| THE
SCOTSMAN |
SATURDAY,
JUNE 14, 2003
|
Gillian
Glover watches her figures
Please
stop whatever you’re doing (apart from reading this, of course).
Put down the coffee cup, put aside those delicious - and oh-so-detailed
- plans for filleting your nearest and dearest, for I have good news.
Yes, even after all this time. The years of moaning and hand-wringing.
Of sulks and sighs. The fact is, I have discovered that it is possible
to eat well and cheaply in Scotland’s capital.
And, frankly, I feel more
than a little surprised. It’s not that Edinburgh is especially
extortionate when it comes to restaurant prices (although sometimes
it does feel that way), it’s more that I appear to have become
quite accustomed to wincing when I read the bottom line. That fleeting
moment of pain almost seems part of the dining-out package, and surely
explains why the bill itself is always coyly folded, or reversed, on
its arrival at the table - the debt to pleasure, as the Earl of Rochester
once put it (though I suspect it wasn’t his lunch he was discussing).
Anyway, the debt to pleasure
is now lightened considerably, thanks to the Highland sensibilities
of John Tindal and Peter Knight, who own both A Room in the Town, on
Howe Street, and A Room in the West End, on William Street. Neither
place is new, but their quiet success and loyal following is so unobtrusive
that one can easily forget they exist. It must be at least five years
since I have been in the Howe Street branch, and since then the original
mural, inherited from the defunct Rock Café, has been repainted
to depict a pub scene instead of a rockstar roll of honour - and to
remind us thereby that Oor Wullie is now old enough to drink. Otherwise,
the decor is a pleasing yellow and blue, with chunky dark wood tables,
a display of wine bottles and a couple of blackboards announcing specials
- the ubiquitous livery of the small bistro, in other words.
But that is where the similarity
to thousands of other small bistros ends. For the menu at A Room in
the Town aspires to a lot more than goat’s cheese salad and beef
casserole. It’s really rather impressive in scope, showing a welcome
and distinct Scottish accent (though I would need quite a lot of convincing
that a banana compote could ever assist a chicken breast to do anything
more than shrivel up in shame). Three courses are priced at a very reasonable
£10.95, two for £8.95.
On a bright Sunday lunchtime,
with a pile of newspapers stacked for guests’ perusal, and our
bottle of wine whipped away for swift and cheerful opening (there is
a short wine list, but the BYOB policy is welcomed by most), it was
almost impossible to avoid the conclusion that God was in his heaven
- if not the church down the road - and all was right with the world.
Easily pleased? Me? I think
not. In fact, I’d be happy to deliver a few stern words about
calligraphy just to prove that my fabled capacity for griping has not
deserted me. As far as I could read, here was a chef serving "black
ridding", chicken "dazzled to chill" and seared "tuna
low" - a dorsal cut, perhaps.
My fellow lunching enthusiast
chose smoked salmon and spring onion fishcake to begin with; I a duck
and rocket salad. And a generous amount of very pink, tender strips
of flash-roasted duck it contained, spiked with a tangy, faintly bitter,
orange dressing - the sort of salad one imagines Nancy Mitford might
have nibbled while musing about love in a cold climate and sipping an
even colder glass of chablis. Very soignée and sophisticated
indeed.
And, curiously enough, the
fishcake attained an unusual level of elegance as well. No nursery comfort
fodder this. Nor had it been shrouded in breadcrumbs and fried. Instead,
the rather lavish smoked salmon chunks had simply been mixed along with
finely chopped spring onion through some silky mashed potato, and served
with a lemon and pepper cream sauce. Very straightforward, and surprisingly
good.
I chose sea bass for my main
course - which the menu pointed out was wild, since sea bass is now
farmed almost as prolifically as salmon - while Nostalgic Norma attempted
another dawdle along the Sunday lunch lanes of yesteryear with a lamb
and roast vegetable casserole. This came topped with puff pastry triangles,
and did make her quite misty-eyed for a moment. The sweetness of the
Scotch lamb, simmered to melting tenderness in a fine, light sauce reminded
her of her mother’s cooking. And very good it was. Rather like
the old joke, "mince like mother used to make it: £2.99.
Mince like mother thought she used to make it: £4.50". This
was most certainly the £4.50 version - homely, yet somehow deluxe
at the same time.
My sea bass had been Gordon
Ramsayed. That is, fried very crispy on the skin side while staying
snowy moist on the other, in the manner that he has now taught the world.
It was perched atop a hillock of black olive mash, and sparingly laced
with a coriander cream sauce. Perfectly judged, though too substantial
for me to finish, especially as there was a separate vegetable selection
served alongside.
We should, of course, have
refused the pudding, but warm pecan fudge pie with vanilla ice cream
was too self-indulgently wicked to resist. So we asked for two spoons,
and fought over every last fragrant mouthful.
Service was swift and pleasant
and coffee refilled generously. For under £11, who could ask for
more? I can’t understand how they make a decent profit on this,
but I’m very grateful that they try. As should you be. So nip
along before they go bankrupt.
The bill
Sunday lunch for two, without
wine, £19.90
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