I couldn’t get a table at Skof for ages: it was too full, too booked up and far too busy. It seemed there’d be no lightly set miso custard with hen of the woods mushrooms and dashi for me. Jersey royals cooked in chicken fat with pickled walnuts? I’d only be able to admire those from afar. It was like catnip: in the spirit of Groucho Marx, I want to be inside any restaurant that doesn’t want me as a customer.
Skof opened in Manchester in May 2024 and by February last year already had a Michelin star, so it’s no wonder that, with only 36 seats, spaces evaporate rapidly. This capacious one-time drapery warehouse could easily accommodate two or even three times that number of covers, but Tom Barnes, formerly of L’Enclume in the Lake District, is not that sort of chef. His restaurant’s name comes from his dad, Barney, telling him rather unceremoniously as a child to “scoff” his dinner. What would Barney have made of his boy’s ornate, complex pre-dinner snacks of chalk stream trout and golden beetroot tartlet, or broad bean, pike roe and shiso on a Spenwood cheese biscuit? Both are hugely scoffable, incidentally. Barney, now deceased, is remembered at the end of every meal via his favourite tiramisu, of which more later.
