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This week Yvonne and I visited Tugra Meathouse in Preston City Centre for lunch. The Turkish restaurant is situated on Market Street, and its website promises “our first priority is to ensure that our guests spend time with their families in a comfortable, safe and delicious way”.
The last bit reminded me of a horror film in which the devil – masquerading as a goat called Fat Andy or something – asks a witch if she wants to live deliciously before she floats into the air to join a bunch of other witches who were dangling in the air without any grundies on and laughing.
My answer also would be “yes,” but a tentative one, because due to having lived deliciously for quite some time I’m carrying a little extra padding, and I didn’t want to replicate an incident a few years back when I tried beach kitesurfing. Instead of leaping gracefully into the air I was un-deliciously dragged face down along the sand for a good 20 metres, stopping only when the anchor of sand that had been scooped into my pants embedded me in the ground, like an angry clam.
Fortunately Tugra’s deliciousness came with the additional promise that it would be comfortable and safe, so I decided to risk it.
We were greeted at the door by a charming staff member who took us to a table and asked if we wanted some water, which I’ve found is a pretty reliable sign that an eatery sees its customers as people instead of pound signs. We were also given a complimentary plate with home-made, tortilla-type crispy triangles and a small bowl of ezme, an intensely tangy tomato dip that Yvonne scarfed immediately. On top of the friendly greeting and the restaurant’s modern yet classy decor, Tugra had already made a good impression.
The owner also came over to our table to introduce himself and welcome us, and it was immediately apparent that he had every intention of making good on the website’s promises.
We chose from the lunch menu, which offered two courses for £17.95 and a £3 supplement for a New York steak, and our starters arrived in good time.
Yvonne went for the spicy Turkish sausage, which I’m not usually keen on, but I tried hers. It was meaty without being greasy and the paprika that I usually find overpowering in sucuk was pulled back just enough to allow the other flavours of garlic and pepper to shine.
I had spicy feta rolls – filo pastry filled with feta and spinach with a sweet chilli dip. Like Yvonne’s starter it was beautifully presented, each with little side salads in a delicious dressing that elevated them from a garnish to an essential part of the starter. A few bites in we noticed that we’d been given each other’s dips so swapped over with no harm done. The sourness of the feta was tempered by the sweetness of the sauce, and the fragile filo pastry rolls had a deeply satisfying level of destructible crunch.
For her main course, Yvonne ordered chicken a la creme – chicken tenders in a rich, creamy mushroom sauce with skinny fries.
The chicken was tender, the fries were crispy and the sauce was tasty. There was nothing remotely negative that could be said about it, apart from the fact that it contained mushrooms which are boingy abominations and anyone who deliberately eats them isn’t living deliciously, just suspiciously.
I’d ordered my steak cooked medium rare and was pleasantly surprised that it was served medium rare, especially as it was a thin cut. Any lover of a rare steak can tell you how often restaurants seem to only ask you how you like your steak cooked in order to make your day a little sadder by sending out a plateful of dust with half a raw tomato on top and then telling you that’s what you’d ordered.
As well as being expertly cooked, it was seasoned perfectly and melted in the mouth. I’m glad that I didn’t order any sauce as it was juicy enough to eat without one, and it would have been a pity for any of the steak’s flavour to be obscured.
The owner came over again to check that we were happy with our meals and asked us if we’d like a dessert. Yvonne got so excited about sharing a baklava Biscoff dessert that I went along with it even though I don’t like baklava and I’m not keen on Biscoff spread. However, like Yvonne’s sucuk sausage starter, it turned out to be so delicious that I ended up eating most of it without a shred of guilt due to all the times Yvonne had told me she couldn’t manage a dessert before galoofing mine into her petite self in defiance of all laws of physics. It was creamy, sweet and flaky without being overwhelmed by syrup.
The Theatre Street Bar and Grill used to be my favourite City Centre restaurant, and I was sad to see it relocate to the Plough at Eaves which is too far for me to visit as often as I’d like.
Read more: How it’s going so far after Theatre Street Bar and Grill relocated to The Plough at Eaves
However, when that door closed, Tugra opened. It’s the sort of restaurant that you find yourself telling anyone who’ll listen to visit, as well as anyone that might be trying to wind the conversation up because they didn’t ask, they don’t know you and you’re holding up the queue in Aldi. And why are you now telling them about pogo sticks?? Because, Karen, you know that when you stop talking you’ll have to deal with another bewildered silence that you created.
Now here’s the reward for anyone who’s read to the end of my review. The owner told us that Tugra is not licensed, and DOES NOT CHARGE A CORKAGE FEE for alcohol brought by diners. He said that they’ll provide the glasses and open any bottles, because he wants his customers to feel as much like part of his family as possible.
About 35 years ago, my family and I went on holiday to Sorrento in Italy and half way through our stay we found a memorable little backstreet restaurant so welcoming that we ate there every night for the rest of our holiday. During every visit we saw a very elderly man, always alone on a corner table next to the kitchen. He ate a meal, drank a glass of wine and was hugged, talked to and smiled at by the passing waiters until he finished his meal and fell asleep. Then, around 10pm, the manager would gently wake him up and help him out of the restaurant, hopefully not into the road. I think that’s the kind of restaurant that’s come to Preston.
Unfortunately for the owner and staff of Tugra, if they don’t rein in the welcome and they persist in offering free corkage and sending out excellent food, I’m going to end up doing the same as that old Italian man and they’ll never get rid of me. In fact it’s already too late… I’m on my way back to tell everyone about the heatwave of ’76 that melted the tarmac and ruined my new roller skates.
Do you have a long, pointless story that nobody wants to hear? Write it in the comments so nobody has to listen to it.
Read more: All of Karen’s reviews
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