Sunday, 21 November 2010
Goldbrick House (cafe), Bristol, 20.11.10
Goldbrick House is truly established on the Bristol cafe/bar/restaurant scene. It is a rambling but endearing place- rooms, stairs, more rooms, stairs, a roof terrace- and so on. Today was a quick and slightly late lunch in the street-level cafe. Service is slow, but eventually the pots of loose leaf tea are delivered. The eggs royale (the smoked salmon take on benedict) are pretty stingey- not abundant with hollandaise and constructed with truly "hard-poached" eggs. The cheddar and pickle sandwich is unwealdy (better suited to a trip up Snowdon) and accompanied by a mountain of blood-pressure-curdling salty chips. Next thing, the manager walks through the cafe having popped out for a Boston Tea Party take-away latte. It doesn't inspire confidence- we sort the bill and make our excuses.
Saturday, 18 September 2010
Maison Bleue, Victoria St, Edinburgh, 13.09.10
Maison Bleue has been a popular Edinburgh eating place for a number of years now, and boasts a prime location on the exquisite Victoria Street at the heart of the Old Town. Even on a post-festival Monday night, there is a healthy buzz and plenty of busy tables. It is an intimate atmosphere- low lights, heavy dining furniture and plenty of couples leaning over candles, safe from the dreary Scottish night.
"Le Banquet Bleu" seems a good value option, with three courses for £25 and plenty of choice in amongst it. To start, the beer-battered haggis balls are a little soggy but arrive with a healthy dollop of clapshot potatoes (mashed potato and swede, so do not expect a taste explosion). The camembert fondue is a generous portion in a crispy filo basket. The duck leg confit is a conservatively-sized limb, but flakes off the bone satisfyingly. The skin would benefit from a bit more crunch and the gruyere mash and port reduction are bland. The saffron rissoto has a beautiful yellow glow, but the rice is a little too al dente and stiff. Again, it lacks a depth of flavour and is under-seasoned. Luckily, the sticky toffee pudding saves the day, with teeth-clinging reassurance.
Maison Bleue will no doubt remain busy- not bad for a tourist trip, but locals will know better.
"Le Banquet Bleu" seems a good value option, with three courses for £25 and plenty of choice in amongst it. To start, the beer-battered haggis balls are a little soggy but arrive with a healthy dollop of clapshot potatoes (mashed potato and swede, so do not expect a taste explosion). The camembert fondue is a generous portion in a crispy filo basket. The duck leg confit is a conservatively-sized limb, but flakes off the bone satisfyingly. The skin would benefit from a bit more crunch and the gruyere mash and port reduction are bland. The saffron rissoto has a beautiful yellow glow, but the rice is a little too al dente and stiff. Again, it lacks a depth of flavour and is under-seasoned. Luckily, the sticky toffee pudding saves the day, with teeth-clinging reassurance.
Maison Bleue will no doubt remain busy- not bad for a tourist trip, but locals will know better.
Thursday, 1 July 2010
Rockfish, Dartmouth, Devon, 24.06.10
"Fish so fresh, tomorrow's are still in the sea." This fantastic sentiment comes from restauranteur and seafood expert Mitch Tonks as he opens his second Rockfish restaurant on Dartmouth's harbour frontage. The first Rockfish rose from the Fishworks ashes on Bristol's Whiteladies Road and quickly established itself as a reliable favourite. However, this new Dartmouth venture is "Seafood and Chips" to Bristol's "Grill and Seafood Market", perhaps suitably reflecting the its proximity to the English Riviera and pleasure cruises galore.
We joined Rockfish in its first week and were disappointed to just miss service at five minutes past nine on a busy June evening despite closing time advertised as nine-thirty. Undeterred by this, and by not being able to book a table (a beautifully casual but un-British "just turn up and you should be fine"), we made it in the following night.
There is a buzz in the air- a full restaurant with pastel shades, wooden tables covered in paper table-cloths, and dozens of fascinating if not slightly voyeuristic family holiday snaps posted casually across the walls. The buzz soon turns to chaos but an air of forgiveness lingers- the wrong wine is brought, orders are pimped round the tables as the fresh-faced waiting staff desperately try to account for a stray battered haddock.
The principle is simple- fairly posh fish (from cod to lemon sole) which is battered (or breadcrumbed) with a choice of accompaniments to include the obligatory chips, mushy peas, bread and butter, a glass of sauvignon or a even a cuppa. Half a dozen oysters start proceedings brilliantly without breaking the bank. After a quick reminder to the waiter, the cockles are nostalgic but suspiciously a bit vinegary. Much of the fish is landed just along the coast at Brixham, but a request for breadcrumbs instead of batter is ignored and the batter is a little overbrowned . Luckily the fish survives and remains moist and flakey. Each component arrives in a cardboard tray with paper liner- a nice "fish n chips" touch but very much out of touch with the apparent recycling culture. Dozens of them are later spied spilling over the kitchen bin. Let's hope they were later salvaged, after all, the paper table cloths did advertise "100% good for planet earth". The "adult" knickerbocker glory has a hint of booze and is delightfully camp, but as the detritus from the main course has not been cleared it becomes a cramped affair and another gentle reminder to the waiter.
This place has great potential and a really positive vibe, but we met it during some serious teething. The service needs extending beyond 9pm; the waiting staff need to pay more attention to simple detail; and the tables need uncramping. With a bit less chaos and a bit less litter, Rockfish will almost certainly have great success as Dartmouth's summer season approaches.
We joined Rockfish in its first week and were disappointed to just miss service at five minutes past nine on a busy June evening despite closing time advertised as nine-thirty. Undeterred by this, and by not being able to book a table (a beautifully casual but un-British "just turn up and you should be fine"), we made it in the following night.
There is a buzz in the air- a full restaurant with pastel shades, wooden tables covered in paper table-cloths, and dozens of fascinating if not slightly voyeuristic family holiday snaps posted casually across the walls. The buzz soon turns to chaos but an air of forgiveness lingers- the wrong wine is brought, orders are pimped round the tables as the fresh-faced waiting staff desperately try to account for a stray battered haddock.
The principle is simple- fairly posh fish (from cod to lemon sole) which is battered (or breadcrumbed) with a choice of accompaniments to include the obligatory chips, mushy peas, bread and butter, a glass of sauvignon or a even a cuppa. Half a dozen oysters start proceedings brilliantly without breaking the bank. After a quick reminder to the waiter, the cockles are nostalgic but suspiciously a bit vinegary. Much of the fish is landed just along the coast at Brixham, but a request for breadcrumbs instead of batter is ignored and the batter is a little overbrowned . Luckily the fish survives and remains moist and flakey. Each component arrives in a cardboard tray with paper liner- a nice "fish n chips" touch but very much out of touch with the apparent recycling culture. Dozens of them are later spied spilling over the kitchen bin. Let's hope they were later salvaged, after all, the paper table cloths did advertise "100% good for planet earth". The "adult" knickerbocker glory has a hint of booze and is delightfully camp, but as the detritus from the main course has not been cleared it becomes a cramped affair and another gentle reminder to the waiter.
This place has great potential and a really positive vibe, but we met it during some serious teething. The service needs extending beyond 9pm; the waiting staff need to pay more attention to simple detail; and the tables need uncramping. With a bit less chaos and a bit less litter, Rockfish will almost certainly have great success as Dartmouth's summer season approaches.
Wednesday, 10 March 2010
The Canteen, Cheltenham Road, Stokes Croft Bristol, 09.03.10
The Canteen is a new addition to the eclectic mix of shops, massage parlours and pubs that comprises Stokes Croft. The building isn't exactly inspiring- Hamilton House is grey office block courtesy of the good-ole 1960s. The front steps used to be a haunt for the city's strong ale enthusiasts, but the transformation has been made by Coexist, a company that seeks to provide "spaces in which people can coexist with themselves, with each other, and the environment". As well as The Canteen, there are numerous spaces for meetings, classes and creative endeavours.
Now, Bristolians might have to put away their preconceptions about Stokes Croft. This place is becoming safer by the minute, but by no means any less interesting. The Canteen is filled with young professionals, a few dreadlock enthusiasts and the occasional set of parents with grown-up kid. There's live music most nights with the room being big enough to hide away at the sides or alternatively sit right in the hub of the feed.
On to the feed. A delightful bowl of thick and brooding mushroom soup arrives before the main event. It is a complimentary gesture and has a lovely all-inclusive feel to it. They want us to be fed properly. I close my eyes and imagine I'm in a Russian military camp. The appetiser is quickly whisked away, and replaced by a whole trout smothered in caper butter. I don't think the Russians had it this good. It is beautifully cooked- moist and tart, with a snappy salad on the side. Unfortunately, the seafood linguine is thoroughly average and is predictably barren of sea creatures. Dessert is a comforting ramekin of crumble with a rich vanilla-infused homemade custard. Nothing could be better on a dreary March evening.
The bar is well stocked with local brews and organic stuff, the pace is quick but the air informal. The Canteen already has a core group of followers by all appearances and with a smidge of Montpelier loyalty will no doubt go from strength to strength. Who could argue against it, after all, a three course meal just cost me eleven quid.
Now, Bristolians might have to put away their preconceptions about Stokes Croft. This place is becoming safer by the minute, but by no means any less interesting. The Canteen is filled with young professionals, a few dreadlock enthusiasts and the occasional set of parents with grown-up kid. There's live music most nights with the room being big enough to hide away at the sides or alternatively sit right in the hub of the feed.
On to the feed. A delightful bowl of thick and brooding mushroom soup arrives before the main event. It is a complimentary gesture and has a lovely all-inclusive feel to it. They want us to be fed properly. I close my eyes and imagine I'm in a Russian military camp. The appetiser is quickly whisked away, and replaced by a whole trout smothered in caper butter. I don't think the Russians had it this good. It is beautifully cooked- moist and tart, with a snappy salad on the side. Unfortunately, the seafood linguine is thoroughly average and is predictably barren of sea creatures. Dessert is a comforting ramekin of crumble with a rich vanilla-infused homemade custard. Nothing could be better on a dreary March evening.
The bar is well stocked with local brews and organic stuff, the pace is quick but the air informal. The Canteen already has a core group of followers by all appearances and with a smidge of Montpelier loyalty will no doubt go from strength to strength. Who could argue against it, after all, a three course meal just cost me eleven quid.
Thursday, 4 March 2010
The Ridge Restaurant, Hollin Hall Hotel, Kerridge, 04.03.10
The Hollin Hall Hotel has been reincarnated several times over the past few decades. The latest refurbishment comes from Clayton Hotels, although at the time of writing their website remains mysteriously plain.
The Ridge Restaurant, within the Hollin Hotel, is situated in the former orangery. The grand piano at the entrance is promising, but unfortunately Better Midler and friends accompany us rather too loudly from the ceiling speakers. After a couple of minor adjustments (Bette volume down, and scented plug-ins turned off) we're ready to begin. The service is a mix of a cheeky chappy who oversteps the line and a nervous but extremely well-intending waitress.
To start, a filo parcel with goats cheese and black pudding is generous but overcooked, with tough edges that are difficult to conquer. The shredded duck tart is a more elegant affair. The chicken Thai red curry is confusingly sticky- not an ounce of coconut milk in sight which leaves it feeling like a rather token effort. Braised Cheshire lamb is beautifully soft and pink, but the accompanying mash is lumpy and the red cabbage is flavourless and dry. The sticky toffee pudding is dense and dessicated, and the tarte tatin is sneaked onto the plate with creme fraiche rather than the the advertised clotted cream.
This is gastropub grub on paper, but unfortunately doesn't hit the mark. The sumptuous interior of The Ridge is in conflict with this menu, as well as with the garish piped music and copies of Marie Claire in the central table. It is a brave but confused venture.
The Ridge Restaurant, within the Hollin Hotel, is situated in the former orangery. The grand piano at the entrance is promising, but unfortunately Better Midler and friends accompany us rather too loudly from the ceiling speakers. After a couple of minor adjustments (Bette volume down, and scented plug-ins turned off) we're ready to begin. The service is a mix of a cheeky chappy who oversteps the line and a nervous but extremely well-intending waitress.
To start, a filo parcel with goats cheese and black pudding is generous but overcooked, with tough edges that are difficult to conquer. The shredded duck tart is a more elegant affair. The chicken Thai red curry is confusingly sticky- not an ounce of coconut milk in sight which leaves it feeling like a rather token effort. Braised Cheshire lamb is beautifully soft and pink, but the accompanying mash is lumpy and the red cabbage is flavourless and dry. The sticky toffee pudding is dense and dessicated, and the tarte tatin is sneaked onto the plate with creme fraiche rather than the the advertised clotted cream.
This is gastropub grub on paper, but unfortunately doesn't hit the mark. The sumptuous interior of The Ridge is in conflict with this menu, as well as with the garish piped music and copies of Marie Claire in the central table. It is a brave but confused venture.
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