| THE
SUNDAY TIMES |
FEBRUARY
27, 2000
|
Making
a hygge of oneself
A Room in the Town can boast
bonhomie by the bucketload, writes Neil MacLean
The Danes have a
thing they like to create called hygge. It's not easy to define other
than as a sort of communal cosiness, an atmosphere they try to develop,
particularly on winter evenings, to promote a genial rapport among friends,
family and even total strangers.
The light candles,
pull the blinds down low, gather round an old oak table, fill their
glasses and then gaze into each other's eyes, one after another, while
offering a cheery toast. Happily, by the time they have worked their
way round the table and drained a glass of aquavit or whatever, wouldn't
you know it, someone's lit another candle and it's time to start all
over again.
However, hygge is
not entirely alcohol-fuelled; plenty of people will sip cranberry juice
all evening and still stagger home arm in arm with their loved ones,
hygged up to their eyeballs.
We could do with
some of that over here, a bit of communal bonding to see us through
the winter. Trouble is, gaze too long or too fondly into a stranger's
eyes in a Scottish pub or raise your glass too quickly and they'll call
the police. "I was just practising hygge, sergeant." "Aye son, save
that for the sheriff."
The closest I've
seen to Scots making hygge - at least since Hogmany - was in A Room
in the Town the other night. There was something about the place which
seemed to promote that sort of atmosphere. It was casual and cosy, the
staff were friendly, there were candles burning on every table. I looked
around and everybody seemed to be having a good time.
By all accounts,
the owners manage the same trick in their original restaurant, A Room
in Marchmont. In which case, they should get a grant to open a restaurant
in every area in the city; A Room in Gorgie, A Room in Craigmillar,
A Boudoir in Barnton.
The Howe Street
restaurant is in what used to be the premises of the Rock Caf�, if I
remember correctly.
Most strikingly,
one wall has been painted in a mural of Scots having fun, a sort of
blueprint, perhaps, for everyone to follow. I wouldn't; the image is
dominated by a young man lifting his kilt to flash at a passing waitress.
How hygge this is depends on your perspective and whether the waitress
wants to press charges.
Although the restaurant
is licensed, there's an unusual formula chalked up on the blackboard
which I am sure just adds to the merriment: BYO wine �1 corkage - generous
if you ask me - but also BYO beer 10p per bottle opened. In other words,
worth a trip to Oddbins first.
The menu looks good
but, just to drizzle a little on their parade, let me say the food occasionally
reads better than it tastes. Customers were certainly spoiled for choice
among the starters. I imagine this would be a good place to bring your
foreign visitors for the first meal.
The music was Scots
fiddle stuff and they can order the starter-size haggis, neeps and tatties
with a heather honey and whisky sauce so they have something to write
about in their postcards home.
Fruit pudding is
not something you see in Edinburgh. The first time I ever encountered
it was when I went to live in Glasgow in the late 70s. I am bit of a
convert to the stuff, but here it was served up as a rather overpowering
partner to some duck livers with a sage and port gravy. Not bad but
the whole thing did rather stick to the top of your palate like a dental
impression.
Fish should be a
high point in the Room because one of the owners also has an excellent
fish shop in Marchmont. The sliver of silver mullet served on a little
dollop of chive mash was exquisite.
Several of the main
courses kept the Caledonian theme going with things like oatmeal-rolled
herring with clapshot. There was a powerful whiff from some dunsyre
blue in the vegetarian's roasted leek tart. In fact, to be honest, it
was hard to get past the cheesy first line of defence to pick out any
other flavours.
Happily, a milder
goats cheese formed a stuffing with some toasted pine nuts in the chef's
breast of pheasant, served with excellent roast potato wedges and what
was described as a redcurrant ketchup.
The baked monkfish
was the best piece of cooking and came on top of a sort tomatoey fishcake
hiding a sprinkling of tiny prawns but also, very oddly, on a bacon
salad covered in cold mustard mayonnaise. Seems to me the kitchen has
a habit of over-elaborating, which someone ought to curb.
You might want to
order the steamed marmalade pudding for dessert for your foreign visitors;
that'll finish them off. Otherwise, there was an unusual homemade oatmeal
and maple syrup ice cream served with shortbread and a raspberry sauce
which tasted just like the red stuff I used to get on top of my 99 from
the ice cream van. Or chocolate mousse with Gaelic coffee ice cream.
But I couldn't see
past the double cream rice pudding with spiced fruits, which created
such a cosy glow in my innermost being, the world already seemed a better
place by the time I had scraped the bowl. Whether that was a case of
the hygge or piggy is a moot point.
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