Manchester's Seven Word Wine Review Dinner at The Market Restaurant: Local Girl Gets Legs

Now, I have to admit that I've always been markedly better at drinking wine than at tasting it. Confident with a corkscrew from the age of three, I am peerless in the art of opening the bottle, pouring a generous glass, quaffing said glass, and then repeating this process ad infinitum, preferably whilst lying on the sofa. All that other stuff though - the holding it up to the light, the swooshing round the glass, the wafting, the inhaling, the admiration of mysterious properties such as "legs", the earnest discussion of all things chocolate and cherry, gooseberry and grass - has always been a little beyond me, not least because after all that hard work and effort it appears you are expected to simply POUR AWAY the wine into a nearby receptacle, such as a spittoon or, in my case, a husband.

I have, however, been broadening my bibendary horizons in recent weeks. Last month, I quaffed knowledgeably with The Didsbury Wine Club and learned many things - most notably that Reserve Wines sell a marvellous Bordeaux and that too much wine on a school night is not always entirely a good thing. And then last night, I found myself at The Market Restaurant in the Northern Quarter in the company of 17 lovely, enthusiastic and - by the end - quite drunk people convening for the second Seven Word Wine Review dinner. The premise here is simple - you bring along a bottle of wine that you love and which costs under £20 (*pretends is regularly in the habit of spending £20 on a bottle of wine rather than more usual £7.99 or similar*) and then share it with the other guests, explaining what it is and why you like it. And yes, I too was surprised to find that a bottle of wine will serve 17 people (albeit in rather daintier portions than is my natural inclination to pour).

We started with a sparkling red, then moved on to whites, and then hit the reds, all the while cleverly multi-tasking by eating the three course meal that appeared by magic in front of us - pate, followed by steak, followed by gargantuan cheese platters. The benefits here are so astonishing that quite frankly I can't believe I've not been going to this sort of thing for years - you get to try loads of different wines that you might not normally choose, and because you're not paying a restaurant mark-up on any of it you can spend a little more than perhaps might be in your nature *looks askance at Wiganer husband*.

My favourite wines of the night? In terms of white, it was the St Clair Pioneer Block Sauvignon Blanc, brought by wine enthusiast Si and purchased from Majestic Wines. And, rather immodestly, my favourite red was the Chateau des Gravieres brought by, ahem, me; although any glory I might have claimed from "discovering" this gem was somewhat negated by the presence of Omar - the very man who introduced me to it last month at The Didsbury Wine Club. To be honest, though, I enjoyed most of the wines, and even if I hadn't the joyous company would have more than compensated - no pretensions here, just nice, knowledgeable people talking about what they enjoy drinking and keeping mercifully quiet about legs and gooseberries.

Mind you - if anyone has any ideas what I should take to the next Seven Word Wine Review dinner then do please be in touch - both our wines last night may have been a hit (they are pictured here in a "before" and "after" shot) but I might just need your help if I'm to keep up the pretence of being a classy wine-drinker...

- Last night's dinner was organised by the lovely Gordon: you can follow him on Twitter as @everymanwines or check out his excellent wine blog here. We paid £20 a head for our three courses at The Market Restaurant and they brought so much excellent cheese even I couldn't get through it all (although I did try).

An Evening of Burlesque at Manchester's Palace Theatre: Local Girl (Thankfully) Keeps Clothes ON

Now then, let's be honest about this: Manchester, much as I love it, does not always make it particularly easy for its residents to feel sexy. Take any night last week, for example - even the most cursory of glances at a random selection of Mancunian timelines would have indicated beyond any reasonable doubt that Manchester was pretty much at home, in its pyjamas, on the sofa with the heating on, drinking hot chocolate with brandy in it. To many of these Mancunians, even the thought of taking their clothes off long enough to jump into a hot bath seemed HIGHLY unpalatable.

Let us spare a moment then, to ponder the fortitude, bravery and downright selflessness of the plucky ladies and gentlemen performing at Manchester's Palace Theatre last Friday night in An Evening of Burlesque. This was a filthy wet night - cold, showery and miserable (although Mr Liz did manage to convince himself it was weather enough for a cheeky banana gelato at the nearby Fresco Freddo's beforehand) - yet here they were: suspenders jaunty, corsets laced, tassels poised, purely for our entertainment (and that was just the MEN).

I have to be honest and say I didn't really quite know what to expect from An Evening of Burlesque, basing my imaginings on a vague awareness of Dita Von Teese and a recent visit to the Faerie show at Paris' Moulin Rouge. And perhaps it was unfair to judge the show based on this admittedly rather sketchy body of existing knowledge, but the first half was certainly something of a disappointment - a mish-mash of traditional variety-style acts, fire-eating, singing and suspenders. It lacked any kind of cohesion and left the (clearly well-oiled) audience of hen parties and birthday celebrants baying for more; it seemed very tame and - dare I say it - a little unprofessional. A confused, slow version of Ice Ice Baby performed by compere Ivy Paige pretty much summed this half up for me - a little dull, a little wrong, a little, well, odd.

What a difference an interval makes. The second half was fabulous: Ivy Paige won us over with a VERY funny section involving an audience member who was supposedly stalking her; the Folly Mixtures quartet of burlesque dancers, kept exceedingly under-wraps in the first half, were finally allowed to show off their beautifully sparkly and strategically placed tassels in a series of group and individual pieces which were far more engaging than their earlier equivalents; and the star of the show, Amber Topaz - the original "Yorkshire Tease", as seen below - got to show off her full range of considerable talents (by which I mean that she sings beautifully, as well as being funny AND sexy - get your minds out the gutter).

So overall, a good night - if the first half had been up to the standard of the second, I would have been so overcome with burlesque spirit that I may well have treated my fellow travellers to a quick strip on the bus on the way home, inclement weather or not. As it was, I kept my clothes firmly on, and hurried home to turn the heating on, don fleecy pyjamas and have a nice cup of hot chocolate...

A Tribute to the Blues Brothers - LIVE Gets Local Girl Dancing in the Aisles at Manchester's Lowry Theatre

Now, although I like Edinburgh very much, and visit on a pretty regular basis (not least because Mr Liz claims at least twice a year that "something may have changed" at the Scotch Whisky Experience, thus necessitating yet another trip), I have never actually been when the Edinburgh Festival is on. There are two probable reasons for this. Firstly, I am mildly claustrophobic, and just thought of the vast number of people likely to descend upon this fair city at Festival time makes me feel a little anxious. What I suspect to be the real reason, though, is the vague notion I have of what the Festival might be like - a notion that involves an entire weekend of picking the wrong things to see, thereby earning oneself the pleasure of sitting through a selection of fairy tales performed entirely through the medium of dance and/or mime, or perhaps some scary, shouting, wild-haired thespians banging on drums whilst loudly proclaiming the complete works of Ibsen in Norwegian, and possibly backwards.

I do understand, of course, that the Festival is (probably) not really like this. I know plenty of people who go every single year, and who speak with passion and excitement of the times they have discovered a true gem lurking amidst the Hungarian drummers - a thrill I myself will never experience. Fortunately for me, I did manage to catch up with one of these gems in the altogether safer environs of The Lowry Theatre last week, as the Hartshorn-Hook production A Tribute to the Blues Brothers - Live made its Manchester debut after three successful seasons at the Fringe AND a run on the West End. This is essentially an hour and a half of insanely catchy music interspersed with the odd key line from the original film, and is exactly the kind of way that EVERYONE should spend Thursday nights: sitting in a darkened theatre wearing sunglasses as two men - one thin, one fat - sing great songs accompanied by enthusiastic and talented musicians, and doing a small, surreptitious dance at the back of the box during the second half to help burn off the big fat portion of confit de canard consumed before the show (actually, this might just have been me).

The show has apparently now played to over 10,000 people (9,995 more than have seen the Hungarian shouty Ibsen, no doubt), and is the only one in the UK licensed to use Jake and Elwood, the Blues Brothers characters. As if that wasn't enough, Hartshorn-Hook Productions (founded by Louis Hartshorn and Brian Hook five years ago) are a Manchester-based company, so whilst Jake and Elwood have now packed up their bumble-bee suits and moved on from our fair city, you should certainly take the chance to see them next time they're in town - keep an eye on the Hartshorn-Hook website for details of upcoming shows.

As for me, I'm off to plan my next holiday - I hear Edinburgh is just LOVELY this time of year...

Things to Cheer You Up in Manchester - Books, Crafts and Films to Banish Those Autumn Blues

Well, season of mists and mellow fruitfulness it may be, but so far I have only noticed September offering increasingly dark evenings, motorways clogged with cars bearing sulky-faced back-to-school children (and teachers), and a high chance of discovering the cat sprawled in front of a radiator that has now had to be turned on. Still, whilst it may be tempting to simply retreat under the duvet and wait for more exciting times to come (Bonfire Night, Christmas, anything that licences daytime drinking), there are actually a number of nice things you could be doing instead...

Go to a book festival. This is always a promising option, as attendance at something so literary during the day pretty much means you can spend the evening in whatever pursuit you choose and feel no form of guilt whatsoever. This weekend it's the Alderley Edge Community Book Festival, organised by Oxfam and due to open today at 11am with Edwina Currie reading from the latest instalment of her memoirs (and I think we ALL remember some of the disturbing details she revealed in the LAST one). Also appearing are Erica James and Melvin Burgess, and there will be an auction of rare books as well. It's all for a good cause, so get yourself down to Festival Hall - I will probably permit an ice-cream after to reward you for your generous efforts.

Cunningly combine a cinema-cum-pub visit. This one has WINNING IDEA stamped all over it - simply show one of Mr Liz's favourite films (Clerks) in one of Mr Liz's favourite venues (a pub - in this case, the Black Lion in Salford) and provide beanbags to loll on and burgers and beer to purchase - it's like a perfect kingdom of man, the opposite in fact to all those sad, awkward males you see lurking miserably outside the changing rooms in Top Shop. The showing forms part of the ‘Masters of Cinema’ series curated by Future Artists, the creative collective who run the arts venue at the pub - Hitchcock's Vertigo will be shown the following week to form an intentional contrast to the slacker vibe of Kevin Smith's classic. Clerks will show at 8pm on Tuesday 18th September, and advance tickets for just £4 a go can be bought here (remember to take plenty of beer money though).

Get Crafty. I'll be doing a proper post on this once I've had a chance to get down there and have a look, but just a quick heads up that Manchester Craft & Design Centre in Manchester's Northern Quarter is currently celebrating its impressive 30 year history with a specially commissioned Crafting History exhibition that runs until 10 November. Now, I love beautiful things, but as I was apparently born with plenty of thumbs but no elegantly able fingers, I have to admire work that other people have done rather than ever create my own - pieces on show here include a site-specific installation by ceramicist Carys Davies (I will not be letting Mr Liz anywhere near this, as I can already imagine the potential for breakage) as well as other gorgeous things such as this exquisite necklace by Julia Roy Williams *wants*

The exhibition runs until November 10th, and you can find out more about it on the centre's website.

So maybe September's not looking so bad after all, particularly with the Manchester Food and Drink Festival on the horizon as well...

Hey Little Cupcake's New East Coast Collection Proves There's Life in the Old Cake Yet...

Over the last six months or so, I've heard plenty of people pontificating on the decline of the cupcake. The trend for small, tasty cakes temptingly slathered with buttercream and then decorated to resemble small, perfect works of art is over, they opine pointlessly, no doubt pottering off to nibble earnestly on whatever it is we are meant to be eating these days. Now, I do concede that the cupcake has become somewhat ubiquitous, and the fact that those lambs to the slaughter on the Great British Bake Off would never even dream of trying to impress the terrifying Hollywood/Berry combo with something as obvious as a cupcake does suggest that these innocently pleasurable mouthfuls have become distinctly cake non grata.

And yet, there are two clear lines of defence here. Firstly, something that tastes nice and makes people happy does not suddenly stop tasting nice and making people happy overnight, just because some grown-up somewhere says so. And secondly, saying that cupcakes have had their day hardly accounts for some of the innovative flavours and designs currently being produced by talented bakers who understand that people DO still want to eat cupcakes but perhaps might quite like to try something new as well.

Enter Hey Little Cupcake (they do have an exclamation mark, but I have temporarily suspended it, lest this post begin to sound rather over-excitable), a small but perfectly formed cupcakery and tea room tucked away on Little Quay Street in Manchester's Spinningfields. This week they launched their new East Coast collection, offering seven flavours which aim to take the greedy purchaser on a gastronomic journey along America's East Coast, generally agreed to be far more interesting and exotic than the normal cupcake path I beat between the sofa, the kettle, and back again. Here's the collection in full, with a different one introduced every day this week:

Monday - Florida Key Lime Pie. Digestive biscuit base with a lime sponge and topped with a refreshing lime cream frosting.

Tuesday - Boston Cream Pie. Vanilla sponge with a custard filling topped with custard buttercream and rich dark chocolate ganache.

Wednesday - Lady Baltimore Cake. Cherry and raisin pink vanilla sponge topped with light 7 minute meringue frosting and crushed pecans.

Thursday - Mississippi Mud Pie. Oreo cookie base under a rich chocolate Yorkie pudding filled sponge and topped with chocolate buttercream, fresh cream and chocolate sprinkles.

Friday - New York Cheesecake. Digestive biscuit base with vanilla cheesecake sponge topped with vanilla pod cream cheese.

Saturday - Brooklyn Blackout Cake. Espresso and rich dark chocolate sponge filled with a chocolate fudge filling and topped with chocolate buttercream, dark chocolate ganache and chocolate sprinkles.

Sunday - Kentucky Jam Cake. Cinnamon sponge filled with raspberry jam and topped with Carmel buttercream, cinnamon sprinkles and toffee sauce.

I was lucky enough to be given a box of four to try (clearly my reputation as an inveterate cakehead goes before me): the Key Lime Pie (sharp, sweet, zesty, gone), the New York Cheescake (tangy, not too sweet, good hit of real vanilla, also gone), the Kentucky Jam (rich, sweet buttercream offset by warmth of the cinnamon, not quite enough jam for me, also gone) and the Mississipi Mud Pie (generously reserved for Mr Liz and therefore not yet gone, as he possesses an irritating amount of self control). You see them here in all their glory - just imagine how pretty they looked BEFORE I carried them across Manchester and then tried to resist licking all the icing off them on my train journey home.

Each of these beauties costs £2.75 - find me a similarly priced treat that can bring a similar amount of pleasure and I too will sound the death knell for the cupcake. Until then, if you'll excuse me, I've got someone else's cake to be eyeing up...

- Hey Little Cupcake! is on Little Quay Street, Spinningfields, Manchester M3 3HF - they are open every day, and as it's Sunday today you've got till 4pm to go and grab your Kentucky Jam Cake - go, GO!

Didsbury Wine Club: Local Girl's Hopes of EVER Staying In Cruelly Scuppered

Now, for all the crazy and unfounded accusations regularly hurled my way about how I'm never at home, always out, blah blah BLAH, I am actually very fond of the odd night in - the kind where pyjamas are donned immediately after work and the sofa embraced like a long-lost friend. However, it's starting to look very much as if a couple of extra days in the week might be needed in order to facilitate this night in, for it's getting increasingly difficult to find an evening that is not now regularly ear-marked for something nice, particularly round these here Didsbury parts. For example, Monday night is supper club at Love 2 Eat Deli whilst Thursday night is pie night; Tuesday nights bring free cheese and crackers at the Dog and Partridge whilst the weekend is just, well, the weekend. That pretty much just left Wednesdays as a shining beacon of early-to-bed-ness (apart from the last Wednesday of every month, which is of course Mark Addy Gourmet Night - you see the problems I'm up against here), a reliably nothingy sort of night with which to charge ones batteries ready to go again during the remainder of the week.

Well, turns out Wednesdays are not so reliable as they once were, for they are the preferred meeting night of the estimable Didsbury Wine Club - which is, essentially, a group of like-minded South Manchester quaffers who meet up on a regular basis to appreciate wine, discuss wine, learn about wine and, most importantly, neck loads of the stuff. Frankly, it's a wonder it's taken me so long to get on board with this one: yesterday was my very first Wine Club, although it most certainly shall not be my last. Venues and events vary from month to month: this one was at The Violet Hour in West Didsbury, a Euro- and Olympic-inspired event which pitted wines from seven different countries against each other in a fight off to the death (or whatever the wine equivalent of this might be - a fight to the pouring-down-the-sink-ness, perhaps). This is the sight that greeted me on my arrival...

...although, tragically, it soon transpired that I was expected to share this little haul with the twenty or so other cheery souls also in attendance. The ebullient Omar explained the rules of the competition (which frankly were perhaps a little more complicated than necessary for a group of people each about to drink seven glasses of wine) and we were away: in groups of four we graded each wine out of ten and then had a go at guessing the price of each, tasting three whites and four reds in total - an Italian Pinot Grigio, a South African Sauvignon Blanc, an American Chardonnay, a Chilean Reserve Merlot, a Spanish blend of Cabernet Sauvignon and Tempranillo, an Argentine Malbec and a Bordeaux from France (all of which were sourced from the superb Reserve Wines on Burton Road). My favourite was the Bordeaux, closely followed by the Malbec - these were the overall joint winners as well, which indicates either that I have an excellent grasp of what makes a good wine and all-round impeccable taste, or (possibly) that these were the final two wines sampled by a group of people who appeared progessively less keen to spit any of the wine out into the receptacles provided.

The evening ended with one of the teams each winning a bottle of the most popular wine (I'm a little vague on how these winners were decided, as once it became horribly clear that I was not one of them I did lose interest somewhat) to take home, and even those people who had NOT won (fix! fix!) would have been hard-pressed to feel that seven generous glasses of wine for the event price of £15 did not represent excellent value. Joining the Wine Club is free, and new members are always welcome - see the website for more details. There is also a Manchester Wine Club, and there will soon be a Chorlton one too, as well as plans in the pipeline for other locations.

In fact, the ONLY negative I can come up with is that I shall clearly become a regular - so next time you're haranguing me for never staying in, please remember that it's simply not my fault...

Perfect Saturday - Liquorice Bar, WestFest and the Return of the Alchemist Chicken in a Basket

Sometimes, a day just goes right. And to be honest, you know you're off to a winning start when you wake up to find that a/ it's Saturday, and b/ you feel tip-toppity despite taking part in a Liquorists Rum Trail the night before. And here's how the day got EVEN BETTER...

1. A sunny WestFest. This was the fourth annual celebration of the independent businesses that flourish along West Didsbury's Burton Road, and for me it was the best. The sun was shining, the beach was back at Folk, the queue for free fish and chips at Frankie's Fish Bar was as long as ever, and - best of all - a pop-up tavern had appeared outside Rhubarb. Here I sat, drinking icy-cold white wine and snarfing cartons of crispy fried chicken, coronation coleslaw and pulled pork roll, enjoying the sun whilst a stream of familiar faces meandered past - perfect.

2. The Return of the Giant Chicken. You may recall my joyful introduction to the chicken in a basket at the Alchemist NYS a few weeks ago; indeed, I was pretty much the only Manchester food person who celebrated this happy hen during a week when she found her tasty wares much maligned. Well, my charming dinner companion loved her bulging basket - and this time, even the coleslaw was good. And anyone who queries the fact that I had fried chicken twice on Saturday will simply be directed back to the beginning of this post to re-acknowledge that this was a day when everything went right.

3. Discovery of a New Cocktail Bar. Again, less charitable souls might suggest that I already know of plenty of Manchester drinking holes, but I'm always ready to welcome a new addition with open arms - particularly when it's running a range of tempting offers. The bar in question is Liquorice, which opened a few weeks ago in the former Destinos restaurant on Pall Mall just off King Street, and has already undergone a few changes in the form of new management. From what we saw, though, Liquorice deserves to hang around - we liked the dark, muted tones of the decor (even though from our lovely leather banquette we could see up a side street where two different men enjoyed full toilet facilities during the course of the evening), we liked the friendly knowledgeable staff (and the fact that they allowed us to bully them into playing our choice of music on the very well-stocked ipod behind the bar), and we VERY much liked that selected cocktails were two for the price of one (particularly as this selection included two of our favourites in the form of Amaretto Sour and Dark 'n' Stormy - both exceedingly well executed).

We also sampled a few of the signature cocktails, including the eponymous Liquorice - you can see it here in all its layered glory. A combination of fruit and extremely punchy liquorice is never going to be to everyone's taste (indeed, someone on Twitter referred to it as a real "Marmite" cocktail, and I can see why), but I loved it - a really unusual drink that I would order every single time. We were also impressed with the Flaming Mai Tai (which really showcased the quality of the Virgin Gorda rum used in making the drink), the Parma Violets-esque Aviation (pictured alongside the Liquorice), and a superlative Porn Star Martini, and felt that prices were pretty good for this part of town - the Liquorice, for example, is £6.95. We even had a small, surreptitious dance in our corner when the music got REALLY good - think New Order and Primal Scream as well as slightly more, ahem, up-to-date songs.

So, I ate, I drank, I danced, I basked in the sun...but the very best bit about about Saturday? After all that carousing, husband cabs was ready and waiting and I was in bed for midnight, ready to do it all again the next day...

Stuart Roy Clarke Exhibition at The National Football Museum: Mr Liz (yes - Mr Liz) TELLS ALL

Over time, it has come to my attention that Mr Liz has quietly but steadily been acquiring something of a cult following. Upon meeting him for the first time, people are apt to exclaim - with some excitement - "So YOU'RE Mr Liz", in a tone that suggests he has done something very clever, or very funny, when he hasn't. And as if that wasn't bad enough, an erroneous opinion seems to have emerged that he is somehow under the thumb, and put upon, and chastised on a regular basis, when this in fact only happens when he absolutely deserves it, and has brought it upon himself. Still, just to prove that my wifely generosity knows no bounds, tonight for one night - and one night only - Mr Liz SPEAKS...

(Photograph: FC United by Stuart Roy Clarke
Credit: Stuart Roy Clarke - The Homes of Football)

Now some regular readers of this blog may have come to the conclusion that it is predominantly about shoes, handbags and food. Possibly linked in with a touch of wine here and there.

Not that there is anything wrong with that, just that Manchester has so much more to offer in terms of culture, history and education. Which is why Liz has asked me to do my first ever guest blog on what should probably be renamed 'Cultural Things to do in Manchester (that doesn't involve, food, shoes, handbags, shopping, etc.)'.

Take the National Football Museum for example. Originally located at Deepdale in Preston, it has recently moved to the Urbis exhibition centre in Manchester. For anyone with even the slightest interest in the beautiful game this is an absolute must see with a range of special events, guest speakers and temporary exhibitions all worthy of note along with interactive football games for the little (and in some cases, not so little) ones.

Which brings me on to how I spent an engrossing hour this week.

Currently the temporary exhibition space is filled with a series of images by the official Football Trust photographer Stuart Roy Clarke, and on Friday he was on hand for an all too brief hour to explain some of the thinking behind some of his most iconic photographs.

While the influx of money into football can be considered a good thing, it is undeniably bringing about a change in football as clubs become businesses first. I doubt that anyone can deny this has resulted in improved facilities for fans and players, but in doing so we are at risk of losing an essential part of what makes the game so accessible to so many. These days it seems that the results on the balance sheet are more important than the results on the pitch. Stuart Roy Clarke realised that, in the aftermath of the Hillsborough disaster, football was at a pivotal moment and that things were about to change within the game. Therefore he set out to document as much of this as possible before it was gone, resulting in his 'Homes of Football' exhibition.

While ostensibly a football photographer, Stuart Roy Clarke's photography is about much more than just two teams of men running after a ball. It's about the fabric that surrounds football just as much as the game itself. He manages to capture the details, the passion, the glory, the disappointment, the expectation, the hope, the excitement and the emotions. In his own words, the football match is merely the icing on the cake as he strives to show balance in his photography, between what happens on the pitch and what happens on the terraces, between the events during the game and the events before. His photographs are just as likely to focus on the tea ladies as on the terraces with everyone involved being regarded as equally important within the context of The Match.

I found Stuart Roy Clarke to be an entertaining and interesting speaker, happy to engage with those of us who had made the trip to the exhibition as well as sign autographs for the kids. For those, like myself, who like the technical details, Stuart Roy Clarke uses an old school Bronica (film, not digital) camera and works with a fixed lens. His images are un-doctored and reflect the colours and events as they happened, not how he may have liked to imagine them after the event reflecting a truth that is often missing in modern photography.

The National Football Museum showcases the history of a game that has culturally shaped our nation, and Stuart Roy Clarke's exhibition shows us an aspect of football's recent history that is in danger of being forgotten. Whether you are a Red or a Blue there will be something there for you to enjoy. The exhibition is on level 3 of the National Football Museum until the 31st of December, admission is free and it's open seven days a week. Please see the Museum website for further details.

...So there we go - Mr Liz has been liberated, valued and given a platform to proudly proclaim his words aloud to a waiting and appreciative world. Obviously, this WILL be the last occasion he'll be allowed to speak for some time, or I'll never hear the end of it...

The Liquorists' Rum Trail: Manchester Rejoices at NO HANGOVER GUARANTEED

Amongst the many good things about getting older (better wine, better shoes, better restaurants, going to bed early with no shame, thinking about joining the Women's Institute), lurk one or two that are not nearly so welcome - hangovers, for one. Of course, it may just be that when I was younger I simply adopted the unarguably effective practice of never stopping drinking, thereby delaying the inevitable through a continuous "topping-up" process, but I just don't remember having real, work-stopping hangovers until I was about 25. Now, I sometimes get hangovers when I've not even been drinking, and it is with great relief, therefore, that I can confirm that The Liquorists' mighty promise of "No Hangover Guaranteed" continues to hold good - for me, anyway.

If you've seen my previous posts on The Liquorists, you'll know that they are - to use their own words - "plonk pushers": in other words, they organise devilishly alcoholic trips around Manchester based on one particular spirit. We've previously blazed the Whisk(e)y Trail around the Northern Quarter and sailed upon the mighty Gin Barge; last night, it was the turn of RUM - six bars, six tots of rum, six rum cocktails and - most importantly - NO HANGOVER GUARANTEED.

*ignores cries of "can't be done!" from the back*

The trail started at 7pm in Hula Bar, a blink-and-you'll-miss-it little gem tucked away on one of the corners of Stevenson Square. Here, we met 14 other cheery souls all similarly intent on the pursuit of rum goodness, and Barry, our genial host for the night, doled out the first rations of the night - Plantation Rum by Bibendum Spirits, a clear, slightly sweet shot that slipped down no trouble at all. The deliciously tangy Atlantic Boat Club Daiquiri soon went the same way and we were swiftly moved on, despite the fact that Hula were playing Tiffany and I wanted to stay.

A brief, brave walk through the rain (luckily I had my virtual rum mac on) brought us to Keko Moku. This was my least favourite venue of the night simply because it was so busy - normally on a trail you sit in a specially reserved area, but the pocket-sized nature of Keko made this impossible. Still, we very much enjoyed the shot of 12-year-old El Dorado Rum (most people's favourite drink of the night) and the accompanying Swizzle cocktail, which contained both blood orange AND tea, and is therefore clearly suitable for promotion as a breakfast item.

Next up, Odd Bar, and a bit of a departure from the shot-and-cocktail theme: here, our Matusalem rum was served with a glass of pale ale. Now, I prefer a cocktail to a beer any day of the week and therefore sacrificed my glass to the greater good (ie not having a hangover the following day), but those who tried it proclaimed the combination to be a triumph - especially Mr Liz, who remained suspiciously quiet on where exactly my pale ale might have disappeared to.

Fourth stop was Tusk, a venue I very much liked as the musical selection (like Hula) seemed to suggest that we were somewhere in the late 80s/early 90s, although it was perhaps all a little too brightly lit to flatteringly showcase a group of people who had been necking strong spirits for several hours now. Here we had a shot of the 63% Wray and Nephew Jamaican Rum (which we found was much easier to drink with the addition of a splash of water) and a lovely cocktail described as halfway between a daiquiri and a margarita.

Just across the road now to the newish bar/deli/restaurant The Blue Pig, a very promising venue if the platters of bread, cheese and meat that we devoured here are anything to go by. On my way to the toilet I was beckoned over by a young man who seemed very keen to speak with me, my rum-induced delusions (still got it, even though I'm a hundred and ninety five years old, still hot even after twelve pints of rum, etc etc) cruelly shattered when it transpired that he'd been admiring the bottle of Brugal Blanco on our table and wondered how much it cost to buy. MEH.

Finally, we were whisked away in a fleet of taxis to our last, secret location (not actually that secret if you know ANYTHING about The Liquorists, but I won't spoil the surprise) for Pussers Navy Rum, a Painkiller cocktail (essentially rum and coconut milk in a tin mug) and a big fat Thai Green Curry just to soak up some of that booze. Whilst you do get little taster platters at each venue, nothing placates a rum-filled stomach like curry and rice, and I say this after years of extensive scientific testing (*notes with some satisfaction that all those years at university were not, in fact, wasted*).

So, once again, a great night was had by all. The Liquorists are brilliant people - enthusiastic, generous and knowledgeable, and their trails are great value. We went on a Friday, but prices are from as little as £35 a head if you go on a Wednesday night - see the website for full details as the Rum Trail runs until the end of September. And the very fact that I'm sitting here at 9.30 the next morning writing up the blog should prove that it's true - The Liquorists really do offer NO HANGOVER GUARANTEED...*

*NB, those on the trail (naming no names) who sloped off to Whim Wham or Socio Rehab afterwards and drank MORE have no-one to blame but themselves - you have broken the terms of the GUARANTEE *stern face*

BrewDog and Trof Take Over Manchester's Deaf Institute for Night of Beer-Loving Boy's Dreams

Like many others, on Thursday evenings we have been watching The Hairy Dieters, looking on as a couple of gentlemen who are both overweight and impressively hirsute attempt to correct their excessive lifestyle and lose a bit of weight (which, one can't help thinking, could surely be at least partially achieved with a stricter haircut). Anyway, their new regime, in which they eschew alcohol and deliciously fatty, creamy, cheesy, sugary foods, has surely been an inspiration to us all, no doubt prompting many viewers to take a long, hard, critical look at their own lifestyles and make appropriate adjustments.

Mind you, I missed it last Thursday, what with going to The Deaf Institute to eat six deliciously fatty, creamy, cheesy, sugary foods individually matched with ales from the BrewDog stable of craft beers. When I previewed this event last week, I'd already pretty much identified it as Mr Liz's dream event - and arriving at the venue appeared to confirm that not only did approximately half of Manchester share the same dream, but they were also living it; the beautiful Victorian music hall was filled to capacity with excitably thirsty Mancunians thrilled with the prospect of quaffing large quantities of decent beer, on a school night.

With so many people in attendance, the event did take a little while to get going, but once underway, the peerlessly knowledgeable Josie talked us through each of the BrewDog offerings (a measure of how good she was can be seen in the fact that everyone listened to her, rather than simply banging on the table and shouting BEER! BEER! BEER! as I suspect may happen at less well-run gatherings) as trays of food and beer magically appeared before us. I don't have photographs of everything I'm afraid, as whichever particular Victorian designed and built the venue paid scant regard to the low-quality flash offered by the iPhone camera, and you should also not understimate the speed with which a table full of hungry boys can fall upon a tray of food that you are currently trying to photograph.

You can read the full line-up of what we ate on my original blog post here, and I can offer you photographs of the tasty but dainty mini Yorkshire pudding paired with 5 A.M. ale and the splendidly chunky fish goujon partnered by Punk IPA (which was by far my favourite beer of the evening, but I already knew that before I went). I can also confirm that the brownie was excellent, despite being eaten whilst running down Grosvenor Street after my bus in a comedic, Penelope Pitstop type manner. N.B. Some people have claimed, uncharitably and unjustly, that the food looks RUDEY in these photos, but I'm confident that such misconceptions lie in the mind of the beholder and not in the skill of the photographer or the innocent intentions of the chef.

As well as the six billed ales, there were also a couple of extras at the end - we didn't have time to stay for the 32% Tactical Nuclear Penguin, but Mr Liz did manage to snaffle a quick taste of the Paradox Jura Beer, aged in whisky casks and thereby combining two of his keenest interests; unsurprisingly, this was his favourite drink of the night. Overall, the night offered excellent value for money at £20 a head, and the service and the quality of the food were both very good considering the popularity of the event (the quality of the beer goes without saying). If there's another one, I shall certainly be in attendance...and if it involves missing a TV show about dieting, then so much the better...

- The Deaf Institute (part of the same group as Trof, who also had a hand in this lovely event) is at 135 Grosvenor Street, Manchester M1 7HE; the BrewDog Manchester bar can be found at 35 Peter St, Manchester M2 5BG. I will leave you with an image of the wallpaper in the ladies toilet at The Deaf Institute (where, you will note, the lighting is EXCELLENT) - if you know of better decorated bogs in Manchester, I'd like to hear about them please.

The Alchemist on New York Street, Manchester: Giant Chicken Makes 70s Child VERY Happy

Eagle-eyed readers may recall detecting the smallest smidgeon of disappointment (hastily and professionally concealed, of course) when I was unable to attend the opening of the new Alchemist on Manchester's New York Street: early reports suggested that this was a splendidly sparkly new venue with all the charms of its Living Ventures sister Alchemist at Spinningfields (interesting and innovative cocktails, well-judged soundtrack, buzzy and convivial atmosphere), only in a bigger, better, no-bottle-neck-at-the-bar-when-really-busy location. You can read roving reporter Olivia's verdict on it here.

On Wednesday evening, however, it was all about the food. If you've already eaten at the Spinningfields venue, you'll know what to expect from the menu, which is essentially a slightly frantic dash around the world's cuisines - a sort of "best of" collection of global comfort food. This is the kind of eclectic approach which can cause great dismay when attempted at a fine-dining venue, but is a real strength somewhere like the Alchemist, where eaters are likely to be a group of sociable souls on a cheery night out, all fancying different food items with which to mop up their exquisite cocktails. That's not to say that the food here isn't good - it is; it simply doesn't pretend to be anything it's not. Here's what we had, and here's why we liked it:

Starters: we over-ordered here, as we obviously had to try the calamari (Mr Liz's starter of choice, wherever he goes), but also really fancied the Bar Snacks Platter offering chicken wings, nachos, potato wedges and beer battered prawns with dips for £10.95. Were these high-end, carefully constructed, dainty affairs? No. But everything was good - hot, salty, tender calamari; crunchy puffs of batter enclosing steamingly juicy prawns; nice sturdy potato wedges; hideously moreish wings spiked with chilli, salt and pepper. The surprise hits, though, were the nachos - smothered in sweet, cheesy goodness to the point of saturation. You KNOW you're looking at a good plate of nachos when you can't find a single naked corner to grasp hold of.

Mains: now, I've deliberately not read it yet, but I hear a well-known Manchester reviewer was less than impressed recently with the Special Fried Chicken in a Basket offered at The Alchemist. Personally, I can't really see how anyone could fail to enjoy a dish of chicken in a basket, that comes in a basket shaped like a chicken - the pleasing nature of this kind of amusing symmetry is surely irresistible, particularly to someone born in the 1970s and therefore brought up on a succession of far less ironic chicken in a basket dishes. The chicken was blisteringly hot, in a crispy coating that clearly contains some kind of habit-forming substance in the light of the chicken cravings with which I awoke the following day. There were too many chips, and the accompanying coleslaw was a bit on the bland side for my taste, but the chicken was magnificent; I am seriously worried that any glamorous, elegant cocktail evening I ever attempt here will always be significantly derailed by a moment of chicken weakness at approximately 10.30pm - I may resort to carrying one of those moist towelettes on my person at all times. Mr Liz went for the Rib Eye Steak Frites - a hefty slab of 28 day aged meat cooked perfectly to order and served with (too many) chips and some nicely creamy peppercorn sauce. This was £15.95; the splendid chicken basket just £9.95 - not to enjoy it is to miss the point.

Dessert: we shared a pud, and there was only ever one choice in contention - the Belgian Waffles with cinnamon, sugar and vanilla ice cream at £3.95. These were seriously good, and plenty big enough to share, even with one of the sharees being Mr Liz. It would also have been rude not to try a couple of the famous cocktails whilst we were there - the Porn Star Martini with its sidecar shot of Prosecco was perfect (although to be fair, it should be at £10 a go), and the Dry Iced Tea, served in a teapot spewing out a plume of dry ice, was as exciting as ever. And with the food coming in at under fifty quid for both of us, we felt entirely justified in a glass of wine and a couple of beers as well.

So whilst the Alchemist NYS doesn't really break any earth-shattering new ground, it continues a winning formula. And if the number of people here on an anonymous Wednesday night is anything to go by, the newest member of the Living Ventures stable looks set to continue the success as well.

Rat Pack Live, Blues Brothers Live and An Evening of Burlesque all Come to Manchester: Local Girl Casts Off Shakespeare Shackles

Sometimes, it's hard to accept that we are who we are rather than who we think we should be. Getting older of course helps with this: being advanced in years has finally gives me the confidence to admit that I don't like festivals (mud/chemical toilets/crowds), or Dickens (too long/too smug/too pompous), or certain city centre bars (queues/ridiculous prices/clientele almost exclusively young enough to be own child), amongst other things. And now, the final bastion has fallen, at last. For, despite being an English lecturer with a great love of my subject (Dickens aside, although I've tried with him, I really have), I have finally admitted to myself that when I go to the theatre I do NOT WANT to watch something worthy, or highbrow, or noble, or educational. What I actually want is to see people singing, dancing, high-kicking and generally jigging about in an ebullient manner, preferably with moments where I can myself sing along, just quietly, under my breath.

I can't begin to tell you how liberating a feeling this is. No more Chekhov on a wet Wednesday night; no more "interesting" interpretations of Shakespeare's oeuvre. Instead, I am delighted to say that I will be seeing all of these merry productions in September:

First up is Rat Pack Live at The Lowry on September 7th, an evening of big band swing featuring the music of Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin and Sammy Davis Jnr. I wrote about this a couple of months ago when I was running a competition to win tickets so I won't say too much more now, other than wishing the winners of the competition a lovely time and hoping for their sake they will not be seated next to me, for the fact that I don't actually know the words to many of these songs will NOT prevent me from attempting to sing along.

Next up is The Blues Brothers - Live, also at The Lowry Theatre, on the 20th and 21st September. The original film is one of two I remember watching with my older sister when I was about 10 (the other was The Rocky Horror Picture Show); clearly, I was too young to understand either of these wasted masterpieces, but gamely pretended to know what was going on and laughed at all the bits my sister laughed at (although a beat too late to be entirely convincing, obviously). Anyway, it's 30 years since the death of John Belushi, so it's fitting that this production - the only officially licensed production of the Blues Brothers outside of America, and presented in association with both Judith Belushi and Dan Aykroyd - should hit Manchester. This particular show, a Hartshorn – Hook Production, won rave reviews at the Edinburgh Festival in 2009 and looks GOOD - I might even stand on my seat for this one*.

*Note to anyone reading this from The Lowry: I promise I will NOT stand on my seat at any point during this production.

And finally, just when my show-girl heart was fit to burst anyway, An Evening of Burlesque is coming to Manchester's Palace Theatre on Friday 21st September. Now, I'm pretty much of a newcomer to all this burlesque business (I'm fairly sure that having sat through the Cher movie of the same name and occasionally high-kicking into the kitchen to put the kettle on does not qualify one as an expert in this field), but I DID go to the Moulin Rouge earlier this month and am looking forward to seeing the UK's first (and only) touring burlesque show in the, erm, flesh, as it were. The producers promise "it’s all tease, no sleaze" *watches Mr Liz's face fall* and that there will be corsets, killer heels and stockings aplenty *watches Mr Liz brighten up again* as some of the world's most famous burlesque stars take to the stage (and me, from the comfort of my seat).

Of course, this new-found liberation won't last - I'll just make sure I enjoy it while it lasts...*goes off, can-canning just a little*

Further information on all productions can be found on The Lowry and The Palace websites.

Trof and BrewDog Bring You an Evening of Beer and Food-Matching at Manchester's Deaf Institute; Local Man in Not-Working-Next-Day Shocker

As I have grown older, I have become increasingly susceptible to the seductive charms of beer. I put this down to two key factors: the newly prevalent proliferation of decent beers that actually TASTE of something, and - probably more significantly - the ever-increasing distance between my current self, and the eighteen-year-old version who used to force down plastic pint glasses of evil brown murk at Owen's Park bar purely because they cost 90p.

And so it is with no little excitement that I note that super-cool Northern Quarter bar Trof is teaming up with legendary craft beer experts BrewDog to offer an evening of beer tasting and food-matching at Manchester's Deaf Institute next Thursday, 23rd August. This promises to combine two of my very favourite things, ie BOOZE and FOOD, in a unique environment - the Music Hall is apparently being transformed into an old-fashioned Beer Hall for one night only, meaning that if I play my cards right I can triumphantly file this one away under "Culture" rather than the more usual "Oh dear GOD - is she eating again?" category.

Advance tickets are £20 a head, and can be booked here. For this, you get hefty half-pints of a range of BrewDog draft ales, cunningly matched in some of the following combinations:

- Mini Yorkshire puddings with pork and sage chipolatas, tomato, apple and 5 A.M. chutney, matched with 5 A.M hoppy amber ale. Mr Liz has been a surprisingly keen advocate of the mini Yorkshire pudding, despite the presence of the word "mini" (normally something of a deal breaker) within its name, so he'll be looking forward to this one.

- Punk IPA battered haddock goujons with homemade tartare sauce, matched with Punk IPA, a contradictory, contemporary take on classic India Pale Ale. If I were the sort of person who made their own fish and chips rather than sending Mr Liz to the nearest chippy, I like to think I would put beer in the batter, although whether I would be allowed by Mr Liz to use BrewDog in such a manner is doubtful.

- Mature cheddar cheese rarebit, matched with Hardcore, another, even more radical IPA with crafted on a rich, toffee canvas. Not being renowned for my hardcore nature on work nights, it is possible Mr Liz or anyone else seated close to me might start picking up my beer slack round about now (note: NOT a euphemism).

- Individual Lancashire cheese hot pots with homemade pickled Dogma cabbage, matched with Dogma, a heather infused Scotch ale, at a heart stopping 7.4 per cent. 7.4%? Ditto (see above).

- Cheeses from near and far with assorted Alice Porter chutneys, matched with Alice Porter, a unique take on this traditional drink from the British Isles. I rather like the idea of "cheeses from near and far" - I'm picturing myself standing on the table, looking through a telescope, crying "Ahoy, Cheese". Maybe those who have sat near me purely to pick up my beer slack will move away round about now.

- Frosted chocolate brownie, matched with Lost Dog, an imperial porter with notes of red berries created in collaboration with the award-winning Lost Abbey brewery. Chocolate and beer? I stand to be convinced, although it certainly SOUNDS nice.

All of this takes place between 7 and 10pm, and the only thing - the ONLY thing - that threatens to spoil the occasion is that Mr Liz has just told me he's not working next Friday - BAH; I think we can ALL see where that beer slack will be going...

Fresco Freddo's Gelateria Brings Joy to Manchester and a Dream Come True for Mr Liz

Whether we choose to share it with the rest of the world or prefer to nestle it close to our hearts, we all have a dream. For some, it may be a grandiose vision of world peace, of an end to famine, and violence, and hatred in all its forms; for others, it might be the no less important hope of making life better close to home, one careful step at a time. And sometimes, just sometimes, the fates smile upon us and our dreams come true, illuminating our lives with a shaft of brilliant sunshine that makes the world shine a little brighter, just for a moment or two. And after eight years of marriage, I yesterday found out my husband's own dearest hopes and dreams, the tenet upon which his entire moral code is founded.

Mr Liz's dream was to eat every flavour of ice-cream on sale in an ice-cream shop. And now, thanks to the new Fresco Freddo's Gelateria on Manchester's Oxford Street, that dream has been fulfilled.

But let's rewind a little - you may wish to imagine some harp music and picture the screen going wavy - to our arrival at the super-cute new shop that promises to bring some Italian joy to the shores of Mancunia. The counter houses 22 different varieties of gelato and sorbet (NOT ice cream, do note - gelato is much lower in fat as it is made with milk rather than butter cream, although this is unlikely to justify the behaviour of someone who has eaten all 22 flavours in one sitting *looks askance at Mr Liz but says nothing*) as well as offering waffles and Kimbo coffee from Naples for those who are too self-conscious to order ice cream for breakfast.

The welcome at last night's soft launch really couldn't have been warmer, with owner Reem enthusing about the different flavours and really keen for us to try them and enjoy them; indeed, it was this lovely, blameless lady who uttered the immortal words to a breathlessly excited Mr Liz - "oh, do try them all." Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth (or at a full ice cream counter from afar), he did just that, claiming brazenly that it was for the sake of the blog that he put himself through such gluttony. And this might just have worked, had his feedback been more constructive than "this one's really nice, and this one's really nice as well, and I also really like this one, and this one is nice too."

And actually, it's true - they are all really nice. Eventually some favourites did emerge - from the gelato selection we all loved the Peanutella (you can already tell from the name that there is nothing but good to be had in this particular concoction), the Hazlenut and the Pistachio. The real winners were the sorbets though, with the Lime and Mint proving the runaway favourite, tasting as it does like a Mojito. As the sorbets are fat-free, I tried them all with clear conscience, and can confirm that the Lemon, Raspberry and Passion Fruit varieties came in a close second - luckily you will be able to buy a mixed cone containing up to three different scoops in order to alleviate the burden of choice here. And, you know, if you walked both up AND down Oxford Street you could also put on a fake moustache and go in again.

This is a really charming new business run by truly lovely people - it deserves to do well, and judging by the reactions on Facebook and Twitter last night, the whole of Manchester is ready to welcome it with open arms; not least that lucky, happy boy whose dreams finally came true here.

Fresco Freddo's can be found at 83 Oxford Street, Manchester M1 6EG; if there's a large boy hogging the counter you have my permission to boot him out the way - he's HAD his turn for now.

Alchemist NYS, Manchester - Roving Reporter Raves, and Demands Special Pad

Now, as I'm sure that many of you will be aware, I am a brave sort of soul, not really the type to complain about being poorly, or about MISSING OUT ON THINGS AT HOME IN BED WHEN THE WHOLE WORLD IS CAROUSING AND HAVING A REALLY GOOD TIME...wait, sorry - where was I? Ah, yes - not one to complain, which is why you would have had to have gone over my Twitter timeline with a very fine toothcomb indeed to glean that last week I had a touch of tonsillitis and was confined to bed. This unfortunately-timed illness coincided with a rash of lovely events that I would very much like to have attended, including the launch of the new Alchemist Bar on New York Street in Manchester; ever the consummate professional, however, I managed to procure a roving reporter to attend in my stead (I KNOW - from my SICK bed - ALWAYS working). This is what the lovely Olivia made of it all...

COUNTRY GIRL GOES COSMOPOLITAN

It’s no mean feat opening up a new bar, especially in a fast moving and vibrant city like Manchester; with so many cocktail bars in the city now, you’ve got to be something pretty special to get noticed... and that’s exactly what the Alchemist NYS does. They know what to do and precisely how to do it.

From the very minute we walked through the door there was a vibe about this place, a special vibe, the type of vibe that makes you want to go EVERYWHERE and see EVERYTHING. And when I say ‘see’ of course I pragmatically mean taste everything too, after all how could I really comment on how good the cocktails were if I didn’t test at least a few of them. So that’s exactly what I did.

First up was the White Cosmo, a refreshing and unique potion of St Germain Elderflower liqueur mixed with white grape juice and lemon bitters and finished off with a vodka-laden frozen white orchid. For a let’s just say ‘well experienced’ cocktail sampler like myself this was liquor heaven *licks lips, tries to refrain from jumping on the next train for another hit*. Other sampled cocktails included the French Martini, Rosebud, Apricot Bramble, Lemon and Cherry Pie and Passion Fruit and Lychee Meringue Martini. I particularly enjoyed being fed, by a very glamorous assistant, the Passion Fruit and Lychee Meringue Martini which was accompanied by a spoon *plans to mark this down as my new favourite ‘food’*. And the most special thing about the carefully selected cocktails on their menu... their uniqueness, a finishing touch that just makes that bit of difference to take it a step away from the norm and every other Cosmo (or whatever it might be) out there.

This is one stylish hub with all you need from a city centre bar. There are a number of different areas in this spacious bar, from booths to luxurious Chesterfields, large bar standing areas and an outside terrace. What more could you ask for? Whether you’re in the mood for a meal or just a drink, I’d definitely put this place on your ‘to do’ list *checks diary for next available visit*.


The Alchemist is part of the prestigious Living Ventures group, and whilst a number of drinks were provided free at the launch that Olivia attended, she chose to stay on after the free bar had finished and purchase a number of additional cocktails. Rumours that she has got above her station and demanded I buy her a spiral-bound reporting pad for next time are, as yet, completely unfounded.