BY the time I pull myself out a cherry clafoutis and look over expectantly at the tarte tatin on Gordon’s plate it has completely gone. Vanished. And he’s looking back at me with eyebrows arched as if to say: what? That ain’t how it happens in les movies, mate.
In les movies – and I’m thinking principally of Ratatouille here – le restaurant critic leans over and delicately tastes everything.
But then again, in les movies, le restaurant critic doesn’t order a globe artichoke starter, marvel at its golden grilled exterior, silently noting that it looks like a giant toasted pine cone, then carry on with the conversation about le politics.
Before looking down moments later – having tried and completely failed to get anything that doesn’t taste like woody pine cone into his mouth – and realising the thing has exploded into a plateful of spiky leaves.
It’s then I remember that it’s only the heart that’s edible. Later – and this next bit definitely doesn’t happen in les movies – when leaving le critic doesn’t stupidly mention the artichoke to the suave manager guy. He says they always tell customers it’s just the heart that has to be scooped out but he “told the waiter there was no need to mention it to you because you would already know … being a food critic”. Boom, boom. How we laughed. Well, they did anyway.
Funny thing is, as I descended the stairs into The Atlantic – and how nice is it to walk into a basement restaurant that’s well lit and stylish and has an open kitchen at the back and a cocktail bar over there and is not too big – I notice it doesn’t, in fact, have a Parisian feel. It has more of a Dean Martin, rat-packy Sands Hotel kind of vibe to it.
It’s meant to be French, incidentally. And that tartiflette – grilled, with a crispy, cheesy top, creamy potatoes and onions with more cheese, which may well have been made with the genuine reblochon – is undoubtedly French. Ordered simply
to taste, we can’t stop eating it. “It’s all about the cheese,” I say, as the last forkful disappears.
The bouillabaisse is of the thick broth type with saffron and Pernod, but most importantly with poached white fish, bass maybe, clams, prawns and – this is the good bit – with little proper, softly potatoey gnocchi throughout.
There’s a ham joint roasted on a charcoal grill through in that kitchen that’s sweet and tender and charred, and we try a moist if pretty unremarkable chicken cooked the same way.
It’s definitely a French menu, though in a fairly safe salmon, duck, snails, pâté and ever-so-dull beef bourguignon way that may make the cynical among us, say le chubby restaurant critic, wonder whether it’s designed to drive customers straight into the waiting arms of the grilled steaks section.
Anyway, as I was saying, as soon as I reached the bottom of the stairs I noticed the manager and thought I knew him from somewhere as he clocked me. Thereafter I was aware of waiters scurrying. This is, as I say to Gordon, never a good thing.
Why? Because the tables get turned and it’s me getting reviewed. Uncomfortably.
Not that we’re not comfortably seated, in a table up in the top corner. We’re able to see the action: couples talking, women, bizarrely, with a selfie stick across from us. It’s a relaxed scene.
OK, the brasserie thing is a buzz nowadays, almost as cliched as the pulled pork carry-on, but unlike others in this very city The Atlantic manages to pull it off without feeling pretentious.
Of course this is part of the restaurant empire that includes Di Maggio’s, Cafe Andaluz, Barolo Grill and The Anchor Line and I’ve realised as I write this that the manager guy wasn’t a manager guy at all, but Tony Conetta, who is one of the owners.
Hey, ho. Oh, that clafoutis? Not great, cloying and too sweet. As for the tarte tatin, who knows?
The Atlantic
12-16 St Vincent Place, Glasgow (0141 221 0220, atlanticbrasserie.co.uk)
Menu Predictably French and no hints on sourcing of food but tartiflettes, bouillabaisse, steaks and so on. 3/5
Atmosphere Cool and relaxed basement restaurant with an open kitchen and a pretty good feel in the main restaurant area. 5/5
Service Fairly casual and comfortable feel to the whole thing, which despite its Parisian pretensions is not pretentious at all. 5/5
Price Main courses from £13, starters hovering around the £6 mark and upwards. All in all, not bad given the setting. 4/5
Food Great tartiflette; good bouillabaisse; desserts so-so but generally consistent and good if not outstanding. Worth a visit. 7/10
Total 24/30
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