I'll tell you this for free (put your money away) - I like food. More to the point, I like good food. If you know me from Adam (any Adam I suppose, I was thinking of Adam of Adam and Eve fame but I don't suppose it's important) you'll know that I have a strange predilection for going on about how many days we're likely to have left here on earth. In case you've never heard me mention it, it's not many. Anyway, I try and keep that thought in mind when I consider pretty much any aspect of life, especially 'spiritual' aspects I suppose but not just. Not in the frankly silly 'eat drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die' sort of way, but in the rather more prudent 'when I eat and drink, at least on special occasions, it may as well be really good cause otherwise it's a bit of a waste of time' sort of way. Now, some people might take issue with the idea of dining out and spending a fair whack on it and that's all well and good. But if you do on the odd occasion enjoy such a soirée (and although it's been nigh-on ten years since I won a BB Bible Quiz I do vaguely remember some mention of feasts in the Scriptures), then you may find the Index blog's latest super-duper feature, if not indispensable, at least mildly distracting. We are to be good custodians of our money, you know - which means we should not I don't believe be throwing our money away at rubbish eateries when we do go out. Listen - I feel very strongly about this. Well, not very strongly, but quite strongly anyway. I've been to all of the restaurants featured in these guides, and I know they're not rubbish. Subjective? Pah - trust me. I've been known to spend weeks looking at restaurant menus from around the globe and I don't darken the doors of anywhere that can't guarantee a better selection of treats than the canny gastronomic wizards at Bachelor's can summons from the humble base of the pacquet de Noodles Super. These places are good.
A word, or rather a few words (carefully chosen, though) about the chic continental 'Warden scale' of these restaurants. Tres expensif is very expensive. And yes, in case you are wondering, the e in tres should have an accent above it but that isn't on my keyboard, so you're going to have to use your imagination I'm afraid. This (the very expensive bit) is relative however - although these places are, on first glance, expensive, you'll find that via set menus, lunch menus and special offers you can eat pretty much anywhere for much less than you might think. Unless you think you can eat anywhere for under a fiver. This is especially true - and this is really the rub - if you don't even glance at the wine menu. If you are a wine drinker, do it at home, or in the street or at your local public park (you don't even need a brown paper bag - this isn't Glasgow. UPDATE: Well at least it wasn't until Cathy Jamieson had her way). Tres tres reasonable (pronounced ree-son-a-blay) is very very reasonable. Tres fair enough is cheap enough that even the most indifferent boyfriend or jaded husband wouldn't balk at taking their significant other. You might still want to take an irritating flatmate to Leisureland though (I think that's still open, the place on South Bridge with the amusement arcades? Did it close down after that fire?). Anyway, there's an appetizer for you. Keep checking the blog over the 'holiday season' for your dispensable guide to dining out.
Part 1
Tres expensif - Martin Wishart, Leith, Edinburgh.
www.martin-wishart.co.uk
To restaurateurs, Michelin stars are like buses - you wait ages for one, and then you wait even longer for another one. Martin Wishart, hence, only has the one. Don't let that put you off, though (I know lots of our more refined Indexers turn their noses up at any less than two) because this place is well on the way to achieving said highly-coveted second. And in case you've never heard of it, this is the place that has all those ladies who would rather die than stay on the 22 bus past the Playhouse braving Leith Walk and even part of Great Junction Street, just to reach it. Yes, it's in darkest Leith, yes, it's opposite the Italian restaurant children go to on school trips so they can make pizzas and pass their European Dimension propagan... I mean, curriculum targets, and yes, as is fitting for the first restaurant to get a mention in TFSIYGTEOYMAWDIP, it is absolutely fantastic.
'What's the food like, DC?' Don't worry, I hear you. But as Paul Hogan found, much to his hilarious (for us) irritation as he awaited Cuba Gooding Jr's response in Lightning Jack, such a request can be ignored. Have a look at the mouth-watering website, friends, and gauge for yourselves. The pictures don't look any bigger there than they do here I'm afraid, but they do at least change and move around and stuff. Just one small caveat- if you look at it and think anything other than, 'this place looks amazing, I would like to go there post haste', then you are wrong.
Every dish is made and presented with care, even down to the crockery which almost seems to have been made with the specific dish under which it rests in mind. Some things come on scales. Some things come in glasses. Things which should be flat, like steak, come in cone-shaped towers. Things which should be like cone-shaped towers, well they would probably (I think it can reasonably be assumed) be served on one of those tracks with the penguins who climb the stairs and then slide down the other side, like the old Jenners toy department used to display (can't promise that mind you). Everything screams colour, but quietly whispers class and imaginative, careful design and construction. Someone who loves food has made your dish. They love to have fun, too - everything foams and floats and swims on the plate, albeit in the unassuming style that Wishart himself seems to have personally engraved into the walls. And before my lyrical wax runs dry, a word on the flavours. On first bite, you realise you're learning a lesson on how good food can taste. You will smile, and hope to long remember it. Mind you, when you're back home the next night tucking into another delicious Findus Crispy Cheese Pancake, you'll maybe be glad if you haven't.Have you ever gone to see a 'Disney on ice' show? That's the impression you get when you see the waiting staff in action at Wishart's, minus the Disney costumes and the ice skates and the ice and the putrid music and the self-discovery plotline of course. Hmm, maybe that's not the impression everyone will get, now I think about it - suffice it to say they are well choreographed, like the children in a Sunday School nativity at an Anglican cathedral or the dancers on 'Stars In Their Eyes'. It's pretty much one waiter to every table, and the way they manage to appear as though there is nothing in the world they would rather be doing than serve you a meal, while at the same time avoiding being irritatingly smiley, captured my admiration (if that is possible, either grammatically or practically).
Good grief, my guy even actually laughed when I made my usual remark of 'sorry, the people before us made a right mess' when he discreetly scraped my bread crumbs onto a napkin before pudding. The thing is, we get so used to 'alright' service that when we come across that which is truly exceptional it comes as such a pleasant surprise. Obviously, these guys do love their jobs, have been well trained and, perhaps most importantly, know when a client is looking for a warm chat (as I saw a couple of single diners doing), a nice relaxed meal (that would be me) or a very formal engagement (there were a few of those too) and can adapt their style and presentation of service accordingly. Just wonderful, so it was, as our Emeraldianer friends would say (if they were co-starring in a Harrison Ford film anyway). Oh, and just wait until it's time for your first course proper (you get a complimentary pre-first course which if mine was anything to go by - shaved venison with a raspberry jelly stuff avec French name - will already have forced your taste buds to have come up with new ways of telling your brain how nice what it's dealing with is, plus some incredible little appetizers like the most amazing cheese balls ever, plus haggis truffles!), because this is when the show really begins. The starters are brought out in dishes with silver lids on them, like in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, and Octopussy, come to think about it (talk about your classic 'chicken and the egg' conundrum), by as many waiters as your party has. Then, when the dishes are in front of you, said waiters simultaneously whip off the lids to reveal to you your magnificently-presented starter of chilled monkey brains or snakes with eels in them or, more likely, a mixture of a meat, fruit, or vegetable of some kind presented in a way you couldn't dream of, accompanied by something you never would have thought could be nice with it. It maybe sounds kind of like Spinal Tap in dining form, but let me assure you it's just an absolute treat and really seems appropriate given the magnificence of the dishes themselves. It would feel a little funny in a Wimpey admittedly but at Martin Wishart's it just feels right, as someone once said.You don't need an occasion to go here - if you must, then just make one up (it's always the anniversary of something, for example). Trust me, it is worth forgoing three or four pizzas or Chinese takeaways to save up for a meal here, anytime. I'd say it's ideal, actually, for those awkward engagements with the person who either doesn't say anything or who irritates with every word, as I can guarantee you won't remember a thing about your conversation, if you're even able to conduct one at all. This place captivates as poking your head out from behind a door does a small child, except there's actually a point to being captivated by Wishart's, besides the simple, albeit pleasant idiocy of youth. The food provides all the memories here, with the impeccable service leaving those memories shrouded in a nice warm fuzzy glow. Good grief, looking at my receipt now it seems like I paid three pounds on a bottle of water, and I don't even remember being even slightly irritated by it, or wondering if I could just ask for tap. Praise indeed!
How much you say? Depends entirely upon when you go. Better leave dinner for when you know someone else will be footing the bill, unless you don't balk at spending anything from £40 - £60 per head excluding drinks (although I doubt very much you would regret it for a second even if you did). I'd look to go the whole hog if I was going to go out for dinner though - I hear the six-course tasting menu is perhaps the best in Scotland (calm down, Andrew Fairlie fans, it's not a unanimous view I know), and if you want to make an impression (maybe you're meeting a prospective defence lawyer for the first time, or have to ask a very disapproving father for his daughter's hand) then you won't find a better place. In any event, you should be more inclined to pick up a luncheon tab as it's exceedingly generous. £20.50 set price lunch for three courses is pretty much the gastronomic equivalent to walking up to a bank teller, pointing quizzically at something behind them and then grabbing some cash while their back's turned.
Most people prefer dinner to lunch, so pay more - but you're smarter than that. Lunches are the way to go, not just at Wishart's but everywhere, except maybe Greggs where it doesn't really seem to matter when you go, although in my experience anytime after four and you're playing Russian roulette. With pies. There's only one sitting at Wishart's, so book it for 12, stay till 3 (you'll think your dining companion has acquired a flux capacitor when you go here I'm telling you - the time goes that quickly) and then enjoy a leisurely afternoon and evening reminiscing over the meal with you and your satisfied belly. And on what occasion? None needed. But, especially - business, occasions where someone has offered to take you out (and to pay), romantic, and a bit of self-indulgent single dining. But you'll never regret a trip here. Unless you forget your wallet or something (seriously, how many times can one comedic device be exploited?)
And I could combine it with? A walk down the quayside, a drink in Malmaison, a proposal (decent or indecent I guess but I hope decent) a game of pool at a really weird sports bar round the corner (although bear in mind you might look a little over-dressed unless you are a professional player or John Virgo), a trip to Ocean Terminal or, if you know where I live and more to the point that at that moment I am at home, you could pop round and say hello to me, if you'd like.
Tres tres reasonable - Balbirnie House, Markinch Village, Fife.
www.balbirnie.co.uk
Ahh, Jane Austen. Or should that be, Oi! Jane Austen (said menacingly). Yes, I think that's more appropriate. You see, to my mind Jane Austen has a lot to answer for. Big old mansion houses were once (when they were big new mansion houses) the exclusive retreats of society's elite. Our social betters. People of class, and of the class. People who woke up to the dilemma of bridge or backgammon, piano playing or the amusements of a jester (OK, maybe not a jester - let's say the village idiot). Look at them now, if you can stand it. Chatsworth's got a little farm, for the kiddies. And a play park. Lyme Hall's big claim to fame is that Colin Firth somehow managed not to notice its big pond as he sought to re-profess his affections for Jennifer Ehle. Numpty. And don't even get me started on that place now called 'The Home Of Monarch Of The Glen'. I'm telling you, if you want a microcosm of the decline of the British social framework which has served us so well for the last few hundred years, just follow the signs. 'National Trust'. 'Scottish Heritage'. 'Historic Scotland'. Or, you could actually make this overwhelmingly depressing trend work in your favour, gastronomically at any rate, and head out to Balbirnie House.
Forget that there's a golf course and a craft centre on view as you drive in where there should be open greenland surprisingly bereft of game, and you'll be on your way to fully appreciating this little-known (at least before this blog went out) Fife treasure.
Oh, and forget where you are as well - good grief, Glenrothes, and it's homage to the thwarted ambitions of the British mining industry - taking now the thoroughly unartistic form of a kaleidoscopic array of industrial estates and lorry parks - is just a stone's throw (from their side, of course) away. That's easy though, as the vast estate of Balbirnie House provides complete seclusion from any notions of 20th century endeavour. Honestly, when you venture out of this place after a pleasant meal you'll feel like those folks who've just found the wall with the road on the other side of it in The Village. There's no people dressed up as monsters at the Balbirnie, though, thank goodness - just lots of friendly Eastern Europeans. It does seem a little strange to be greeted by a succession of large Polish men on entering a place as British as a man in a Barbour jacket walking a bulldog to a cricket match while drinking a glass of Pimms from a Union Jack-emblazoned glass, but you soon get used to it. You won't soon get used to the levels of service offered, however, unless you are a dictator of some kind or have a personal team of servants working in your flat, in which case you may well be used to them already. If anything, it can be a little unnerving - it almost seems as though they are nervous that you do not find fault with them in any way. It's not really a complaint, but sometimes it's good to have be able to have a joke with your waiter, maybe even be a little sarcastic with them (not moi, of course) and you kind of get the impression that doing that here would have your poor waiter running to the staff toilet to have a little cry. That said, they appreciate you not being horribly rude and obnoxious as much as anyone I'm sure, so if you have a tendency to be so when you get the chance I'd still advise you try and suppress it.
After spending some time in one of the public rooms (they're the sort of rooms you expect to have to walk through making sure to stay to your side of a velvet rope, rather than the sort of rooms you can drop your complementary nut selection on the floor in, but that's the recompense for being in Glenrothes, and not Lauriston- goodness me that was a long bit of bracketed text). Anyway, after doing that, you will be shown - depending on what you've reserved, it's not like a lucky dip or anything - to either the Bistro, (which I must confess to not having dined in, but which looks a little cheaper than the restaurant, at least at peak times, and which the lady on the phone said is 'pretty much the same, just a bit less fancy' than the main restaurant - bet the food is still fabby though), or the Orangerie, which is a lovely, light (when the sun is in place, anyway) dining room with big windows overlooking the park, and a lovely big table in the middle which has jugs of water (!), all the cutlery and condiments and a big fancy thing of oranges, especially thoughtful to those of us who don't like to have to think too much about our imagery, like me. Believe me, anyone who appreciates the 1986 tour-de-force GTR, the eponymous debut album by the short-lived supergroup of the same name (that's what eponymous means, btw; and, just to make absolutely clear, btw means by the way) knows that subtlety is a dirty word. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, the food. Probably should take a new paragraph.
Yes, the food. It's great. I mean, my main course even had a nest of cabbage with it which actually tasted almost alright. Still a bit like a bad smell that you eat instead of smell, but almost alright.
I had roast pork when last I went, from the brilliantly priced (for what you get) lunch menu, and it was mmmm-hmmm. Lovely jubbly. And proceeded some beautifully presented and flavourful smoked salmon and preceded some top-notch sticky toffee pudding. All for fifteen quid. Goodness me, I've known of people who have been prepared to spend that in a blimmin' Pizza Express, for goodness sake! Pizza bloomin' Express! I make no bones about it, Pizza Express and its compatriots in the city centre are the reason why I'm writing this - 'how will they know if we do not tell them?' - you and yours deserve better than over-priced, mass-produced, characterless, flavourless, unimaginative poor excuses for dining. You get more than enough of that at McDonald's, where such belongs (and is priced and pitched accordingly, hence, I have no beef with them - they have no beef, either, come to think of it) without having to put up with it when enjoying a special meal out. Come on, folks, let's give our taste buds a treat, and give the big chains a wide berth. Balbirnie House would make a good place to start.How much you say? If it was in Edinburgh you'd be paying double. Set menus are ALWAYS the way to go in places like this, if you can find them (they're almost always miles cheaper, the portions are almost always just as big and the meals as lovingly prepared and they don't, as far as I'm aware, just leave said preparation to the work experience boy or the bloke who's carrying some infectious disease) and here, at lunch anyway, they're an absolute steal. £12.50 for 2 courses, £15.50 for three. The evening set dinner at £35 seems to set it against some illustrious competition but if you're in that market I would be certain that this place could raise it's game accordingly, but there's still the bistro too, and my mouth is watering (sorry, I know it's unseemly) just looking at its menu now. OK, sounds good. But what about tap water? I won't go anywhere I have to pay for my H20: This is the best bit; in the orangerie at least, jugs of complementary tap water are brought to your table without need of request, and your glass will be refilled ad nauseam as it would a 'proper' drink like wine or vimto. So refreshing (the service, not the water... well alright the water as well) - like me, you're probably getting sick and tired of waiting staff meticulously insuring you have requisite fluids in your glass at all times, until you ask for them to turn on their taps for 2 seconds, which (if at all) they do under great duress before then insisting on basically throwing the jug at you and unceremoniously leaving you to serve it yourself, like a cheapskate. I mean, we know we are cheapskates but the last thing you expect on giving your patronage is for your hosts to highlight said thriftiness.
And on what occasion? If your girlfriend/wife/mother/special lady friend is a woman (which I hope she would be), and she likes Jane Austen (which she will do) then if you have any cause to take her out for a meal, and you aren't in a rush, bring her here. If you are a woman, I guess the same principle would apply pretty much. If Prestonfield House is great (and it is, particularly the tres reasonable set menu), but a bit too gaudy for your palette, come here. If you have a car, come here. If you don't have a car, cause celebre! - you can get the train to Markinch station and it's just a couple of minutes walk from there to here! Unless you simply MUST be in the company of young people, and have your meal be accompanied by the distractions (loud obnoxious music, loud obnoxious decor, loud obnoxious staff) necessitated by it, then you will love this place, I guarantee it.
And I could combine it with? Balbirnie Park, on which Balbirnie House, funnily enough, sits, has some lovely walks on offer. Barely fifteen minutes walk through forest from the front door and you reach an old burial ground dating back quite literally yonks. There's also the aforementioned craft centre, and the village of Markinch itself seemed nice, a bit like a Callender or Pitlochry or Dunkeld but a bit smaller and a bit less nice than those places. The key with coming to a place like this is to take your time. Enjoy drinks before the meal. Enjoy the meal. And enjoy hot drinks in one of the lounges after the meal as well, by the fire. See those leisurely ladies over at the other table, the ones who've been there sipping drinks and discussing their husbands and ex-husbands for the last six hours? Let them be your example, diluting conversation to taste accordingly of course. Yes, it may be a great shame that such a classic old British manor house has become such a cathedral of Tony Blair's Britain (I mean, what on earth are we doing in a place like this anyway?) but the least you can do by way of recompense is try to live like you imagine the rightful aristocratic gentrified owners would have done, at least for one day.
Tres fair enough - La Caspiano, Donnibristle, Fife (KY11 9JJ on multimap, 01383 824400 on the blower). No website although if they had one it would be massive I'm sure.
The people of Donnibristle need no longer hang their heads in shame. No longer need their place of residence and maybe birth be known only for a brief reference in the Singing Kettle's interesting ditty 'The Train To Glasgow', brought about seemingly only because it rhymed with 'whistle' (any hardcore Kettle fans who can further illuminate me on this please get in touch). Nope, what you should really think about as you drive past Donnibristle up the Fife coastal road towards nicer places like Aberdour or pretty depressing places like Kirkcaldy - and, for the benefit of our English readers, that's 'Kirkcaldy', not 'Kirkcaldy', the 'Kirk' doesn't have a 'cauld' - is turning off to your right (past the John Deere tractor place) and paying a visit to La Caspiano, a restaurant for people who know they want to eat something, but just aren't sure quite what that something should be.
Now at this juncture, the lazy hack in me wants to wheel out an old piece of journalistic verbiage like 'belying it's humble appearance' or something like that. You see, the place looks a bit rubbish, inside and out to be honest, but the food's great. That's the point. But can this blog really face another tired cliche?La Caspiano is an Italian restaurant and take-away (it even advertises a delivery service, although as far as I can make out only tractor salesmen, tractor mechanics and people in the market for tractors are within an even reasonable proximity of the place), which also offers a full Mexican menu. And I mean FULL, that's why I said it. It's not a new establishment, by any means (I did wonder on my first visit how the proprietors I spoke to coped with being on the 'other side of the divide' back in the early 40s, or for that matter the whole unseemly business with Abyssinia, and the deco harks back further than I was aware it was possible to hark back to) but through good food, a lively atmos and quite simply the biggest menu you will ever see this side of Big Nick's in NYC (now there was a menu), the 'Casp' as it's referred to by myself is certainly a place which belies it's humble appearance.
Pictures of hen nights, office christmas parties and various other frivolities adorn the walls, illustrating the friendly, 'regulars' atmosphere while at the same time looking just a little tacky. Some of the poorest faux-Italian crooner music you will ever lay ears upon washes though from the 1960s stereo system. The aforementioned party groups are ubiquitous, as are the (!) families with small chidren. Any intimacy you are able to preserve through even this, however, is atomically blasted into oblivion with their birthday 'treat' for any unsuspecting poor soul whose dining partners obviously dislike him or her so much that they inform the management of said occasion - a deafening relayed tape of 'happy birthday' being sung (which goes on for about 20 minutes - I'm telling you last time I was there it was still going on when the guy's group had paid the bill, left and were about half way home) and the scrawniest, rubbishiest little excuse for a slice of Sara Lee blackforest gateau you have ever seen being offered up to the mortified individual. So far, so not good - but that's not why you are going to come to La Caspiano, oh no.
Unless you're in the market for a tractor and are feeling a bit peckish (in which case you have very little alternative), the reason you will come to the Casp is for its gargantuan menu. The Italian menu alone is about 20 pages long, with every possible type of Italian thing you've ever thought of and loads more you haven't. Given the fact that there are clearly only ever two guys in the open plan kitchen over to the side of the room, and that they seem to spend most of their time watching Eurosport, this is, I think you will agree, mighty impressive. Everything really is brilliant as well - the pizzas are at least as good as Leith Walk's excellent La Favorita or Vittorias, and the pasta is generally better than Valvona and Crolla's Vin Cafe (spoken of as one of the best in Edinburgh by many). But, add to this, and the reason you can come out here for any occasion and know everyone in the party will be happy is the 'New' (although I'm sure it was new when I first went in about 1993) Mexican Menu.
Now immediately dismiss any notions you have of the 'additional' menus quite loved of these sort of (cheap) eating establishments. Italian music, italian flags draped outside, Italian staff and an Italian name this place may indeed have, but La Caspiano offers a quite gargantuan selection of Mexican (OK, Texan but that's Mexican in Scottish) specialties.
Admittedly, some rather cunning ingredient-sharing may account for some of this (garlic bread with chilli, anyone? - yes me please) but that's to take nothing away from this fine achievement. Their fajitas are probably the best I've tasted (and are absolutely gargantuan... no wait I said that already), and who could possibly argue with a pizza and enchilada 'half and half'? Not me anyway - do yourself a favour and get down to La Caspiano. Just tell them the Index blog sent you.How much you say? Bog standard Italian/Mexican prices. Think £25 for two courses for 2 and a couple of Irn Brus. Tap water wasn't immediately offered but wasn't balked at. I'd say though skip pudding and treat yourself to a personal favourite place on the way home.
And on what occasion? Well if you're tractor shopping it really is a no-brainer. Otherwise: parties, dates with someone you've been seeing for a good period of time (certainly no first dates - the food can be messy and the initial impression probably won't be what you're after), groups of friends hanging out or family get-togethers.
And I could combine it with? Now this is the magic of eating out of town. A walk, either before or after, is a must - in and out of the car-ers bring shame on themselves in a place like this. Aberdour is a lovely place just a couple of miles up the road, which covers all the walking bases - Scotland's nicest train station (official), Silver (ahem) Sands beach, a harbour, and at twilight the golf club offers beautiful views right from the car park. Later, on the right occasion I hear a walk along the Forth Road Bridge can be a pleasant experience - just park at the hotel on the north side up from Deep Sea World. Oh, and you could go there too if you have children in the party or just like fish and insects and stuff. go to main page
No comments:
Post a Comment