Nosh Night In


HEY, if you’re the person who emailed me a recommendation to try Nosh Night In and you’re reading this, thank you. I’d have done this by email except I can’t find your original message.

Nor, not very funnily-enough, could I find the message ordering the food. On Friday, as hunger floated through our house like the ghost of restaurants past, I couldn’t even find the online menu, the order receipt, the delivery time or remember the actual name of who I had ordered from. Not a clue either about what kind of food was (fingers-crossed) on its way. Or whether coming hot or cold.

This vagueness seemed to irritate my family almost as much as transferring money to a stranger who wasn’t apparently a recognised mainstream business annoyed my bank. Scam warning, the bank shouted gleefully. It will never arrive, it gloated. You’re on your own now, it ultimately crowed. Pfff. As if you are ever anything else with a bank.

This all did, nonetheless, highlight the strange new world we live in – where transferring dosh for nosh to complete strangers, hoping they’ll turn up whilst having no clue as to the quality of said food, is becoming the norm. And all because upmarket restaurants are either still locked-down or all ordered-up or run annoying website systems demanding log-ins at pre-ordained times (9am on a Sunday say) which then generate immediate sold-out signs.

Nosh Night In? We’ve gone a bit Terra Incognita here, wandered off the usual culinary map. In fact the missing email mystery will be solved only days letter when I realise I actually did order the whole thing by email. But the woman used her personal email, which confused me.

And, yes, the food arrives. On time. Though as I’m not actually at home then it falls upon my son to report on a very nice lady who waited at a distance while he unpacked it all in the kitchen and then returned her tray. Timing won't matter anyway. It just requires to be gently heated. And then there are nice, warm, cheery instructions.

And those wrappings – portending a sense of quality, injecting a mood of anticipation. Lush brown paper abounding, quality corrugated cardboard cartons here, there and everywhere while grease-proof squares unfold like crisp handkerchiefs to release aromas and textures and finally elicit a collective ooh – as freshly-made puff ball meringues sparkling with crimson jus start their transformation into tonight’s Eton Mess. And a box of handmade tablet too.

Can you feel the relief coursing through me?

So it’s already one of those meals where we set the table properly, lay out the nice place mats, and even use that china found online that restores to full bifter the wedding present we got many moons ago from the Evening Times reporters.

But what about the food? Classy, really. Pretty elegant. A fennel and orange salad; lay out juicy orange slices, sprinkle with fine-sliced yet crunchy fennel, then toss on hazelnuts, pour orange-miso dressing and adorn with very fresh leaves of watercress.

After that? Chicken breasts are wrapped in prosciutto and sage leaves, served with slightly seared and still buttery new potatoes flavoured themselves with thyme and rocksalt – plus there are courgettes roasted with a crust of parmesan.

It’s deftly, and very professionally prepared stuff this. And I suddenly look like a genius for ordering it.

We’ve still to eat those crunchy, gooey meringues with fresh strawberries and fresh raspberries from one of the tubs, whipped cream and a sharp proper raspberry sauce from another. And the tablet is yet to be fought over. Which it will be.

We’re talking about very generous portions in every course. Four meringues for two people, plates more than adequately filled, not to mention the cost of that expensive packaging.

This is the probably the best value meal we have had since the lockdown started. If this is the future of eating out whilst still being in: it’s looking very good.

Menu: Strictly three-course set menu of fennel and orange salad, chicken saltimbocca with marsala sauce, baby roasts and thyme and, to finish, handmade meringues as part of an Eton mess kit.

Price: It’s £25 per person or £45 for two and that includes free delivery in Glasgow – small extra charge outwith the boundaries.

Food: Despite being a home-delivery the whole meal sparkled with class and a touch of glamour. The food was prepared to a very high standard – there’s something good happening in lockdown catering.

Nosh Night In


07984 925333