Kring Kringz, The Scrandit: 'An homage to innovation and quiet brilliance in the world of food' - pop-up review

Serena Appleby cooks up the Filipino food you didn't know you needed

Confession time: the following review was written last October, when Kring Kringz was last in residence at The Scrandit. But I knew I should write about it then and save it ‘til now, because this gives you almost exactly a month with which to plan your visit for Serena’s next pop-up at the end of May. I’ve been reliably informed that that fish will still be on the menu, along with the new addition of ‘sexy beef’; a rendang that takes three days to make. You’re welcome.

Secondly, I must issue a correction. In the April Digest, published on Wednesday, I mistakenly wrote that Sousta was moving into the old site occupied by Casa and Casamia. I have since been informed that this is not the case — Sousta is moving into the vacant site on the other side of Paco Tapas. Though the new site is still in The General with extremely high rent, so any other inference remains.

Thirdly, The Bristol Sauce has now surpassed 800 subscribers. I am incredibly grateful for the readership of every one of you, and particularly thankful to those who are supporting us by paying a small amount each month. There is no Sauce without the Saucers. Love, Meg x

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Here’s a challenge: write a restaurant review in one line. I’ll go first.

‘The Scrandit is the restaurant I consistently visit more than any other; I think I’ve probably been found sat at their bar, stuffing my face with abandon at least once a month over the last year.’

That should tell you pretty much everything you need to know, so I’ll sign off here and finish my glass of wine.

Ha - that wouldn’t be very good value for you Saucers would it? Fear not, there’s plenty more to be said.

Is it accurate to call The Scrandit a restaurant? Perhaps not. More accurately it’s a bar or a pub, a cosy, two-tiered one with mismatched chairs and tables, and an idiosyncratic collection of art and books. There are stairs that lead to nowhere, a petite garden to be enjoyed when the sun is out and of course, owner and expert pop-up-curator Josh Dickinson, who just happens to be one of the loveliest people in Bristol hospitality.

With a little poetic license, you could also say Serena Appleby is a part of The Scrandit’s furniture. When she’s not in residence in The Scrandit’s kitchen, Serena is private cheffing, appearing next to Ainsley Harriot on the small screen or entertaining the masses with hot takes on matcha lattés in a disarming Lancashire accent on Instagram. In short (and she is quite short actually), she’s ace. Northern, funny and incredibly adept at cooking. If I hadn't already found a soul mate, she’d be in with a good chance.

Kring Kringz is Serena’s homage to her mum’s Filipino origins.

It’s also an homage to innovation and quiet brilliance in the world of food; comfort, texture, a little bit of spice and all things nice.

Look at the crust on that

First there’s hash browns (£5). Deeply bronzed; the shade Ross envisaged when going to get his infamous spray tan. But these are no run-of-the-mill breakfast bounty. They’re topped with a hot and sour sambal which lends a whole new dimension to its crisp stage, and now every hash brown without sambal will feel lacking.

Ordering the wings (£8) is mandatory it seems, and I do not want to fall out of favour with Josh. He’s right of course (when has he ever been wrong?) and the pile of delicate, sticky, kaffir-lime covered wings are reduced to a pile of bones in seconds.

Wings worth fighting over

Josh’s dad, Jim, can frequently be found propping up the bar in The Scrandit and entertaining the customers with gossip and football banter. Tonight he’s doing so in between hastily slurped mouthfuls of hot and sour sinigang (£9), the Filipino pork stew flavoured with tamarind. He never misses a pop-up, and Kring Kringz is one of his favourites.

You’ll be siniganging the praises of this dish

The sinigang is interesting and inherently comforting, but it’s no match for the whole fried sea bass (£24), which sits in a red curry sauce and is buried under a pile of beansprouts, herbs and edible flowers. If it’s beautiful to look at, it’s something else entirely to eat.

This is how I like my fish

I suppose many people might not think that a dead, deep-fried, whole fish is beautiful, but I challenge you to suggest otherwise after peeling off flakes of perfectly crisp bass, swooping them through a sweet and spicy curry sauce and eye-rolling your way through each mouthful in silent appreciation. Even Jim can’t drag us out of this sweet reverie.

The only thing missing is the peng toast that I had at Serena’s pop-up back in February - peng being her word, not mine, though I would wholeheartedly agree with the descriptor. Peng toast was the lovechild of prawn toast and a crumpet; the bar snack I didn’t know I needed until I was two bites in and wondering why no one else was piling pork and chicken mince onto Warburtons. Good as they are, no amount of hash browns can fill the gap that that crumpet left.

The peng toast that haunts my dreams

I said I’d stop reviewing The Scrandit, because I’ve written about it so many times it’s starting to look like I’m on commission. I assure you I’m not, I’m just a huge fan of this incredible space and the team working hard to curate and deliver such a charismatic run of pop-ups.

It would be rude not to share my enthusiasm; despite my near-constant shouting about it, The Scrandit is still quiet come most Thursday evenings. But it’s one of the best places to eat dinner in all of Bristol. I won’t rest until The Scrandit has the queue down the Christmas Steps that it rightfully deserves - providing they keep that stool at the bar free for me, of course. Because I will be back, especially if Serena is in the kitchen.

All words and photos by Meg Houghton-Gilmour

The Scrandit, 14 Christmas Steps, BS1 5BS

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