Printing Press

21-25 George Street, Edinburgh

0131 240 7177

Lunch/Dinner: £20-45

Food rating: 6/10

EDINBURGH has no shortage of fine premises hosting unexceptional restaurants. There’s the potentially fabulous Café Royal, which were it in London, would be snatched up and turned into a restaurant of renown, or the stupendous Dome where, in my experience, the food is never better than average. You could have added the splendid Georgian hall at the back of the George Hotel to that list, but as part of a multi-million-pound investment in the hotel it is now reborn as “an elegant destination restaurant”: the Printing Press Bar And Kitchen.

This new restaurant space is spectacular, its delicate Georgian plasterwork complemented by obscure “figured” glass and other Art Deco features. It looks uncannily like the Wolseley in London, a celebrated café-restaurant in the grand European tradition. Perhaps there is some conscious homage to that establishment. All it lacks is the Wolseley’s starched white tablecloths and its mezzanine; even the menu style puts me in mind of the Wolseley.

The Printing Press says that “making use of the world-class quality ingredients in Scotland is something we have rightfully championed”, a puzzling statement, given that it has only just opened. One “signature dish” features prominently: “spatchcock Borders grouse served with red cabbage and brambles”. We’re told that it comes from a supplier with “more than 100 years of butchery experience” and “with sweet brambles, foraged from the forests of Scotland”. So I chose it. “Who’s having the grouse?” A larger bird with ecru-pale meat was set in front of me that tasted as interesting as free-range chicken and most definitely wasn’t grouse.

I queried our waiter who came back with a story, supposedly from the chef, that it was “young grouse that hadn’t been hung”– a load of patronising nonsense basically. I revisited the taste and appearance of the bird then asked him to check again with the chef. This time the script had changed: it was partridge. The chef had rejected the grouse that had been delivered as sub-standard. No apology, no deletion of the dish from our bill, just a cocky “chef knows best” and you should defer to him attitude. There is a self-love about this place that gets in the way of service.

And – my, there’s a surprise! – the large, plump, inky fruits on the plate looked like blackberries cultivated in some warmer country than our own, and not at all like the smaller, grittier, more distinctively flavoured brambles that we forage in the early autumn. Once your trust in an establishment to deliver what it promises falters, there’s no restoring it. Otherwise, to extend the game theme, our meal was a mixed bag. Venison tartare was neither finely chopped nor cleanly minced, more like a queasily textured mush from the food processor. It was under-seasoned, short on condiments and capers, served in a soup plate, and looked like a raw burger someone had stood on. Eyemouth langoustine thermidor tart, on the other hand, was an elegant presentation of crumbly short pastry, succulent crustacean, and mustardy cheese sauce. The only thing wrong with this dish was that there wasn’t enough of the “shellfish vinaigrette”.

“Lamb shoulder and heritage carrot pie” didn’t constitute great value at £14. The meat was soft in the way that pressure-cooked and “sous vide” meats can be, but it tasted reheated. This wasn’t truly a pie, rather an earthenware crock of stew with a pastry lid – more linguistic imprecision. As for the “heritage” carrots, they didn’t come with a birth certificate so I can’t vouch for their noble origins. Of our desserts, burnt cream with cranberry and “blossom” honey (as if all honey doesn’t come from blossom) was a hit with the tart berries providing sour, vivid contrast. Lemon tart was of the curd-type, so for me, intrusively sweet.

So I don’t think the Printing Press is set to be Edinburgh’s Wolseley, sadly. Unless it rapidly develops a standard of service and food to match its aspirations, it may instead end up as yet another grandiose George Street establishment that dishes up an underwhelming dining experience.