I wanted to visit this buzzy Scottish restaurant for seven years, and I've made it at last
It’s better late than never, when it comes to this place
I didn’t realise that watching a chef slicing kumquats could be so relaxing.
However, here we are, seated on the swivel bar chairs that line the open kitchen at Glasgow destination Brett, which has just had a makeover.
It’s peak lunchtime, yet the brigade of about six seems very zen. There’s a chef with a “be free” tattoo, and they all have biros slotted in the pockets of their whites.
Various coloured sauces are in squeezy bottles, a pale slab of monkfish sizzles on the grill and there is a tray of crispy seaweed rosettes. It’s all ticking along nicely.
I sink a little deeper in my seat. At last, I have docked. It’s only taken me seven years to visit this double-level Michelin-recommended destination, which opened in 2019. It always felt like life, including the little matter of lockdown, was conspiring against a trip. We are going to savour this, I think.
While doing three courses (£59) from the a la carte, we probably wouldn’t usually bother with the additional “snacks” list.
However, how can you say refuse their highly sophisticated chicken wing (£9)? It's a pterodactyl-sized limb that’s been varnished with a sweet elderflower emulsion and stuffed with chicken mousse and their own hearty haggis. My lanky husband had been stooping when we journeyed to Kelvinbridge Underground Station, thanks to the Lilliputian new clockwork orange trains, and this made him spring up to full height, like a freshly watered daffodil.
The burly saltyiness of this dish was great with my smoked olive oil martini (£12), which had fragrant singed rosemary balanced on the rim of the glass.
Snack two - a tempura scallop (£10) was an interesting one. There was a large dollop of tartare on a shell, then a metal skewer that impaled a halved bivalve, a little Monopoly house-sized cube of crispy potato fondant and the other scallop segment. Fish and chips, but really fancy.
These came after a portion of sourdough, with a chicken butter that was like a Willy Wonka-esque distillation of a roast dinner.
For starters, he went for the sand carrot. It was like an immune-boosting smoothie in solid form. There were lots of zingy flavours, from ingredients including the preserved kumquat slices that were neatly placed along the length of the carrot, like buckles on a Manolo Blahnik boot. Also, from the punchy ginger addition, and the crispy kale that was sprinkled with salt and vinegar seasoning. There was sweetness from the carrot, and Sauternes, and a medicinal buzz from saffron. I don’t think I’ve ever had anything quite like it. This dish could be served at Bugs Bunny’s knighthood.
My razor clam starter was beautiful too. As well as the billed ingredient, there were little pipes of squid, delicate Wye Valley asparagus tips, and a lemongrass and sorrel sauce, plus glossy blobs of black garlic emulsion that resembled Tahitian pearls.
I continued in the springtime theme, with the lamb saddle main. I especially loved the nibbly caramelised bits of lamb breast, and there was a cavolo nero puree, as well as these crisped-up leaves, an anchovy breadcrumb, and a piquant green tomato salsa. So many deep and intense feral flavours.
He had the equally intriguing monkfish tail, with various textures of Jerusalem artichoke, including toasted stubs and frilly-edged ruffs that looked like pencil sharpenings. The creamy brown butter sauce was rich, and dotted with bubbles of orange trout roe.
Sometimes, when you have an amazing meal, skipping dessert is like missing the last 15 minutes of an excellent film. I was stuffed, but I needed to see what happened next.
I’m glad I saw lunch through to the burnt honey and cardamom ice-cream, which had a dulce-de-leche lushness. However, the truly luxuriant twist was that it was topped with a large 5g quenelle of King’s Imperial caviar. It doesn’t get more sexy than that. This is how they do things in Glasgow.
While I licked the back of my spoon, he was concentrating on a Yorkshire rhubarb pud that featured a creme fraiche mousse, along with flakey wafers of crispy milk skin and a pulled toffee version, all served in a pastel blue bowl.
We were a very happy pair, and we did not take our visit for granted.
I folded my husband back up, so he could fit back onto the underground, and we left this restaurant with a lot of reluctance.
Let’s hope life doesn’t conspire against another visit. Make it soon.
321 Great Western Road, Glasgow (0141-406 0284, www.brettrestaurant.co.uk)
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