A foodie beer blog about the best things in life: Craft Beer, Real Ale, Food and all things tasty.

Written by a foodie-beer geek in London

Rodell's 'World Tapas' restaurant, Watford

‘World tapas’ is not a phrase that fills me with joy, so when I read up a little bit about Rodell’s in Watford - a little neighbourhood restaurant that I keep hearing good things about – I was more than a little trepidatious at the frequent appearance of the words.

But after visiting Rodells I can safely say that the phrase is simply a way to try and put into simple terms a restaurant that really isn’t like any other around. With a menu that is selected daily from a catalogue of around 170 small dishes dreamt up by the well-travelled owner and chef Mario Tavares, this isn’t your average restaurant.

The menu jumps between Thai, African, Malaysian, French, American, British and Spanish inspired dishes – with recipes gathered from the chef’s travels, and famous restaurants such as Momofuku in New York given name checks - it’s eclectic to the say the least.

If this all sounds like a bit of a mess, the culinary ramblings of a mad man so-to-speak, then you’re not far wrong as it kind of is – but amazingly, it works. What is it they say about the fine line between madness and genius?

We ordered everything at once but expected dishes to arrive in drips and drabs. In fact everything arrived in very quick succession but was quiet obviously just cooked and hadn’t been kept warm – no mean feat for a small kitchen churning out eight or so different dishes.

The slow cooked pork shoulder with kimchi and rice was simple and well executed, a real comfort food dish that had an honesty to it. A lesser chef would have been tempted to tart this up rather than letting the tender slow cooked pork shine on its own, spiked to the diner’s taste with punchy fermented cabbage and chilli.

The ‘mac and cheese sushi’ is a strange name for a fairly strange dish. Essentially these are little pucks of mac and cheese that have been toasted to give a crisp outer shell that yields to a gooey, flavoursome middle. The dollops of ketchup were frustrating for me as I don’t really like the stuff, though others might disagree.

Fat prawns in chorizo, garlic and olive oil were beautifully cooked, tender and sweet. A classic tapas dish that is best accompanied by plenty of bread to mop up them precious juices.

Octopus balls were tasty and crisp, though I would have liked a little more octopus to sink my teeth in to.

The Bao style pork buns were delicious and a real highlight. Soft, milky, light yet chewy buns filled with tender meet (salt beef and pork), sweet and sticky sauce and fresh aromatic veggies – a perfect couple of mouthfuls and I could have easily eaten them all over again.

The curry we ordered though was a little bit of a let down for me. Falling somewhere between a Malaysian, Thai and Indian style curry it was a bit unfocussed and reminded me a little bit of a boxing day leftovers curry. It was tasty and perfectly decent, but compared to other dishes it wasn’t one I would order again.

One dish that I would order over and over again though was the skirt steak with French fries and peppercorn sauce. Wow. Perfectly charred yet meltingly tender thanks to the rare cooking, this is a steak that oozes it’s juices in a primitive, primordial way when you bite down. You’re not asked how you’d like it cooking because there is only way to eat this cut – rare, bloody, and charred. And if that doesn’t sound like your sort of thing then I’m afraid we can’t be friends anymore.

The chips were equally fantastic. Super, super thin and ridiculously crisp - they were light and salty with an even snap from the first to last bite. True bistro style French fries at last!

We drank Estrella and Prosecco (both on tap), though I would have liked to have seen something a little more interesting and local being served beer-wise. Though speaking to the owner afterwards it sounds like this is something he is keen to do, so watch this space...

 

 

Rodell's, Watford

http://www.itsrodells.com/

 

Drink London: The 100 Best Bars and Pubs

Whether it’s a recipe book (of sorts) like Polpo, which perfectly portrays the soul of Venetian cuisine - or Hamburger America, which somehow turns a roadmap of ‘mom ‘n pop’ burger joints into a genuinely touching account of changing America - a really great food or drink book has a feeling to it, a point.

Drink London is one of those books.

What I really like about it is the imagery. Every photograph has a soft, intimate feel to it that is almost surreptitious – as if shot through a documentary film maker’s eye.

The book has the difficult task of weaving its way through the many types of watering holes that a city as diverse as London is bound to have, but it manages to keep a consistent feel to each entry and nothing feels forced or out of place.

From prohibition styled cocktail joints and swanky champagne bars to traditional London ale houses and craft beer mecca’s, all of the places it’s worth drinking in are covered well and shot in that consistent beautiful, soft-focus style.

Some descriptions could be slightly improved for the beer bars, and the drinks recommendations can be a little vague - “a pint of something dark” springs to mind – but overall it really is an excellent guide to the cities best places to drink.

Written with care and shot beautifully, Drink London is a coffee table book that is small enough to fit in your coat pocket, yet has a scope and diversity that is equally ambitious and well executed.

Very much recommended.

 

If you don't like the heat....

I like spicy food. Hell, I'd probably consider myself something of a chili fiend, but even my limits were pushed by the Rib Man's Christ on a Bike hot sauce chicken and accompanying spicy bloody Mary (complete with yet more super hot wings).

Succulent, beautifully cooked chicken coated in a herby, crusty, well seasoned southern fried coating, before being liberally dunked in some super hot hot sauce is something right up my street. But seriously, even I was taken aback by the power of that sauce.

Moreish and delicious, no doubt, but also sweat inducing and a little bit scary - as much a cathartic experience as a meal. Those last mouthfuls coming as a finish line you scramble towards, gasping, swearing you'll never put yourself through this again.

But as a chili-head I'm a glutton for punishment - I'd do it all again in a heartbeat.

 

This semi sadomasochistic experience took place at Joe's Southern Kitchen in Covent Garden, and whilst the Rib Man chicken was a short term special, everything else we ate was really good too, so give Joe's a go at your leisure.

http://theribman.co.uk/

http://joessouthernkitchen.co.uk/


 

 

Ferment Magazine: Review of The Foragers at Verulam Arms, St Albans

I recently started writing for a really great little craft beer magazine called Ferment. The latest issue is out now and available to read for free here: Ferment Autumn Issue

The article I wrote is about The Foragers in St Albans, a pub that, as the name suggests, is committed to foraged food and seasonality and who recently dipped their toe into the world of brewing with some pretty impressive results.

The article is below to read but I'd really recommend you click the link above and checkout the digital version of the magazine as there's lots of other good stuff in there, including a great little item on beer cocktails which I particularly enjoyed.



If you go down to the woods today

The Foragers at The Verulam Arms, St Albans

Foraged food is something which lots of restaurants nod towards - perhaps a wild mushroom risotto on the specials board, or farmer’s market blackberries given pride of place in a dessert – but which very few grab with both hands.

One place which certainly can’t be accused of half-heartedness though when it comes to using wild, foraged ingredients is the aptly named ‘The Foragers’ at The Verulam Arms in St Albans.

This inconspicuous little back street pub concocts a range of dishes which feature foraged ingredients from the plentiful Hertfordshire woodlands and fields, just a few miles from the pub itself.

In a current special of Salt cod brandade with a parmesan and lovage crust it’s the foraged lovage herb that provides much of the seasoning to the dish - with a flavour said to be a cross between parsley and celery it’s a foraged herb that deserves more attention from chefs.

Seasonal, locally shot game dishes such as rabbit and venison are a focus of the menu, often accompanied by foraged berry sauces or wild seeds and herbs, but vegetarians are well catered for too, with the Wild leaf & feta pastry parcel being a particular highlight. Served with butterbean houmous and herb salad with a wild marjoram and hogweed seed dressing, its foraged food credentials are bested only by the quality of execution.

Wild cocktails such as the tongue-in-cheek ‘Silvanian Negroni’ are also worth sampling. In place of the usual Campari, The Foragers use their wild cherry and forest liqueur, Mars Silvanus. To add to the forest floor feeling of the drink the usual garnish of orange is replaced with twist of lemon and a sprig of Douglas Fir foliage, which gives aromatics of pine, spiced orange and grapefruit to this complex yet strangely authentic tasting Negroni.

Beer lovers will also be impressed. As well as a well-chosen and constantly developing range of craft beers in bottles and on draught they also produce their own syrups designed to be added to the German weisse beers on tap. Before beer-purists start lifting up their arms be aware that this is actually very common in Germany, and the authentic tasting woodruff syrup which they produce on site is a traditional addition to Berliner Weisse, where the almost almond-like savoury-sweetness of the woodruff compliments the sourness of the beer.

The next step in The Foragers development into a beer lovers mecca was inevitable really – to start brewing their own. And what better time to launch their beer than at a recent Oktoberfest event.

The simply named ‘Festweisse’ was brewed in the traditionally cloudy and fruity hefeweizen style but seemed a touch darker than I was expecting, just short of a dunkel in fact. The flavour was spot on though, and a fantastic achievement for a first try.

In the aroma you get the classic banana and clove alongside a just a sniff of alcohol (it's a not to be sniffed at 5.4%). The flavour is soft, smooth and full with a nice light spice, more clove and fruit character. The hops – which were, of course grown in The Foragers’ beer garden - very much take a back seat, but there is a pleasingly tannic tea quality in the finish which gives enough dryness to make it very refreshing. Some spritzy carbonation from kegging might add to its effectiveness but the cask serve does let the subtleties come through that might otherwise be lost.

The food and drink quality at The Foragers has rightly earned it a sterling reputation, but with the addition of house-brewed beers, they’ve really taking things up a notch, making this a must-visit pub for any foodie-beer-lovers worth their hogweed salt.



Beer in Brussels: 'T Kelderke - The Little Cellar

A sudden and forceful downpour makes our walk to 'T Kelderke more hurried than I would like, but as soon as we enter – cold, dripping, laughing at the image we cast in the reflective glass of the restaurant’s window – we are instantly at home and relaxed.


The steam of mussels cooked in white wine rolls out of the open kitchen like sea fog, dulling the sound of enthusiastic conversation which fills the room. Only the occasional clink of glass or eruption of laughter breaks the comforting din of the cave as we melt down into our chairs and quaff our first glasses – strong, sweet beers and thick red wine - which does plenty to warm us through.

As the hours roll on the table becomes a battlefield of spilt wine and mussel liquor, passed and shared across the table in a flurry of arms and spoons. I look around and worry about our ever-increasing volume, but all I see are groups and couples far too engaged in their own impassioned story-telling to notice or care, each enjoying the food and beer as an aide to conversation.

Suitably brusque waiters move inconspicuously between tables, replacing bottles of red with a thud and suggesting beers with a friendly efficiency – each recommendation given with food in mind.

And what food it is.

Cauldrons of perfectly soft, fragrant mussels steam alongside piles of crisp frites and fresh cut baguette – a vessel for delivering pungent cooking-liquor to greedy mouths. Cricketball sized, well seasoned, pork and beef meatballs are smothered in a richly flavoured, lightly spiced tomato sauce and served alongside ‘stoemp’ – an aptly named local accompaniment of smashed root vegetables. A sort of Belgian bubble-and-squeak, if you will.

After a few too many glasses of local brew I feel an affinity with the rabbit braised in gueuze, a Flemish specialty that 'T Kelderke pull off as well as any. The gamey, distinctive flavour of rabbit is complimented by peppery fresh herbs, whilst a background acidity cuts through the richness of the meat.

Food and drink arrives, and is suitably dispatched, with an easy, nonchalant manner that in retrospect shows a slickness of service but at the time simply allowed us to continue with our banqueting untroubled, as the levels of laughter rose to disguise the by then far-off sound of beating rain.

Hours later we surface from the warmth of our rabbit hole; just as the clouds begin to scatter and the moon emerges triumphant over Brussels' dazzling Grand Place.

 

 

Restaurant ‘T Kelderke
Grand Place 15 - 1000 Bruxelles


 

Beer in Brussels: Drinking unblended lambic in the Cantillon Tasting Room

As I wrote my previous post - which seemed to suck up words like a storm-drain as I scrambled to capture the true magic of Cantillon brewery - it quickly became apparent that to start mentioning the actual sampling of the beers would have forced an exercise in endurance from any reader.

So here it is as a separate post, my experience of the charming Cantillon sampling room and the taste of that jug-poured, unblended lambic, amongst others.

Part bar, part final stop of the tour (a paltry 7 euros allows you to explore the brewery and then sample two beers afterwards), the Cantillon tasting room is as humble and unfussy as you’d hope.

Oversized beer barrels form the makeshift tables, around which wobbly wooden chairs support the scattered beer travellers amongst vintage Cantillon mirrors and logos that no longer see the light of day. The place was pleasingly quiet on our visit, with plenty of room to grab a seat and take our time over these complex, oft-misunderstood beers.

The first beer we tried was in many ways the most special, thanks to its sheer simplicity - unblended, unbottled lambic taken straight from the barrel, via a stone jug, to our glasses. It had all the bracing sourness, lemon peel and tart green apple that I love about Cantillon but there was also a soft fruitiness, even a distant background sweetness which had been coaxed out by the still serve.

Next up was Iris, a very different beer to the others produced by Cantillon in that it contains solely pale malt and no wheat, giving it a slightly darker colour and fuller body - unlike the rest of Cantillon's beers which are brewed using 35% wheat malt and 65% malted barley. This, combined with the unusual method of fresh hopping the beer two weeks before bottling (most Cantillon beers use aged hops, to impart preservative tannins but not fresh hop character), gives Iris a beautiful roundness of flavour, where lightly spicy, citrus hops dovetail with a lemon pith sourness to create a truly wonderful beer. A new beer to me, this is a Cantillon I’ll seek out again in the future.

Next up was the Kriek. Matured on fresh fruit, it’s a cherry-bomb of cough sweets and tartness that has a drying, fruit-stone character in the finish and a puckering sourness that awakens the senses and purses the lips. An invigorating fruit beer that is a million miles away from the over-sweetened offerings often pushed into this category.

The Rose de Gambrinus is produced in exactly the same way as the Kriek, but using fresh raspberries in the place of sour cherries, lending the finished beer an even tarter flavour yet more floral, fresh aroma, in the place of the Kriek’s deeper fruitiness.

The final beer I drank was an old favourite of mine, Cuvee Saint-Gilloise. In brief, it’s a dry-hopped Gueuze, but it’s a beer which I could write pages of tasting notes on if given the chance. A beautiful, floral, fresh citrus aroma, even a touch of orange blossom amongst the sourness, followed by a flavour that is all at once bitter, sour, tart, and infinitely complex.

If you read my previous post and thought that the Cantillon brewery sounds interesting - a welcome break from the stainless steel and computer dials of a modern brewery - then you should really try the beers.

Out-of-the-ordinary just doesn’t cover it.

 

Beer in Brussels: Visiting Cantillon Brewery

Of all the beery pilgrimages on my bucket-list – drinking fresh tankovna Pilsner Urquell in the Czech Republic, making my way through a tasting tray from Mikkeller in Copenhagen, glugging steins of Marzen at Oktoberfest in Munich, or being braced by brewery-fresh Stone IPA in San Diego – visiting Cantillon brewery in Brussels was right at the top.


For a start the place really has no right to exist at all. Years of decline and changing drinking habits meant that Lambic all but died out, with only a handful of breweries in Brussels keeping the tradition alive and producing tart, spontaneously fermented lambic beers for a small, niche local audience. At the same time, a worrying trend for overly sweetened ‘psuedo-lambics’ began in the 1970s and continues to this day - often heavily dosed with fruit syrups, they carry the name but not methods or true flavours of Lambic.

Eventually, Cantillon were the only ones left brewing Lambic in Brussels, but were rewarded for their perseverance through the dark years of Lambic once America got a taste for it in the late 90s and sour beers became popular amongst discerning beer drinkers. Now they are the most famous and revered lambic brewery in the World.

It’s important to understand the distinction between ‘sour beers’, which can include beers dosed with brett or any number of ‘wild yeasts’, and true spontaneously fermented lambics like those produced at Cantillon. The beers brewed in the Cantillon brewery are fermented solely by the wild yeasts in the air, which is let in through wooden slats in the roof of the brewery and allowed to come in to contact with the freshly brewed wort, which is pumped into the large, square, open topped cooling vessel located in the ramshackled loft.

At one time, this was how all beer was produced and it was only with the discoveries made by microbiologist Louie Pasteur into the fermentation process, specifically the isolation of individual yeasts, which led to the more controlled methods now widely used in modern brewing.

Cantillon has changed very little over the last hundred years and still uses the traditional methods and 17th century brewkit which they, and thousands of other international fans, believe produce the most complex sour beers in the world. This includes remaining in the same, tightly packed brewing space as they always have for fear of upsetting the delicate ecosystem of microbes and yeasts which give the beer its unique flavour.

When it is the living things in the air itself which your business relies on, you can understand why they take this so seriously. This is why you’ll never see a cobweb being swept away inside Cantillon. Because, as strange as it might sound, they are essential to the microcosm of the brewhouse and ensure that a space packed with bubbling barrels of spontaneously fermenting beer isn’t over-run with sugar-seeking fruit flies.

If there were flies around, which there aren’t, they’d have plenty to feast upon. Row after row of wooden barrels line the sprawling cellars of Cantillon. The wooden barrel heads are chalked with various letters which I decipher as referring to Gueuze, Lambic and Iris – the latter being a lambic produced with all pale malt and no wheat, leading to a slightly darker beer, which is then dry hopped for a fruitier, softer sourness.

Darkness and dankness fill the walking space between the rows and the aroma is a soft, intoxicating mix of overripe fruit and damp wood. I take in the space like a crime-scene investigator – floor, walls, surfaces and ceilings – whilst listening for the faint bubble and pop of quietly fermenting beer, breaking free of its barrel’s bung.

You feel a genuine sense of reverence as you explore the well-worn rooms of Cantillon Brewery, with every inch of the place having a piece of history attached to it. Whether it’s the thousand-stacked bottles of gueuze quietly maturing, or that magical open topped fermenting vessel tucked away in the loft, everything has a purpose and a story to tell.

And explore is exactly the right word to use. Even the modestly marked wooden doors of the entrance ensure every person who enters has a look of I found it on their face as they walk into the tasting room - before being ushered through into the brewery itself, armed with some information and a smile, then thrust into the thick of it and allowed to explore, enjoy, at their leisure.

There really is something magical in the air at Cantillon.

 

Brasserie Cantillon
56 rue Gheude,
1070 Brussels

www.cantillon.be

 

 

 

Pork Shoulder Tacos... and learning to love leftovers!

One of my (loose) new years resolutions was to buy better quality meat, but make it go further. It's something that has been surprisingly easy to stick to, with two simple rules being central to making it work: Buy larger, cheaper cuts, and never waste anything.

Trimming fat from a big cut of meat? Freeze those off-cuts and use em when you need extra flavour in the base of a dish - just fry them gently and then take the fat out of the pan once the oil has leached out, then chuck in some onions. Voila. Porky, beefy or chickeny flavoured onions! Great for the base of a pasta sauce.

Some cuts are just made for this sort of thing. Beef brisket, shoulder of lamb, or basically anything fatty and piggy. In this case it was a big slow-roasted pork shoulder that was providing the leftovers that I used in a smokey, spicy chilli, heady with garlic, ground cumin and smoked paprika.

Dished up inside baby gem lettuce (natures taco), sprinkled with cheddar and then a little salsa - made using chilli, tomato, onion, garlic and fresh coriander - it is a beautiful dish in itself and something which you would never think of as leftovers.

I enjoyed the lettuce tacos with an awesome beer from a brewery that is quickly becoming a go-to for me, Weird Beard, K*ntish Town Beard. It was a good match - with the fruity, lightly sweet wheat beer base matching well with the rich chilli and the citrusy, bitter hop flavours bouncing nicely off the spicy salsa.

It reminds me a little of Meine Hopfenweisse from Schneider Weisse, though with more bitterness and slightly less fruity banana yeast complexity. Still, top stuff from WB once again, and a beer I'll be buying again without hesitation.

 

A smorgasbord of bitterness: Or why you should all be drinking CamparIPA’s

Bitterness is an interesting subject. For me it is as much a feeling as a flavour, something which can register on the palate in a number of ways, coming via indicators as far apart on the flavour spectrum as heavily roasted malt or lemon rind. It’s the reason that dark, dry, well attenuated beers can sometimes give the impression of high bitterness, despite the absence of high hopping rates from the recipe. Bitterness isn’t always about hops.

It’s also the reason that Campari is such a painter’s palette of flavour for bitterness lovers. The king of aperitifs, where spikes of flavour thrust out at you with jolts of pungent, floral herbs, tart grapefruit peel and the astringent qualities of bitterly burnt sugar.

The reason it works is that bitterness also has a refreshing quality, it awakens the palate and gives the impression of freshness. Where sweetness – at the other end of the flavour spectrum – gives the impression of thickness and stickiness, bitterness has a cleansing quality which makes you want to take another sip. A glutton for punishment going back for one more slug, hoping the next sip will quench the dryness left behind by the last, which it never does, until the glass is all but empty.

Campari is of course a classic aperitif, drank by the Italians after work as a sort of boozy amuse bouche, designed to liven your tastebuds, and spirits, before the main event of dinner leisurely rolls it’s way around in the early evening. It is a key component in my favourite cocktail, the ludicrously simple Negroni, which the Polpo cookbook advises should always be prepared with equal parts Campari, gin and sweet vermouth, stirred together in a short glass tumbler with a slice of orange rind, “Don’t mess with these proportions. They are perfect as they are” it boldly claims – and I’m happy to agree.

But Campari can be used in much more than Negronis, as can be seen quite spectacularly in the Campari and IPA spritzer, or as I agree it should be called, The CamparIPA, where the avalanche of bitterness that is Campari is tempered by the malt sweetness of American IPA, peppered with the added complexity of those dancing C-hops.

The ingredients for the CamparIPA are simplicity itself, just a shot of Campari, poured over ice and gently stirred with roughly half a bottle of bitter American IPA, then garnished with a slice of orange or lemon peel – if you’re feeling fancy. I’m using Stone IPA but Lagunitas, Goose Island, or Racer 5 would all work perfectly well I reckon, albeit in subtly different ways.

The results are spectacular.

Freshly poured the first thing that hits you is the fizz, pine and hop bitterness, thrust out of the glass as it reacts with the ice, but then as you swallow your first sip the Campari wafts through your nostrils and that fierce herb and grapefruit character takes over. The finish is a dovetailing of the two with bitter pine, grapefruit, citrus peel and a kiss of sweetness creating a surprisingly balanced yet hugely complex cocktail.

A beautiful combination, that I promise you is worth risking half a bottle of good IPA over.

 

Notes:

I discovered the recipe when reading an online article which linked to this: http://www.thekitchn.com/summer-cocktail-recipe-campari-ipa-spritzer-150343 - the recipe here advises using lemon, which I think would work well too, but I wanted the old-fashioned like sweetness of orange peel to counteract all that bitterness, hence my version above.



 

Acklam Village Streetfood Market, Portobello Road

A Saturday at Portobello Market is an assault on the senses. Jovial shouting crowds, camera snapping tourists, soul music pumping from battered stereos on second hand music stalls, rack after rack of musty barbours, time-smoothed wooden oddities, a waft of ripe fruit mixed with the sweetly caramelised umami of a far-off simmering paella.

It’s a seemingly endless market which appears to sprawl and stretch with the gentle yet unstoppable nature of a dense fog, inhabiting whichever spaces it needs.

Other days of the week shift the focus of the market towards fresh produce or new goods, but it’s the eclectically British mix of vintage clothing, antique furniture, old records and brac-a-brac that always gave Saturday the unpredictable appeal of a jumble sale for me, even though food always played second fiddle – with stalls dotted around the main strip of Portobello road, there more as pit stops than destinations.

But with the addition of a new* streetfood focussed area called Aklam Market - squatting in the section of Portobello which always seemed to play host to the tattiest of the market’s wares – the balance has shifted, and Portobello seems to have embraced the foodie revolution happening elsewhere in the capital.

It’s amazing the difference a couple of pounds makes. The likes of The Rib Man, Big Apple Hot Dogs, Yum Bun, Smokestack and many more have proven that people are willing to pay a little extra for something that is truly delicious - even if we are eating it standing up. Where once we might have been offered frozen burgers, pukka pies and overpriced flabby chips, now we can get our hands on slow roast Cuban pork rolls, opulently moist salt beef and hand pressed dim sum.

And whilst the food offerings at Aklam didn’t quite nail the quality you’d associate with the likes of Street Feast in Dalston, where restaurant level food is dished out from nearly every intentionally decrepit stall, Aklam Market is a step in the right direction.

The burrito I bought was fresh, full of flavour and made with a real attention to detail (very finely chopped red onions and chilli lending bags of flavour rather than simple raw heat) that made every mouthful a balanced combination of flavours – rich and meaty, fresh and spicy, sour and zesty.

With it I drank a really tasty Czech pilsner I forget the name of. Something beginning with L? It had that caramel and spicy hop thing down anyway and worked great with the burrito.

For me Aklam has added another layer of interest to what was already a world class market, making a trip to Portobello something I won’t wait another two years to make.

 

 

*Aklam Market actually opened in 2012 but I haven’t visited for a few years. Finger on the pulse as ever.