Review of the reviews
There are roasted cauliflower florets with the salty hit of kal- amata olives in a buttery sauce with crisply fried garlicky breadcrumbs for texture. There is a whole globe artichoke, here generously drenched with a brilliant green chive butter, as though draped in the very essence of chlorophyll. We have a plate of bulbous radishes, as shiny and red and promising as newly polished Christmas baubles. They are to be dredged through slumping whorls of a sharp but creamy taramasalata. Alongside is a halved boiled egg, with a jammy yolk. Chop up the yolk and add it to the tarama to smooth off its edges. The green fronds of the radish tops have been retained, but dressed sharply with vine- gar. There is a disc of flatbread, smeared with an uncompro- mising chilli butter and then smothered by smoked auber- gine, yogurt and fresh mint. The nearest I can manage to a criticism of the cooking is that the flatbread is a little doughy. But it’s also worth noting that the plate is quickly cleared. I am eating tonight with a
Jay Rayner struggles to find anything to criticise at Italian restaurant Gloriosa in Glasgow
group of food-obsessed friends and they are all absorbed by the details: the crust on that focac- cia, the touch of vinegar on
Grace Dent fights for a coveted table at Fish Shop in Aberdeenshire I remembered rumours I’d heard that Fish Shop has become so loved locally that even its owner can no longer just drop by for a table. That must mainly be down to this [Stonehaven lobster tagliarini], I thought. Mind you, I’m sure the whole plaice shoved on a hibachi grill and served with lush, green sam- phire is a pretty big draw, too. Even when Fish Shop does
meaty, with its coarsely cut Highland beef tartare with smoked oyster mayo, or vege- tarian, with its wild nettle gnoc- chi with charred spring onion, it is all thoughtfully done and erring on the decadent. It would be remiss not to
10 | The Caterer | 10 November 2023
try the partan bree, a dreamy, creamy chowder made with Macduff crab (partan being Gaelic and Scots for crab). That said, if crab is your true love, you have to order the Macduff brown crab crumpets, which are small, heavily stacked, punchy, buttery chunks of happiness. As you eat them, take in the pretty shoal of 133 basket-woven fish that swim over the ceiling, made by local artist Helen Jackson. On the dessert menu they
had bread-and-butter pudding with crème fraîche, a Clava Brie on malt loaf, rhubarb from Braemar with warm made- leines and ice-cream and a Glen Tanar damson jam tart. And at lunch, they offer a three-course set menu for £24, which by today’s standards sounds quite astoundingly cheap. Wonder- ful, heartwarming places such as Fish Shop are a rarer sight than mermaids’ feet these days. If you’re ever in the area, go.
“ ‘She can cook, can’t she,’ says one, who knows one end of a panna cotta from another”
the radish tops. At dessert it is the simplest offering, a panna cotta, which has them cooing. It sits on the plate wobbling up at us, as if demanding atten- tion. “She can cook, can’t she,” says one, who knows one end of a panna cotta from another, as she spoons it away. Oh yes, she really can. There is a pretty meringue with blackberries – brambles in these parts, of course – custard and cream. It’s the childish joys of dessert, given a grown-up makeover.
to the last mouthful of tartly brac- ing lemon and honey meringue. An Isle of Mull scallop, quiv-
Tom Parker-Bowles can’t find enough superlatives to describe the restaurant at the Ritz London To walk into the Ritz Restaurant is to abandon the real world and disappear into a heady rococo riot of naked nymphs, gilded sea gods and lasciviously ruched drapes. Opulence drips like rare honey from overly ornate chandeliers, as waiters glide by in pristine tails. Service runs like a Patek Philippe Grandmaster Chime. Smooth. Immaculate. Hand- somely theatrical. The five- course tasting menu is something I’d usually swim rag- ing rivers to avoid, but every part is beautifully judged, from the first chew of warm bread, slath- ered with the creamiest of butter,
eringly fresh and winsomely sweet, wears a delicate rice wine jelly, gently sharp and scented with bergamot. Potatoes, tasting of salt and seaweed, are served with Champagne-poached oys- ters, all wallowing in a white wine and kombu sauce. Here, the past is hallowed but
the present embraced; classic French technique meets super- lative produce. Asian ingredi- ents abound. The precision and presentation of the cookery is breathtaking, as is the startling purity of flavour. Be warned, though. Ties are mandatory. And prices are as exalted as the cooking. But it is pure, unabashed luxury, with a kitchen at the very haute of its cuisine. It currently has one Michelin star. Quite why it doesn’t have all three remains one of Europe’s great mysteries.
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