Restaurant review: Ottolenghi's first restaurant in Scotland
When an acclaimed chef opens their first restaurant in Scotland, people have questions.
Will they ‘put a kilt on it’ – or will they stay true to their usp, with a respectful nod to the country’s produce and culinary traditions?
As Ottolenghi was one of my favourite places to eat when I lived in London, I was interested to see how it would land over the border.
The first time I ate there, it felt like I’d been eating in black and white all my life and was now eating in colour for the first time.
For younger readers, this is a reference to the massive improvement to TV viewing in the 1970s. It was a very exciting development at the time, perhaps on a par with the emergence of AI today (although it did not pose a threat to humanity, if I remember rightly).
Ottolenghi opened in Edinburgh, in October, at the Charlotte Square end of George Street – and it’s easy to spot – an injection of light and colour, complementing the historic and sombre New Town greyness.
Stepping in, first impressions are of a bright and airy room that stretches far to the back. There’s a big table right at the front – perfect for watching the world go by. We were happy to be seated on a banquette to the side, though, as we were there to focus on the food rather than the footfall.
A comfortable seat in a restaurant is high on my priority list, so this got things off to a great start, as did the warm welcome from front of house. The friendly, smiley and attentive team continued the upward trajectory – as did the dishes they brought to the table.
The term ‘flavour bomb’ is a cliché, but like many clichés, it rings true. We started with a sharing platter that delivered one exquisite taste after another. I’m listing them all, to relive the experience: roasted peperonata with pine-nut crumble; miso butter-bean mash, Kalamata olive preserve and dill; fasolakia beans, gochujang and feta cream; cucumber achar with curry-leaf mustard; burnt aubergine with ginger, spring onion and sesame; beetroot with cherry and sour cream; and flatbread with black-garlic butter.
Before ordering, my dining companion had tried to convince me we needed a platter each, which I declined. But I started to think he might have been right – and not because there wasn’t enough. There was ‘plenty’, as Yotam Ottolenghi himself might say, but I just didn’t want it to come to an end.
My dining companion is usually a vegetable dodger, but the aubergine changed his mind, to the extent that he had an extra portion: “I didn’t know they could taste this good,” he exclaimed. The beetroot moved quickly towards his side of the table too, and stayed there, to my surprise.
The restaurant is described as ‘vegetable-forward’, and vegans and vegetarians are well catered for, but carnivores and pescatarians are no afterthought. Tempting versions of chicken, beef, langoustines and mussels all feature on the menu too.
My partner, a dedicated meat eater, was shocked into a happy silence, bordering on reverence, when his main course, of lamb chops with burnt butter, cumin salt, grated tomato and labneh arrived. And it’s just as well he was hungry, because these are extremely generous portions.
I had megrim sole with fenugreek butter, pistachio and barberries, which was almost too pretty to eat, but melted in the mouth. We added a side, of potato wedges with herb salt and sour cream: perhaps we should have ordered two, as the dish was pulled back and forth across the table.
The wines were the perfect accompaniment. We each had a glass of the Trebbiano, which glowed golden in the October sunshine. My partner also had a glass of the Czech Merlot – I had a sip to try it, and it tasted like chilled chocolate cherries.
I knew from the start that I was going to prioritise the savoury over the sweet, so I couldn’t manage a dessert, although I was tempted by the intriguingly named foxy miso clotted-cream fudge. Another time.
My dining companion went for the cranachan, which the restaurant adds its own twist to, resulting in a confection of burnt honey cream, filo wafer, raspberries and whisky cream. This presented the only downside to our lunch: I learned that it was better than my own version, which I make every January. I will have to up my game, considerably.
There were other Scottish inclusions on the menu, such as the seafood, crowdie and potato scones, as well as well-fired rolls at breakfast time, and we spotted a local whisky on the cocktail list. But the ‘tartan’, while present, was an undertone, rather than a blast in the form of haggis and the like. You can find that elsewhere, when you want it. It wouldn’t have worked here.
The kitchen is headed up by Neil Campbell, from Skye, who began cooking while still a teenager, inspired by Scotland’s world-renowned local produce and his fisherman father. His early career took him to Australia, then through Michelin-starred kitchens in Scotland, before he joined Ottolenghi in London, where he became executive head chef. His approach is described as ‘creative, sustainable and flavour-driven’. We can only agree.
Ottolenghi is open from 8am for breakfast, with lunch served from noon till 3pm (till 5pm on Friday, Saturday and Sunday) and dinner from 5pm-10.30pm (10pm on Sundays). There’s also a private dining room if you’d like to celebrate an occasion here. A selection of Ottolenghi pantry favourites, books and gifts is available to buy too.
The final verdict on our lunch will come as no surprise: it was as good as I remembered, if not better. This is not just cooking: it’s alchemy.
The editor and her companion were guests of Ottolenghi
Photography: Edinburgh Business and Lifestyle
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