🎞️ The Curious Case of Tomato Boy: A Flat Iron Tale.
After several weeks of back-and-forth diary Tetris, Emma and I finally locked in a lunch date. Between her meetings and my questionable time management, it was starting to feel like we’d need to book a booth in 2026. But fate (and Outlook) aligned, and Flat Iron Manchester became the lunchtime meeting spot of dreams.
I’d had my eye on Flat Iron for a while. The £15 Flat Iron Steak offer had been whispering my name for weeks. So when Emma backed my suggestion, I was there faster than you can say medium-rare.
🍿 Popcorn, Passion & Tomato Plot Twists 🍅
As we were seated, we were greeted by a bowl of complimentary popcorn. Bit of an odd move for a steakhouse? Sure. But strangely, it works. Think of it like cinematic foreplay for the carnivorous adventure to come. Crunchy, salty, and slightly surreal. I liked it.
Our host—let’s call him Tom—approached with the confidence of a man who’s stared into the soul of a sirloin and lived to tell the tale. This man knew his meat. His passionate breakdown of the menu was less "casual recommendation" and more "Oscar-worthy monologue". I was trying to keep up, but honestly, it was more Scorsese than service. Good thing I had that popcorn.
Then came The Tomato Moment™.
In what can only be described as a side-dish side quest, our host began passionately describing a tomato. One tomato. Singular. He spoke about it with the kind of reverence usually reserved for fine wine—juiciness, perfect acidity, the works—before casually revealing that his nana used to call him Tomato Boy. A nickname… or a title?
Now listen. I don’t know if he was on a tomato-based commission scheme, had deep emotional ties to the fruit, or was running a rogue side hustle smuggling heirlooms under the radar, but we were sold. Sold on a tomato that, upon later inspection, doesn’t even appear on the actual menu. Secret stash? Underground tomato cartel? Secret menu? Whatever it was, we ordered it.
🥩 Meat, Mystery & Maximum Mmm’s 🍷
We went classic:
Two Flat Iron Steaks (ÂŁ15 each)
One portion of Homemade Beef Dripping Chips (to share, because we’re not monsters)
Peppercorn Sauce
The mysterious Tomato
And two glasses of red wine, because sometimes, even busy people deserve to lunch like it’s Friday.
The steak? Chef’s kiss. Tender, flavourful, and cooked to absolute perfection. You know that rare feeling when something lives up to the hype? This was it. The chips were golden and glistening, whispering sweet, beefy nothings into our ears.
And the tomato? Juicy. Tangy. Sweet. Shockingly good. Rotten Tomatoes might give it a 98% Fresh rating, and honestly, I’d agree.
👨‍🍳 Service With a Smile (And a Tomato) 🍽️
Aside from the main character energy of our host, the whole team at Flat Iron was lovely. Super attentive, genuinely friendly, and just... calm. It’s got that relaxed vibe that’s somehow buzzy and peaceful at the same time. A rarity. No flustered servers or chaotic orders here—just a team who clearly love what they do and do it well.
🍦 The Plot Thickens: Steak Cleavers & Soft Serve 🍫
Just when we thought it was all over, our server slid over two tiny silver tokens—miniature steak cleavers, no less. These little beauties unlock free Mr Whippy-style ice creams at any time. Today, tomorrow, next year. You could literally walk back in, brandish your cleaver, and stroll out with a cone. A power move if there ever was one.
Despite the weather turning typically Mancunian (wet), we decided to cash in there and then.
And folks. This wasn’t your average soft serve.
Creamy. Cold. Cloud-like. Possibly the best ice cream cone I’ve had in recent memory—and yes, I got the chocolate sprinkles. Emma too. We stood outside under Manchester’s greying sky, catching up over cones, like two kids on the last day of school.
Until... The Incident.
Emma had a meeting to run to, so we hugged goodbye. What she didn’t calculate was the fully-loaded Mr Whippy in her hand. The result? A chocolate-sprinkled streak across the bottom of my jacket. A sticky, dairy-drenched twist ending that even M. Night Shyamalan would respect.
I see… dry cleaning in my future.
🧾 Final Bites
Flat Iron Manchester, you absolute legend. For £15, you get a steak that could convert a vegetarian, service that’s part stand-up, part culinary school, and a vibe that makes you forget you’ve got 46 unread emails waiting.
Would we return? Absolutely. Tomato or no tomato.
Emma—next time, ice creams after the hug.
Looking for more tasty tales and steak-based soap operas? Stay tuned to Find Dining.
Still haven’t tried Flat Iron? Book it, eat it, thank me later. 🥩🍅🍦