Telephone: 0117 973 4482.
Address: 85 Whiteladies Road, Bristol.
Rating: 16/20
Open: all week, 12 noon-3pm; 6-10.30pm.
Menus: Lunch, £14.50 for two courses, £17.50 for three. Wheelchair access (no WC).
There was a time when Quartier Vert was Rocinantes, and as such was one of Bristol's most treasured, longest-serving restaurants and reviewed by me, oh, in about 300BC. Then, a couple of years ago, it had a lick of paint and a bit of internal surgery and, lo and behold, it changed name and nationality in one go. The strange thing was that the power behind the kitchen, Barny Haughton, stayed the same. Actually, with the exception of a few trimmings, the style of the kitchen remained the same, too. Haughton is one of the generals in the great organic army, and his cooking focuses on ingredients, ingredients and ingredients. Of course, the trick with good or great ingredients is knowing exactly what to do with them, or rather what not to do with them.
I met Gastropod in the small, relaxed, carpeted (hurray) upper dining room, as opposed to the larger, more boisterous, uncarpeted ground-floor one. A grand Chagall-esque picture took up most of one wall and a window to the street took up another, so increasing the sunny aspect and good humour of the occasion. I was in particularly chirpy mood because Gastropod was there to "interview" me about my new book, and nothing pleases me more than the opportunity to witter on about myself without deviation, hesitation or repetition.
Not even the arrival of a plate of bresaola with Parmesan and Nunez de Prado olive oil could staunch the flow, and it was a very nice dish. The carefully specified pedigree of the oil gave a clue to the thoughtfulness with which Haughton sources his materials. He takes care with his bresaola, too, which he cures in the manner of the great Franco Taruschio, producing a slightly dryer texture than the ones I have found in Italy, and great depth and delicacy of flavour. It was not an elaborate dish, but one that showed up the strengths of the kitchen.
On the whole, it seems a pity to do anything to new season's asparagus except cook it and serve it plain. I can see that decking out a portion with cherry tomatoes and soft goats' cheese gives it greater substance; stretches it, as they say in the trade. Actually, if you have to deck out asparagus with anything, cherry tomatoes and soft goats' cheese aren't half bad, because you get a winning contrast in textures, particularly when the asparagus is grilled, as it was here. Even so, that ethereal, exotic flavour gets sat on rather too firmly for its own good.
On the other hand, every ingredient in Gastropod's roast spring lamb, planchada beans, baby turnips and spring greens was able to stand up for itself with vigour and clarity. The lamb wasn't that sweet, gummy, vapid meat that often passes for spring lamb these days It had the sweetness, sure, but also a certain grassiness and herbiness and a fine, distinctive grain, nicely lubricated by a robust gravy.
I had a bourride of monkfish, red mullet, brill and clams, which was as classic as classic could be - just very fresh fish cooked very well in a very well-made fish soup. Couldn't be easier. Could do it at home. Well, perhaps not - can't find the fish, and couldn't get that depth and balance to the soup, partly because you need a lot of fish bones to make enough. It is a mark of the apparent artlessness of the cooking that you might think you could easily duplicate it. It is an artlessness that has its roots in what you might call the beauty of first principles. It stands or falls on the quality of its ingredients. In the case of Quartier Vert, it stands pretty tall.
Which reminds me: Gastropod and I could not pass up the promise of a risotto of broad beans and St George's mushrooms, so we shared one before our main courses. The dish exemplified this principle in every part.
We finished with rhubarb crumble ice cream, which, if it didn't quite hit the spot in the same way as the other dishes, made a suitably seasonal full stop. There was, of course, the inevitable addendum - £67.20 to be exact, £35 for two lunches - £17.50 per lunch - plus £10 for the risotto, plus £16 for a bottle of hefty, if uncultured, rosé from Chile, plus other sundries. I reckon that it was worth it for the ingredients alone.
Matthew Fort's latest book, Eating Up Italy, is published by Fourth Estate at £16.99.
