Dulse

17 Queensferry Street, Edinburgh, EH2 4QW
Tel: 07429 415 739
Internet: www.dulse.co.uk
GPS: 55.950884, -3.210069

At one time the darling of the followers of the latest superfood fad, the consumption of dulse – an edible seaweed of a distinctively earthy-red hue – can be traced back to at least the 13th century, and the saga of Egill Skallagrímsson.

If you are not familiar with Egill’s tale, allow me to fill you in. A Viking-era poet, warrior, scholar and farmer, Egill’s saga describes life in Iceland during the 9th century (although it was probably written several centuries later, hence the date above). On pages of faded manuscript we can read (you are fluent in Old Norse, aren’t you?) tales of Egill’s berserk attitude to life, which largely seemed to involve fighting; his more fortunate victims were killed swiftly by the swing of an axe or a sword, but Egill was not averse to other methods, as Atil the Short discovered when his frenzied attacker finished him off with a bite to the neck.

At one point, distraught at the death of his son, Egill decides to starve himself to death. His daughter persuades him to eat dulse, søl in Old Norse, telling him it would quicken his end. In fact, as she knew only too well, it had the opposite effect; its salty intensity created a great thirst in Egill, and he asked for water. His daughter passed him milk instead, and his inanition was ended.

I am not sure this story was what inspired Dean Banks to christen his restaurant, on Queensferry Street in Edinburgh, Dulse. I suspect Dean was thinking of dulse’s Celtic history, as described by Medieval monks in Ireland and Scotland, who gathered dulse from the shoreline for use as a foodstuff and medicine. Alternatively, perhaps he was thinking of dulse’s reputation as a fashionable superfood, alongside kale, goji berries, chia seeds and other edible oddities. Or, just maybe he was thinking of its deliciously mineral, smoky, iodine-rich and salty flavour which has led some to refer to it as ‘the bacon of the sea’.

Whatever the reasoning, naming a restaurant Dulse immediately communicates the restaurant’s style and ethos. This is a kitchen which specialises in seafood from Scotland’s shorelines and waters, and if you know Dean’s backstory this should come as no surprise, as he spent several years learning the ropes with Rick Stein, a man who knows a thing or two about fish. In 2018 he returned home to Scotland, and the following year opened his first restaurant, Haar, in St Andrews. It has a good reputation, and I had hoped to visit when I dined my way up Scotland’s East Coast a few years ago, but on my only free evening their doors were closed. To be fair, in that immediate post-Covid era, a lot of restaurants closed their doors, some of them permanently (but not Haar, I should say).

Success soon followed. Dean Banks installed himself in The Pompadour in Edinburgh’s Caledonian Hotel in 2021, and he opened Dulse the following year. Located just around the corner from The Caledonian, the venue had previously been home to L’Escargot Blanc which had closed earlier that year, another Covid casualty.

On the night of my reservation at Dulse I braved heavy rain for my march along Edinburgh’s Princes Street, and having not had the foresight to bring an umbrella (the skies were blue and bright when I left home, but I admit I should have known better) I arrived feeling (and perhaps looking) like a freshly landed flatfish. Which was a coincidence, because that was the exactly what I chose for my main course.

Having taken a seat in the casual dining environment on the ground floor (I believe there is a more formal dining room on the first floor, but I did not set eyes on it), from the six options offered as starters I plumped for a spring roll of St Andrews Bay lobster and Arbroath smokie (pictured above). The presentation – a huge spring roll dressed with a few slices of preserved onion – lacked visual appeal, nevertheless the filling exploded with smoky seafood flavour, and the crispness of the casing provided a perfect contrast. It arrived doing back stroke on a pool of St Andrews cheddar fondue which was subtle, light and worked well as a foil. This was delicious, fuss-free, hearty fare.

Choosing my main course was a pain in the neck – mainly because I was drawn to the specials board, which was above the bar, directly behind me. I found I could not resist the Champagne baked market fish (pictured above), as it was turbot, a flatfish I have adored ever since I first tasted it more than a few years ago (in St Emilion, strangely enough). It was offered in a variety of portion sizes, and being in a greedy mood (although I planned to share, honest, m’lud) I ordered the largest, which was an extraordinarily generous 600g feast.

This was essentially half the fish, cooked on the bone, then coated in a Champagne and chive velouté. Having filleted a turbot myself once or twice since that St Emilion encounter I have to say in future I would prepare it à la Dulse, the two fillets left sandwiching the bone; the result was much better, the flakes moist yet still possessing that delicious meatiness (I have found the fillets can be prone to drying out when cooked). And the sauce was a perfect match, complementing the fish, and allowing it to shine. As with my smoky spring roll, the presentation was hearty rather than fine, but again full points for flavour. Having said that, a portion of dulse seaweed potatoes served on the side were not so impressive; I was hoping for an umami ‘bacon of the sea’ moment, but what I tasted were rich and buttery spuds with no hint of Egill’s weed.

As the evening bounced along I also had brief mouthfuls of another buttery-rich dish, the lobster crumpet (pictured above), again from the specials board, and the creel-caught Skye langoustines with a confit garlic and harissa butter were also tasty. Just not as tasty as my turbot.

The wine list at Dulse has much to offer, with a broad range of price points, from affordable cheap-and-hopefully-cheerful options at the bottom end, ranging up to pricy white Burgundy at the top. I opted for a 2022 Soave La Rocca from Pieropan, partly because the classic Loire Valley options looked dull, but also because it has been so long since I last tasted a Pieropan Soave. It was good, although the rather timid acidity tells me the Italians must have experienced the same dry heat during the summer of 2022 as we had in the Loire Valley and Bordeaux. We did not seem to have any trouble finishing the bottle though, an indicator of the ripe aromatic expression it displayed.

We ended the evening with Kirriemuir gingerbread, Yorkshire rhubarb, lime posset and honeycomb (pictured below) on one side of the table, a dark chocolate pave with passionfruit and yoghurt on the other. Both dishes were charming in the simplicity of their presentation, more so than the first two courses, and while they were rather predictable compositions the flavours were fine, particularly in the case of the chocolate pave, which offered a pleasing density.

This was a good dinner, of hearty and fishy fare rather than anything overly fussy or finessed; expect solid portions and good flavour combinations, but perhaps don’t come here for a dinner of dainty dishes. With its democratically composed and accessible wine list, though, this is a restaurant I would happily return to. And given their habit of offering discounts to returning customers – I now have a card offering 10% off the cost of my next meal tucked in my wallet (and there are rumours my youngest son has a similar voucher for 30% off – which he would not hand over, for some reason) – that is something I might just have to do.

Prices: The langoustines were £18, the spring roll £20, the lobster crumpet £25, the turbot £80 for 600g (smaller and less pricy portions were available). The potatoes were £6. The whites start at £36 for a Murcian Macabeo from Castaño, and top out at £255 for a Chassagne-Montrachet from Caroline Lestime. The Pieropan Soave was £105. There is a decent selection of wines by the glass, in all styles, from £7.50 up to £19. The puddings were £10 and £11 respectively. The bill included a £1 donation to CHAS (not discussed, but presumably Children’s Hospices Across Scotland), and a service charge of 12.5% (on everything, including the charitable donation and the already inflated price for the wine) was added to the bill. Dinner for two was £316.13, but with a smaller portion of turbot, and a different wine, this figure could have been a lot smaller. (14/3/25)