THE BILLDinner for two, £45.40, excluding drinks
TRADITION dictates that when a professional footballer retires, he sets himself up as landlord at an appropriately located pub. Then, 12 months later, the bailiffs arrive.
B
ut Kenny Deuchar is no ordinary footballer. He was a prolific goalscorer in Scotland, and earlier this year his talents earned him a move from ill-fated Premier League side Gretna to Real Salt Lake in the United States, where he goes head-to-head with David Beckham in Major League Soccer.
At the age of 28, he doesn't have to worry about a career beyond the game when the body becomes less willing than the mind, because unusually for a professional footballer, he's also a doctor. When his two worlds collide in the media, there is inevitability about the outcome: he becomes "Dr Goals" or "The Good Doctor".
Now Dr Deuchar has branched out into a third field by entering the restaurant trade. Two years ago, Kenny and his father Robert, also a doctor, teamed up with next-door neighbours Malcolm and Josephine Binnie to set up Townhouse Restaurants and open the Wheelhouse at the Falkirk Wheel. In April this year they opened a second establishment, ten miles up the Forth and Clyde canal at Auchinstarry Marina.
In fact, more walkers and cyclists call into the restaurant at Auchinstarry than boat users. The canal location's main appeal is that it is picturesque, with the marina set against the backdrop of the Campsie Fells. Sitting on the wooden decking balcony with a glass of wine on a sun-kissed summer's evening is hard to beat. The owners of moored luxury yachts set up barbecues on deck, while barges drift to and fro. Otis Redding comes to mind. OK, I know, I need to get out more.
The location is the key to the Boathouse's fortunes. Positioned between Kilsyth and Croy, the restaurant (and hotel – it has ten bedrooms) serves a sizeable local population and has barely any competition.
Enough of the exterior. As a new-build venture, it has a modern interior to match, and its design would not look out of place at a city centre venue. Which makes the visitor begin to think: buying the land, building from scratch, and then fitting out the premises to such a high specification must represent quite an investment. Is the cost of the venture reflected in the prices on the menu?
At first glance, the answer appears to be: yes. The dishes marked "large plates" ie main courses started at £8.25 and went up to £13.25, with steaks priced at £17.95 and £18.95. The word on the street was that the Boathouse is pricey, and might have placed itself out of reach of the market it was aiming for. The evidence, however, was to the contrary. At lunchtime, we tried to book a table for two for dinner that evening, and struggled to get in. The Binnies – who run the business – were named licensees of the year recently by trade magazine Dram, and we were beginning to find out why.
Upon our arrival, we were welcomed with a smile from a busy member of staff. We knew straight away that our custom was valued and, sure enough, service was excellent all night. Shame about the Eighties soundtrack, but you can't please everybody.
The menu is modern, fresh and well-balanced, with an emphasis on Scottish produce where appropriate. Aimed firmly at the middle market, there are dependables for some and a taste of adventure for others, with enough imagination to spring a surprise and – food snobs look away now – without a hint of pretension.
I started with roasted mushroom covered in a Dunsyre blue and pepper sauce, rocket salad and toasted garlic bocatta (£4.95). The strong flavour of the blue cheese carried the dish for me. My partner ordered seared scallops on Stornoway black pudding, chorizo and sun-dried tomato salsa (£6.45), and even as a meat abstainer I couldn't help but be impressed. Apparently, it tasted as good as it looked, the scallops cooked beautifully, the smoky salsa well flavoured, and the Stornoway black pudding worthy of its reputation as the best in the land.
I had grilled sea bass as a main, with mixed bean cassoulet, olives and rustic bread (£13.25). Again the cooking and presentation could not be faulted, and the cassoulet was an unusual but refreshing accompaniment to the delicately flavoured fish. Over on the devil-may-care carnivore's side of the table, the Creole chicken with jambalaya and Cajun cream sauce (£10.45) was well received. The chicken was beautifully griddled, while the sauce and rice dish were both soft in flavour yet still robust. It did, however, lack a bit of a kick. And all washed down with a Crowded House sauvignon blanc (£19.95).
Was there room for more? As ever, I thought so, and as ever, I was wrong. The caramel cheesecake (£4.65) came recommended, and I found out why. It was too good to waste, when I really knew there was no need to finish it. My partner's selection of Scottish cheeses with fig chutney and oatcakes (£5.65) was another hit – a vague description such as "selection" on the menu can invite disappointment, but not here.
We wandered off into the warm night, crossing the canal bridge and blethering nonsense about how we'd just love to take a barge holiday. Whatever our troubles, life felt good after such a satisfying meal. Just what The Good Doctor ordered, in fact.
The full article contains 942 words and appears in The Scotsman newspaper.
