Restaurant review: Purslane, 33A St Stephen Street, Edinburgh

A shame, because the food was smashing.

But that’s no reason to be in a cream puff with Purslane, the new eatery that’s taken over this space. It’s not their fault that echoes of the former incarnation remain, such as, in the stairwell, the monochrome image of a sequoia forest, with sunlight streaming through the branches, or the mouse-coloured decor.

Memories. Sob.

Anyway, they have put their own stamp on this venue, with spidery-looking plant silhouette canvases on the walls and indie music on the stereo.

The kitchen is presided over by chef owner Paul Gunning, formerly of Edinburgh eateries La Garrigue, Gusto and Number One at The Balmoral. He’s obviously relishing the chance to design his own menus, as some of the foodie offerings are rather experimental.

For example, the tea-encrusted wild boar (part of the two courses for £19.95, three for £23.95 menu) came with a black current [sic] glaze.

I don’t think this worked very well.

It consisted of three pale and thinly sliced leaves of meat, delicate, but not too overpowered by their accompanying dollop of sweet braised red cabbage. It was the whorl of fruity jus that was the clodhopper on the plate. This was intensely concentrated, with all the flavour associations of the aforementioned berry – ie cough medicine, Tunes and Ribena.

My dining partner, Rolf, had chosen the cock-a-leekie, which was a bit off-kilter too. Some of the individual elements in this deconstructed version of a traditional recipe were gorgeous. We loved the side dish of hot breadcrumbed confit chicken bonbons (“the croutons”, said our waitress) and, in a bowl, the brick of Frigidaire-cold intensely chickeny chook, which had a heart of mud-coloured prune purée.

But we were baffled by the accompanying consommé. It came in a separate jug, to be poured into the bowl (and, then, presumably, topped by the croutons). This golden liquid tasted rich and stocky, but was barely lukewarm. Unless it’s a baked Alaska, choose hot or cold and stick with it, I say, in a curmudgeonly manner.

Rolf’s main – the roast duck breast (£2 supplement) – was described by someone at the table opposite us as like “sushi”. The fact that we weren’t the only ones to have a plate featuring slices of gelatinously raw meat, which didn’t even seem to be seared on the outside, indicated that this wasn’t necessarily a blunder.

My other half gave up the challenge after a couple of jellified bites and sent it back. However, even after a little more cooking this concoction wasn’t quite right. A quenelle of duck liver pâté was good on its own, but so strong and buttery that it pecked the other flavours out of the water. The “creamed cabbage” (as it was billed on the menu) didn’t appear to be creamed at all, but shredded and blanched, with tiny cubes of hard carrot in the mix.

But we did like the collection of nicely feral wild mushrooms, which we discovered amongst the undergrowth.

I think that someone is getting a little too experimental in the kitchen. However, I was a happy guinea pig when it came to my comparatively simple main.

The fillet of sea bream was wearing a crispy slanket of burnished skin, with soft white flesh underneath. It was propped up on rods of burgundy-coloured salsify which had been cooked in red wine. On the side were three pillows of a velvety artichoke purée. Top drawer.

Puddings were both marvellous. A chocolate marquise was deep, sticky and rich, with layers of an almondy crumb, while the baked rice pudding was a grown-up version of a nursery classic, with downy, vanilla-flecked rice, prunes that had been marinated in Amaretto and sprigs of frosty-looking candied rosemary.

A rollercoaster of a meal. However, I’ve got a feeling that if Chef reins in his creativity a little, the food in this place might become more consistent.

Let’s hope so, if only in memoriam of Redwood (RIP).

How much? Dinner for two, excluding drinks: £49.90