Chelsea Market

1146 Argyle St, Glasgow

0141 339 6909

Lunch/Dinner: £22-£45

Food rating: 9/10

GLASGOW is on a roll at the moment. I think back to 2013, when the restaurant scene there was near stagnation. Then 2014 put a spring in its step, and 2015 showed that positive trends were no blip. The year 2016 just kept getting better, what with the opening of Dakota Deluxe, Halloumi, Iberica, the amazing Alchemilla, and promising Spanish Butcher. And just at the tail-end of the year, in sneaks Chelsea Market, which I instantly add to my list of good places to eat in 2017. I checked it out while the Christmas trees were still up. The food was great. Had it not been for one slip-up, I’d give it top marks, and the eating environment only adds to its appeal.

One of the reasons I devote far more words to food than decor is that mostly there’s nothing outstanding about the latter, but whoever kitted out Chelsea Market did a smart job. Nothing flashy or in your face, yet there’s something about the interior and atmosphere here, a “sweet spot” mix of lighting, furniture, sound and space that put me in a very good mood as soon as I walked in. Sweeping floor-to-ceiling windows; herringbone wood-clad ceiling; illuminated warm bricks behind glass that create a window effect; a comfortable level of warmth; well-chosen music that’s audible, but not too loud. Words can’t convey it, but the net effect is calm and curated. The only jarring notes are the misspellings on the menu: Parmasan, cockels, Bernaise [sauce], Harrissa. Happily this isn’t indicative of gastronomic illiteracy.

I’m gladdened to see the kitchen using lamb breast – a cheap cut largely overlooked because of the last-century hang-up about fat – especially when the cubes of triumphantly fatty meat are so succulently molten within their rugged breadcrumb crust. The harissa turns out to be what I’d call salsa verde, the punchy green sauce that Italians do so well. This one is alive with parsley, and possibly mint, an emerald-green foil for the richness of the lamb. It doesn’t actually need its crumbling of scorched Feta, but the slivers of preserved lemon work well; I could do with more of them. Warm ham hock terrine is, again, not quite what I’m expecting, more of a gentle press of succulent flesh, this time with an almost caramelised surface. Pickled pineapple, its sweetness overlain with aromatic, smoky black Nigella seeds, compliments the mild saltiness of the ham.

I’m finally convinced that someone in the kitchen can really cook when the celeriac ravioli turn up. They smell fantastic, not the usual obtrusive whack of truffle oil (the chef’s equivalent of Chanel No 5), but a captivating, much more natural scent with the bosky nuttiness of fresh truffle. The pasta dough is spot-on, the celeriac filling tastes as special as salsify, and niblets of hazelnut add bite to its texture. These comely specimens preen themselves in their subtly luxurious truffle and hazelnut pesto. If you looked and tasted this good, so would you.

I love the idea of sauerkraut, all those healthy bacteria from fermentation to repopulate our depleted gut microbiota. Serving it with rosy fillet of red deer, a few brambles, a well-made gravy, batons of salt-baked celeriac all makes sense, but while the kraut isn’t harsh, it’s just too acidic and sour in this context: it masks the meat. Nice idea; tinkering needed.

Desserts are memorable, up there with my best puddings of 2017. Escoffier would cluck with approval at such an immaculate crème caramel (satin custard, impeccable caramel) and its fashionable twists – plumply soaked smoked raisins, and verjus (the desirably sour juice you get from pressing unripe fruits) – add another dimension, not pointless embellishment. A sprinkling of salty oat granola introduces another consistency and keeps the sweetness in check. The other dessert is a half quince baked to a jewel-like state with vanilla pod, star anise, and cinnamon bark. It sits on a dais of French toast made from the doughy heart of a sourdough loaf, flanked by a scoop of sophisticated, almost savoury bay leaf ice cream.

If Chelsea Market is an augur for Glasgow’s 2017 eating out scene, it bodes well.