Leeds feeds: The Empire Cafe
“What, here?” we asked as the maps app deposited us in a tight, grimy Leeds alley, declaring we’d arrived at our much-anticipated lunch destination. Bar a BetFred on the corner and a selection of bins, the only signs of civilisation visible in the enveloping rain and gloom were a handful of empty seats under a monochrome striped canopy up ahead. Thankfully, Google got it right; this unassuming spot down the end of Fish Street was indeed home to The Empire Café.
As is often true in many situations, those with the most bragging rights are the most humble. This corner of Fish Street is described as “The home of all-day dining in Leeds for more than 100 years.” Over the past century, its eateries have fed hundreds of mouths, from hungry cloth traders to those looking for grub before heading to shows at the cafe’s namesake, The Empire Theatre. In short, despite its modest appearance, it’s a ginnel with serious skin in the scoffing and sipping game.
The Empire Café is clearly proud of its roots, keeping a firm grip on its heritage with its original red, black and gold swirly-lettered sign and ingredients largely sourced from the same place as way back when - Kirkgate Market across the road. Nowadays, though, they’re incorporated into an ever-evolving menu of creative small plates.
“Bobbing in” (as you’re warmly invited to do in Yorkshire lingo) to the pocket-sized café, negotiating the metal, spiral staircase and settling in the candle-lit, windowless downstairs dining room instantly shuts out the world. If not for needing phone torches and cameras to properly read the menu and, naturally, photograph your dinner, it would be tempting to banish all tech to enjoy the experience fully.
Although the small plate selection put on a good show, the chicken, prepared on a rotisserie ‘Wall of Flame’, took centre stage. Smothered with a lather and crumb of choice - I opted for some zing with jalapeno and lime dusted in chilli flakes - cooked birds don’t get much juicier and moreish. Chicken schmaltz potatoes made a worthy sidekick, doused in drippings from the rotisserie. Desserts are classics with a twist, my plum frangipane came with smoked crumble, crème brulees were dashed in Cointreau.
Reluctantly vacating our subterranean table after the allocated couple of hours, we emerged to ground level and tucked ourselves in at the tiny bar. Here, we sampled Minced Pie Snowballs and other non-standard cocktails while watching hefty platters of the Empire’s signature soft bap bacon rolls served to hardier types outside the window. But there was no pressure to continue sipping the fancy drinks; should the mood have taken us, the friendly barman would’ve happily brewed up a steaming mug of tea. That’s Yorkshire Tea, of course.
Post a comment