Ringing the changes

HERE’S ONE FOR CAMPANOLOGISTS, THE OLD BELL INN IN CAUSEWAYSIDE, EDINBURGH, IS THE OLD BELL INN ONLY ON STREET LEVEL BECAUSE, UPSTAIRS, IT’S THE NEW BELL INN. RING ANY BELLS?

Actually, the New Bell Inn is not so new. It’s about to celebrate its sixth birthday next month, in the extremely able hands of Richard and Michelle Heller, and they know their dings from their dongs.

Outwardly, it looks like a place with a history as a traditional watering hole. If you shut your eyes to the 20^th and 21^st centuries around about, you could expect a drunken sailor (what shall we do with him?) and a lady of disrepute (nowadays, anyone participating in a reality television show) to drop in for a tankard of ale and a glass of porter. They do decent pub lunches downstairs, I hear, but the unassuming entrance and stairs give little inclination of the gourmet heights above.

There’s nothing to beat a white, stiffly-laundered cloth on a dining table, which, in me, bring on as palpable a sense of satisfaction as answering more general knowledge Mastermind questions than Miss Horatia Cholmondley, a librarian from Arundel, whose specialist subject was The History of Decorative Piecrusts, 1972 – 1905.

The other noticeable features of The New Bell are the photographs, paintings and prints. They are everywhere. A Jack Vettriano hangs next to a golfing cartoon, which hangs next to a view of North Berwick. In such quantities, they work. Any fewer, and you would have a bad day at Lyon and Turnbull.

It was after a Fringe recording of Just a Minute, the Radio 4 panel game, that four of us headed off to The New Bell Inn for an early dinner and, in the spirit of comedy, I decided to apply the show’s three strict criteria of hesitation, deviation and repetition to the restaurant.

First – do they deviate from their publicised claims and/ or from diners’ expectations? They advertise ‘a warm welcome, an easy-going atmosphere and some of the most inspired cooking for miles around’. Now, even half a mile would take you to Rhubarb in Prestonfield House, two miles (the lowest qualifier for plural) takes in the whole city centre and three would deliver you to the awe-inspiring door of Martin Wishart in Leith. Nevertheless, I think it merits its high aims. The staff are especially pleasant and attentive, without chiming in too often, and the place does have an unstuffy, friendly atmosphere. The food matches what your eyes tell your brain when you read the menu and what your tastebuds tell your stomach when you get stuck in.

To mix my comedy metaphors, there was a Monty Python moment when we realised that, of the four of us, two wrote restaurant columns. My fellow critic will remain anonymous but she wasn’t working that night.

Two of us, myself included, were very impressed with our chilled gazpachos with crab, avocado and lime salsa to start, as was my husband with his smoked haddock, leek and bacon fishcakes. T’other critic skipped a starter and went straight onto a rib-eye with fat chips and, at my prompting, beer-battered onion rings. Her husbands seared king scallops and samphire were sound as a bell, as were my baked monkfish and king prawns. With Alan’s excellent lamb, all four passed the Just a Minute rule of deviation from competent cooking.

Second – does this restaurant repeat itself or repeat what other restaurants do? The menu rings the changes every month and makes the best of what’s hot and what’s not in the markets. Seasonality is now a big buzz word in culinary circles and it’s about time we embraced it domestically and rewarded it in restaurants.

The New Bell Inn isn’t unique, but nor is it a replica of anywhere I’ve been. It’s got the feel of a local restaurant that’s supported by local residents, but it’s urban enough to rope in hungry visitors from B&B land, one block over on Minto Street. It’s a ringing endorsement of The Lists’s decision to vote it the best neighbourhood restaurant in Edinburgh.

Third – Would I hesitate to recommend The New Bell Inn to you?

Not for a moment. As Leslie Phillips would say, ‘ding dong’.