Côte Bristol Quakers Friars

Garden inn breakfast was one of the best vegetarian breakfast I’ve had. Such a nice variety and none of the ultra processed stuff. Waiter was lovely too

Had a very pleasant dinner here. The menu offers a great amount of choices, however, I think the Starters and Sharers could be marked better, as we weren't too sure which plates were appropriate to order as a sharing option. Also, the separate dessert menu did not have some of the desserts that appeared in the main menu. The food was very delicious, the calamari were probably the meatiest ones I've had in a long time, definitely give it a go. The French onion soup was great, and the mushroom cassoulet was extremely filling. The service was superb, the waiter had great charisma and made us feel welcome. The atmosphere itself was pretty good, I found some of the music played a little bit not fitting with the idea of the restaurant, perhaps. And at points the staff were just standing by the bar and it felt like we were being watched a lot, which felt a bit awkward personally. But all in all, had an amazing dinner here and definitely would come back again.

Sometimes — and I know this will offend the ‘small-plates-served-on-slates’ brigade — you just want to go somewhere nice, sit down, and have a good meal without the faff. No QR code menus, no foam, no bloke in a beard explaining the origin story of your butter. Just food. Hot. On a plate. With cutlery. Revolutionary, I know. That’s why, on a drizzly Thursday in Bristol, I found myself slipping into Côte like you might slip into an old pair of slippers. Not sexy, not Instagrammable, not likely to send the food bloggers into a froth, but warm, familiar, and bloody dependable. It’s like that same beach in Portugal you go to every year. Or the battered old book you re-read when the world gets too loud. Côte is the culinary equivalent of muscle memory. You know what you’re getting. You know you like it. And sometimes — especially when the alternative is limp Tesco meal deals or a cardboard wrap from Pret — that’s enough. More than enough. I was in and out in under an hour, which for a sit-down lunch involving slow-cooked meat and an actual conversation with a human being, is almost a miracle these days. The pork belly was everything you want pork belly to be — crisp on top, yielding beneath, like the world’s best crème brûlée with a PhD in pig. Served with potatoes dauphinoise so creamy you half-expect to need a defibrillator by dessert. This was not your standard Thursday lunch. This was Thursday gone rogue. The service? Snappy, polite, smiling. No performative theatrics, no one knelt down beside the table to introduce themselves as my “dining companion”. Just people doing a good job. Which, again, shouldn’t be exceptional, but these days it sort of is. And the price? For less than a tank of petrol or two cocktails in London, you get fed like a minor French aristocrat. Wine, mains, service — done. You leave full, happy, unchallenged, and slightly smug that you didn’t fall into the trap of “trying somewhere new” and ending up being force-fed burnt leeks in a reclaimed shipping container. Côte isn’t going to change your life. It won’t trend on TikTok. You won’t see it on the World’s 50 Best. But that’s the point. It’s unpretentious, consistent, French-ish comfort food done well in an age when everyone else is trying too hard. Well done, Côte. You’re still one of my favourites. Like those slippers. Not pretty, not loud. But always, always just right.