The weather was discouraging and the evening sky threatened wintry rain, so I scuttled along Euston Road and round the corner from the station to one of my usual haunts, Pasta Plus. This family-run restaurant is small but reliable and has a loyal customer base. A mother and daughter run front of house, and father cooks downstairs, serving up traditional Italian food (no pizzas as they have no pizza oven) in an unpretentious and thoroughly satisfying way. A surprisingly smooth and luxurious carrot and lentil soup from the specials board sounded virtuously wholesome but tasted positively sinful. It was followed by a house speciality, Tagliatelle Zia Theresa, which combines thin slivers of pancetta, onion and mushrooms in a creamy, saffron-scented sauce that is guaranteed to put an inch on the waistline as soon as it is eaten. With a couple of glasses of house wine, the bill was £22.40 including a 10% service charge. I paid it very happily.
Verdict: value for money 9/10 service 9/10 quality of food 9/10
Thursday, March 27, 2008
3 and 4 March - A Scottish flying visit
Looking out of the aircraft window, the snow looked pretty deep as we flew up to Inverness, and as perfectly white as icing sugar on a very large and bumpy cake. Inverness itself was smaller than I remember (from a long ago visit in childhood) despite the usual indoor shopping mall. I was booked into a hotel by the river which turned out to be just OK. The taxi driver had recommended a place called The Kitchen, which turned out to be a short stroll from the hotel so I popped in for lunch.
A modern, almost futuristic building, the river views were spectacular, which was more than could be said for the food. Being short of time, I went for the home-made beefburger with thin-cut chips and home-made relish (£5.95). I fondly imagined I would be getting a juicy morsel of Scottish Aberdeen Angus. After waiting for forty minutes, a burnt and misshapen lump of mince arrived, sandwiched between slices of similarly charred ciabatta. The chips were limp and pallid, the relish, a watery salsa with a texture that suggested it might have been home-made but not very recently. The whole thing was inedible and not even hot. A complaint to the waiting staff elicited a startled apology but no reduction was made to the bill.
Verdict: value for money 4/10 service 3/10 quality of food 3/10
In the evening I tried the other recommendation, which was almost directly across the river. The Mustard Seed turned out to be The Kitchen's sister restaurant, a fact that I only absorbed after paying the bill. I asked a passer-by for directions and found that he was the Mustard Seed's Polish barman (Eastern European workers being as common in Inverness as everywhere else in Britain). "Very good restaurant," he beamed, "You go there." So I did.
The odd thing about Scotland is that those involved in the hospitality industry give the impression that they are not very hospitable. In fact, I have frequently been served in such a grudging way that I have imagined that the waiting staff remember me as a mass murderer in a previous life. Except that all their customers can't have been mass murderers. So it proved initially at the Mustard Seed. At 5.20 p.m., the wind was bitingly cold and it was starting to rain, so the thought of a glass of Sauvignon Blanc in a cosy wine bar was tempting. The outer doors were standing open so I pushed the inner door, which yielded, and went in. Immediately I was shooed out again by a manager who huffily told me that they were not open till half-past. At this point I almost gave up but the thought of trudging round the town being booted out of one hostelry after another did not appeal. I stood in the doorway reading their reviews until my patience gave out, then I made another attempt at entry and this time was not rebuffed.
The fire in the middle of the room was very welcome, and the manager seemed to have turned from Mr Hyde back into Dr Jekyll as he suddenly became very charming. The £11.95 menu was supposed to include a glass of wine, but this never appeared as I was charged for the two I drank. But the celeriac soup was velvety, unctuous and altogether delicious, and the steak that followed it was juicy, tender and had the essential beefiness so lacking at lunchtime. The peppercorn sauce packed a hefty punch - perhaps too hefty for some - but the beef stood up to it manfully. The usual bowl of boiled vegetables made its appearance but was no worse than usual. I passed on the pudding and the bill came in at £22.60.
Verdict: value for money 8/10 service 8/10 quality of food 8/10
The following night I was in Aberdeen, and ate a dismal meal in an Italian restaurant called Poldino's. I arrived to find three poor customers standing outside in the cold, waiting for the place to open, which it should have done at 6 p.m. The nearby church clock was chiming six times, and inside the staff were clearly visible standing by the bar looking out, for all the world like the remnants of an army under siege, doing their best to repel invaders. The clock fell silent but still they glared at their customers, apparently willing them to go away. I looked at the menu and decided to give the place a try if they opened up by the time I had finished reading it. Eventually they opened up, slowly and with scowls on their faces. The food was mediocre. The bill was £21.60 for two undistinguished courses with a carafe or house red, most of which was left undrunk.
Verdict: value for money 2/10 service 2/10 quality of food 3/10
The hotel I stayed in - The Royal - was horrid, with peeling lino on the bathroom floor and a general feeling of grubbiness. I did without a shower the following morning after finding a silverfish in the bath and blood on the showercurtain. When I complained about the latter to the nice foreign receptionist (not mentioning the former as I doubted his English would stretch to 'silverfish'), he looked at me blankly, made a vague apology but again, presented the bill in full.
A modern, almost futuristic building, the river views were spectacular, which was more than could be said for the food. Being short of time, I went for the home-made beefburger with thin-cut chips and home-made relish (£5.95). I fondly imagined I would be getting a juicy morsel of Scottish Aberdeen Angus. After waiting for forty minutes, a burnt and misshapen lump of mince arrived, sandwiched between slices of similarly charred ciabatta. The chips were limp and pallid, the relish, a watery salsa with a texture that suggested it might have been home-made but not very recently. The whole thing was inedible and not even hot. A complaint to the waiting staff elicited a startled apology but no reduction was made to the bill.
Verdict: value for money 4/10 service 3/10 quality of food 3/10
In the evening I tried the other recommendation, which was almost directly across the river. The Mustard Seed turned out to be The Kitchen's sister restaurant, a fact that I only absorbed after paying the bill. I asked a passer-by for directions and found that he was the Mustard Seed's Polish barman (Eastern European workers being as common in Inverness as everywhere else in Britain). "Very good restaurant," he beamed, "You go there." So I did.
The odd thing about Scotland is that those involved in the hospitality industry give the impression that they are not very hospitable. In fact, I have frequently been served in such a grudging way that I have imagined that the waiting staff remember me as a mass murderer in a previous life. Except that all their customers can't have been mass murderers. So it proved initially at the Mustard Seed. At 5.20 p.m., the wind was bitingly cold and it was starting to rain, so the thought of a glass of Sauvignon Blanc in a cosy wine bar was tempting. The outer doors were standing open so I pushed the inner door, which yielded, and went in. Immediately I was shooed out again by a manager who huffily told me that they were not open till half-past. At this point I almost gave up but the thought of trudging round the town being booted out of one hostelry after another did not appeal. I stood in the doorway reading their reviews until my patience gave out, then I made another attempt at entry and this time was not rebuffed.
The fire in the middle of the room was very welcome, and the manager seemed to have turned from Mr Hyde back into Dr Jekyll as he suddenly became very charming. The £11.95 menu was supposed to include a glass of wine, but this never appeared as I was charged for the two I drank. But the celeriac soup was velvety, unctuous and altogether delicious, and the steak that followed it was juicy, tender and had the essential beefiness so lacking at lunchtime. The peppercorn sauce packed a hefty punch - perhaps too hefty for some - but the beef stood up to it manfully. The usual bowl of boiled vegetables made its appearance but was no worse than usual. I passed on the pudding and the bill came in at £22.60.
Verdict: value for money 8/10 service 8/10 quality of food 8/10
The following night I was in Aberdeen, and ate a dismal meal in an Italian restaurant called Poldino's. I arrived to find three poor customers standing outside in the cold, waiting for the place to open, which it should have done at 6 p.m. The nearby church clock was chiming six times, and inside the staff were clearly visible standing by the bar looking out, for all the world like the remnants of an army under siege, doing their best to repel invaders. The clock fell silent but still they glared at their customers, apparently willing them to go away. I looked at the menu and decided to give the place a try if they opened up by the time I had finished reading it. Eventually they opened up, slowly and with scowls on their faces. The food was mediocre. The bill was £21.60 for two undistinguished courses with a carafe or house red, most of which was left undrunk.
Verdict: value for money 2/10 service 2/10 quality of food 3/10
The hotel I stayed in - The Royal - was horrid, with peeling lino on the bathroom floor and a general feeling of grubbiness. I did without a shower the following morning after finding a silverfish in the bath and blood on the showercurtain. When I complained about the latter to the nice foreign receptionist (not mentioning the former as I doubted his English would stretch to 'silverfish'), he looked at me blankly, made a vague apology but again, presented the bill in full.
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