Five March
THERE’S a super-cheery waiter in a pork pie hat geezering it up in this completely and utterly deserted restaurant as outside the dying sun drenches the West End in a luscious golden glow. Smiley, smiley, chatty, chatty, cheery, cheery. In Liverpudlian too.
I feel a deep sigh coming on. Nothing kills the appetite like an empty restaurant. And I oh-so-nearly escaped a moment ago, too, having walked in and executed a cartoon character skid as soon as I scanned the length of this gloomy barn and mentally labelled it giant generic pub circa 1980s.
But before I could get that u-turn completed – OK, I’m not the lightest on my feet – staff folding napkins miles away at the top of the bar have tractor-beamed me in with that old breezy: something-to-eat-sir. Uh-oh. Hooked.
The music’s weird, the tumbleweed’s bouncing, some women have now come in from outside with their cocktails; the only thing that keeps me from lumbering into a dive through that plate glass window is what I can see through the square hatch, leading into the kitchen.
Surprisingly, there’s no tattooed chef sleeping off a night in the cells while a deep fat fryer burbles away contendedly in the background. Instead there’s a quiet hustle bustle of clean kitchen whites.
What are they doing, I wonder, as I take my pick of oh-every-single-table-in-the-place. Because there’re no customers on this dead Tuesday before payday.
I scan the menu anyway. Frankly? Curious, breezy, light little offerings. Though post-Ottolenghi ambitious is my first scary thought. You’ve been in that movie: pretentious Middle Eastern pomegranate and damask executed by cabbage-fisted enthusiasts in the dank, dark north. This is going to go very, very, very wrong, I’m thinking, if that kitchen’s as cold and off the pace as the rest of the place feels.
A surprisingly brief moment later, it's boom, bish, bosh. Crikey, those are fresh mint leaves. Handfuls of them. Something I’ve not seen in a Scottish restaurant this summer despite the stuff growing like a weed. Courgettes too. Ditto. Falling off the plants in our country right now. Fresh peas, quinoa, a crunchy, almondy, parmesan crumby thing pulling the whole beautiful, ribboned-like-pasta dish together. It’s fabulous. I eat every single scrap of it. And consider this: if I get up and walk out right now that’s actually 10/10. It was only four quid as well.
But d’uh, to spread the risk I ordered half a dozen things – thereby not only catching the waiter off guard but leaving me wondering how he was going to remember it all – without a notebook that is.
The answer arrives shortly. I asked for potato, paneer and spinach curry: I get…coconut pannise, eggplant, romesco and pickled cauliflower. To be fair my wife says I’m a terrible mumbler. To be even fairer those puffy little French fried chickpea squares are light and coconutty, the whole thing zingy, fresh and summery. The pickled cauliflower? Boom. And still there’s chilli octopus with puffed rice to come.
In a moment of further comedy gold a couple of earnest foreign tourists have walked in and the man is pointing enthusiastically at the Tennents pump saying: this is your local beer, isn’t it? A giant speech bubble with "umm" in it hangs in the air.
I wish you could see the octopus. A long, charred, bubbled tentacle, as tender as chicken, zinging with chilli, radish, grapefruit, puffed rice, leaves and a dark, deliciously savoury smear of something seductive that tastes like a cross between zaatar and Dijon mustard. This too is a 10.
Even the guaranteed car crash dish: fried potatoes with chilli mayo isn’t the watery, tasteless, new spuds effort I expect, but crispy, brown, tasty and I think made with Belle De Fontenay spuds.
I ordered a chicken sandwich as a fall back. Gotta eat if it all goes wrong. No need to touch it. The rest is that good.
Five March
140 Elderslie Street
Glasgow
0141 573 1400
Menu: Zingy, refreshing, bright and breezy. Stuffed with Scottish seasonal produce including that superb mint and courgette salad with parmesan crumble. Small plates mainly. 5/5
Decor: Long, low and gloomy barn of a place which on a quiet Tuesday night before payday has almost zero atmosphere – but seriously don’t let that put you off. 2/5
Price: The salad that was big enough for a main was £4, the octopus which just squeezed into main course size was £9. Good value. 4/5
Service: Hard work with a grumpy customer on a quiet night, but the staff were relentlessly cheery and helpful. 4/5
Food: Two out of the three dishes were outstanding, and the octopus was probably the star of the show. They do chicken burgers, steaks and lamb too. 9/10
24/30
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