Jack Spratt review

It’s good to see a business finding its feet. Jack Spratt is just such a place.

But the bright decor, the food displays, blackboards and open kitchen are all qualities which can be appreciated as can the food. The provision of newspapers and the Wifi are extra bonuses. Shame that it closes so early at 6pm.

When it opened a few months ago I went in there and was put off by all the holier-than-thou lecturing.

Everywhere I turned there were notices telling me the bags were hand made by orphaned Indian kebab slicers, the menus had been knitted by disabled Vietnamese cheese grinders and the chairs were fashioned by Bolivian salt miners injured in the great marshmallow explosion of La Paz. 

Something like that. Perhaps.

This annoyed me. I don’t want my food experience to be a species of moral rebuke with shrines of worthiness on tables.

It’s good that people care, but awful when they ram it down your neck. It also implies that the biggest thing on Jack Spratt’s mind is not the quality of the nosh they produce but whether they’re striking the right eco-organic pose.

Having been back several times I’m mellowing to the place, in fact I’m beginning to like it very much.  As it appears do many others. The place at lunchtime can be heaving.

The food has improved from the early days when a chicken and bacon sandwich at £4 had been distinctly ropey, and a cupcake was so dry it had sucked the moisture from my mouth.

Now everything seems dandy. On the latest visit I had a fine Aberdeen Angus Philly cheese steak. It was all one could wish for: the meat moist and pink, slathered over by melted cheese and given texture with sautéed mushrooms. It looked a picture as well on in its Innuit fashioned driftwood bowl  (I think that’s the way the management have described the bowls).

On another recent visit the salads (all £5) did the trick with the two standouts being the lively Mexican chicken salad served with jalapenos, guacamole, red peppers and salsa, and the blue cheese, spinach and fetchingly caramelised pecan salad. I preferred the tangy bite of the latter over the heat of the former.

Meanwhile a Confidential friend swears by the seared panga fish sandwich with chilli jam. Jack Spratt doesn’t do the cupcakes any more but buy-in homemade desserts including lemon cheesecake (£2), and carrot cake (£2), the former of which another writer has mentioned in dispatches. For drinks you get speciality teas, exotic juices and a damned fine ginger beer. The coffee’s got good strength and character.

Jack Spratt is clearly making a go of it.

They should get rid of all the stuff telling us how worthy they are and wait for the customers to ask and then let the latter judge for themselves.

But the bright decor, the food displays, blackboards and open kitchen are all qualities which can be appreciated as can the food. The provision of newspapers and the Wifi are extra bonuses. Shame that it closes so early at 6pm.

Jack Spratt might not be able to stomach the fat but he looks set to have a good life on John Dalton Street.  He’s turning out to be an appealing fella, doing things with proper panache.

Now I’ve learnt to close my eyes to all the other stuff I might make the place a regular visit.