Different, certainly - and decidedly trying

Published on Friday 21 April 2006 00:05

Cosmo

58a North Castle Street, Edinburgh (0131-226 6743)

The Bill

Dinner for two, 97.50, excluding drinks

IT'S inevitable as rain in April. As soon as I pronounce that some things never change, the four horsemen of the culinary Apocalypse saddle up and ride roughshod over my white damask dreams. It's a year since I pronounced that "all is still precisely as it should be in this quiet cathedral to good living". The cathedral in question was Cosmo, Edinburgh's long-established, almost patrician Italian restaurant.

The fact that Cosmo has sailed serenely through five decades I attributed to its continued resistance to fashions and frippery. "Cosmo's well- heeled clients have never been too interested in designer dictates. Wilted radicchio and a timbale of Thai-spiced crab in a mango vinaigrette do not send their corporate pulses racing. They prefer the classics."

Well, I have no recollection of how and when I offended the Greek god Apollo, but I seem to have been struck with the same curse he visited upon his former love, Cassandra: the gift of prophecy which no-one ever believes. Barely had I finished my hymn to the old ways - parma ham and melon; smoked salmon with capers, proper prawn cocktail and rack of lamb with Sunday gravy - than the mischievous chuckling must have begun.

I didn't notice it, of course. I encounter more than my fair share of chuckling; especially in ladies' changing rooms. But then I received an e-mail. "Cosmo restaurant, Edinburgh's benchmark in classical Italian dining is broadening its horizons under the creative direction of Gordon Ramsay scholarship winner, Alex Thain," it said. Mr Thain - who is only 26 - was then quoted: "We wanted to try something different." I couldn't have been more surprised if I'd read that Scotland's Law Lords had abandoned their robes in favour of velour leisure suits.

Something different? At Cosmo? This would be a revolution indeed. So I slipped on my best Bolshevik bootees, captured a hostage and went to investigate. My hostage was brimming with enthusiasm for the project, as she had just completed some capturing of her own - a nice new job - and was looking to celebrate it in true Edinburgh style. That is, discreetly, as she had yet to inform her present employers and was hence working as a double agent: all smiles and surreptitious copying.

With new beginnings much in our minds, we could scarcely fail to notice the restaurant's revamped entrance, now stripped of its cosy floral chintz. A stern-looking lectern supported the sacred reservations book, and behind it was an equally angular young woman. The soft-footed Italian waiters were evidently surplus to requirements, and in true revolutionary style the new contingent were all female, and Eastern European. They wore black shirts, long white aprons and efficient smiles.

The dining area itself is not much changed - the claret walls and mirrored multiplication of archways is timelessly stylish and, thankfully intact, though the lighting is brighter. This revealed only two other diners on a Wednesday evening: a young couple who were whispering to each other. Very quickly we found ourselves whispering too - and not in the name of conspiracy. The new style of service is soothing as a Soviet May Day parade. As each course was served, three of the black-shirted waitresses approached the table, two to deliver the food and the third to explain it. If that sounds rather odd, I'd have to say it felt rather odd as well. Though not as uncomfortable as the wine presentation. Unusually, we were given the wine list some time before the menus, so there was no possibility of matching wine to food. I ordered a bottle of white, which was meticulously poured by the regular quarter-inch. When I asked if the waitress might pour a little more she said, "No." It would get warm. And, truly, I didn't dare argue.

Young Mr Thain offers a seven-course tasting menu at 50 per person, which was tempting, but we despaired of finishing such a large amount of food. Or what we assumed would be a large amount. Three courses was quite sufficient, double agent Dora declared, as she ordered a lasagne of crab (11.50) to start. I had "bagged" the langoustines (14) to her initial dismay, but she cheered up a lot when the plates arrived. In best bygone nouvelle cuisine style, my plate held a rectangle, two and a half inches by one and a half, maximum; this, the Stasi waiting person told me, was "the West Coast langoustines, the crisp pork belly and the shellfish sauce". And I was glad that she told me, because otherwise I may have kept looking for my starter. What was there was pleasant enough - though I wasn't too keen on the souffld-crisp fat of the pork belly, which was a bit too redolent of Barnsley pub pork scratchings for my taste, but so arty-farty minimalist that it was an irritation to someone hungry. Dora's crab lasagne was better - and a more reasonable portion, featuring white-only crab meat and a light Champagne sauce.

I stayed with the pigs for the main course, a trio of Lancashire pork (22), though this was served to Dora, and I was given her Spring lamb five ways - shoulder, kidney, rack, sweetbread and lamb crisp (also 22). If this sounds lavish, try thinking dolls' house food. Perhaps I should have been admiring Mr Thai's culinary precision but what I was thinking was "why?" and "would they bring the bread back if I asked?".

We didn't expect anything to change with the puddings, so we weren't disappointed in the array of stamp-sized bits of chocolate (8) and fig tart (also 8); but charging 12 for about an ounce of cheese cut so thin you could read a newspaper through it, was the last straw. The bill was a whopping 170, and we left hungry and irritable.

If this is revolution, my vote's with the Romanovs.