Edinburgh’s New Town: a name that is a slap in the face of any American tourist. Its Georgian facades remind us that the area was in the process of being built before America gained her independence, and it retains plenty of its old charm. Indeed, perhaps the Royalist, red-trousered brigade of Edinburgh that happily migrate here might imagine themselves in a bygone era. They may wish to be considered burghers, but now merely eat them; the more unnecessary the accoutrements, the more expensive the bread, the more high-falutin’ the name, the better.
Now, there are plenty such places, in every city in the UK; places trying to make simple, (bad-for-your-) hearty, American diner-esque stodge, and getting it patently wrong. The portions aren’t filthy enough, the decor too prissy; pubs dressed as wine bars trying to serve grubby, greasy, eat-with-your-hands stuff. Is that the clientele’s fault? Or do these restaurateurs overestimate how much people want starchy service and a ‘proper’ (staid) restaurant atmosphere, when all we really want to do is shovel down deliciously messy mouthfuls of meat and cheese and carbs – what a glorious triumvirate – amongst friends?That’s the rant over this week, because down on Frederick Street all is well. Don’t get me wrong; things could be down-and-dirtier at Amicus Apple, but they’ve basically got it sorted. The lighting is just right – it should be pretty dark, there should be some garish glows – the staff are good fun, and the food is spot on.
Purely for research purposes, I decided to see what the bartender had up her sleeve. And my, what a wizard! I opted for the apple swizzle (apple? It must be one of my five-a-day), a garish green – that’ll be the Midori – concoction that tasted just like sour apple sweets. I eased into a second. I love drinking a sweet jar.
Sweet drinks have come back into fashion; I’m on trend. A few years ago, the idea of a teeth-janglingly sugary fruit cider being sold in Britain to anyone over the age of 15, never mind drunk by the bucketload, would have been laughable. But what with the saccharine Magners adverts of yesteryear – did anyone drink cider before? – we’ve found our sweet tooth returning. I confess that I find myself partial to the odd ‘fruity’, the less obviously alcoholic the better. Rekordeling introduced a clear, passion fruit number, Old Mout a kiwi and lime variety, and the recovery cider – all sweetness and light – was born. Welcome back, Sundays.
Luckily, the grub arrived just as the second swizzle was kicking in, and before I run out of space wittering on about hangover cures; that’s a whole other column. Haggis and mushroom bons bons, highly recommended by the waiter, were exactly as promised – deep fried balls of goodness that lasted as long as my healthy-eating pretensions. Crisped into an inch of their life, the pear and whisky chutney on which they were set was the perfect accompaniment – just the right level of sweetness and bite to deal with the depth of flavour offered by MacSween’s finest.
I could probably have finished there, a sated man. Alas, it was not to be. Dear reader, I plodded on just for you. Taking receipt of my jerk chicken burger, I realised that the afternoon was disappearing before my eyes; I find there’s a particular sweet spot in a day’s drinking and feasting when the eyes become as heavy as boulders, when the will to go on dissipates. Ronald Reagan famously once said “I don’t drink coffee at lunch. I find it keeps me awake for the afternoon”, and, well, if it works for an American President, it’ll do for me. You can’t do any damage asleep, after all. (A useful philosophy to cite if ever accused of sloth)
The jerk chicken burger was superb, and, at £8, priced about right. With just enough spice, a crunch of red cabbage pickle, and what the menu describes as a pina colada fritter, there was plenty going on. The fritter was a tad too sweet for my taste – yes, there’s a time and a place – but that’s a small gripe in what was an otherwise superb feed, and the ‘rustic’ chips were both skin-on, and spot-on.
Much like the rest of New Town, behind the Georgian facade of Amicus Apple there’s plenty of innovation, ingenuity and inspiration. Our taste for the new world – for America’s grease – continues unabated, and I for one remain a fan.
Adam S Barnes 