Neil Sowerby gets âKilneredâ at Opus One but wipes the slate clean in a meal that hints at the potential of the Radisson Edwardianâs dining flagship.
IF you thought âbail closureâ? was some aspect of penal servitude, think again. Itâs the American term for those glass jars sealed with a metal hinge fixing a glass lid and rubber seal. What we call Kilner jars. You know, the kind of thing you fill with green tomato chutney or greengage jam. The preserve of preservers.
I only found out such stuff through a bout of gentle Wikipedia-ing after suffering from an almost criminal abundance of said jars at posh dinner the other night. Oh and there were slates, too. Continuing the judicial metaphor, couldnât chefs just wipe the slate clean of substituting shards of flat dark stone for plates? Must be hell to dishwash, as well. In the gift shop at Cornwallâs Lost Gardens of Heligan the other day I bought a piece of local slate carrying the message âBeware of the Dogâ (after we pinned it up on the front gate our chihuahua has risen to the challenge dogfully).
As we unwrapped our ironic threat stone I couldnât resist feeling I should unhook it and use it trendily as a food receptacle. Cut to Opus One in the Radisson Edwardian hotel, where the cocktail prices at the admittedly sexy bar might discourage you from saying âput it on the slateâ? but where you have little choice at the conjoined Opus One restaurant once the mains start arriving on oblongs sourced from Llanberis or Lancrigg. But first, fancy a jar?
My starter, Parfait of Three Livers (£8.25) offered me a trio of little hinged glass receptacles, showcasing smooth purees of (respectively from left to right) duck, chicken and goose. The slate mount held a wobbly cube of flavourless green tea jelly. Brioche was served separately and if the duck parfait had a slight bitterness, the other two were buttery and spirituous (port, madeira, brandy in the mix perhaps?) with the rich goose cut through with what I thought was a shot of orange. In truth, my palate strained to differentiate, as I awkwardly scooped samples out with the end of my knife. There was just too much of it all. Letâs call it a Parfait Storm.
It being not long after 6pm in a five star business honeypot, there was a raft of solo diners replacing conversation with a shuffle of their complimentary FTs. One of the ones seeking eye contact, whose parfait trio arrived simultaneously with mine, brandished in our direction a small, suitable spoon he had commandeered. I should have requested one too. Maybe I should have been provided automatically. itâs not as if Opus One is short of people skills. Later at pudding when I dropped a spoon, assiduous restaurant manager Shan Rajah was over in a shot to replace and when one of his waiters accidentally but spectacularly got into a spot of Greek-style plate smashing, he energised his team into a swift and cordial recovery operation. Perhaps thatâs why slates are so popular here.
My companionâs starter paired seared nicely firm king scallops, each bearing a beret of chorizo, with a cockle chowder (£9.95). Cockles a bit gritty, the thick broth a mite salty for my tastes, but the combo worked for her, adding substance. She was less successful with her main of roast suckling pig (£18.75), the cut flabby, the separate large flake of crackling molar-crackingly hard. Textures of English apple was tart and ravishing (in its mini Kilner jar naturally), bubble and squeak a bit school dinners. Head chef Russ Brown is proud of his regional suppliers, at least one suckling pig a day making its way to the Radisson kitchens, and he sources some fine beef from Cheshire. A muggy summer evening precluded an assault on one of his 16oz roast rib of beef signature dishes, so I settled for a fillet of English beef (£24.50) done rare. Again there was so much with it. My fault I ordered fat chips when there was a tranche of truffled rosti potato the size of Liechtenstein with it, as well as sweetly caramelised onions, pan-fried cabbage and a big blob of watercress puree sitting on the admittedly gorgeous slices of pink beef (as a tease, it came on a board of olive wood).
A lusciously cherryish 2002 Savigny-les-Beaune red at a bargain £26 did it justice. Puddings were also sizeable specimens, my companionâs flourless chocolate cake with a pistachio pannacotta and my orange poppy seed sponge with a zingy orange sorbet and creme fraiche (each £6.50) both seeming like refugees from Opus Oneâs sensationally successful cream teas rather than sharp and intense ends to a gourmet meal. The impression, throughout the dinner, was of a trencherman abundance at odds with a restaurant designed (and failing) to seduce. Digression on misappropriated slates and jars is just avoiding the decorative issue of a dining room where neon red dominates. The Masque of Red Death, as Iâve referred to it in the past. Maybe theyâve changed the light bulbs but the dining space seemed less murky than of yore, but now it picks out more the framed oriental red silk costumes and vast crimson tassel arrangements. Not a good thing.
After the £50m re-fit of the Free Trade Hall, mostly an immaculate renovation, perhaps they just had to live with the Opus One decorative misjudgements. A long overdue re-think is now happening. Chef Russ told me plans are underway to replace the back wall with a glass-fronted open plan kitchen. That will obviously be a wonderful showcase for the plethora of well-sourced suckling pigs but â seriously â could spark the whole space into a new vibrancy. The waiting staff are already there. The food, though, will have to step up a gear, too.
Opus One, Radisson Rdwardian Hotel, Peter Street, Manchester, GB M2 5GP (0161 835 8904, www.radissonedwardian.com
