Castlehill

22-26 Exchange Street, Dundee

01382 220008

Lunch £14.95/£17.95

Dinner £30/£36

Food rating 9 /10

DON'T mistake the wall-mounted catalogue of Scottish fauna at Castlehill in Dundee for a list of daily specials. In amongst the roe deer, grouse, and hare that might grace the menu of the more adventurous catering establishment sit otter, adder, pine marten, fox, wood ant, kingfisher and bat. These are not on the menu, or there would be an animal welfare picket line outside. The purpose of this display is to remind you that you are in a Scottish restaurant.

Just in case you didn't get the point, the walls of this sleek, and not at all couthy establishment are decorated with Scottish literary quotations, gems from the pens of Robert Louis Stevenson, Hugh MacDiarmid, and others. And if the penny still hasn't dropped, dried thistles in the floral displays, and a soundtrack of Scottish ballads and folk songs, offer further clues.

I get a bit twitchy when catering establishments flag themselves up as Scottish. Restaurants in France/Italy/Spain don't feel the need to tell you that their cuisine is French/Italian/Spanish; it's assumed that you can take as much for granted. Thank heavens Scotland has emerged from the Taste of Tartan days when restaurants laid on their national identity thicker than whisky fudge: the era of dishes with imposter historical pedigrees, which spawned "supreme of chicken Balmoral" et al. If only we could now move on a bit more and break our sentimental attachment to popular brands of "Scottish" soft drinks and confectionery, which always were, and still are, made with blatantly global, industrial commodity ingredients, notably, an Everest of sugar.

Thankfully, the chefs and patron of Castlehill apply an altogether less clichéd interpretation of our national cuisine. They start where good chefs everywhere start: with well-chosen, native ingredients that are right for the season. And they do a bit more than just put these ingredients on your plate and leave them to talk for themselves, but not so much that that their intervention shouts "look-at-me!" Those with an interest in professional chef technique will find plenty to think about at Castlehill; those without will simply enjoy what they are eating.

Two carefully-made, interesting breads - one a humid five-seed loaf with a pleasing sourdough tang, the other a lighter semolina one with string-coloured crumb and toasty crust set the tone of proceedings. Eau-de-nil hued fennel and apple velouté, which on paper sounded riskily unconvincing, turned out to be svelte and slipped down a treat, the clean malic acid of the fruit balancing the sweet anise presence of the fennel, and the richness of crème fraiche. With its pretty garnish of caraway seed and jewel-like pickled apple, it looked gorgeous.

Mind you, the spanking fresh charred mackerel was a stunner too, cut at an angle, and reclining on a bed of grilled fennel-dyed orange with saffron, alongside brick-red soused mussels, under an ephemeral foam of something ecru and cloudily dreamy.

Slow-poached free-range chicken pointed up just how badly cooked and dry most chicken we eat is. Under its succulent roasted skin it ate like butter. Nutty grains of whole, not pearled spelt, emerald-bright pea purée, and charred gem lettuce hearts made the perfect complement. A bone marrow crust gave pearly rock turbot an extra taste dimension. Golden-fried slivers of salsify brought a patrician note to the plate, tiny pickled beets and radish shavings, and a swirl of something exhilaratingly green and slightly sharp - sorrel, maybe? - freshened it up.

I could drink the lime and white chocolate sauce all on its own: a glorious pairing. It came with strawberries, brambles, ultra-thin shortbread, and a rose sorbet that was, to my palate, a little too up-front, but that's a quibble. The "cuppa coffee", a custard-like espresso mouse (sic) under a creamy foam, wasn't in the same league, for all the world like an upmarket version of the French tinned dessert, Mont Blanc.

Even so, at lunch, to have food so overwhelmingly delicious, three courses for £17.95, was a bargain. Front-of-house runs as smoothly and coherently as the food. Castlehill is Scottish, in the right way.