Last week I took my father Dry Tony to visit Saucier Pasta, an independent restaurant located in Market Street in Preston city centre.
Saucier was opened in June 2025 by chef-owner Kieren Tolenaar after a short but epic stint as one of the excellent businesses that make up the mini food court at Chew’s Yard in Market Street West. I went there hoping for great things and being pretty confident that I was going to get them.
Read more: From plasterer to pasta: Preston’s affordable new restaurant with the highest standards
Written across the window of Saucier are the words: “Fresh pasta, fresh bread, local produce,” which was an indicator of the owner’s passion for cooking from scratch.
The restaurant is small, with a minimalist, modern design. An open kitchen allows diners to see meals being prepared, and seating is designed for both individuals and groups. This worked well, as about 30 per cent of the other customers appeared to be eating alone – good news for me for subsequent visits, being someone newly enamoured with the lone dining experience but still slightly worried that I might look like a private investigator, jilted lover or wildly unpopular food reviewer.
A glance at the menu makes it obvious that Mr Tolenaar is not messing around. It’s peppered with authentic, quality ingredients such as calabrian sausage, lily peppers, truffles and San Marzano tomatoes. Almost everything is homemade from scratch, including the bread. There were also a few interesting cocktails on there, but unfortunately I was driving. Next time.
The not overlarge menu was incredibly well thought out, and contained more than enough tempting options to guarantee multiple return visits for the food that I didn’t get to try on my first, such as short rib ragu with pulled Lancashire beef (£14), creamy nduja rigatoni (£13, with a vegan option also available) and a reuben focaccia sandwich (£5 from the lunch menu).
We opted for a small portion each of aglio e olio – fusilli with garlic, chilli and parsley breadcrumbs (£6), and shared a Bredda sandwich (£5) with jerk chicken, plantain and coleslaw.
The pasta was impeccable. Springy, slightly nutty, perfectly cooked and seasoned to perfection, as was the simple combination of garlicky olive oil and herby breadcrumbs, made from what I soon discovered was the best focaccia I’ve tasted outside of a tiny bakery in Naples in 1992.
The crust of my jerk chicken sandwich was thin, crispy and golden around a light, fluffy, slightly chewy centre, and I could smell the herbs and olive oil before I even picked it up. The filling did the bread justice: warmly spiced chicken, sweet plantain and creamy slaw, which looked as good as it tasted and was impossible to eat with any elegance. Admittedly, I didn’t try very hard, but Dry Tony made a valiant attempt with a knife and fork.
Despite the pasta being a smaller lunchtime portion and despite sharing the sandwich between two people, I was too full to finish all of the delicious aglio e olio and also manage a dessert, so I had to reluctantly sacrifice it for some tiramisu (£7.50).
The board suggested that it was “probably to share” but I’m used to ignoring those outrageous hints on bags of chocolate and Monster Munch, and would happily lose friends over a proper homemade tiramisu, so we decided it might be best that Dry Tony ordered a summer fruit meringue tart (£6)
The tart looked pretty and tasted good, but it wasn’t quite up to the high standard of all the other food. The pastry was too hard to cut with a spoon and the meringue was light but became runny during the time it took to eat it. It might have benefitted from a short spell in an oven in addition to the few seconds under a blowtorch it received.
The tiramisu was magnificently boozy, creamy and rich. My dad had a bit of room left so he could help me out which was good, because it would have physically hurt to have left even a teaspoon of such a fabulous dessert uneaten. It was everything an authentic tiramisu should be, and there was definitely enough for two.
We had a can each of kombucha (£2) and I also bought my dad a dinky pistachio cannoli (£1.50) because he loves a mafia film and they’re always going on about them. He couldn’t taste the pistachios but enjoyed it nevertheless.
There’s a famous line in the romcom Jerry Maguire where the repentant hero shows up at the heroine’s house to deliver a beautiful speech about how he simply can’t be without her and she replies, “Shut up. You had me at ‘hello’.” When a member of staff came over to take our order it would have been rude to have opened with, “Shut up. You had me at ‘fresh pasta, fresh bread, local produce’,” but that’s the truth. (Obviously with a “please” at the end and probably a “sorry” shoehorned in there somewhere, because I’m English.) That’s really all we need. Use local ingredients. Make it, knead it, shape it, dry it, grate it, prove it, taste it and season it in house. Do what customers aren’t motivated or skilled enough to do ourselves. Cook like the great grandparents of the world and we’ll love you for it. Not with tripe, that’s too far.
This little, unassuming eatery is situated in the shadow of Ask Italian, but only geographically because, passion, care and produce-wise, it utterly eclipses the big, glossy chain restaurant.
Our bill came to £37, which was an absolute bargain for the quality of ingredients and the obvious love and care that goes into the food. So, fellow carb and comfort food lovers of Preston, get yourselves to Saucier as soon as you can. The best pasta and bread in Lancashire awaits you.
Have you tried the food at the Saucier? Let us know what you thought in the comments.
Read more: All of Karen’s reviews
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