I’ve long suspected that my dad uses Jak’s Bar and Smokehouse as a convenient excuse to come and see me.
Sure, he always looks pleased when I meet him at the Sea Terminal but give it ten minutes of polite catch-up and he’ll inevitably say something like, ‘Shall we go to that smokehouse for lunch?’.
For the record, he knows exactly what it’s called. He’s just trying to play it cool, as if the real reason for his trip isn’t to have another go at the T-bone steak. And for the record, I don’t mind. I’m a fan of the award-winning Douglas bar and restaurant myself.
So, when I heard Jak’s had launched a new lunchtime menu, and with another obligatory parental visit on the horizon, I decided to go on a reconnaissance mission. If there had been any drastic changes, at least I could break it to mon père gently, sparing him a wasted boat trip.
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We (and by ‘we’ I mean a friend and I) took our seats in the spacious upstairs area and got stuck into the new menu. And I don’t say extensive lightly.
It’s divided into sections ranging from pub classics like bangers and mash and steak and Jak’s Celtic ale pie, to salads, jacket potatoes, sandwiches and burgers. I could list more, but we live in an attention economy so you’re going to have to take my word for it.
To do the menu justice, we started with items from the small plates section, though the term is open to debate.
I went for the pepperoni pizzette, a dish I suspect was borrowed from Frank Matcham’s, Jak’s sister restaurant, while my friend opted for the breaded chicken goujons. The pizzette, a combination of mozzarella and cured meat on homemade dough with rich tomato sauce, was the kind of starter that makes you briefly forget you’ve still got a main course coming.
For the next round, I chose the Manx beef sandwich with chunky chips. The beef was thick and tender, and the bread soft, like something my mum might have made, had she not been such a devotee of Billy Bear slices in the 90s.

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I’m not a mayo person, but I asked for a pot on the side just to try it. The friendly waitress was more than happy to oblige. In the end, I dipped almost every warm chip into it and thought, this must be heaven for people who actually like mayonnaise.
My friend, meanwhile, was equally pleased with his cheeseburger, a towering beast that was clearly in denial of its lunchtime status.
By this point, the meat sweats were beginning to set in, and any sane person would have stopped. But then the waitress delivered a line that instantly scuppered our exit strategy: ‘We’ve got Nutella cheesecake on today.’
As someone who loves Nutella and loves cheesecake even more, how could I possibly say no?
What I wasn’t prepared for was the sheer size of it. I saw it approaching like a satellite drifting through space, carried single-handedly by a waitress who clearly moonlights as a competitive powerlifter. She set it down with a thud that made the cutlery tremble.

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It was glorious. A light base, creamy filling, and just enough Nutella to feel indulgent without being overpowering. My friend’s sticky toffee pudding looked excellent too, but I was far too committed to my own cause to notice properly.
Later, lying on the sofa, unable to move, you might think I’d be full of regret. But no. zero regrets. Just one text to my dad: ‘You’re going to love the new menu.’