It was the second official day of service at Beckford Canteen in Bath when we dropped by to eat – a time when no chef wants to see a restaurant critic. Much like the Ottomans spying Vlad the Impaler on yonder knoll, no kitchen brigade hopes to be invaded and skewered on their opening week. The etiquette of when is too early to judge a new spot is much debated. Some restaurants run a trial period called a soft opening, which isn’t as rude as it sounds. Visiting when they are “on soft” means you may get duck ragu pappardelle down your back and a crying server, but a smaller bill to cover the chaos.
Beckford Canteen, on the other hand, had served a friends-and-family function for one evening only when I happened to be in Bath and needed to be fed. My dilemma was that the menu was a delicious paean to modern British classics and comfort foods: chestnut soup, Welsh rarebit, monkfish with curried butter and sides such as confit potato. There was an apple, sourdough and clotted cream riff on bread pudding that attracted me like an ant towards a blob of jam on a worktop.
