![]() ![]() ![]() The menu is divided between a long list of small dishes at £5.95 each, and kebabs, grills and stews priced in the low to mid-teens. Inside, there are saffron-coloured walls to match the rice and rough-hewn furniture in candy crush shades as if the mood board for the makeover was a packet of Skittles. We navigate our way around the chaos and the hoardings, to the riot of colour that is Toot, its window bearing the legend “Persian food on fire”. The night I was in Plymouth the huge piles of felled woodland were still lying there, rimmed by high wire fences, now tied with coloured ribbons by locals to mourn their demise. An injunction was taken out an hour into the work, stopping the chainsaws, but by then the damage had been done. They did this in the small hours of the morning, like furtive petty criminals trying to get away with larceny. In March, after being told by the town’s citizens how much they liked those trees, the council started chopping them down anyway. It’s located just off Armada Way, a long pedestrian shopping precinct, its hard modernist lines softened by the broad, heavily planted woodland down the middle. The approach to Toot, which opened in Plymouth a few years ago, is not a happy one right now. ‘Heavy with cinnamon’: the pert Persian meatballs. ![]()
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