The River Restaurant

Well, the debate rages on. Is fine dining dead in Manchester? For Gordo, the answer is as difficult to grasp as Southern Cemetery mist, but a little less interesting. Gordo has sat in front of a computer screen for fifty minutes and having written 1200 words he finds he has deleted 1170 of them. With a story deadline looming, he is, unusually, stuck. He wants to change the subject. But since this is a review of The River Restaurant at The Lowry, which is capable of scoring at the very high end of the region’s restaurants, he feels he must put some kind of stake in the ground. Or steak on a plate.

Fine dining. Hmm. The Mirabelle, Mayfair. 1979. Gordo, aged 23, took his Uncle, Alfie Alexander, and a couple of very aristocratic ladies for dinner. White cloths, armchairs at the table, silver service. Lobster for four people, with a choice of sauce antiboise, Andalous, tartare or vincent.

Gordo’s guest, Cat, was motoring through a ceviche of scallop (£12.50): a dish fit for Marie Antoinette on a hot day at Versailles

A Chateau Briand to die for, the ladies on huge Dover soles. They slouched over their plates even after they had been boned by an immaculate waiter in a white tie. The mâitre d’ preparing the crêpes suzette by the table. A wine waiter so in command that he helped himself to a small glass of each bottle ordered by Gordo without asking, including a 1953 Chateau Mouton Rothschild and a 1942 Chateau d’Yquem, which had a stamp across the label declaring it to be ‘Reserved for the Wehrmarcht’.

It was the custom, how else could he tell the next client how the wine was drinking? A lady who lighted your big fat Monte Cristo Number 2 cigar by dabbing it into a flame on the end of a twelve inch, very thick match for two, for maybe three minutes and handing it to you perfectly lit.

The bill? £829. For four. Twenty seven years ago.

Now that, dear readers, is, was, fine dining. Yes we don’t have it any more in Manchester. Gordo isn’t too sure we ever did. Even at the French. So let’s drop the bloody subject and have a look at a high-end dining experience.

The River Restaurant at The Lowry.

Gordo likes the setting, for some it’s impersonal. It sure is quality, whatever tickles your architectural fancy. With a view down a river that was once the most polluted in Europe, now a habitat for swans, this is one of the best locations in Manchester. Ok, Salford. The staff are well known to Gordo, Marc Whitley the manager a remarkable man, in the towns top three with a brigade behind him who know their stuff and don’t mess about. A mistake pouring the red wine was instantly forgiven.

Two starters. First, seared foie gras, pineapple carpaccio and spiced port syrup (£12.50). Top three starters in the last year or so this, a tad behind Ramsey’s when Gordo was last at Claridges, but way above anything the North West has to show so far. Pretty thick slice, pan fried deftly so we have a caramelised outside, made crunchy with a little sea salt, the pineapple cutting the hyper rich interior whilst the port sauce danced around the two main ingredients giving them a little tickle just in the right places. Grand stuff. Gordo’s guest, Cat, was motoring through a ceviche of scallop with apple, watermelon and cider dressing (£12.50) which was a dish fit for Marie Antoinette on a hot day at Versailles. Girls, you will love it. Sorry to be sexist but it really was the most delightfully feminine of dishes.

Before this we were treated, by the way, to cold cucumber soup which arrived with a sliver of toasted bread, two steps up from melba toast and tastier, with smoked salmon, sour cream and caviar. Next time Gordo has this he will try a very cold, very good vodka with it.

Mains were rack of salt marsh lamb, pine nut raisin crust and minted pea puree (£22.50) for Gordo and Roast pork cutlet, celeriac and apple puree with a cider jus (£18.50) for Cat. Eyck Zimmer, the fantastic Ossi (East German) chef obsesses with ingredients. It shows with the meats, they are of such quality they sing: cooked on the underdone side, the pork is succulent and tastes lovely and piggy, chestnuts and acorns showing through. Gordo has been off lamb this year but Eyck’s salt marsh has changed his mind. Maybe time for a rack off the shelves in M&S. Both plates have well chosen accompaniments with them, the pea puree for the lamb standing up off the plate and slapping Gordo across his chubby cheeks. Have a look at the photos, they speak for themselves.

Why then Marc, do your staff wonder if ‘Sir’ would like any sides with these? Are Eyck’s dishes delivered short of the necessary bits and pieces? Gordo thinks not, as well as thinking that a further £3.50 for sautéed spinach or half a potato formed into (very good mind) fat chips is a tad dear. Reader, do not waste your money, these are well balanced and definitely not mean platefuls. Let’s start a protest at ‘sides’ by leaving them alone.

Puddings don’t let the side down, Cat’s retro Manchester tart was an improvement on Grosvenor Road primary in Salford. The Earl Grey scented crème brûlée with Eccles cakes was top of the class, the Earl Grey foam on top of the brûlée wasn’t just for show. The Eccles cakes might be superfluous and not quite juicy enough. Puddings are all priced at £7.50.

Petits four were eaten with coffee, Gordo can’t remember how much these were.

This is as high end dining, as far from the ‘cook by numbers’ of the high street medium range restaurants as you can get. The silver service is gone along with white ties on waiters and cooking at the table, but let Gordo tell you dear reader, this meal was every bit as enjoyable as The Mirabelle nearly thirty years ago, in fact the ingredients were probably better.

Just one thing: turn those lights down a bit Marc, the ladies like it soft.