Stick a spoiler and a couple extra exhaust pipes on a Ford Fiesta; it doesn't make it a Ferrari. Similarly, sticking a couple of beer pumps and some old-fashioned lettering here and there doesn't make a restaurant a gastropub.
Bacchus is most certainly a restaurant, and there's nothing wrong with that. The night I was there, there were only a couple of tables left unlaid for the drinkers. Most noticeably, there were no stools at the bars and no blackboard - let alone dartboard - in sight. The interior ticked all the boxes for contemporary mid-range restaurant design: uncluttered; wooden floor; some industrial looking touches; questionable artwork. But in general, it was nice, clean and welcoming. I liked the fact there were candles on the tables and that the background music included Air and Marvin Gaye.
Also appealing was the menu. It was a sensibly concise one, consisting of a choice of five starters, five mains and four desserts, or a tasting menu. It all sounded quite nice and, for a moment, I wished we were a bigger table so we could sample more. House aperitifs were good: one a refreshing, if slightly oversweet, cocktail of apple juice, vodka and Thai basil topped with a lemongrass foam; the other a tasty Bloody Mary, made with fresh tomato juice so it didn't just taste like watered-down ketchup.
Next came the food. I was hungry, the dishes sounded quirky but appealing, and I was in a good mood. I was ready to be impressed; I was not. The pre-starter arrived in a whisky glass, and consisted of (deep breath): beetroot puree, citrus fruits, yoghurt, milk skin, gingerbread and micro-herbs, yet somehow all of these ingredients came together to taste like ... an Asda strawberry cheesecake.
My starter was unbelievably random. It looked like the ingredients had come from the shopping bag of a Ready Steady Cook contestant who had just returned from a holiday in the Far East. It was basically a jumble of Japanese mushrooms, more milk skin, pea puree, powdered nori seaweed, langoustine reduction, shiso and a leek jelly that looked it was straight out of Ghostbusters. It tasted how it sounds. This dish needed a straightjacket. Even Marvin asked "What's going on?". My brother's artichoke and honey-wine soup with ceps, yoghurt and pinenut ravioli was less offensive.
Mains were no better or worse. I went for roasted root vegetables with cauliflower puree, herb gnocchi and hazelnut and vanilla oil, but it lacked the earthiness and rusticity I was craving, and the veg lost some of their character for being chopped up too small. My brother went for sesame crusted pigeon with berries and cured foie gras. Execution was fine; conception was not. It was protein heavy; the berries were unseasonal; it lacked sufficient vegetable garnish; and featured some sugar tuiles that were simply too sweet. All in all, it went down like bacon at a Bar Mitzvah.
Luckily, the side of mash went down much better, and the spinach with pine nuts and raisins was fine. The desserts were also an improvement on their predecessors. The chocolate fondant was well made, as was the accompanying rosewater ice cream: fragrant, without tasting like your grandmother's perfume. My polenta cake was very moreish and the accompanying orange bursted with freshness and flavour; it reminded me of Orangina, in a good way.
Service was friendly and informal, in keeping with the setting. There was an interesting selection of aperitifs and the wine list was well balanced and decently priced, although I would have preferred a few more by the glass or half bottle.
Three courses with a bottle of water, an aperitif, a glass of Torrontes and a mint tea came to £55 including service, which was fair. The combination of informality and wacky cooking is not dissimilar to that of WD-50, Wylie Dufresne's up and coming restaurant on Clinton Street on the Lower East Side of Manhattan, although, to be perfectly honest, that is in a different league.
Perhaps I’m being a little harsh, so I’ll leave room for a few words of support for my fellow chef. The chef here patently knows how to cook; the purees were smooth, the seasoning was correct, the pigeon was pink, the fondant had liquid within. He is just a bit too trigger happy with the gas gun. Leftfield cooking works best at its simplest, and all the latest gadgets at disposal in the modern kitchen should be used to showcase the natural products. Never vice versa.
Bacchus, 177 Hoxton Street, London N1 (020 7613 0477;
bacchus-restaurant.co.uk ).
• Our roving chef has worked in Michelin-starred kitchens across the UK and Europe.
