Essex Eating does Jerez - Part 2

Whenever I happen to be abroad, one of my favourite pastimes is wandering around a supermarket. It can keep me amused for hours. On my recent sherry jaunt to Jerez, I had ample opportunity to indulge. It doesn’t have to be a posh delicatessen, full of premium produce, I’m more than happy playing the tourist in the foreign equivalent of Co-op. I find it endlessly fascinating. Marvelling at the shelves stocked with exotic ingredients and staring uncomprehending at all kinds of no doubt mundane, yet intriguingly mysterious items with suitably unpronounceable names. I mentally compare prices with the UK; study the locals and what they’re buying (in a totally non creepy way) and just generally be a total supermercado geek 

So, bearing this in mind, imagine how I felt when confronted with Jerez’s massively impressive indoor market. Jam packed with locals shopping, gossiping and bustling around a huge hall filled with fishmonger’ s counters, each piled high with a bewildering array of fresh seafood of every kind imaginable.

Massive prawns, (which as fans of comedian Stewart Lee will know, signify quality of life). Tiny little jumping shrimp, heaps of beautiful looking fish, next to heaps of ugly ass sea monsters. Flat fish, fat fish, catfish. Gigantic cross sections of ruby red Tuna and something that looked a hell of a lot like shark. Basically the whole cast of Finding Nemo, caught, gutted and displayed on ice for your viewing pleasure. I was endlessly impressed.

Radiating out from the fishy heart of the market, surrounding areas specialise in fruit and veg or charcuterie, whilst outside, there are small ramshackle looking stalls selling foraged herbs and greens. Out back, in an alley, there’s a small café seemingly frequented by market traders. At 11am, I notice approvingly, they’re already knocking back the sherry.

Although it’s hardly surprising when you consider that Jerez is sherry city, and an ice cold glass of Fino in any bar will set you back around 1 Euro 20, (96p). Being an absolute sherry fiend, and with the sun beating down in an appropriately scorchio fashion, I took full advantage of the fact and drank frigging gallons of the stuff at every opportunity. Don’t mind if I do.

Obviously, all this amazing boozing needs accompanying grub to soak up the alcohol and the Spaniards have it totally covered in the form of tapas. As with the sherry, in Jerez it’s ridiculously cheap. Around 2.5 Euro for a small plate, which meant that as well as spending most of my time suitably leathered, I was also stuffing my face silly, pretty much constantly. As you can imagine, it was hellish.

At this point, I have to mention one of the best things I ate, Chicharones, deep fried rendered pork offcuts flavoured with rosemary. Extremely porky, meaty and surprisingly soft and ungreasy. These were crazy cheap and sold by the kilo. Holy Moly, that’s what I’m talking about. Despite realising that my arteries were noticeably hardening as I stuffed one after the other into my already addicted gob. I just couldn’t leave them alone and kept going until I’d eaten the whole frigging lot. Disgusted with myself, I vowed to cleanse my innards with more sherry.

I’m pleased to say that as well as eating whilst walking around, I also found time to munch sitting down. 

There were a couple of places I particularly liked. Although a little touristy perhaps, the rather impressive looking El Gallo Azul, right in the centre of Jerez, just across from the market served up some lovely tapas. We spent an entire afternoon there, sitting in the sun, perched at a barrel, eating our way through the menu, drinking La Ina Fino and people watching.

Salmorejo, a southern Spanish dish, like gazpacho but much thicker, was excellent. As was a deep fried piquillo pepper stuffed with oxtail. A tuna steak assemblage with grilled vegetables and alioli was also cracking. In fact, everything we ate was decent and so ridiculously dirt cheap that when the bill arrived, we both instantly broke into disgustingly smug grins.

El Almacen, a little battered looking but atmospheric bar situated down a cobbled street was another great find. Sat up at the packed bar in the evening, drinking glass after glass of Tio Pepe Fino, snacking on bowls of picos (small bullet like, breadsticks) and wolfing down hot, battered, deep fried aubergine slices drizzled with honey, I couldn’t have been happier, evidenced from a general instability when I finally slid off the stool and staggered out into the evening air, which being Jerez, was fragrant with the smell of orange blossom.

Another evening saw us in the nearby coastal town of El Puerto De Santa Maria, and eating in a seafood restaurant called Romerijo, which features a long refrigerated cabinet with pretty much every creature that calls the sea it’s home, laid out in it’s fluorescent glare, ready to be pointed at, selected and scarfed in the restaurant out back.

We got to try all sorts of fresh seafood, razor clams cooked a la plancha, hot deep fried Hake with alioli, Tortillitas de Camarones (fried shrimp pancakes) and unusually, percebes or goose barnacles, ugly ass, expensive crustaceans that could be best described as looking like a kind of alien pigeons foot. Apparently, harvesting these from the rocks can be incredibly dangerous, and people have died in the process. Personally, after having an experimental nibble, and finding them a bit chewy and briney, I’d say they aren’t really for me.

On Sunday, ‘E’ and I, feeling a bit adventurous managed to exercise our entirely non-existent Spanish language skills and somewhat surprisingly, found our way onto a bus to Sanlúcar de Barrameda, a city about 25 kilometres West of Jerez, where famously Manzanilla sherry is produced (like Fino, but with a touch of saltiness due to the sea air). 

As we made our way into the outskirts of Sanlúcar It was interesting to note the localised allegiance to Manzanilla – and in particular to local producer, La Gitana, every bar displaying their livery, whereas in Jerez, It’s mostly Tio Pepe. 

Unfortunately, on a Sunday all the Bodegas (wineries) were closed, so with the sun’s rays tanning my bronzed Essex hide, we gravitated towards a central square with a fountain and absolutely packed with locals. Enclosed on all sides with tapas bars. I decided it could have been worse. 

Working our way around the square, drinking ice cold Manzanilla and eating a few things there, a few things here I managed to stuff myself with excellent pork cheeks braised in sherry, some kind of local seafood stew, like a really wet paella, and only served on Sundays, Oxtail croquettes and a sort of grilled fish that the menu reckoned was hake, but ‘E’ and I weren’t so sure.

We also, once again, encountered a perennial problem for Pescetarian ‘E’ whilst in España. The Spanish do like to stick ham in absolutely everything, entirely unannounced. Even a safe looking dish titled ‘Aubergine La Gitana’ ended up being a kind of pork mince lasagna, much to ‘E’s dismay. Obviously, I feigned sympathy whilst happily stuffing the lot. 

It was a muchos Manzanilla marinated duo that fell back into the return bus later that afternoon.

Jerez is probably one of the nicest small cities I’ve visited, anywhere in the world.  The plentiful sherry at bargain prices and the generally excellent tapas, which happily, is also dirt-cheap, makes it a real destination if you’re into good food and wine. I highly recommend it. Unfortunately, Jerez airport is served from the UK by RyanAir who, I think most would agree, are frigging abysmal in just about every regard. So grit your teeth and take the pain or tranquilize yourself silly for the flight, but do go. At the other end, it’s bloody lovely.   

*Once again massive thanks to everyone at Gonzalez Byass and to @justinjerez for introducing me to Chicharones*

Essex Eating Does Sherry in Jerez

A few years ago, if you’d offered me a glass of sherry, I’d have laughed in your face, assuming you were winding me up. Sherry not being a drink for a young thrusting hipster, man about town like me, but more suited to senile, blanketed OAPs, rocking catatonically by the fire smelling faintly of stale biscuits and piss.

How wrong could I possibly be?

Massively it turns out.

My eyes were well and truly opened, when one day, I was introduced to Fino and Manzanilla. Two similar, pale, crisp, bone-dry types of sherry, utterly opposed to the sweet, cloying dark cream varieties so beloved of grannies. It was a revelation. I was completely blown away. I just couldn’t believe no one had told me about this before.

Perfect with most types of food, served chilled, refreshing and incredibly drinkable, Fino and Manzanilla are nowadays, very often my alcoholic drinks of choice, and I assure you, I’m well hip, and I don’t often wrap myself in a blanket, or smell of urine, that much. I’m definitely a card carrying, full on convert to the sherry cause, and have been for quite some time.

So, bearing this in mind, you can imagine how I felt when one of the major sherry producers, Gonzalez Byass, makers of Tio Pepe, recently offered me the chance to visit their bodega (winery) in the Spanish town of Jerez, and basically drink a load of amazing sherry and eat tapas.

Oh go on then, If I must *sigh*

Jerez, an attractive small city in the Southern Spanish province of Cadiz is known as the capital of sherry and one of the three principal areas forming the ‘sherry triangle’ the others being Sanlúcar de Barrameda and El Puerto de Santa María. In Spanish law, for a product to be called ‘sherry’, it has to be from this area.

All of the sherry producers have bodegas around the area and dotted throughout the city. The bone white earth of the surrounding countryside is patchworked with vineyards growing the Palomino and Pedro Ximénez grapes used to produce sherry. Unsurprisingly, every bar sells it, and displays their allegiance to one of the city’s sherry producers with liveried umbrellas and signage. It’s without a doubt the centre of the sherry universe.

The first thing that struck me about Jerez, arriving in the evening was the warm night air heavy with the strong scent of orange blossom. It’s everywhere. Lining every main road and in every public garden. In springtime, the whole city smells incredible.

The next day, and onto something else that smells incredible, the Gonzalez Byass bodega, spread over a fairly large area and situated smack bang in the centre of town, right next door to the Cathedral and a moorish fortress. The overwhelming whiff upon entering is the deep almost raisin like aroma of sherry maturing in barrels. It’s absolutely lovely and I spent a fair bit of time inhaling deeply with an inane grin on my face.

Being shown about the bodega, on the surface, it almost felt like a sherry theme park at times, with a mini train to cart tourists around the site, but upon being ushered into the cool shade of the darkened, vast old warehouses where the sherry is matured, it feels like something else entirely. This is serious. There’s an almost church like quiet and something akin to a feeling of reverence. There’s no one around, you’re hemmed in on every side by massive oak barrels filled with ageing sherry, stacked one upon the other 3 or 4 deep, neatly layered in the solera system, and stretching off as far as the eye can see into the gloom. It’s epic, a cathedral of sherry.

Every place of worship needs its relics and the Gonzalez Byass bodega is stuffed to the gills with them. Variously, the very first barrels used to produce sherry from the company founding in 1835, a gigantic special barrel of sherry produced for the Queen of Spain, the original musty cellar where Tio Pepe was originally conceived (still in use) and numerous barrels chalked with the signatures of pretty much every heavyweight celebrity and statesmen of the past 100 years or so. Not forgetting the founder’s tasting room, preserved in a Miss Havisham style, exactly as it was when he died, and now suitably layered in a thick blanket of dust.

Of course, the real business of visiting the bodega is to taste the goods, and to this end, our group were introduced to the rather elegant Head Winemaker, Antonio Flores who apparently knows what’s occurring in every single barrel of sherry on the site, numbering thousands. Which isn’t actually that surprising when we learn that his Father also worked for Gonzalez Byass and he himself was born (and conceived!) in a room upstairs, above the original cellar.

With the aid of Christopher, his English interpreter for the afternoon, we were led back into the cavernous, sherry cask-stacked warehouses where Antonio picked out specific barrels for us to try, plunging a venencia, (basically a cup on the end of a stick, specifically designed for extracting sherry from casks) into the barrel and then in a swift easy, very stylised movement, at arms length poured us each a glass.

We had an opportunity to try using a venencia ourselves. Antonio made it look incredibly easy. Under his direction, I got a little in the glass and the rest over my feet.

It’s explained to us that tasting sherry from the barrel is as good as it ever gets. The Fino sherry in the cask, protected from exposure to air by a layer of yeast called flor is absolutely pristine, lively and fresh. Despite best efforts to bottle it and capture this straight from the barrel taste, it always loses a little something in the process.

We get to try a few of Antonio’s favourite barrels, including what he considers to be one of the very best, Del Duque, a vintage amontillado, an amber type of fortified Fino which is slightly exposed to air, so oxidises, hence the colour. It’s bloody incredible. Bone dry, nutty, slight salty. Straightaway I added a bottle to my already lengthy mental shopping list.

I also took part in a more formal sherry tasting which was a real eye opener, even for me, someone who loves the stuff. I was only really familiar with three sherry styles, my favourite, Fino – pale and bone dry, Manzanilla – basically a Fino with a touch of saltiness from it’s sea air ageing (It’s only produced in the costal town of Sanlucar) and finally Pedro Ximénez, the dark raisiny sweet stuff. In fact, there are a number of sherry types that fall in-between; Amontillado, Olorosso (Dry and Sweet versions) and Palo Cortado among others. Basically there are so many styles and variations to declare that you don’t like sherry is almost like saying you don’t like wine.

My particular favourites, apart from Fino, were (getting sweeter as you head down the list);

The already mentioned incredible Del Duque, a 30 year old amontillado.

Alfonso Olorosso Seco

Leonor Palo Cortado

Solera 1847 Olorosso Dulce

And finally, a 30 year old syrupy PX, called Noe.

I should mention that I stuffed my suitcase to bursting with bottles from this list and only just scraped past the baggage allowance on the flight home.

My visit to Gonzalez Byass Bodega was absolutely awe-inspiring. I love sherry, but had no real comprehension of how it was produced and what it took to make one variety over another. I learnt a ridiculous amount and filled in a lot of the gaps in my knowledge. But the main thing is, I got to sample the good stuff straight from the barrel and that’s not something you’ll get to do everyday. Yes, I realise, I’m one lucky bastardo. If you ever get the opportunity to visit, I highly recommend you leap at the chance.

Whilst staying in Jerez, I had a few days to explore the town, visit the market, stuff myself silly with a ridiculous amounts of tapas, get the bus to nearby Sanlucar (home of manzanilla) and do my best to drink every bar I encountered dry of sherry (Hello 1 Euro frigging 20 a glass of Fino!!!!). I’ll be following this post up soon with another describing all of that.

Thanks to everyone at Gonzalez Byass, Rachael, Liz, Jeremy, Louise, Claire, Christopher and Antonio for hosting such an unforgettable visit.

Essex Eating in Istanbul

Whenever I travel abroad, the very first bit of research I do, and the most important, is where and what I’m going to eat. Everything else, the culture, hotel and general sightseeing, yeah, they matter, but not as much as stuffing my face with whatever the most delicious local delicacy happens to be. Bearing this in mind, imagine the ridiculous, almost dangerous levels of excitement I generated whilst swotting up on Istanbul when I realised just how varied and interesting the food is, and how much of it involves grilled meat. I literally almost burst something.

There are some fantastic restaurants in Istanbul, I ate in a few on my visit and they were great. But what I really found most exciting was the street food. The city is bursting at the seams with cheap, excellent food. It’s everywhere you look. On my first day wandering around, to use a crude but apt expression, I was like a ‘dog with two dicks’. Eyes bulging, stomach growling, I just didn’t know what to start on first.

Luckily for me, help, in the form of a more structured approach to the problem of stuffing everything in my gob, was on hand in the form of Istanbul Eats. An incredibly comprehensive blog, which has branched out into providing ‘culinary walks’. Admittedly, I was slightly dubious initially, regarding the worth of a guided food trawl around the city, but I’d like to state categorically, for the record, it was without a doubt the best thing I did whilst in Istanbul.

First thing in the morning and we’re meeting our guide Angelis, on the steps outside the somewhat confusingly titled ‘New Mosque’ (construction started in 1597). It quickly becomes apparent that he could be best described as a bit of a character. Exuberant, incredibly enthusiastic about the city, its culture and its food, our small group of just 6 (the maximum tour size) plunges off into the bustling warren of streets surrounding the spice bazaar opposite.


We’re in search of breakfast, and Angelis stops us at various points along the way, to point out interesting local delicacies. Heaps of olives, spices of all descriptions piled up by the kilo, cheeses, meat, fish and coffee. It’s all here, crammed into the crowded streets and we’re urged to try everything, to taste the goods on offer. It’s the way things are done in Istanbul and the vendors don’t mind at all, it’s good for business.


As we walk, our guide appropriates various Turkish breakfast items along the way, stuffing it into his rucksack as we go. Eventually, we’re ushered into a doorway between two shops, down a crumbling corridor flanked by a jumble of crates, storage boxes and offices to an area enclosing a newspaper covered table and a kiosk serving tea and coffee to traders in the bazaar.


Taking a seat at the table, Angelis opens his rucksack and fills the table with his purchases whilst explaining that our picnic area is in a ‘han’, an old warehouse, still very much in use. Just to underline the fact, boxes and crates are ferried past to the street outside with the passing traders barely giving us a second glance. After taking our drinks orders, dainty glasses of hot sweet tea and small cups of thick strong coffee arrive from the kiosk opposite and we’re encouraged to dig into a typical Turkish breakfast.

I dip a ripped off piece of simit, a chewy type of sesame seed covered bagel, into a thick puddle of kaymak, like clotted cream and made from buffalo milk. It’s an amazing combination and tastes absolutely incredible. I divert my attention briefly to the olives, cheese and sliced meats but keep coming back the simit and kaymak. It’s in a league of it’s own.


Breakfast over, we plunge back into the throng around the bazaar and head off down a packed side street. Angelis is on good terms with all the vendors, and they don’t bat an eyelid when he often pops up behind the counter of their shops to demonstrate the finer points of their wares and to offer us samples.



We stop at a lock up, containing nothing else but a bloke tending a charcoal grill over which hang what look like giant ribbed sausages on skewers. It smells incredible. I have absolutely no idea what it is. Andreas orders a few for us to try and explains that it’s called kokoreç, chargrilled lamb intestines and sweetbreads mixed with oregano, stuffed into bread and sprinkled with chilli flakes. I’ll eat pretty much anything, and I didn’t need any encouragement to get stuck in, despite the questionable sounding ingredients. It was absolutely delicious with a subtle smoked, herb and lamb flavour.


Moving on, we make a brief diversion to an ancient eating place, the former soup kitchen of the adjoining small mosque. It could now be best described as the Istanbul equivalent of a working mans caff, the low ceilinged curved stone room certainly looks the part. We take a seat and try a bowl of red lentil soup with lemon and chilli flakes. The same dish has been served on this site for five centuries, more or less. We duck our heads as we head back out into the sunlight.


Further down the street we crowd into a shop selling pide, basically Turkish pizza. The smiling owner has the squat hunched look of a guy who has been kneading dough for decades and he casually and expertly throws together a few pide for us to try, firing them quickly in the wood-burning oven at the back of the shop. Freshly baked, straight out of the oven and oozing melted cheese, they are bloody superb.


Next stop, a sweet shop, specialising in Turkish delight (or lokum as it’s known locally). It’s been in the same family for four generations, opening in 1865. We crowd in and ogle the display case, accepting the proffered samples as Angelis talks us through what’s on offer. All of it is made traditionally, upstairs, and it’s sensational, putting all other examples of Turkish delight I’ve tried in the past entirely in the shade. I decide to buy a half-kilo box of cocoa, hazelnut & coconut, rose and finally pistachio. The price is ridiculously cheap, something like £2.50

After a quick diversion for another glass of hot, sweet tea served in the sun drenched courtyard of a particularly historic and ancient han, we’re off again.


Stopping momentarily to eye a shelf of tavuk göğsü in a shop window, the famous Turkish dessert made from chicken breast and milk (I tried it later on in my stay, and if you didn’t know it had chicken in it, you’d refuse to believe it) I was momentarily distracted by the most impressively moustachioed bloke I’ve ever seen. Check out those whiskers. This fabulously hirsute gentleman looked only faintly bemused as I took a photo.


Moving into a traditional working class area, less frequently visited by tourists, we make another pit stop and this time it’s to sample a kebab. But this is nothing like the defrosted elephant leg we’re used to at home. The example rotating on a spit before us is a sebzeli kebab, the meat layered through with peppers, tomatoes and onions. It’s a work of art. We’re told that the owner marinates the lamb overnight in shredded onion and onion juice to tenderise the meat, then assembles the kebab by hand each morning. It’s frigging superb. We wash it down with freshly squeezed pomegranate juice and move on.


We enter a rather grand looking old shop, dating from 1876, all dark wood, beautiful tiling and elaborately attired vendors to sample a very traditional Turkish drink, boza. Made from fermented millet, it has an incredible effervescent lemony tang. Traditionally topped with cinnamon and roasted chickpeas it’s surprisingly good. I finish off everyone’s dregs and follow Angelis back into the street for the last stop on the walk. Believe it or not, after all that, lunch.


Siirt Şeref Büryan is a restaurant located in a predominately Kurdish neighbourhood, right next to an ancient Roman viaduct. Specialising in lamb that’s been roasted in an underground pit for hours. Grinning in expectation, I was the proverbial pig in shit.


It turned out, the famous lamb, despite being delicious wasn’t the dish that really impressed me. Maybe after so much savoury food, I craved something sweet. A Syrian dish called Künef, was stunning. Consisting of shredded filo, stuffed with cheese, baked and sprinkled with pistachio. It finished the meal and finished me off too. I couldn’t eat another thing.

We’d started out at 9am; it was now late afternoon, and we’d eaten something seemingly every 10 meters or so. I am a glutton of some renown, but by the end even I was fading as we waved goodbye to Angelis and our group, and waddled off down the street stuffed to bursting.

As an introduction to the city and it's food, I can’t recommend the Istanbul Eats culinary tour enough. It was fascinating, we’d eaten dishes at places we’d never have found if left to our own devices. It was easily the highlight of our trip. The walk was ‘Culinary Secrets of the Old City’. The price was $125 US Dollars per person, and all food and drink was included. I have to say, it was worth every penny.

Obviously that was all just one day’s eating. As you can probably imagine, I have a reputation to live up to, so crammed a hell of a lot more gorging in for the rest of my stay. Here are the highlights…


Not food, but look at this incredible ramshackle building. We were on our way to find a kebab place of some fame; and were walking on a raised bit of road. I glanced down over the barrier and couldn’t believe my eyes. Look at that house! People were living in it, but the whole place looked like it was held together with bits of string and sellotape. Incredible.


But, not as incredible as the kebab place we were looking for, Durumzade. Located in the Beyoglu district, I’d seen it featured on Antony Bourdain’s TV program, ‘No Reservations’. Selling ‘durum’, meat wrapped in flatbread, which in this case is a soft wrap called lavash. It’s rubbed with spices and also smeared with the juice from the grilled meat on the skewers over the grill.

Watching the guy at work, there’s obviously a real art to it; quick, precise movements. When the meat is ready, the lavash is piled with a parsley, tomato and sumac salad, the grilled meat deposited on top, and then it’s deftly rolled into a cylinder. Easily one of the best things I ate in Istanbul. If somewhere sold these near where I live, I’d be a permanent fixture. As with all the street food in Istanbul, it was dirt cheap, from memory, 3 Turkish Lira, which is just over a quid.


Balik ekmek, grilled Mackerel sandwich, is something of an Istanbul institution. My pre-trip research had identified a particular vendor on a boat next to the Ataturk Bridge as serving up particularly good examples. On the day we decided to get one, it was pissing down with rain. We were drenched, and we’d somehow ended up trudging miserably, single file down a particularly un-picturesque carriageway, cars zooming past throwing up clouds of spray. We pressed on grimfaced and determined. As we neared the bridge in question, we caught just a feint whiff of grilled fish, it got stronger and more pronounced. We literally followed our noses, dodging puddles and mad, speeding Turkish drivers till we arrived at a boat, moored next to the bridge with a smoking grill on the bow. The smell was divine.


Walking up the gangplank, we asked for 2 and were ushered into the boat itself, where a kind of makeshift café had been thrown together. Dodging the dripping leaks in the ceiling and nodding to our Turkish shipmates, we took a seat. A few moments later, our grilled mackerel sandwiches appeared. At that point, soaked through, the hardship we’d endured on our pilgrimage suddenly seemed completely worthwhile. A truly beautiful sandwich. As with seemingly everything else worth eating on the street in Istanbul it was stupidly cheap, around £1.50


From beauty to the beast. The infamous Islak Burger or ‘Wet Burger’. I’d seen Antony Bourdain munching on one of these bad boys on TV and knew it was something I had to try. The majority of the purveyors of this particular delicacy seem to be centred on Taksim Square.

Basically, a burger entirely encased in a pappy white bun. The whole thing is moist and has been soaked in a greasy tomato sauce. To be honest, I just didn’t get it. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it wasn’t exactly pleasant either. The whole moistness thing was a bit off putting. Again, these were dirt-cheap. I’d say with good reason. I was later told that these are only really worth eating when under the influence of strong alcohol and as a result, taste sublime.


Finally, on my last day I somehow crammed in three lunches, so insistent was I not to miss anything. The last thing I ate on Turkish soil, a döner kebab, similar, outwardly at least, to the ones we’re used to in the UK, but better in every criteria it’s possible to be judged against. I mean, even the guy who carved it was attired in spotless chef’s whites and obviously took what he was doing incredibly seriously.

So that’s my visit to Istanbul. It feels like I barely scratched the surface with regards to the food. It’s an incredible, vibrant, fascinating city to eat out in and explore. Almost everywhere you look, someone is cooking up something interesting and there are whole swathes of the city I didn’t get a chance to visit this time around, setting me up nicely to return.
If you ever get the chance, go.