THE new King Street Townhouse is described by the creative duo who fashioned it, Eclectic Hotels’ Eamonn and Sally O’Loughlin, as “a small adaptation of a grand hotel”. We are shown around its small but perfectly formed and cannily equipped rooms by jolly butler Edgar, an Asturian who has seen service at that grandest of London lodgings, The Lanesborough.
Even that august establishment couldn’t boast a rooftop view to compare with this – from the infinity pool both Manchester Town Hall and the Beetham Tower seem almost scarily close. On New Year’s Eve the Albert Square Fireworks had the staff gasping in awe.
I was there primarily to test the food at The Tavern. Yes, there is a Tavern in the Townhouse, the first proper contender for an aesthetically pleasing city boutique hotel (just 40 rooms) since the ill-fated Yang Sing Oriental bit the dust.
In truth the dining room, with its red banquette booths, is a mite dowdy compared with the chichi bedrooms and ebullient public rooms (never was wallpaper put to a such devastating effect since William Morris, well almost), but I sense it’s all part of a cunning comfort food plan. The proper linen and glasses as sing welcome – this might be some bourgeois bolthole in some French provincial city – Clermont Ferrand or Rennes.
Obviously no culinary wheel is being reinvented but sometimes you need moules mariniere (£7.50) and coq au vin with creamy mash and green beans (£14), accompanied by a bottle of bin-end red Burgundy (a snip of a Santenay at £50, the last one they had) listed in a small black book marked “When it’s gone it’s gone”.
My partner’s mussels in a vibrant broth were soon gone (I helped) and if my main of chicken in red wine leaned towards the dry side it felt authentic. Was an old cock sacrificed in search of the ‘vrai gout”? Certainement.
I’d been warned the beef carpaccio starter was sabotaged by swirls of an ultra-garlicky mayonnaise, but I liked the edge it gave with the obligatory parmesan, for the beef was not the most succulent, the rocket underpowered. Still, it all helped the mood. City council leader Richard Lease was a couple of tables along. I was hoping he might be plotting in a sans culotte way, but just seemed, like us, to be having the jolliest (that word again) of times. All quite infectious with a staff (thank you especially Carla from Ramsbottom) that radiated discreet bonhomie.
As did an extra starter we ordered, a creamy plethora of wild mushroom on sourdough toast for just £5. The remaining main was fillet steak with bearnaise (£22) and a £3.50 side of broccoli and almonds. By now the limpid Burgundian Pinot was coming into its own. The normal wine list is fine, but ask for that specials book – a lovely touch.
Yes, we did do pudding, a slightly claggy and not quite intense enough chocolate mousse with almond brittle for me for a fiver and a moist fruit-laden terrific cheesecake foh her for the same.
Next time I visit I’m going to stay in a small but perfectly equipped room and glug champers in the infinity pool while demanding the finest pyrotechnics known to man. This is a splendid addition to the gaiety of the city.
King Street Townhouse, 10 Booth St, Manchester M2 4AW. 0161 667 0707.
