IF THE CHEF James Stocks were chocolate, he'd eat himself. That was my impression when I interviewed this 25-year-old "protégé of Marco Pierre White" a few months ago. While he treated me to a Hell's Kitchen-style experience (which included the grue
some task of decapitating a box of still-thrashing langoustines), he bragged about his new job as head chef at The Orangery at Balbirnie House in Fife, his forthcoming cookbook, his role as star of an upcoming Channel 4 series, plus the other exciting projects he had in the pipeline – not to mention the fact that he was pals with Madonna and Victoria Beckham.
At the time, I thought it all seemed a bit too good to be true – and it was. You see, naughty Stocks left The Orangery, and most of his projects were shelved (as was my interview), after it was discovered he'd embellished his CV. Rather a lot. He hadn't been sous chef at the Michelin-starred Le Gavroche, or head chef at L'Orangerie in Paris, as his resume had claimed. To make matters even worse, celebrity chef Marco Pierre White claimed he didn't even know who Stocks was.
At the centre of this increasingly tangled web, though, is the fact that he's a great cook – my meal at The Orangery was one of the best I've ever had. So it came as a pleasant surprise to discover he was setting up his own restaurant in the old Shaw's Bistro venue, in the heart of Edinburgh's Old Town. On approach, it was instantly clear he's still full of it – the giant James Stocks placard (alongside the Wild Sorrel sign) is testament to that.
On a Saturday lunchtime, my partner Rolf, my sister Louisa and I were the only covers. "We're going to be packed tonight, we've got a huge party coming in," insisted David, the chatty maitre d', as he took our coats.
Once we were seated, we quickly made our entrée choices – crab ravioli (£9, or have it as part of the three-course £16 lunch menu) for Rolf, and pigeon (£8) for me, while junior decided to save herself for the pork main (£16).
Before these arrived, David brought us individual plates of amuses-bouche. We were instructed to eat these in a certain order, so we began with the spoonful of sea bream under a cloud of rhubarb foam, followed this with a doll's house-sized macaroon flavoured with horseradish and, penultimately, a melting blue cheese gougère. All three were tantalising. The final experimental taster – bacon snow – was less successful. It tasted like the scrapings from the bottom of a grill pan.
"Some people love it, others don't," David explained.
On to our starters, and my beautifully pink pigeon breast was bathed in a dark and sticky orange treacle sauce, with the genius addition of little squares of watermelon and feta cheese around the edge of the plate.
Rolf was equally pleased with his light starter, which featured a plump, soft ravioli under a milky white foam and with a drizzle of dreamy star anise sauce – a breezy day at the seaside in culinary form.
While we munched away contentedly, Louisa was a little too ready to pick at our starters – so we were relieved when her main arrived. This featured, essentially, the anatomical breakdown of a piggy, arranged on a rectangular piece of slate. There was a succulent cube of pork belly, a chunk of black pudding, what looked like a braised piece of cheek and (we're guessing) a nugget of trotter and a solo sweetbread. Anyway, the whole shebang tasted glorious and was set off by a single "black truffle marshmallow", which sat on a separate dish.
"Intriguing," was Louisa's verdict.
For our mains, Rolf and I both fancied the duck (£17), despite the fact that our stomachs were already four-fifths stuffed after our rich entrées. Our canard breasts, which were served atop slicks of potato purée, each came with a buttery goose liver, plus a choux pastry containing an Earl Grey-scented concoction. The unusual flavours of the dish were challenging, but rather wonderful.
Despite the fact that I could feel gout setting in, for afters I went for the chocolate dessert (£7) to share with Louisa, while Rolf chose the gingerbread mousse (£7). As Hugo Artinian, the French pastry chef, has left The Orangery to work with Stocks at Wild Sorrel, we had high hopes for the puds. And they didn't disappoint.
Rolf's choice was an archetypal autumnal dessert. It featured a spicy ginger and pear cream in a tall glass, and was accompanied by a salted caramel ice-cream.
When it came to our choice – well, before I could say Willy Wonka, my sister had popped a little chocolate-filled sugared doughnut into her mouth. Then we shared the cylindrical chocolate snap filled with mousse, and duelled spoons over a raspberry pavé, before shattering a whirl of solid chocolate flecked with gold leaf. Yum.
So, my verdict is this: if you can forgive Stocks his earlier giant fibs, make a date to visit Wild Sorrel.
My only complaint, in fact, is that they really need to rethink the interior design – and soon. The cookbooks scattered around the place (open to the flyleaf, with messages to Stocks from Michel Roux et al), along with the pictures on the walls (images from his shelved cookbook, Hot Under the Collar) make the venue look like a rather tasteless vanity project. Since we're fans of his cooking, we don't want to entertain the idea that pride might come before a fall – again.
