Mayflower, The Horsefair: 'A neat stepping stone into more authentic fare for people willing to make that crossing'
Mayflower is better than ever in its third iteration
Hello Saucers, if you haven’t had the chance yet, take a read of our March Digest — a round-up of all the food and drink news from the past month. Get in touch if you think I’ve missed anything.
As you’ll see below, I’ve sent Jason to yet another Chinese restaurant. But Mayflower is a Bristol institution, and I knew he’d be the man for the job. We’re lucky to have such a wealth of fantastic Chinese restaurants in the city (perhaps I’ll write a list…), but even so, the seven-month gap between Mayflowers still felt like an eternity.
Jason and Loretta have given me plenty of ideas for new dishes to try on my next visit — I hope it gives you some inspiration too. Love, Meg x
When it comes to desserts, we are firm believers in favouritism. That inevitable post-dinner skirmish over whether to share the crème brûlée or the crumble awakens in us the moral absolutist, impassioned cries emanating from both sides of the table: “I'm not paying £12.50 for a crumble when we could just as well make it at home” and “Well, I'm pretty sure crème brûlée is just fancy custard”. (To clarify: this writer loves crème brûlée. And the word ‘just’ should never precede fancy custard).
It's at this juncture also that I should state: the two most superior puddings on the planet are in fact tiramisu and a lemon tart. Any naysayers need not read further. We will simply never agree. See, the world of dining (for yours truly at least) will always boil down to having a favourite. A running top-ten listicle, an ever-clack-clack-clacking Rolodex of them, as frivolous and undependable as the British weather. But in any given moment there is a choice made. And it is ours.
When dealing with an inner city institution such as Mayflower, conversation will often turn to favourites. In these climes of safety and of the familiar, we establish for ourselves these hills to die on (or dine on, even). In the routine of it all, it becomes unthinkable to order anything but the won ton soup and egg foo young from your local Chinese takeaway.
It is with this sentiment resounding loudly in my heart that I enter Mayflower at its new location on The Horsefair. I've been here before, albeit at a different address. My order, tried, tested, usually drawn and at the ready, has been laid aside; this evening our group chooses to waive all responsibility, leaving Loretta (the sole member of this party who is Cantonese-speaking) the prestigious task of showing us some of her favourite things on the menu. No pressure.
In June of last year, Mayflower was forced to close the doors of their Haymarket Walk site (hunkered down in the peripheries of Bristol's infamous Bear Pit) where they had been trading for over 20 years. Having their premises ripped out from underneath them to make way for yet more student accommodation left behind a cultureless void in its stead. Sorely missed for all of seven months, a bold act of rebellion followed in the setting up of their new digs a mere two-minute walk away from the former site; further into the desolation of Broadmead, no less. Shinier, bigger, and full of that same well-oiled energy which could be mistaken for frenzy if the staff weren't so gosh darn on it.
With nine of us eagerly sat around the expansive white table, we look like some crazed order about to pledge our allegiance to the lazy Susan. As the food starts arriving, we are lost in devotional orbit, subject only to the laws of hunger.
The salt and chilli squid (£16.50) is one of the first things to land on the table, arriving succinctly with bottles of cold Tsing Tao in tow. I can think of no better drinking snack. Effortlessly light and crunchy, there is a pleasant variation of textures on show here, with tentacles and tubes all being accounted for; they disappear in surely no more than one revolution of the aforementioned lazy Susan. The two roasties and rice (£19.50) go almost as quickly. The char siu pork and roast duck are both caramel-sweet and fragrant; sticky with both sugar and natural collagen.
Between plates of meat we are graced with two servings of things that are green. The welcome buffer comes in the form of ung choi (£13.50) and gai lan (£14.50). Both served with liberal amounts of garlic, the former (otherwise known as morning glory — I'll leave you to make your own jokes) is a relative of the sweet potato but more closely resembles cooked spinach, though longer and slightly more fibrous. The latter is by far one of my favourite vegetables of all time. Gai lan belongs to the brassica family and certainly shares similarities with its close cousin, broccoli; though sans floret and with more of a focus on the wonderfully sweet stem and leaves. These two subsequently go on to earn much praise from our group once the degustation dust has settled.
With the health element of this meal firmly in the past-tense, we move on to the aptly named and distinctly Sichuanese cold dish, mouth-watering chicken (£19.50). For those of you who are maybe a tad more adventurous, this chicken is steamed, shredded, left to cool and doused with the most heroic levels of Sichuan pepper, chilli oil, and peanuts. This is as close as you'll get to a gurn-inducing high while still being in polite company. My advice: strap in.
The fried stuffed tofu with prawns (£17.50) is a standout in terms of its subtlety and sophistication. I ponder the pillowy and utterly sauce-drenched deliciousness of it while being just as perplexed as to how exactly they managed to get the prawns inside the tofu. If I'm honest, I don't think about it for too long, more food is to be had.
Five-spice infused, and simmered until one would scarcely need teeth to eat it, the braised beef brisket (£17.20) comes bubbling in a clay pot all of its own and is honestly a dish for the ages. I can, at this minute, think of no dish more comforting.
At this point, on the cusp of feeling pleasantly full, we do the classic. Panic ordering more food before letting what we've already had go down. Will we ever learn? No, I think not. But no bother, we have three more plates arrive which are thankfully so delicious, glutton’s remorse is something we need only entertain later. Roast duck noodle (£14.80), steamed chicken, wood ear fungus and lily flowers (£19.50), and squid with pickled vegetables (£15.80). The last deserves special mention as the combination of pungent preserved Chinese vegetables and baby squid is new one for me — I feel it may turn into a regular order.
What do I like about Mayflower? It's accessible. It gives the masses what they want - which is masses of food. It also functions as a neat stepping stone into more authentic fare for people willing to make that crossing.
The space is full of regulars and as a regular myself, I see familiar faces in the punters and staff alike whenever I dine there. For a restaurant that has such a central location it has a local vibe which is nothing if not endearing. Speaking of favourites, I think Mayflower is fast becoming one of mine.
All words and photos by Jason Jay Pridham
Mayflower, 10-16 The Horsefair, Broadmead, BS1 3HT
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Poor Jason is a casualty of the universal truth that if you are very good at something, you will be asked to do it more. Jason is a victim of his own brilliance at writing about Chinese restaurants - it’s becoming a running joke now how many I have proposed he write about. It’s a cuisine and culture of which he has an impressive knowledge and is very ad…
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Sounds like a fascinating place and kudos to their resilience for re-opening!