Sitwell stirs it up

Gee’s in Oxford wasn’t quite what William expected

Everything about Gee’s in Oxford had me drooling in anticipation.

To gain entrance to what was once a nursery, you walk down one side gloriously overflowing with plants so it still feels like a fabulous garden centre.

We were shown to a table outside the conservatory and within earshot of a neighbouring extraction machine. It was emitting the sort of hum they might use to keep you awake in a prison cell in Nicaragua. I wasn’t in the mood to confess to owning a shipment of narcotics I had nothing to do with, so begged for a table inside. They found a very comfy-looking one with huge leather chairs for us by the entrance and bar, a few steps from the kitchen but not in the grand glasshouse.

Then we looked at the menu. It’s a thing of stylistic beauty. They have a font that looks like handwriting, a pen with assured artistic flourish. The food is in that font while other information and drinks are in old-fashioned typewriter.

And the scribblings promised a menu of captivating freshness and flavour; a dance across the Mediterranean and with so many things I like and a few I really love, which of course I sprang on.

As my pal Vanessa and I sat there fizzing, we ordered a pair of caipirinhas. They took a while to come, which was as it should be. Only a foolish mixologist dispenses his mix of cachaça, lime and sugar with the same speed it takes to pour a glass of wine. Because a good one takes a lot of muddling of limes. And this was a good one. As was the white wine I spotted on the menu.

For some years I have yearned to see a grüner veltliner from Bernard Ott, with its familiar woodcut printstyle label and its juice of charming minerality. And there was a bottle of it. At Gee’s. ‘I love this place,’ I exclaimed to Vanessa.

At which point a pair of brown shrimp, caper and samphire pizzettas arrived, which were badly burnt at the edges. We drizzled on oil to rescue the poor things but the capers were muted and the shrimp sadly limp of flavour.

A bowl of thick bean broth then emerged, not quite the vision I had imagined on reading ‘Woodfired octopus, borlotti beans, chilli & lemon’. I would have loved stronger evidence of a wood fire doing bold flamey things to octopus, and a touch more seasoning to boot.

Next up was a round wooden plate of enormous smoked-haddock croquettes, and fettuccine with duck ragu, pecorino and rosemary. This was a vast mound of pasta, arguably too large a portion, with a runny sauce at the bottom, a big chunk of duck and a tiny fleck of pecorino on top. It might have been clumsy but the pasta was well cooked and the meat tasty.

The pea and broad bean risotto was very good. But there was also far too much of it. By the 37th mouthful Vanessa felt she’d got the idea…

Vanessa and I and you love restaurants. We are passionate about them. We, now more than ever, attend them with gleeful excitement. So a little reciprocation would be appreciated. Love us back and we’ll love you even more. And as brigades get back into the swing of things, chefs at the pass need to remember the good old days when dishes that didn’t quite cut the mustard got rejected.

I’m afraid to report that the orange sorbet was all sickly sweet and sugary, but their home-made ice cream – now that was genius. An exact replica

of Ben & Jerry’s.