Anna was prepared to meat her match.. but the atmosphere was lacking
Food is plentiful but there’s a distinct lack of atmosphere
The first time I tried to go to Kai Smokehouse, in Gourock, it was a total disaster.
Convinced I didn’t need to book to eat barbecued meats at 5pm on a Saturday afternoon, I drove along the Clyde and pitched up, starving, at opening time.
A large party was already taking up most of the small shopfront restaurant. There was a problem with the oven. A charming young woman told me, most apologetically, that she already had more bookings than was quite comfortable. These organised people had to take priority over annoying – she didn’t use that word, but it would have been appropriate, as would have arrogant – walk-ins like me.
I liked her attitude, which was professional and prioritised the care of regulars over the chance to gouge a couple of randoms.
This time I booked. As always happens in these circumstances, it was quiet when we arrived and empty by the time we had taken off our coats.
Kai’s lunchtime menu lacks the full animal-based magnificence of the evening version (although this does not stop locals phoning up to order burgers – not officially available before 5pm – to go). Most of the smoked meats appear as sandwich fillings or as optional toppings.
A selection of the starters and sides are repurposed as tapas, £12 for three. We did our best to pick out the best bits but couldn’t figure out how to fit in the Kai signature dish, brisket, without having it in a huge sandwich. I have nothing against huge sandwiches, far from it, but wanted to leave room for everything else.
So I bow to a fellow customer who knew his way round the menu and ordered like a champ. His brisket was loaded on to his macaroni cheese. That is what the young people call winning at life.
Nachos are a Tex-Mex standby, often landfill bar food assembled by the unskilled to line the stomachs of the unsteady on their feet. These, while still an assembly job, were an impressive one.
Quality, not too salty tortilla chips, coarse tomato salsa, a light hand with the orange cheddar. The star element, guacamole cream, was a slurpy, lactic version of the familiar green ointment and even the avocado-indifferent Carb Boy was smitten.
Chicken wings often appear on the same roadhouse menus, bits of the fowl no one really likes covered in sticky, napkin-melting barbecue sauce. These were a superior version – smoked, well-fried, edible
without destroying an innocent paper towel
Pulled pork is another smokehouse standby. I have never seen it served in a spring roll before. Texas-dim sum fusion is a new one on me, although pork is a traditional spring roll filling so I can see the synergy. These were grand, the pork more hammy than the more usual jammy take on slow-cooked pig shoulder. Top-notch frying meant they were firm and crisp without a trace of grease. An autumnal chipotle sauce set off the meat a treat.
Chicken and bacon “cupcakes” will be familiar to anyone who has tried a low carb diet – chewy protein constructions with cheese in the middle. The hickory chicken showed off the skills in the smokery but piling on salty bacon made it overwhelming. Some gentle carbohydrate would have softened this blow.
Pork belly candy sounded like something from a Japanese vending machine. This did not come in a lurid pink manga wrapper but it did have an other-worldly quality. I find pork belly is quite spooky, with its layers of fluffy fat, intractable rind and rare strands of meat. This had not been cooked long enough to render down the fat. A lively, vinegarheavy sauce was designed to cut through the lardy bits but the balance was off and I found it too sharp. Carb Boy also thought something was amiss, then ate the whole plateful.
Our last dish, cooked-till-theywrinkled potatoes and chorizo slices, was a refugee from a tapas restaurant. Simple, well-executed but slightly incongruous.
Were we too full for dessert? Yes. Did this stop us? No way. Carb Boy bravely tackled a mango and pineapple mousse which was pleasing in a baby food-like way. My lemon and almond tart was actually a crumbly cake, served warm in a defeatingly huge portion.
Which would all have been very jolly if the waiting staff had made us feel welcome, cracked a smile, tweaked the lighting and turned off the country and western tunes.
But unlike the time we were turned away, when the staff were delightful and apologetic, this shift repeated their scripted lines with the enthusiasm of call centre operatives.
So much food. So little atmosphere.