Another Hand; Manchester Restaurant Towers in Olympian Heights Over London
If there’s one food trend that keeps on repeating itself, it’s that London can no longer be considered the food hub of the UK. Bath, Bristol. Edinburgh, Leeds and (dare I say it) Birmingham have all featured heavily in British food guides across the web. Sky rocketing rent and produce prices force aspirational entrepreneurs to either rely on help from investors or their customers, who are - somewhat justifiably - asked to shell out a substantially higher bill to support their local businesses.
You can eat excellently in London. But you can get more the further North you go. Londoners spurn eateries across their boundaries, as if countryside-reared produce and naturally organic vegetables can and should only exist in Natoora.
Another Hand is a charming, independently run restaurant slap bang in Manchester city centre. It stands for all things London yearns for; great suppliers, honest employees and, of course, fantastic food and drink. Up North, such things do exist; unlike the South, it comes with no strings attached.
The Mighty Bread and Butter
A restaurant may die on the sword of its bread. Or, it may rise high above the ashes of fellow restaurants; humans are simple. Give us unforgettable focaccia and sourdough, and you may find you’re the next viral sensation.
Another Hand served a tangy sourdough which carried an air of same day freshness; that is, we hadn’t been served yesterday’s bread, warmed up (I know your tricks, Farringdon.) With it came a ladle’s worth of herby salted butter, smeared across the plate, a glorious meadow glinting in the sunlight. Pools formed around the hot crusts, soaking into dough so that all you need do was swipe and bite.
Halloumi From the Gods
I have squeaked my way through many pieces of halloumi in my life. My unit of measure typically depends on how golden has it been fried, and what sauce has been paired with it. But never has the actual cheese been groundbreaking - until now. Another Hand broke the stratosphere.
Our waiter, who also happened to be part owner, explained they got their halloumi from an independent supplier in the Lake District. Images of a small, bearded man surrounded by goats and daisies, pipe in one hand, cheese churner in the other were evoked. These sentiments are probably entirely erroneous. I didn’t care. The fluffy, marshmallow-like halloumi plumped me away into far away fields, a babe wrapped in cotton wool.
Lavender honey soaked the cheese, leaving a fragrant, slightly perfumed taste. If a lullaby could be found in food form, this would be it. Luckily for me, I managed to stay awake for the next courses.
Fruits of the Sea, the Almighty Toastie
In one hand lies a bowl of hake, glistering with a translucent sheen atop a bed of what looks like the crispiest reimagining of coral. In the other, a toastie. Both hands are being played.
The fish is unsurprisingly exquisite; herby citrus gels pop in the mouth, gently coating the perfectly cooked hake’s descent from mouth, to stomach. But it’s the toastie that really takes over talk of the table.
Here, Another Hand are baring their chest to the snooty customer; it’s a subtle sod off to the snoots, designed to filter out all air of pretentiousness within their establishment. The toastie is an expertly calculated balance of slow cooked pork, tangy cheddar, kimchi slaw, and a sweet citrus jam. It is laden with caramelised butter, and tastes so good your jaw aches a little after with the pang of an untimely loss. It’s a love affair, but a short lived one.
It is of note that these lunch choices are slim pickings of a more developed evening menu: book fast, and in advance. London may not know what lies beyond its borders, but Mancunians do. Go hungry - you’ll need all the space you can get.
