Michelin star

Timberyard

18/06/23

Lady Lawson Street, Edinburgh

We’ve lived in Edinburgh for seven years now and we’ve always been aware of this restaurant, just around the corner from where we live, but – for one reason or another – we’ve never eaten here. But our tradition of indulging in fine dining to celebrate Susan’s birthday, plus the fact that Timberyard has recently been awarded a Michelin star, suggest that now is a good time to give it a whirl.

So here we finally are, settling down at a table in the spacious, warehouse-like interior, while outside the long run of hot weather is about to to be interrupted by heavy rain. But in this glorious candle-lit interior, the rain comes and goes without us even noticing.

Firstly, a word about water. Most restaurants try to sell you bottles of the stuff (a practice I’ve long disapproved of for environmental reasons) but at Timberyard, our choice of still or fizzy water comes as standard and our glasses are regularly topped up by the attentive staff – an idea I’m in favour of seeing elsewhere.

Since we’re currently on the wagon, we both decide to try one of their homemade soft drinks. I sample the bramble & lemon seltzer, which is zingy and refreshing, while Susan opts for jam on toast, a drink that somehow – don’t ask me how – really does invoke those flavours. I mean, I understand how they might accomplish the ‘jam’ bit, but how do you make a soft drink taste of toast?

We’ve chosen the eight-course tasting menu, which sounds prodigious, but is carefully presented in perfectly-sized offerings to ensure that the diner is never overwhelmed. That said, we decide to skip the option of adding a cheese course. Even we have limits!

We begin with ‘snacks’ – bread and cultured butter with pickles and ferments, raw beef on toast with yellow beans and cod’s roe and a little bowl of beach rose and tomato broth. These offerings set the tone for the evening, a series of intense flavours, each one different to the last and, frankly, quite unlike anything I’ve eaten elsewhere. The much-lamented Edinburgh Food Studio is probably the venue that comes closest in recent memory.

Timberyard’s efficient staff come and go bearing various dishes, each one a tiny revelation. There’s purple sword celtuce with nasturtium, conifer and smoked scallop roe; al denté green asparagus featuring coddled egg, pancetta, comte and hazelnut; veal sweetbreads, rich and succulent with pheasant back mushroom, broad beans and Scot’s lovage; a meltingly tender slice of turbot with pea flowers, sea aster, pil-pil and lobster butter; and chunks of deliciously rare Kerry beef with farm greens and anchovy. To say it’s all delicious would be something of an understatement.

And then of course, there are a couple of puddings. There’s elderflower – a frozen granita served with creme fraiche ice-cream, wonderfully refreshing after the richness of the beef – and there’s woodruff, an edible wildflower with hints of vanilla, cardamom and cinnamon, with a fluffy honey-rich exterior and a salty, bitter chocolate filling that lingers on the palette, ending the experience on a high note.

I can’t really explain why it’s taken us so long to try the Timberyard experience, but I’m glad we finally have. This is challenging food (in the very best sense of the word): an exquisite, constantly surprising selection of dishes that focus on local and seasonal ingredients. I can see exactly how the place caught the eye of the Michelin judges.

One thing’s for sure. We won’t be leaving it so long before we return.

5 stars

Philip Caveney

Restaurant Martin Wishart

16/06/18

54 The Shore, Leith

We’re here because it’s my birthday, and I can’t think of any way I’d rather spend it than eating fancy food with my lovely husband. It’s raining (of course; it always rains on my birthday), so we get the bus to The Shore rather than walking from Edinburgh along the Waters of Leith as we’d originally planned. No matter: we’re feeling festive and happy and looking forward to our lunch.

The restaurant is achingly tasteful: all muted colours and hushed tones, managing to strike a pleasing balance between ‘relaxed’ and ‘formal’ – it feels special here, but there’s a convivial atmosphere nonetheless. The amuse bouches we’re presented with upon arrival really set the tone: they’re savoury macarons, bright pink (beetroot) and green (pistachio), filled with horseradish and chipotle cream respectively. They’re light and crisp, unusual and appealing, a delightful way to start things off.

The wine list is extensive – there are pages and pages of it – and, if I’m honest, a little intimidating (despite being very practised imbibers, we’re a long way from connoisseurs). We decide to play it safe and order a New Zealand Marlborough sauvignon blanc, because we’ve never tried one of those we don’t like, but the sommelier steers us away from this towards an Argentinian Torrontes, which he says will better complement our food. He’s right – it’s ideal – and, as it’s considerably cheaper than our original choice, seems like a genuine recommendation rather than a cunning piece of upselling. Bravo!

We both opt for five course tasting menus: Philip’s is the ‘standard’ one with meat and fish for £75, mine the vegetarian for £70 (I’m not actually herbivorous; I just like the look of what’s on offer here). Everything we’re served is eye-catchingly presented; the precision is astonishing. And the flavours are all so intense, so perfectly matched… well, I guess they don’t give Michelin stars away for nothing, so I shouldn’t be surprised.

There are too many little plates of loveliness to describe them all here; suffice to say we’re impressed with every course. The standout from my menu is the sweetcorn and polenta, served with crème fraîche, chilli and lime, which tastes like sweetcorn to the power of ten, and really elevates that humble cereal, although the aubergine caponata with feta and herb gnudi is a close contender – and I don’t usually like aubergine at all. The gnudi in particular are a revelation, pleasingly chewy and salty against the zing of the vegetables. Philip’s especially impressed with his ceviche of Gigha halibut with mango and passion fruit, which he says is particularly light and fresh. He’s also pretty taken with the oyster blade of Black Angus beef, which is served with peas, broad beans, black garlic and a rich roast onion sauce.

But the devil is in the detail, as they say, and it’s the details here that add up to make this such a marvellous experience. The butter for example, which accompanies the twists of white or olive bread, is a homemade one, flavoured with salt and seaweed; we can hardly get enough of it. No supermarket butter will ever pass muster again. And the petit fours that come with our coffee are little gems: a tiny donut bursting with caramelised apple, a salted caramel truffle I’m still drooling over now.

So, no mis-steps, no niggles. Just a long, leisurely lunch (we’re here for two and a half hours), with friendly service and some spectacular cooking. Happy birthday to me. And back out into the rain.

5 stars

Susan Singfield