‘Not a lot of Cauldron makes sense but, somehow, they pull it off’
As city centres become increasingly repellent to the indie restaurateur, the quirkier ’burbs are where to head if you want to find the kind of anti-Zizzi/Giraffe/Ask restaurants I love. I’d never even heard of Bristol’s St Werburghs area, but in our homogenised world, such places are to be treasured, and not just because they’re populated by hairstyles not often seen outside early Culture Club videos. Forget the elegant, swooping terraces of Clifton; St Werburghs’ only listed buildings are a climbing centre and a urinal. But it’s a real community awash with microbrewers, allotments and city farms: my inner hippy is bursting gleefully to the surface.
In keeping with St Werburghs’ reputation as a magnet for all things alternative, Cauldron is a bit, well, different. Behind this original shop front is not so much neighbourhood bistro as a scene from The Sorcerer’s Apprentice bit in Fantasia. At the back of a long room is an ad-hoc kitchen where everything simmers over living flames. Vast, cast-iron cauldrons, ideal for cartoon cannibals, bubble away over glowing charcoal and beech logs; meat is grilled on open fires. There’s a wood-fired oven and original Victorian stove. It’s positively primordial.
Related: Bulrush, Bristol: ‘It’s the kind of thing I’d happily eat by the fistful’ – restaurant review
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