round of snacks to go before the main menu began, and they conspired to be some of my favourite of all. Pigeon, slow cooked in a red wine sauce and served inside a folded crepe was the only taste of wild game that day, and didn't disappoint - the flavour was intense, and the glossy texture coated the mouth satisfyingly; wagyu beef buñuelos had more intensely rich flavours in the sauce, the result I'm sure of many hours' work reducing and improving; and best of all a mushroom and truffle xuixo, which we were instructed to bite into from one side to stop the thing splitting and ejecting the contents all over the table and ourselves. The xuixo in particular was an incredible thing - delicate enough to break apart with the softest bite and releasing a heady mix of sweet pastry and truffle-spiked dairy, it was a genuine highlight amongst highlights. So far, then, so good. But perhaps I should insert a little bit of reality into proceedings by talking about the way Bo.tic handle their bread course. Because for reasons best known to them, at Bo.tic, bread is charged extra. I'll repeat that in case you think maybe you've misunderstood - at this two Michelin-starred restaurant, despite punters paying on average €300+ for their lunch and sometimes quite a bit more, they've decided that bread is such a wilful extravagance that it requires a supplement. Now if I was generous I could give them the benefit of the doubt and suggest that perhaps in the recent past the kitchens wanted to spread their bready wings a bit and offer two or three options, and too many people were just going for all at once and filling up too much too early in the meal. Maybe this happened. But honestly, guys, it's just bread - let people order too much if they want, and suck it up. Charging extra for something that in most restaurants is just part of the furniture just looks like profiteering. Anyway, after a nibble on a bit of sourdough with Brittany butter (perfectly nice, €11.40) we were finally at the first of the starters. White crab, encased in a lovely translucently light tube of pasta, was dotted with various vegetable emulsions (green bean, carrot) and cute little nubbins of pickled chilli. Vaguely unadventurous set of flavours perhaps but nonetheless very enjoyable, and gorgeous to look at. White shrimp from Palamós formed the centrepiece of the next dish, perhaps slightly cured but perhaps completely raw, it was hard to tell but didn't matter - being some of the finest seafood in the world you really do not need to muck about with these things. They were topped with little blobs of mousse made (presumably) from the heads and shells, and surrounded by a smooth, glossy herb emulsion. I'm such a fan of Palamós prawns that I ended up eating them on a number of occasions throughout this trip, and I never got bored of them. These were great. Although the bewildering number of snacks at the start of the meal was designed as a Catalan Cuisine 101 course in local food appreciation, there was still room for more nostalgia in the main courses. This "gyoza" bared more than a passing resemblance to little squid empanada things they used to serve at a little local favourite spot in L'Escala in the late 80s, with that same heady mix of seafood, tomato and olives in the filling. Admittedly in Hostel La Vinya in 1989 they didn't serve spiralised squid meat masquerading as tagliolini or serve it with a jet-black sauce made from squid ink, but the basic premise was the same. "Turbot and prawn" had lots of really nice things going on. Continuing the running theme of tomato-seafood bisque this dish had some nice bouncy prawn and a meaty chunk of turbot in another rich, salty sauce. Also in the sauce were clever little 'gnocchi' made out of more Palamós prawn and the whole thing was topped with clouds of foam made from turbot and fennel. On the side was a little rice cracker containing yet more raw prawns and bisque which made a very satisfying little mouthful. The final savoury course was lamb - squares of grilled terrine that dissolved very pleasantly into crispy/chewy layers in the mouth, dressed in a garlic-rosemary-butter sauce and surrounded by a ring of what I think was some kind of thick potato purée. The lamb and the sauce were lovely and had they stopped there I think I would have had a better time, because the potato was very strange - a big, cold, congealed ring of bland potato which lifted up rather disconcertingly off the plate as one piece, like a big grey flappy bangle. But I liked the little pillows of pommes soufflées (not easy things to make) and a bitesize lamb and cheese bread thing served on its own glass plinth was very enjoyable, so overall it wasn't a disaster, just a rare misstep. A palate cleanser came in the form of citrus sorbet, lime pound cake and jelly, topped with yoghurt and ginger emulsion and little shots of frozen basil and ginger. I loved everything about this - partly because by this stage in what had been quite an intensely savoury meal I was absolutely ready for a bit of summer fruit. But it was also quite brilliant, a collection of textures and flavours that worked absolutely perfectly together to become better than the sum of their parts, and I wish it could have lasted forever. And if anything the next dessert was even better - a shockingly powerfully flavoured cherry sorbet with chunks of peach, pears and orange variously as coulis, jelly and emulsion and topped with frozen 'tears' of raspberry. Look if you have access to some of the best fruit on the planet why not just use everything all at once - especially when the result is as good as this. Like the dish before I polished it all off in record time and wished I could have had more. A lot more. The final sweet was perhaps more technically impressive than overtly enjoyable - a water-based dark chocolate mousse next to a branded coffee and chocolate biscuit. Perfectly nice but not particularly memorable, at least not compared to the fireworks that had come before. And of course Bo.tic couldn't let it finish there, so petits fours came in the form of these pretty little things, our favourites being the raspberry meringue bites at the top of the "tree" and the rich, creamy (and very delicate, you really had to rush them into your mouth before they fell apart in your fingers) Crema Catalana 'eggs' just beneath. Like much of what had come before they were technically brilliant, showstopping to look at and very easy to enjoy. And we did enjoy Bo.tic - it's really hard not to be charmed by a place like this, where in a bright, beautifully designed dining room, enthusiastic and experienced staff serve intelligent and attractive dishes made from the best ingredients the region can offer. Even a scary moment when all the mobile phones in the room simultaneously squealed out a flash flood warning didn't seem to break their stride - front of house acted like it happened all the time, which perhaps it does - and although we didn't feel brave enough to take up their offer of interrupting kitchen staff with queries about our food whenever the fancy took us ("honestly they won't mind!") it was nice that the offer was there. The atmosphere of the place was easy, and pleasant, and very much designed to give everyone the best possible time. It's just that for this amount of money - especially in Spain where food and drink is noticeably cheaper than most of the rest of Europe - I just think we needed a bit, well, more. I don't mean physically more food - there was plenty of that - but a bit more innovation, a bit more spark and fire, a few more surprises. I don't think it's too unfair to compare this meal to a similarly-priced lunch at Can Roca a few years back where a couple of the dishes - the white asparagus Vienetta and the prawn dish - made such an impression on me at the time I can still taste them if I close my eyes and think back. Plenty of the dishes at Bo.tic were very good, and one or two were excellent, but none were at that level. And Can Roca didn't charge extra for bread. Still, it was more than worth the journey to this little Baix Empordà town and if nothing else our meal - particularly the first few courses of it - was a reminder that Catalan food can shine no matter what the format. Yes you can go and spend €300+ on dainty little reconstructions of classic dishes served in spectacular surroundings, and you can enjoy that very much. Or alternatively you could stop at the nearest roadside joint hung with woodsmoke and get a plate of galta de porc amb patates fregides flung at you by a bloke in a string vest, pay €7 for it and go home just as happy. Both approaches are valid, and both only exist because the surrounding ecosystem of food-savvy and discerning customers, either local or visiting, is there to support them. So really, I suppose the point I'm trying to make is that we should be happy for all kinds of restaurants, at all budgets and for all occasions. Where would we be without them? 7/10