Iberian restaurant It’s sophisticated and stylish but not for those with shallow pockets

AMATEUR season, the old Herald reporters used to wearily call this time of the year before taking to their beds until January when it would be safe to return to the pub. I’ve not been a Herald reporter for a long time, but I do feel that old-guy deep sigh coming on as we pick our way through the office party steamers shrieking on normally hugely stylish Miller Street.

It’s a relief, then, to walk into the brandnew Spanish Butcher here and see dark wood and low lights. It’s busy in a pretty classy and subdued sort of way.

But hang on. “Your waiting staff tonight will be …” says the manager guy as he reels off two names and shepherds us to a two-seater by the wall, prompting an inward groan.

Uh-oh, the big explanation is coming. I don’t know about you but I’m not keen on all that menu-explaining flim-flam on the grounds that it’s either time-wasting scene setting or a tiresome marketing technique, when you simply want to order. Sure enough, a bubbly waitress is over wanting to know how our day has been before going through the dishes in mucho detail.

I don’t have the heart to say it out loud, but this Iberico pork and boutique steaks gig isn’t exactly news any more. Heston Blumenthal has been charging punters the best part of £40 for a two Michelin star Iberico chop at the Mandarin Oriental for ages – and it’s merely OK.

There’s even a Spanish, ahem, chain restaurant up the road selling pretty much exactly the same stuff in pretty much the same ambience as the ole Spanish Butcher here. But, hey, you’re right. That doesn’t mean this can’t be good.

I get my much-deserved comeuppance anyway when I try to order a bone-in prime rib steak at £8 per 100g and am told it only comes in 900g servings for two. Which I would have known obviously if I had let the waitress explain.

We have a confit pork belly stew to start with chorizo, morcilla and butterbeans, the great advantage of confit pork belly being it stays crispy even in a nicely weighted and flavoured dish such as this.

This is followed with a fried courgette flower stuffed with salt cod and served with beetroot salad. This is another prime example of why you, OK, make that me, shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. Instead of a light, crispy batter on a pretty golden flower this looks kind of like the batter you might get around a chicken bullet in your local Chinese restaurant. The flower is entombed in there somewhere, but hang on … it tastes great. Salty cod, sweet beetroot and little cheffy, squirty bottledollops of intense flavour here and there. Nine pounds, though? For one?

I should say that the aroma of truffle fills the air tonight. Its oil comes on all the chips, and chips come with all the steaks. At the table next to us they’re eating that gimmicky tomahawk steak thing and even getting the bone wrapped in tinfoil to take home, while a couple of tables up two ladies are sharing a steak from a 12-year-old Galician blonde, like this: Mouthful. Slow chew. Long pause. Discuss. Mouthful. Slow chew. Repeat. The prices do kind of dictate that you don’t bolt things.

Our own steaks? The 8oz fillet at £28 is quite a nice piece of meat, no more than that. I’m less happy with the Secreto Iberico pork – grey-looking slices of very chewy, make that rubbery shoulder meat.

And salty. Like most things. OK, it’s £18 when all around us people are splitting £80 between two. But really?

At least they’ve finally decided what to do with the music. At first it’s too loud, booming bass surging in the background. Now it’s off altogether.

Leaving simply the pleasant sound of folks spending a good few bob on posh steaks. That’s pretty much what this place is all about.

I don’t have the heart to say it out loud, but this Iberico pork and boutique steaks gig isn’t exactly news any more

The Spanish Butcher is a classy place to dine but the food in general doesn’t reach the standards set by the interior and the service