Restaurant Review: The Honours, Edinburgh

If Mr Alex Salmond ever finds himself in a tight spot at midday – perhaps having said something, or not said something, or possibly being asked too insistently what he said, or is said to have said

or indeed said not to have said – and if at such a moment he looks at his watch and thinks,“Time for lunch”, then his remedy is now at hand, for it is only a few short steps from Bute House, Charlotte Square, Edinburgh, to the premises of The Honours, a restaurant recently set up in North Castle Street by Mr Martin Wishart. And once he sneaked into the long dining room of this restaurant, Mr Salmond could indulge in the prix fixe lunch (available between Tuesday and Friday, three courses, £17.50, to which a carafe of wine may be added for an additional £7.50).

The location of this restaurant is just about perfect in Edinburgh terms. North Castle Street is a short street, well-placed for shopping in George Street or, if one can face it, Princes Street. It is also handy for the city’s best men’s outfitters, Stewart, Christie & Co, who can be found directly round the corner, and where, if required, one’s trousers can be let out a few inches if Mr Wishart’s chef, Paul Tamburrini, has been too generous. It is a part of town that I like very much – still lived in, unspoilt by chain stores, and with that fragile opera-set beauty that the New Town possesses. It is a good place for a restaurant and indeed that is what that particular bit of the building has long been. This is the site of the famous Cosmo’s, which was one of Edinburgh’s most popular meeting-places for many years – at a time when the city was much less generously served by restaurants. A restaurant map of Edinburgh would have to be something of a palimpsest, with current establishments concealing the traces of a succession of earlier businesses that, for one reason or another, have disappeared. The Honours, I hope, is here to stay for some time, and there is every reason to think that it will be.

I went to this restaurant in a party of eight, on a fairly busy night. The staff coped very well with the sudden influx, and we were seated for a while in the bar area, where drinks were served along with two bowls of tiny, but very delectable, black olives. They really were small – pygmy olives – specially grown in a remote part of Puglia, where they are tended by very short people who have been cultivating their diminutive olive trees for centuries. (This detail may not be true, but then if The Scotsman invites novelists to review restaurants, they must expect some creative embellishment.) The décor in this part of the restaurant is quite minimalist – in other words, uncluttered; one would not, however, describe it as unduly warm in tone: smart is probably the best term to use. The ceilings are extremely high, and I think that poses difficulties for a designer; certainly it has acoustic implications. And this raises a very important point. A few hours before we went to this restaurant I happened to be talking to a friend who had been there a day or two before. He said that he had been assailed by such loud piped music, making conversation quite impossible, that he had felt obliged to raise the matter with the staff. The manager had quite properly later e-mailed him and said that he would look into the matter. And yet when we arrived for our evening the piped music was sufficiently loud for one member of our party to raise the issue. A request was made for the music to be turned down and the staff obligingly turned it off altogether. Good. But why can’t restaurants understand that people usually go out to dinner to talk to one another. They do not go out to dinner to listen to piped music that makes conversation difficult. They simply do not. The problem is that the music controls are not controlled.

That did not spoil things in any way, though, because the chef and his staff produced a superb meal, well worthy of the reputation that Mr Wishart has built up since he was awarded his Michelin star ten years ago. This is a brasserie, and so the style is therefore less formal than in stuffier places; the emphasis is on a selection of dishes that can be served relatively quickly. This works; we did not have to wait long before the meal was served, and there were no long pauses between courses. This makes The Honours an ideal place for a pre-theatre supper, particularly during Festival time (the Book Festival is just round the corner).

My wife and I both chose scallops to start. Three scallops were served in their shells for £11.25, and were delicious in their delicate, subtle sauce. Martin Wishart tries to ensure local and, very importantly, ethically produced supplies, and I think this shows. There is a big difference between a scallop that is vacuumed up from the sea-bed (along with lots of other things) and a hand-dived scallop from the West Highlands. I believe these were the latter; they were firm and fresh. Wonderful. Then I had poached sea bream (£14.50, but vegetables extra), while Elizabeth had John Dory, lightly curried with leeks and mussels (£18.50). A lot of sampling took place. Sitting next to my wife was a recently retired sheriff, who ordered lobster and gave a piece to Elizabeth. He pronounced it the best lobster he had ever had, and she concurred in his judgement. The wine list is well-chosen and is not too expensive, with a number of really tasty Chilean wines in the £18-£20 range.

We all shared one dessert, an ice-cream sundae with sliced banana, pecan nuts, and bits of honeycomb (£6.75). That was extremely good, and led to an overall verdict that Mr Wishart and Mr Tamburrini have got the formula absolutely right: a superb, well-placed brasserie that will undoubtedly be a well-deserved success. Congratulations to both of them. And further congratulations to Mr Wishart for his commitment to apprenticeships. He is a good citizen who has done a lot for this city. Bravo, on all fronts.

Bertie Plays the Blues, the latest 44 Scotland Street book by Alexander McCall Smith, is available now.