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Masters of meat-free
An interesting restaurant that serves seriously tasty meat-free delicacies
AH now,” the man says, “we don’t call it vegan food, we call it plant-based food.” He adds conspiratorially, “Vegan is a bit of a dirty word.” His accent being quite a bit Irish, this comes out more as “vegan is a bit of a durrrty word”.
And, what with the rolling of the arrs and the whispered tone, a momentary sense of drama settles upon our conversation. This causes Al Green’s How Can You Mend A Broken Heart to skip a beat on the sound system and me to look slowly down at the mild-mannered dishes waiting upon my table with a whole fresh eye. Durrrty food, you say? Hmmm. I quite like that.
“But hang on now,” I think but don’t say. Not these Patatas Bravas surely? I mean what about them? Cubed, fried potatoes, tomato sugo on top and a few squirty-bottle lines of white mayo (vegan). Not durrrty, just kinda dull. I know, even the Spanish can’t make patatas bravas any more. I ordered them as a reflex but I won’t eat them. Mainly because, before I can give them any more attention, I get sucked into two seriously surprisingly, attention-grabbing, dishes.
Exhibit A: Cabbage and Noodle Salad. Hmm. Possibly nul points for that appetising name? This I order for no more professional a reason than I’ve recently decided I’m avoiding vegan food that pretends it’s dead stuff in vegan, even durrrty vegan restaurants. And, therefore, I rear away from the menu’s Burger (meat substitute unspecified) and Cottage Pie (lentil and veggie goodness apparently), bolt from a Spaghetti Bolognese (no word as to what the ragu is) and even give a wide berth to some presumably completely inoffensive veggie curries.
So, it’s just me and the salad.
Now, this salad comes in (and I mean actually within) a wide-brimmed, white and quite shallow soup plate, which, given it is pretty white itself, though speckled with black and white sesame seeds, sliced scallions and toasted almonds, is actually a tad weird looking. The whole thing being completely like flat-earth flat. It doesn’t even get above the lip of the bowl.
Yet… it is attractive. The cabbage being very finely shredded, dressed with sesame oil, cider vinegar and something else I can’t quite put my finger on (and the
Irish gentleman later says is a secret). It’s fresh, crunchy, light and kind of delicious. Actually, it’s all delicious, but it’s only when I’m halfway through I realise, hang on, these tiny, squidgy, dried noodles that give this its zing, balance, crunch and counterpoint aren’t cooked. At all.
So I collar the man and kind of look at them and go, ‘Uh?’ Apparently, it’s a Canadian thing, and an Asian thing. And in small textural doses like this? It’s great. I could and would eat this salad over just about any meat dish on just about any day.
But what about Exhibit B? Lemon-roasted broccoli. A mountain of it, piled high on a plate. Slightly bleached from the long, very low and very slow oven it surely has come from. Caramelised brown in parts, too. I’m expecting stringy, mushy textures. I get succulent, surprisingly deep, firmly tender, faintly lemony and punchily-flavoured broccoli. Honestly? Whisper this: It’s almost meaty. Sheesh. With toasted almonds too.
Now, I did ask what was in that vegan mayo. What is it about vegan restaurants that, paradoxically perhaps, make me nervously want to know what everything is made from? Because there’s so much vegan junk out there nowadays? For a moment the chef can’t remember anyway and has to bolt
back to the kitchen to check. Which would normally be a tad awkward.
However, there’s recently been an attention-sapping tiny medical drama-ette upstairs (happy ending and free drinks for the two docs who have come in for lunch and end up helping out) so nul points deducted for that.
Soy apparently is the answer, plus, usually, Dijon mustard, silken tofu yadayada. Whatever, it tastes good. It all tasted good.
If you know a restaurant Ron should review, email ronmackennadefence@gmail.com