Counting cost of not so fine dining
Ambitious, overpriced food falls way short of expectations
Ambition is a good thing. Bring on the chef’s dreams and aspirations. I’ve had enough flaccid beetroot salads and farmed sea bass fillets to last me a lifetime.
However, ambition has to be underwritten with talent, technical skills and a sound business plan.
As soon as my canape arrived at the pub-style table of Bridge Fifteen, at The Bridge Inn at Ratho, a lovely canal-side spot on the western outskirts of Edinburgh, I realised there was
plenty of the former and precious little of the latter three.
The evening had started so well, with the complimentary minibus collecting Nippy Sweetie and myself and whisking us across town.
But when our waiter brought us a large, unordered bowl of curried couscous with smoked haddock on the top, I knew something was wrong.
In a fine dining restaurant like Bridge Fifteen is trying to be, the canape should be an exercise in miniaturisation. A tiny, often whimsical, morsel that delights, excites and sets the tone for the evening. A glimmering crisp made of fish skin, or a sphere containing liquid Ceasar salad. Something like that.
But this was a mini portion of a workaday lunch special with the metallic tang of curry powder. Sadly this did fulfil one part of the brief – it set the tone for the evening.
Bridge Fifteen is an eveningonly operation within an inn that also has a bar, a range of less elevated food and rooms. It is a generous size and was thinly populated on a Saturday night. One group of six was seated,
looked at the menus then returned to the bar in search of chips.
From our seat – a spectacularly bad one beside the doors to both the bar and the kitchen – we watched this playing out. At one point a pack of kids came roaring through on their way outside.
Canape and cab ride apart, the prices are eye-rollingly high. No starter is under £10. The nonvegetarian mains are mostly £26.50, with sides averaging £5.
For a three-figure dinner, I
want delicacy, precision, singing flavours and exquisite presentation.
For my starter I got three spears of asparagus and a big old blob of cheesy sauce. The raw ingredients were good – English asparagus, Anster cheese. Here, at least, I could see the money. But the plate looked clumsy and the nori, hazelnuts and wild garlic powder felt like afterthoughts rather than coherent elements of a considered dish.
Nippy’s mushroom raviolo was way too big. The edges were unevenly crimped and it was topped with puffed rice that looked like scorched bird seed. Blobs of egg yolk and black garlic puree round the edges did not dent the overall fungus-meetssoy-sauce brown taste. It was not unpleasant, just hefty and bosky with no lightening elements.
My turbot was a good bit of fish. Its premium price means it’s rarely seen on menus these days. The fillet was not generous, which is understandable. But surrounding it with tatties and elevating it on clumsily chopped courgettes is fooling no one.
I like a Jersey Royal as much as the next person. I’m even partial to a courgette (as a Partick Thistle supporter, I’m used to being in a minority). But when I’m paying £27.50 for my main course, I want to focus on the star of the show.
A side order of purple sprouting broccoli came heavily recommended by our server. It was chilli hot and salty with soy. Plus, I had plenty of courgettes. There was no obvious need for more vegetables on my plate.
Nippy’s lamb also came with its own greenery – griddled cabbage and pea puree. The loin was sliced pinkly, the neck was shredded in a tart. It was very similar to other plates of different bits of sheep I’ve seen at other restaurants. There were green splodges, presumably some kind of flavoured oil, along one side.
At least the robust meat did a better job of standing up to the bullying flavours of the broccoli.
Disheartened, and fearful of the bill, we shared a dessert. Here, at last, was some of the elegance that should be a given in a £9.50 sweet.
I wasn’t sure if set yoghurt and lemon thyme ice cream would work together but they got on like Ant and Dec. The result was herbal without being an aromatherapy massage. Blobs of hibiscus added another fruity note, with texture coming from the sandy dusting of gingerbread crumbs.
Finally, something approaching the level of food that Bridge Fifteen thinks it’s producing.
The rest was a clumsy attempt at fine dining that started with good ingredients but lacked the technique and imagination to turn them into magic in the mouth.
Ambition alone is not enough.