This foodie heaven is the answer to all my prayers
Zen surroundings and delicious dishes put Anna on right path
In Buddhism, the unalome symbol represents the path to enlightenment. In Glasgow’s Kelvingrove, it represents the best lunch I’ve had in a long, long time.
Unalome is the new base for Graeme Cheevers, a Michelin veteran who comes to the old home of the Sisters via Martin Wishart at Loch Lomond and the Isle of Eriska hotel.
This is the first restaurant with his own name – plus a Buddhist symbol – above the door.
To keep it Zen, I’m warning you now that Cheevers’s full tasting menu is £70 each. There’s a slightly simpler a la carte option for £60 or a three course lunch for £30. BFF and I had this last option to celebrate her birthday and it was indeed a religious experience.
When a restaurant at this level says three courses, that includes dinky snacks, bread and a level of chat and charm that would put an international playboy to shame. Seeing as being 61 is a bit like being 16, but with more wrinkles, we also had a glass of cremant. You’re only old once.
The French fizz slipped down a treat with a tiny savoury meringue and miniscule seafood tartlet. Less delicate, but no less welcome, were four serious slices of chewy sourdough.
I’m all for small and exquisite snackerels but I like a restaurant that also acknowledges I might need something with a crust to fill me up. There were two choices for every course, with impressively luxe ingredients for this price point. We both rejected foie gras mousse on cruelty grounds in favour of line-caught tuna tartare.
If the idea of raw, fatty fish is as unappealing as a force-fed goose’s liver, ignore the description and focus on the taste and texture. It’s succulent but chewy, delicate and not fishy in the slightest. With sesame seeds on one side, seethrough circles of radish and a sweet apple dressing on top, this was the edible equivalent of a Celine dress. So deceptively simple. So perfect.
BFF kept it fishy and light with
stone bass with white turnips. Constantly changing menus like this one, which uses whatever is best from their suppliers every day, keeps Cheevers and his squad thinking on their feet. White turnips, also called spring turnips, are prized in France and used in lamb stews. We tend to ignore them in favour of yellow neeps – which we either mash or feed to sheep.
Here, the peppery taste sat very well with the stone bass which is pleasant enough but not a premier league fish. A classic French butter sauce, given a twist with smoked butter, elevated two minor ingredients to a top flight dish.
Goosnargh duck is a Cheevers favourite, appearing throughout his menus. Today’s rare version was looking forward to chillier autumn days, oozing pink juice into the masterful gravy. Served with wild mushrooms and a deeply caramelised shallot, it was an edible walk through a red and gold woodland.
A cheery chap lunching alone at the next table leaned across to check we were enjoying ourselves. We assured him that we were. He sat back, raised a petit four in our direction and beamed the satisfied smile that only three really excellent courses can bring.
Desserts, like mains, split along light/substantial lines. BFF drew the dainty straw – her white peach with set yoghurt, wine jelly and lemon verbena sorbet was the kind of thing I imagine chef Ryan makes for Lara Axelrod in Billions.
The lemon verbena, a criminally underused herb, gave it a heady, fresh fragrance that I would wear as perfume. The yoghurt had a lactic bite that really worked with the sweeter elements. The whole dish was a triumph.
My white chocolate cream with prunes and a naughty Armagnac ice cream was heavier duty. I could not fault its combinations or its construction but it lacked the perfumed charm of BFF’s delightful plateful. This did not stop me finishing every last smear.
We watched other diners go for it with the cheese trolley, ooh and aah over petits fours and finish their bottles of wine. But we didn’t even have room for coffee.
There is more to be said for having lunch at a restaurant than the joy of bagging a (relative) bargain. When the food is this achieved and the flavours are so intense, three courses plus frills and bits is enough.
With multiple courses, I can find myself glazing over. By dish five, the horseradish ice cream and ceviche scallops are blending into one. But three exquisite dishes and a glass of something fizzy, in the afternoon with nothing much to do afterwards, is as close to nirvana as middle age gets.