Parallel by Pasture, Cardiff.

Let's talk hypothetically for a minute: I've just completed a survey of 100 people in the centre of Cardiff, and I've employed Les Dennis to put a gun to your head and give you one guess at the top answer to "What is the average Cardiffian's favourite restaurant?", bearing in mind that Les will absolutely, definitely pull the trigger. What would your answer be? Now, considering you're reading this post, I'm going to go ahead and give you, dear reader of this here jumble of words, the benefit of the doubt and assume you know that our survey says Pasture, though I might let you off if you said Slim Chickens – it is Cardiff after all.

You know Pasture, the place that burst onto the scene in a Micah Richards-esque fashion back in October 2020 and has had Cardiff meal-goers in an absolute choke-hold ever since. It's the place where, if you're looking to book a meal for two at any time, ever, you're shit out of luck unless you're willing to wait until July 2036 or fancy a slap-up steak dinner at 9:45 p.m. on a Tuesday (though I suspect those will be snapped up pronto too). That isn't me being snide, by the way – it's just that Pasture is legitimately so popular that these are genuinely (probably) your only options.

The reason why I've dedicated the opening paragraph of this post to Pasture is because Parallel is their sister restaurant. They opened their doors last month, and the focus is on what Pasture arguably does best in the form of their small plates. The space itself is intimate and moodily lit, less restaurant, more VIP area at the club with a soundtrack to match, and it's ace. The menu is split into sections of snacks, cured, crispy, vegetable, fish, and meat - dishes changing daily depending on produce, season, etc. - all that usual stuff. So while I'd recommend reading the sample menu on the site, I wouldn't set your heart on a particular dish. The menu today makes for incredible reading, and so we order 13 plates in order to experience as much as possible, arteries be damned.

We start things off with a pair of cocktails: a Beetroot Negroni, which on first reading sounds like a potential hate crime, but in practice is actually a big hit. The beetroot is used sparingly and adds a layer of earthy bitterness that complements the Negroni. The colouring makes it look like you're drinking a Panda Pop from the early 2000s, but I don't mind it, and I'd happily slurp them all night if my bank account allowed. The slightly more out-there Dill and Lemongrass Margarita is somewhat akin to eating a tequila-flavoured pickle, not that it's a bad drink per se, but not one that you'll be in a rush to order again.

The dishes are brought out in a staggered manner and in an order you'd generally get in a more traditional setting (snacks, starter, fish, meat), and each time, we're given a detailed explanation of how the food we're eating is made. This is a great touch that, for me, helps elevate a restaurant and understand what kind of chef is in the kitchen. It's something that I wish more places at this price point would do and it’s a testament to the waiting staff who in general were excellent throughout the meal.

Our selection of snacks is brought out within 10 minutes of ordering. A flatbread cooked over an open fire comes adorned with grill marks and glistens with a potent beef butter that smells so strongly of flamed beef that if it weren't for the existence of my eyes, I could've been fooled into thinking I had a burger sat in front of me. It tastes every bit as good as you'd expect, and my only regret is that I didn't order another to accompany a couple of the meat dishes later in the night. Our second snack is a bedsheet-sized portion of puffed-up pig skin. It's the ultimate beer snack and is elevated with a burnt apple puree that cuts the fat with a vital bittersweet note. The whole thing comes with a shower of grated Ox Heart that ensures the dish remains firmly on Earth.

A quick foray into the "Raw & Cured" section comes via what I will gently describe as a deconstructed bagel. Trout is cured using similar methods to Pastrami, and a generous portion is accompanied by dots of cream cheese, pickles, and a rye cracker. I would've liked a little more cream cheese here to offset the saltiness of the cured fish, but when I was able to get a balanced portion onto the cracker, it's a wonderful little thing that is a creative take on a tried and tested combination.

Fried chicken is quite possibly my favourite food group, and this version is up there with some of the best I've had. Two big nugz are fried perfectly and are layered with flavours of malt, curry leaf, galangal, and kimchi. It's a savoury, fragrant rollercoaster with a splash of citrusy lime at the end. It's a dish that lets you know, as if you didn't already, that you're in a very capable pair of hands. A pair of croquettes stuffed with leek and smoked Caerphilly cheese juxtapose the complexity of the chicken with a more traditional flavour profile; they're undoubtedly good enough, but on a menu filled with superstars, they act more as a support act - a vital role nonetheless. Crab Toast with a crab bisque and parsley oil visually oozes raw star (crab) power, and at least texturally, is the best dish of the night. Freshly picked crab rules the roost atop a throne made of brioche, which is pillowy soft and crisp in all the right places. A deep-brown crab bisque is there to do a job and amplify the crab flavour from the dainty ruler above, but it's ultimately a pinch of salt or two over being able to truly say mission accomplished, though it's certainly an admirable attempt.

As my girlfriend really can't eat any form of seafood or fish, a hand-dived scallop is thankfully all for me, which is good because there's absolutely no way I'd be sharing it anyway. The scallop is hockey puck-sized and is seared with pitch-perfect precision before being split into two portions. It comes with a smoother-than-smooth cauliflower puree that somehow manages to taste more of cauliflower than if I'd just taken a bite out of one. A dollop of XO sauce over the top ensures the dish ends with a real umami hit. It's a genuinely faultless plate of food and is a real joy to eat.

I appreciate that this post is getting on a bit now, so in the interest of both your time and mine, the last two sections of vegetables and meat come combined. There are some issues here, though: a pair of lamb chops could have used an extra few minutes fat-side down to render out properly, while a plate of purple sprouting broccoli is more salt than sesame. What is described on the menu as “Potato, Bacon & Wild Garlic” turns out to be the undersell of the century. Strips of potato are cooked overnight, layered with bacon, and folded up to an almost steak-like appearance before being finished on the grill and topped with wild garlic aioli. The technique and intricacy of which is undoubtedly impressive, and the dish is good, but like the crab bisque and aforementioned broccoli, it needed a lighter touch with the ol’ sodium. I’d always rather be slightly over-seasoned than under, and these are minor, easily rectified, and probably not even commonplace missteps that never threatened to derail the meal but are worth noting all the same for due balance.

We have a carrot, and it’s very good. Another undersell, I do apologise. This carrot is cooked for 24 hours in a water bath, put to work on the grill just before serving, and given a drenching of smoked maple syrup, tahini, and cashew. It’s very sweet, no doubt a product of the long cooking process drawing out the carrot’s natural sugars as well as the obvious impact of the maple syrup. It’s compelling eating and one that you constantly find yourself picking at. It’s a rival to the current Cardiff carrot champions at Tom Simmons, and if this sparks some sort of citywide carrot war, then I’m absolutely here for it.

Our final dishes come in the form of Koobideh Kebab, four chunks of minced lamb and beef that are gloriously spiced and come with a thick crust courtesy of their cooking on the grill. A dusting of Za’atar and a pot of green sauce and yoghurt complete the dish. This is the one I should have saved some of the flatbread for, but that’s only out of gluttony rather than necessity. So when you go, just make sure you do what I didn’t. A flat iron steak comes cooked to a perfect medium with a quenelle of citrusy Café de Paris butter melting over the top of it, a fine end to a meal that treads the line between great and outstanding.

The Parallel website defines its aims clearly: intimate, theatrical, vibrant, and energetic, and you’d be hard-pressed to argue that it hasn’t immediately hit all of those notes straight from the off. A few minor missteps aren’t enough to deter me from saying that Parallel is already probably one of the best restaurants in the city, definitely among the best in the city centre. You’ll want to book in now because it’s only a matter of time before you’re looking at next century for a reservation and a confused Les Dennis turning up to your door gun in hand. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.