Bottles, and Banter, an Erst tale...

It was one of those rare, quiet Tuesday's where the hum of service still lingers in your bones, but the pressure has momentarily lifted. I found myself slipping into Erst, nestled in Manchester’s Northern Quarter - a place where the lighting is soft, the playlist is perfectly indifferent, and the wine is always dangerously good.

This wasn’t just a lunch; it was a reunion of sorts, with two fellow career chefs whose friendship has been forged through long nights, brutal services, and countless shifts spent elbow to elbow behind the pass. (Who both totally overshadow me entirely) One of which come through the ranks with from culinary school, purchasing our very first knife set with, to the other I've come to deeply respect for his achievements and skillset in more recent years in Manchester.

The food, as always at Erst, was stunning - thoughtful, composed, and confident without shouting. Each plate felt like a conversation starter, from the slow, sweet oysters, incredibly memorable lamb navarin, to the fragile crisp hit of anchovies. The kind of dishes that whisper "trust us" and always deliver. And the wine - bright, slightly wild natural bottles that made us pause mid-sentence, laugh, then pour a little more. (Not forgetting beetroot rebujito!!!)

But the heart of the lunch wasn’t just the food or the drink - it was the shared history, and the unfiltered talk between bites.

We spoke of the grind. The relentless pressure. The incredible high of nailing a service, and the quiet heartbreak when the industry doesn’t seem to care for its own. We talked about how hospitality is still, maddeningly, misunderstood from the outside - especially from a governmental and social level. How it’s seen as a ‘soft’ career, one that doesn’t deserve structural support, despite being one of the hardest, most enduring crafts in modern life. There’s a gulf of understanding between policy and pans, and it’s been exhausting watching chefs fall through the cracks while decisions are made far from the kitchens that feed this country.

Then there’s the shifting culture of the kitchen itself. We spoke, a little wearily, about the junior chef workforce - or sometimes, the lack thereof. It’s not a question of talent; the talent is out there. But it’s the commitment, the bonds, the resilience, the hunger to learn that feels in shorter supply these days. Maybe it’s generational, maybe it’s a backlash to the harshness that used to define brigade culture. But we all agreed: something’s missing. That spark, that fire - it’s harder to find.

And yet, despite all that - the systemic frustrations, the aching joints, the underpaid years - we wouldn’t trade it. Not when moments like this exist. Not when three chefs can sit together, surrounded by brilliant food, beautiful produce, and even better company, and feel seen.

We clinked glasses. We raised a toast - to the old days, to the new faces, to every badly bandaged burn and every perfectly seasoned plate. And as the wine flowed and the stories deepened, it became clear: it’s not just about the food. It never was. It’s about who you break bread with, literally, keep it simple Chef.

Erst gave us a meal to remember. But the company? That made it unforgettable, thanks fellas, see you again soon.