WITH ITS low- slung lights, ubiquitous French advertising posters and blonde wood furniture, this new bistro could be located anywhere in the western world.
Well, that's what my boyfriend, Rolf, and I thought as we stumbled through the door, post-work, laden down with bags after a speedy visit to the nearby Southside food market, Earthy. Don't get me wrong – I have no problem with this kind of decor, it
just seems a bit of a departure, as this restaurant is owned by Richard and Michelle Heller of the much-loved New Bell – a place, just down the road, that's packed with olde worlde character (ie lots of antiques, rugs and brass).
Still, the low-key ambience seemed quite fitting, as we resembled a pair of hobos, and our deli purchases kept slithering out of our sacks and onto the stripped pine floor.
To fit into the whole bistro theme, in addition to the bamboozlingly lengthy menu (featuring breakfast, fish and steaks, children's options, light bites, pizzas and sandwiches, among other things), this place, which used to be Fenwicks restaurant, has a number of specials which are chalked on two blackboards. However, I decided to stick with the regular food list for starters and chose the hot smoked salmon salad (£4.50), while my boyfriendini chose the spaghettini (£5.50) – which also comes as a main course (£7.50).
After ordering, I began to get cold feet, as I've had so many dud experiences of smoked fish steaks which have been as tough as a geriatric elephant's hide. So, I was rather pleased when my salad turned out to be tasty, featuring flakes of a moist salmon which had been slicked with a simple dressing of olive oil, lemon juice and sea salt. There was also the nice touch of wafer-thin slivers of lemon, strewn throughout the mound of rocket – and certainly the vinegar-spiked beetroot wasn't straight out of a Baxter's jar.
I think Rolf was pretty taken with his moreish, gently seasoned, entree too. "It's a bit oily, but I like it like that," was his oddly backhanded comment. Anyway, his huge heap of skinny pasta threads, which were peppered with courgette, spinach, Parmesan, roasted tomato and garlic, was certainly enough to sate a man-sized appetite.
For my main course, after squinting to read its far-away entry on one of the specials boards, I opted for the roast rump of Borders lamb (£13.95), while my dining partner went for the highly sophisticated sounding Macsween haggis pizza (£9). I shouldn't be too sarcastic, though, as his choice turned out to be a satisfying one.
"It seems that they've turned something that you might order in a drunken haze into a delicacy," said Rolf, crunching into a crispy, stone-baked base, which looked like a noughts and crosses board – featuring, as it did, long strips of crispy pancetta interspersed with blobs of creamy mozzarella and spicy haggis. It had a nice bite of chilli, too, which assaulted the back of one's throat, like a ninja.
What a success. So, it's a shame that my choice was less appealing. There was nothing wrong with the crispy-edged lamb, which was delicately sliced into petals – it had been nicely cooked and was set off by a circular flourish of red wine jus. Rather, it was the cubed potato, butternut squash and garden pea mixture underneath the pink meat, that made me feel squeamish. The tatties, which were flavoured with fresh rosemary, seemed to have been boiled and decanted onto the plate along with a splash of pan dregs – leaving them wet, tepid and baby food-ish.
It can't have been that offensive, however, as I did manage to polish the lot off – I just can't say it's a dish I'd want to revisit in a hurry. The same goes for my pud, which was an apple and cinnamon doughnut with toffee sauce (£4.50). "Mmmm, donut," I thought, channelling Homer Simpson. What arrived was more like a stale bread ring, and the fact that it had a swiftly melting scoop of apple sorbet on the top meant that the dough was soon as soggy as the crusts that ducks like to paddle for.
Opposite me, Rolf was more enthusiastic about his orange and mascarpone cheesecake with rhubarb and ginger compote (£4.50), which he thought was fresh and light – the perfect antidote to the starch fest that he'd just indulged in.
While he guzzled the remainder of his choice, the only consolation for me – as I scraped my pud to the side of my plate – was that the atmosphere had finally arrived. There was a family group with very young children (their burgers and chips looked really tasty), two girly tables were quaffing chardonnay and then there was a rowdier party, who were exchanging pressies. They'd all been greeted like regulars, so this place obviously has the status of a neighbourhood eatery.
Still, it left us feeling mightily confused – the decor says nothing, the menus say everything (they even do cakes in the afternoon), and the food says a number of things – some of these are heavenly, and others verging on Hellerish.
