Roots, Brassicas and a Little Black Pudding: Inside Our November Menu

At The Bay Tree, the November menu is never written in a single meeting. It starts with a walk through Bury Market on a damp Tuesday morning, a bag of muddy celeriac, and a question that runs through the whole kitchen: what does this month actually taste like?

As of 7 November 2026, the answer is roots, brassicas, orchard fruit and a little black pudding. It is a menu that leans into comfort without falling asleep on the job. Here is how it comes together.

First, the market tells us what to cook

We do not begin with a list of dishes and then go shopping for them. We begin with what looks good. That might mean parsnips with a proper snap, cavolo nero with deep blue-green leaves, or apples that smell of something other than cold storage. Our main greengrocer is a third-generation stall on Bury Market, and the relationship is refreshingly blunt. If the sprouts are not worth it, we hear about it. If the beetroot is excellent, we buy more than we planned.

That market walk sets the tone. November cooking is not about showing off. It is about taking ingredients that have had a bit of weather and treating them with respect. A carrot that has seen a frost can be sweeter than a perfectly uniform one from a poly tunnel. A knobbly celeriac is not a problem to hide. It is dinner.

The growers who shape the plate

We work with a small holding beyond Ramsbottom for much of our leafy green produce, and with a Lancashire dairy for cheese that has enough tang to stand up to roots and ale. There is also the black pudding, which needs no long introduction around here. We buy it from Bury Market because it is local, properly seasoned and exactly what you want on a cold afternoon.

We will not pretend that every ingredient on the menu comes from within ten miles. Citrus, spices and olive oil have their place. But the backbone of November at The Bay Tree is local. The people behind it are not anonymous. They are the stallholder who remembers our order, the grower who rings to say the kale is ready, and the driver who turns up with a crate of quince when we least expect it.

Four dishes that show off the season

The first is a celeriac, Lancashire cheese and thyme gratin with a hazelnut crumb. It is comfort food with a savoury edge, soft underneath and crisp on top. We serve it as a starter or as part of a shared table, depending on how hungry you are and how slowly you intend to eat.

Next is a Bury black pudding scotch egg with pickled beetroot. This is the kind of plate that makes people smile before they have even picked up a fork. The black pudding keeps the filling rich, the pickled beetroot cuts through it, and the crust gives you that proper crunch. It is familiar, but not quite what you expected.

For the main event, we are slow-braising beef short rib with parsnip purée, buttered kale and an ale gravy. It is the sort of dish that makes a room feel warmer. The twist is in the details: a little mustard in the gravy, a splash of cider vinegar in the kale, and enough time for the meat to become properly tender.

Pudding is a roast quince and apple crumble tart with bay leaf custard. Quince is one of those ingredients that rewards patience. It is sharp, floral and a little bit odd until it is cooked. With apples and a gentle bay note in the custard, it tastes like November should.

Comfort first, twist second

The kitchen talks a lot about balance. Familiar food is the anchor. The twist is the garnish, not the gimmick. Nobody wants a plate that has been overthought to the point of confusion. But nobody wants the same menu every year either.

So we taste, adjust and taste again. A dish might be too rich, too sharp or too quiet. The gratin might need more thyme. The scotch egg might need a sharper pickle. The short rib might need a little more acidity in the gravy. These are small decisions, but they are the difference between a nice meal and one that feels considered.

We also listen to the room. Regulars tell us when something works. They tell us when something is nearly there. That feedback shapes the next menu more than any trend or spreadsheet. It is a neighbourhood way of cooking, and it suits us.

What November feels like at The Bay Tree

November is not a flashy month. It is dark by teatime and the pavements are damp. That is exactly why the menu leans into slow cooking, warm spices, buttered greens and puddings with custard. You come in from the cold, hang up your coat, and let the kitchen do the rest.

That is the real deep dive behind the pass. It is not just a list of dishes. It is a set of relationships, a market walk, a few careful tastings and a room full of people who want something comforting without being bored. Come and try it while the season lasts.