This review is of a meal to which we were invited. We visited Sosban at Andrew Sheridan's request, via his PR people; food and drink was provided free of charge, with the agreement that I write about it. As usual, you can make up your own mind about 'spin' or bias. (And for some value-added disclosure: for the record, we support the same football team too.)
I like Andrew Sheridan’s cooking. Not because everything we ate was brilliant- there were, frankly, some things which left me cold, though others were naggingly memorable, the sort of thing you could easily develop a crush on- but because it’s ballsy and uncompromising. Much like him.
'Maverick Chef' is one of those phrases which can mean pretty much anything you want it to. Like 'that's interesting'. Or 'lifestyle blogger'. Or '£350 million a week extra for the NHS.'
It's what Sosban's Andrew Sheridan was labelled during his run on this year's Great British Menu- where he narrowly lost out to eventual banqueteer Chris Harrod- with his dessert in particular the judges' standout dish.
I like Andrew Sheridan’s cooking. Not because everything we ate was brilliant- there were, frankly, some things which left me cold, though others were naggingly memorable, the sort of thing you could easily develop a crush on- but because it’s ballsy and uncompromising. Much like him.
'Maverick Chef' is one of those phrases which can mean pretty much anything you want it to. Like 'that's interesting'. Or 'lifestyle blogger'. Or '£350 million a week extra for the NHS.'
It's what Sosban's Andrew Sheridan was labelled during his run on this year's Great British Menu- where he narrowly lost out to eventual banqueteer Chris Harrod- with his dessert in particular the judges' standout dish.
It's a wretched night to be travelling west, the kind of evening which ticks every cliché in the Bumper Book of Woeful Welsh Weather. But the rain and wind- and yet more rain- is quickly forgotten as we arrive: Sosban is a remarkably impressive building, a former Victorian pump house which manages to be both imposing and beautiful. Thankfully, I have impeccable taste in dinner companions, and all-round world-class company courtesy of H from The Octopus Diaries, who took the pictures. The good ones, anyway.
I'm struggling to think of a more striking restaurant exterior anywhere in South Wales. Inside, the space could easily feel cavernous and cold, but trails of tiny lights festoon bare wood beams; and although the tower soars overhead and there's slate and bare stone to spare, it feels, somehow, cosy and welcoming.
'Eaten from the hand' is the kind of instruction you should take seriously: I'm reminded of the pani puri from Purple Poppadom: specifically, how funny it is when people ignore wise advice, bite into it from the side and end up looking like a plasterer's radio (what's the German for schadenfreude..?) And yes, I know that makes me a bad, bad man. I feel your reproach; I am far too old to change now.
These are memorable pre-starters: there's a crisp snap to the sweet potato wafer, a lovely substitute for a mere cracker, with tart onion marmalade and pickled mustard seeds for crunch and a mild, sweet heat. Even better, though, is the second: chicken skin flattened and roasted until brittle, piped with a rich parfait which captures the spirit of the roast bird, . There's a smoky grape chutney for sweetness; it's immediately obvious this is the sort of thing which should be available on prescription from your GP, an instant mood-lifter, a panacea.
I'm looking forward to the Marmite butter: the yeastiness is a little muted, though perhaps it suffers due to me having recently been reminded of Tommy Heaney's exemplary version. That's the kind of stuff your dreams are made of, and destined to be the definitive version in the area, so it's no shame to come second.
Undeniably impressive, though, is 'Cod Five Ways': a lovely thing, a dish you'd be happy to find on any menu. It's an ingenious tour around the possibilities of a single fish: topped with crisp skin as brittle as any Sunday pork crackling, a roasted cod loin has the suggestion of a crust. A cheek, battered and deep fried, is a reminder not to overlook the less obvious cuts (Chef would, you sense, be right at home at Gueyu Mar, where the possibilities of a single fish are explored with imagination and finesse).
All this is supplemented by a cod roe mayonnaise, the perfect way to banish childhood memories of having the stuff for breakfast (my mother, bless her, thought it would feed my brain). There's real precision and skill in the loin: under that merest idea of a crust, it nudges apart in big flakes of pearly flesh. This is a dish of real ambition, technique and precision: every element makes its presence felt, and the tartare sauce gives you just the right amount of acidity (there's salt cod in this, which nudges it into 'six ways' territory) with its gherkins and capers.
It's a hell of a dish: one of the best things I have eaten in Wales in the last year.
Zestily seasoned little cubes of potato play on your very best memories of eating chips- crisp, steaming hot and tangy with salt and vinegar, eaten in brisk seaside air. It's expert fish cooking, this, and clearly something Andrew loves to do.
It is, naturally, lickably good; there is more scraping going on than is polite in an elegant space like this, and I'm sure I spy worried glances on the team's faces as they worry for the integrity of the plate's glaze.
There are some lovely flavours in the next dish: a venison loin teamed with the clean sweet notes pf blackberries, anchored by an earthy beetroot 'ketchup' and a black pudding purée (this, he needs to bottle and market). The meat is faultlessly cooked, tender to a fault and blushing deep crimson. It manages to run the cod close, which is high praise indeed. It's highly accomplished meat cookery, this, by someone who clearly understands the importance of getting it right, a palette of vivid colours, the changing seasons painted in bold autumnal shades you could happily lick off the plate.
A menu substitution next: the GBM 'Nurse Onion’s Rice Pudding', inspired by his great grandmother Rebecca Onions, who worked as a nurse until age of 82. It's a family memory of comfort, of simpler times, of togetherness. Paul Ainsworth gave it a maximum 10 points, as did two of the Friday Final judges. They were charmed by the dish, calling it a ‘pure delight’. I defer to their knowledge and experience, as I'm not a huge fan of rice pudding and wouldn't usually have ordered this; there are bright splashes of tartness from tiny crisp cubes of apple, caramelised milk skin bringing pronounced sweetness as it cleverly imitates the skin of a conventional rice pudding with a chewy toffee texture.
but although you're left in no doubt as to the technical finesse involved, it doesn't dazzle me.
Chocolate and coffee textures follow: a medley of dense, fudgy brownie, a cremeux thick and rich enough to be somethingth in line to the throne, a coffee pannacotta. Normally I'd leap at anything coffee-infused with the enthusiasm with which I'd greet the news those two unctuous annoyances James Corden and 'Sir' Philip Green had both miraculously managed to tumble headfirst into a combine harvester; but this is too boldly flavoured even for this confirmed coffee lover. Apparently 15 cups of espresso have been distilled to treacle-like intensity, and the resulting dish doesn't so much slap you about the chops with coffee bitterness, as jump you in the pub carpark, pull your coat up over your head and give you a good kicking. Even for someone who has to drink pints of the stuff before he stops grunting at people in the morning, it's too bitter for me, though the chocolate elements are suitably opulent; and in the interest of balance, I have read food bloggers who have raved about the dish.
'Eaten from the hand' is the kind of instruction you should take seriously: I'm reminded of the pani puri from Purple Poppadom: specifically, how funny it is when people ignore wise advice, bite into it from the side and end up looking like a plasterer's radio (what's the German for schadenfreude..?) And yes, I know that makes me a bad, bad man. I feel your reproach; I am far too old to change now.
These are memorable pre-starters: there's a crisp snap to the sweet potato wafer, a lovely substitute for a mere cracker, with tart onion marmalade and pickled mustard seeds for crunch and a mild, sweet heat. Even better, though, is the second: chicken skin flattened and roasted until brittle, piped with a rich parfait which captures the spirit of the roast bird, . There's a smoky grape chutney for sweetness; it's immediately obvious this is the sort of thing which should be available on prescription from your GP, an instant mood-lifter, a panacea.
I'm looking forward to the Marmite butter: the yeastiness is a little muted, though perhaps it suffers due to me having recently been reminded of Tommy Heaney's exemplary version. That's the kind of stuff your dreams are made of, and destined to be the definitive version in the area, so it's no shame to come second.
Undeniably impressive, though, is 'Cod Five Ways': a lovely thing, a dish you'd be happy to find on any menu. It's an ingenious tour around the possibilities of a single fish: topped with crisp skin as brittle as any Sunday pork crackling, a roasted cod loin has the suggestion of a crust. A cheek, battered and deep fried, is a reminder not to overlook the less obvious cuts (Chef would, you sense, be right at home at Gueyu Mar, where the possibilities of a single fish are explored with imagination and finesse).
All this is supplemented by a cod roe mayonnaise, the perfect way to banish childhood memories of having the stuff for breakfast (my mother, bless her, thought it would feed my brain). There's real precision and skill in the loin: under that merest idea of a crust, it nudges apart in big flakes of pearly flesh. This is a dish of real ambition, technique and precision: every element makes its presence felt, and the tartare sauce gives you just the right amount of acidity (there's salt cod in this, which nudges it into 'six ways' territory) with its gherkins and capers.
It's a hell of a dish: one of the best things I have eaten in Wales in the last year.
Zestily seasoned little cubes of potato play on your very best memories of eating chips- crisp, steaming hot and tangy with salt and vinegar, eaten in brisk seaside air. It's expert fish cooking, this, and clearly something Andrew loves to do.
It is, naturally, lickably good; there is more scraping going on than is polite in an elegant space like this, and I'm sure I spy worried glances on the team's faces as they worry for the integrity of the plate's glaze.
There are some lovely flavours in the next dish: a venison loin teamed with the clean sweet notes pf blackberries, anchored by an earthy beetroot 'ketchup' and a black pudding purée (this, he needs to bottle and market). The meat is faultlessly cooked, tender to a fault and blushing deep crimson. It manages to run the cod close, which is high praise indeed. It's highly accomplished meat cookery, this, by someone who clearly understands the importance of getting it right, a palette of vivid colours, the changing seasons painted in bold autumnal shades you could happily lick off the plate.
A menu substitution next: the GBM 'Nurse Onion’s Rice Pudding', inspired by his great grandmother Rebecca Onions, who worked as a nurse until age of 82. It's a family memory of comfort, of simpler times, of togetherness. Paul Ainsworth gave it a maximum 10 points, as did two of the Friday Final judges. They were charmed by the dish, calling it a ‘pure delight’. I defer to their knowledge and experience, as I'm not a huge fan of rice pudding and wouldn't usually have ordered this; there are bright splashes of tartness from tiny crisp cubes of apple, caramelised milk skin bringing pronounced sweetness as it cleverly imitates the skin of a conventional rice pudding with a chewy toffee texture.
but although you're left in no doubt as to the technical finesse involved, it doesn't dazzle me.
Chocolate and coffee textures follow: a medley of dense, fudgy brownie, a cremeux thick and rich enough to be somethingth in line to the throne, a coffee pannacotta. Normally I'd leap at anything coffee-infused with the enthusiasm with which I'd greet the news those two unctuous annoyances James Corden and 'Sir' Philip Green had both miraculously managed to tumble headfirst into a combine harvester; but this is too boldly flavoured even for this confirmed coffee lover. Apparently 15 cups of espresso have been distilled to treacle-like intensity, and the resulting dish doesn't so much slap you about the chops with coffee bitterness, as jump you in the pub carpark, pull your coat up over your head and give you a good kicking. Even for someone who has to drink pints of the stuff before he stops grunting at people in the morning, it's too bitter for me, though the chocolate elements are suitably opulent; and in the interest of balance, I have read food bloggers who have raved about the dish.
So: some distinct highs which are as good as anything I've had nationally in 2018, and other less convincing moments: but the compelling thing here, the thing that nags at me, is the fact the food here doesn't pull its punches. It's uncompromising. It doesn’t care whether it will appeal to everyone. It could be construed as arrogant: it knows it can be very, very good. Give me food which provokes a reaction, some emotional connection, over playing it safe any day.
Andrew Sheridan is clearly a talent to watch and is committed to making Sosban a destination in its own right. It's easy to imagine success on those terms: it will be fascinating to see how more local diners react. Perhaps his future lies in the capital; in lieu of that though, there's enough excellent cooking here to tempt diners from far further afield.
Sosban
North Dock
Llanelli
SA15 2LF
01554 270 020
http://www.sosban.wales/
Lunch: Wed – Sat : 12.00 noon – 3.00 pm; Sun : 12.00 noon – 4.00 pm
Dinner: Wed – Thu: 5.30 pm – 9:00 pm; Fri – Sat: 5.30 pm – 09:30 pm
Andrew Sheridan is clearly a talent to watch and is committed to making Sosban a destination in its own right. It's easy to imagine success on those terms: it will be fascinating to see how more local diners react. Perhaps his future lies in the capital; in lieu of that though, there's enough excellent cooking here to tempt diners from far further afield.
Sosban
North Dock
Llanelli
SA15 2LF
01554 270 020
http://www.sosban.wales/
Lunch: Wed – Sat : 12.00 noon – 3.00 pm; Sun : 12.00 noon – 4.00 pm
Dinner: Wed – Thu: 5.30 pm – 9:00 pm; Fri – Sat: 5.30 pm – 09:30 pm
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