Restaurant Review: Amore Dogs, Edinburgh

Published on Wednesday 24 June 2009 14:58

THE ART critic Brian Sewell once said his idea of heaven would be to wake up and find the dozen or so dogs he'd owned throughout his life on his bed. I'm pretty sure, after checking out David Ramsden's newest venture, that he might have similar fantasies about the afterlife.

Amore Dogs

104 Hanover Street,

Edinburgh

(0131-220 5155, www.amoredogs. co.uk)

THE Bill

Dinner for two, 40.95, excluding drinks

That is if the image of his pup, superimposed on to a reproduction of Botticelli's Venus, over an entire wall of his eatery, is anything to go by. Aside from this canine homage, however, I have to admit the rest of the decor is less poochy than The Dogs (the original gastropub upstairs).

Instead, it's more like a surrealist art installation, with a scattering of kitsch statuettes of the Virgin Mary, Fornasetti wallpaper and flashes of scarlet.

The lengthy menu, meanwhile, features the kind of Italian fare my dining partner, Rolf, and I could have spent all evening drooling over. I settled on an orange, fennel and anchovy salad (4.65), while my other half fancied the gnocchi (4.50).

Service is super-speedy, which is just as well as, on our visit, the room was hoaching – mainly with rather trendy types. Unfortunately, we soon became more intimate than we would have liked with this designer-clad lot, simply because we were seated in the main, narrow thoroughfare – at one of the crotch-height tables that diners, as well as staff, had to squeeze past in order to get to the loo/exit/bar/ pavement for a cigarette.

I'm pretty good at shutting out any background thrum, but poor old Rolf wasn't enjoying this frantic jostling, or the noisy buzz. And even I had to concede that Mediterranean food would seem to be at odds with such a frenetic atmosphere.

Still, our starters soon made up for any initial gripes. In a similar vein to what might occur if you were to blend boric acid with ammonium chloride (cast your mind back, if you can, to chemistry standard grade), the result of my oily fish, tart citrus fruit and crunchy fennel mixture was whizz-banging. Mind you, unlike any school experiments, this is something I might attempt to recreate at home.

Rolf's equally appealing choice, meanwhile, was the antithesis of my light entre, as it featured knobby pieces of fleshy gnocchi, bathing like hippos in a muddy olive sauce, alongside tangy strips of sundried tomato.

Once we'd devoured these promising starters, the waitress whisked our dishes away and instructed us to hold on to our cutlery for our mains of skirt steak (10.95) for me and swordfish (12.40) for Rolf. I'm all for saving dishwasher electricity if, indeed, that's what they're trying to do. Still, I had to wipe every last molecule of anchovy off my fork before tucking into my long fillet of braised beef, which was piping hot and nicely tender for a cut that's usually a little chewy. Its accompanying mash was as rich and smooth as clotted cream and the gravy had a satisfyingly hearty texture. My only criticism is that this had been billed as "gorgonzola sauce", when any cheesiness was an inaudible squeak in the background.

At this point, I think I was more impressed than Rolf, who damned his choice with faint praise. "It's nice," he said, ruthlessly.

His course did look pretty wholesome, featuring a charred steak of pale fish, the most verdant green beans I've ever seen and a heap of black olive-studded caponata. I tasted it and agreed with his verdict – virtuous, homely and, indeed, "nice".

So, for puddings, we were after something terribly naughty, despite the best efforts of the waitress to move us on. "Could you order your puddings quickly?" she asked. "We need the table back soon."

Considering we'd arrived at 7:15pm, been told we could have the table until 9:15pm, and it was now only 8:15pm, it seemed premature.

All a-fluster, I chose semifreddo with torrone (4.60) and Rolf went for the polenta, almond and lemon cake (3.85). We shared these, and would have preferred the gateaux without a huge dollop of sour raspberry coulis on top, which obscured any subtle citrus flavours. My choice, however, was the cat's pyjamas, featuring a delicate plank of nougat straddling a block of nutty, honey-flavoured ice-cream, plus a drizzle of rich chocolate sauce.

These spoils were quickly guzzled, before we did as we'd been told and vacated the premises. But if you see yourself as a chunky little Scottie dog who likes to chew his food slowly, Amore Dogs might not be your heavenly ideal.