THE HALIBUT IS the largest of all flat fish. When born, the eyes are on both sides of its head, and it swims like a salmon. After about six months one eye will migrate to the other side of its head, making it look more like a flounder.
No wonder this piscine species looks so confused, thought my sister Louisa and I, as we read this fact from a selection painted over an entire wall of new seafood eatery Cafe Fish. Mind you, our peepers were also doing strange things – growing to the
size of dinner plates as we perused the tempting offerings on the menu.
The cullen skink had initially tickled our fancy. However, I figured that squid might be more appropriate for a summer day and junior felt similarly about the Lochalsh scallops (there's a £3 supplement).
Once the nervous-looking waiter had come over and taken our orders, the starving Soutars were presented with slices of white baguette and a pot of spread. I'd call it butter, but it was actually more like Stork margarine and wasn't redeemed by the accompanying hunks of stale bread.
Not a good start. However, at least the entrées, which had arrived speedily, looked more appealing.
My choice consisted of battered, fried golden hoops which were lightly crunchy and, thankfully, didn't have the texture you often get of bicycle inner-tubes. My only criticism was that the pile of rocket and wedge of lemon on the side were unimaginative. In fact, the generous portion was crying out for a little side dish of aioli – as it was, I ended up pitching half the rings onto my sister's plate.
Not that she didn't have enough to contend with, as her course featured three squat, pearly hued scallops – each of which was modelling a Stephen Jones-esque hat constructed from magenta cubes of what they'd described as "sour onion" (which tasted just like the caramelised red variety). Beneath each was a warm blanket of smooth pomme purée blended with celeriac and dotted with fennel seeds.
After this winning entrée, my sister had high expectations for a main of fried monkfish, while I decided to opt for the spiced mackerel fillet. I'm not sure what junior expected when she ordered this course. However, another of the snippets that was painted onto the wall should have provided a vital clue: "During the Seventies, monkfish was sold as 'mock scampi'."
What was delivered to Louisa wasn't dissimilar to these retro nuggets, as it featured meaty pieces of fish encased in a light batter. Unfortunately, a ruthless preparation in the frying pan had stripped any moisture out of the meat, so it was practically wicking the juice from the accompanying tomato and lemongrass salsa. The side order of chips wasn't much cop either, as they were as anaemic and cold as a dead man's fingers.
This made it all the more surprising that my sides of sesame-sprinkled mangetout and garlicky sautéed potatoes, the latter blended with yummy blackened scratchings from the bottom of the pan, really hit the spot. And they were merely the understudies to a fat fillet of mackerel slicked with a rustic Provençal-style sauce.
Like a hungry heron, I quickly dispatched this course. However, since everything that we'd eaten so far had felt very light and bistro-esque, I was still desperate to get my beak around a pudding. In fact, the chocolate tart already had my name on it and my sister felt similarly about the cheese plate (£2 supplement).
Mind you, we were slightly irked that the coffees, which we'd asked to come after our meal, arrived way before our puddings.
"That's my pet peeve," said Louisa, draining the last of her cup.
My dessert hopes were low anyway as, in my experience, restaurants that specialise in seafood tend to lose their focus when it comes to sweets. So, what a surprise when my pudding blew the fish courses out of the water. It was heavenly, and gave me flashbacks to a calibre of gateau that I'd once eaten at the, now sadly defunct, Royal Mile branch of Plaisir du Chocolat. The dense and glossy ganache was rich and scrumptious, with a salty pastry that had a brittle texture.
My wee sister was just as happy with her selection of stilton, Mull cheddar and, most notably, a gooey wedge of brie – all of which came alongside a little stack of oatcakes and a pot of cinnamon-scented chutney.
This was a delicious end to a meal that had been as up and down as a trawler on the choppy North Sea. In their defence, however, Cafe Fish had only been open for three days when we visited and, earlier on, we'd overheard the chef prepping the waiting staff for their busiest night to date. Certainly, the majority of the individual ingredients that we'd eaten (bar the chips, butter and bread) had been good and the interior, with its white walls and industrial lighting rigs, is rather smart. It's just that, perhaps, like the boggle-eyed halibut, the smaller details need to be tweaked in order to fit in with the bigger picture.
Cafe Fish60 Henderson Street, Edinburgh
(0131-538 6131,
www.cafefish.net)
THE Bill Dinner for two, £51, (£23 for three courses), excluding drinks
