Credit where it's due.
A restaurant that has opened for business in a former bank is right on the money.
writes Joanna Blythman. Sunday Herald.
February 16, 2003.
Town centre shopping parades are in a bad way these days as distinctive independent shops disappear while multiple retailers lure people to out-of-town big-box shopping developments. We can afford to lose certain local shops and services more than others. Banks - even cash machines - draw people in and so support the local shops around them. The same is true of pharmacies. If you drop off a prescription, you'll probably buy something next door while you wait for it to be made up.
If the Office of Fair Trading allows the deregulation of pharmacies - and it looks likely that it will - then another wave of high street shops, currently struggling to survive, will surely close only to be reincarnated as more dreary video rental and charity shops. The only thing that saves closed banks from this fate is their architecture. Scotland is peppered with largely Victorian banks, lavishly appointed with prosperous-looking cornices and sturdy oak panelling, which now make excellent locations for restaurants, often with very little obvious renovation. The Bank restaurant in Crieff is a case in point. A handsome red sandstone facade nosing on to the High Street opens up to a warm and cheering interior, panelled, stuccoed and stiff with period charm.
The Bank is palpably well-tended. It has a civilised atmosphere, the kind you get in a place that has been running smoothly for quite some time. The McGuigans who run it are clearly foodies. The walls are hung with souvenir menus of outstanding meals from chef icons like Paul Bocuse, cartoons of Marco Pierre White and trophies Bill McGuigan has won for his cooking. No wonder. The food at the Bank alone makes Crieff an attractive destination.
I love people who make their own bread. It's not just the commitment and extra effort that's appreciated, but the sheer need for it in so many places where it is well nigh impossible to source bread worth eating, thus condemning diners to dusty, loofah-like baguette baked from frozen.
The white rolls at the Bank are terrific. They have chewy innards and a rewarding crust that require you to use your teeth. Heaven. I rarely choose soup in restaurants but intuition led me to the vine tomato soup which really was outstanding. Intense and concentrated, it achieved that elusive balance of fresh tomato acidity and sweetness, and a pungent drizzle of basil oil pointed it up perfectly. This soup invigorated the palate and primed the appetite, underlining just how poor are so many tomato sauces and soups we routinely eat. The other starter - a fillet of sea bass, grilled golden and moist within - sat on silky spinach in a light and fragrant creamy sauce with deep shellfish and wine undertones.
It was good to see mallard duck on the menu - a much neglected bird. The breast was pleasantly gamey and not too dry and the leg meat was good too. Strangely, though it should be the easier of the two to cook, the Borders lamb was more of a struggle than the mallard. It had been rolled into noisettes, a cut suited only to lean prime muscle. Here the fat was thick and off-putting and the meat inside a rather challenging jumble of rare, chumpy meat. This was more a problem of butchering than of cooking. The presentation of main courses seemed somewhat formulaic, with fairly standard vegetable accompaniments to each dish. But they were good and seasonal including spinach, red cabbage and best of all, a wonderful gratin of neep. Forget mashed boiled neeps, this is the way to turn our humblest vegetable into a gourmet delight.
The cheese at the Bank is impeccable - rugged chunks of Durrus, Roquefort and Montgomery's cheddar courtesy of Iain Mellis - all in peak condition. But then the desserts are luscious too, to wit warm chocolate cake with strongly citrusy orange curd ice cream and a faultless apricot frangipane tart with lightly amaretto-flavoured ice cream. Prices at the Bank are noticeably lower than comparable establishments elsewhere and particularly keen at lunch. At (pounds) 3.95 for its cheeseplate, for example, diners receive miraculous value.
I'm glad to report that despite the original bank's closure, Crieff's small shops seem to be in fine fettle. Don't miss the astonishing McNee's just opposite with a range of artisan and specialist foods to make aspiring city delis green with envy.
Joanna Blythman is Glenfiddich Food Writer of the Year
Reproduced with permission of the copyright owner.