Glasgow restaurant review: 111 by Nico in Kelvinside, by Ron Mackenna

WE’RE doing one of the posher bits of town on a Sunday night and it’s dark and cold and sleepy outside but in here it’s all show as we idly watch the chef strut and swirl plastic scooshy bottles, tweak and tease pieces of food. This is Chef Nico. At work. With his assistant. In his open kitchen. Flourishes here, wrist twirls there. 
Our little table is flanked on the left by a large photograph of his handsome coupon. On the right by another. On the back of the menu? You got it. Are we supposed to think Masterchef? Right now I’m getting more Strictly. We sit amidst, erm, unconventional decor: black leather, black wood, black shiny tiles, let’s call the style 80s Stallion – the only thing that’s missing is a Ferrari logo. 
And I’m getting grumpier. They asked the table that came in long after us if they wanted a drink before they came near us; the booming, brash music is far too loud and doing my head in, and when the food eventually comes it does so like a multi-car pile up. 
I just have time to lift the amuse bouche – normally the amusing part is you don’t know you’re getting it – of mushroom and truffle oil in a cup that’s too large and with a flavour that’s too ordinary when a different waiter shunts the starters onto the table, too. 
We now have four dishes here at the same time. And could someone clear these bloody glasses – this table is the size of a postage stamp. 
I know I’m dressed like a fat, short Tony Soprano on his day off and that my wee pal Luca, aged 12, is wearing checked shorts but we’re not feeling the love. 
Could it be they’re distracted by that table of Glasgow’s beautiful people in the corner? Yes, we do have them. Or is that strange single female diner in the corner with her slow movements, bucket of wine, and flashing phone really a food critic? She acts like one. 
Eventually, I have to ask twice, the music is turned down and the place is filled with the far warmer buzz of chat. 
Hang on, I say to Luca, who has spent the whole day in his bedroom with his pal Jack, an electric screwdriver, two hammers and several Ikea flat packs that I couldn’t be bothered building. Wooden Lego. Honest. 
Hang on, I say again because at this point the music is still loud, have you tried the ham hough? Served with pear, presented in a sandwich style, delivered theatrically in a glass dish full of smoke, it’s delicious, though the lingering smoky taste is too much for the 12-year-old. 
A brandade, high on the list of 1000 things to do with salt cod, is crisply fishcakey and comes with a light fennel salad but it's the lamb shoulder that has us both fighting with forks to finish. At first the celeriac – cubed, saladed, roasted – seems familiarly dull, but when the lamb, deep and rich and carmelised by the searing, maybe even slightly salty, is tasted the whole plate fires into roaring life. 
Next? There are perfectly prepared razor clams, juicy little cockles, mussels and a prawn in a powerful, slightly gloopy risotto that’s got a lovely basil undertone. 
Over there? Cod with parsnip crisps and pomegranate, top of my most pointless flourishes list. The fish, though, is beautifully cooked. 
To finish, a cheffy play on pear which is let down by one of those crumble toppings which looks and tastes like it came from a Muller Corner pot but is saved by the fact everything else is pretty nice. 
Excellent meal? Courses rarely came at the right time, the gaps either being far too long (often) or far too short (once). But it’s £20 for two courses and £30 for the taster menu. Amazing. 
Uh-oh, I see another pet hate coming. Chef Nico is touring the tables. We bolt. Let the food do the talking, big man. It’s good enough. 
And take those bloody photos down. You’re not Marco Pierre White. Yet.