I tried the buzzy new Edinburgh luxury hotel restaurant that's got everyone talking
You’ll find this restaurant in the capital’s west end
If I had fifty quid for every time someone had asked me if I’d tried The Hoxton’s restaurant yet, I’d be able to get a room.
Give me a chance, I tell people, this four-star hotel has only been open for two months.
Anyway, not visiting was giving me Oasis-at-Murrayfield levels of FOMO.
At last, we booked in for a Sunday lunch, and got the tram to Haymarket Station. It’s been a while since I was in this vicinity, and it’s odd how much my old stomping ground has changed in a short period of time.
Grosvenor Street used to be the home of some rather middle of the road hotels, in contrastingly grand Georgian buildings. Now the street is monopolised by this 214-room place, from Ennismore - the people behind Gleneagles in Perthshire and Gleneagles Townhouse on St Andrew’s Square.
I’d say The Hoxton’s branding is slightly younger than their Edinburgh sister.
Their main restaurant is Patatino - the Scottish-Italian trattoria, named after the Italian word for ‘little potato’. It’s on the ground floor and along a corridor past a few glossy cheeseplants, as well as a stylish and bustling residents’ lounge. (Or maybe we went in the wrong door).
Prepare for a visual overload, when you make it to the restaurant, which is inspired by sunny Sorrento and Amalfi.
It has an open kitchen, with loud decor that looks like it’s been designed by a crack squad of clashing pattern lovers - say Versace, in collaboration with the merchandising team from Anthropologie. There are walls covered in the best pieces of crockery, like it’s a glamorous Nonna’s house, and a plastic jungle’s worth of faux flowers.
In common with Gleneagles, the staff are patient, and so enthusiastic. I don’t know how they stay so upbeat, this far into the Edinburgh Festival, but it’s an impressive feat of endurance.
Our waiter asked if we wanted anything from the Nibbles list to start, but we had to pass. How are you still supposed to have room for lunch, after deep-fried spaghetti squares (£8) or slow-cooked brisket arancini (£9)?
Still, we did say aye to a cocktail, and not purely because this baby pink take on an Amaretto sour had the excellent moniker of Solemn Pomace (£13). It’s funny, because that’s my pet name for my husband.
For starters, we chose the Caesar salad (£11) and the beef carpaccio (£18).
Both were great. The salad wasn't really a salad at all, but a whole baby gem that had been luxuriously anointed, like the wealthiest Egyptian pharaoh, Lettucekhamun, with cured yolk, whole anchovies and a flurry of Parmesan. It was a lovely combo, and what a way for a bit of shrubbery to go. Lettuce pray.
Their beef carpaccio was a bit more interesting than the average version, too. There were feathery and velvety petals of pink meat fanned onto a creamy emulsion of Parmesan and balsamic, with a handful of rocket on top.
Great start. For mains, they’ve kept the concept simple. There’s pizza, pasta, or a smattering of meaty dishes, like whole sea bass or steak.
We shared a couple of things, including the taglioni (£23), which was a little cold, and could have come with a bit more of the billed Amalfi lemon. However, the custard-coloured threads of pasta had a satisfyingly firm bite, and were clad in a rich shellfish bisque, with a large scoop of sweet and shredded Eyemouth crab on top.
We also tried one of their pizzas - the haggis and nduja (£18), which seemed like a rather nice Scottish Italian partnership. We were given a heat warning, when it came to this option, as it also featured hot honey and Jalapeno. I was preparing to sweat, but this was easy - Portobello Beach in August, rather than Sardinian sands.
It had a charred and billowy sourdough base, and there was plenty of mozzarella, with a judicious amount of the other toppings.
We also had an unnecessary but pleasant side dish of charred tenderstem broccoli with toasted almonds (£6.50).
For pudding, the tableside tiramisu sounded a bit theatrical and crepe Suzette-esque. However, it turned out that they just scoop a big dollop out and plop it in your bowl, while you observe. I’d worry that I’d make a sad face if it wasn’t big enough, like when you buy a cake in a bakery, they choose the runt and your eyes fill with tears.
Instead, we went for the roasted panettone (£8), which turned out to be a take on bread and butter pudding, with a syrupy soaked slab of this Italian bread. It came with rum and raisin ice-cream and a heap of sandy biscuity crumbs.
Well, I’m glad that I can say that I’ve officially made it to The Hoxton’s restaurant.
No more FOMO for this little potato and my solemn pomace sidekick.
5-21 Grosvenor Street, Edinburgh, www.thehoxton.com
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