The Palmerston
1 Palmerston Place, Edinburgh EH12 5AF
Tel: +44 (0) 131 220 1794
Internet: www.thepalmerstonedinburgh.co.uk
GPS: 55.947266, -3.215108
The Menu:
Roast beetroot, endive, walnuts, Branzi, sherry vinegar, parsley
Cod, girolles, leeks, roast chicken sauce and tarragon
Wigmore, apple, walnuts and honey
The Wine:
Domaine des Hauts Perrays Crémant de Loire Rosé Brut NV
Thomas Batardière Les Noëls de Montbenault (Vin de France) 2020
Only last week a Touraine vigneron got in touch, looking for some dining advice. En route for the UK on a tour with his importer, with team tastings lined up in Edinburgh and a couple of venues in northern England, he had one question on his mind.
“Do you have any Edinburgh restaurant recommendations?”
My first reaction was to wonder why his importer hadn’t arranged a little evening entertainment. My second was perhaps more helpful.
“The Palmerston,” I replied, “you have to try The Palmerston.”
Situated at the end of Palmerston Place, The Palmerston is deep in the west end of Edinburgh. Occupying a prominent corner position, the building operated as a branch of the Royal Bank of Scotland from the 1920s onwards, although only a few clues to this past life remain today. The bank’s crest, which still sits over the arch above the main door, is one of them.
Similarly, the interior has none of the grandeur many converted banks possess. I recall as a student in Liverpool (yes, this was a long time ago) agreeing to meet up at a wine bar named The Old Bank on St James Street, previously a branch of the National Bank Limited; the interior was festooned with crystal chandeliers and more marble columns than the Sagrada Familia. Rather more recently I ventured within The Spence in Edinburgh, once a branch of The British Linen Bank, now an urban outpost of Gleneagles; the linen trade must have been a good one, as the interior is more lavishly decorated than the Galleria Borghese.
The interior of The Palmerston, however, feels more like a converted pub than a bank.
None of which really matters, because what The Palmerston does have is a superb kitchen and a fantastic wine list.
The Palmerston is the creation of two individuals, restaurateurs Lloyd Morse and James Snowdon. Lloyd is Australian by birth and has come to Edinburgh via a stint at Spring in London, where James once managed The Harwood Arms.
What they have created at the end of Palmerston Place is a warm and cosy restaurant with a welcoming, is-this-a-pub-or-a-restaurant feel to it. Expect a buzzing hubbub within; I dined here on a Thursday evening and the place was crammed, filled with close-packed tables and less-than-private conversations. You might make some new friends on the table next you. And, best of all (although I suppose that depends on how much you value new friendships), expect some delicious grub and, provided you have the patience to pick apart the densely packed wine list, some great bottles.
Putting my glass of Crémant de Loire to one side for the moment, my evening kicked off with a salad based around roast beetroot and endive (pictured above), bringing sweetness and bitterness combined to the plate, nuanced with the textures of caramelised walnuts and slivers of pale golden Branzi, a firm raw-milk cow’s cheese from the Brembana Valley in Lombardy.
It was all brought together by a sherry vinegar dressing, and I think the overall result was delicious. So much so that I have since recreated this combination in my own kitchen and have now become an adept home-carameliser of walnuts. I confess to substituting in various cheeses in place of the Branzi though; I find Manchego works rather well.
Moving on, while I found the my main course of cod, girolles and leeks to have less visual appeal than my starter, its strength was how it tasted rather than how it looked. While the generous slab of divinely cooked cod can not go unacknowledged, this dish was dominated by the incredible flavours within the savoury, umami-infused roast chicken sauce.
Having polished off my cod, leeks and girolles I was left with a small lake of this sauce on my plate. And it called to me.
What was I to do? It couldn’t be left there. I lifted the plate to my lips, and drank it all down.
Absolutely delicious!
It was at this point we made friends with those on the adjacent table, a group of young women out for dinner, who were clearly impressed with my table manners.
“I like your style – I wanted to do that,” said one, “but I just didn’t dare.”
“I made her ask for spoons.” said the other.
I grinned. The jealousy in their voices was tangible. Sometimes, just not caring what other people think of you can be to your advantage.
I finished up with cheese, for a change, a small platter of Wigmore (having provided Branzi’s origins I guess I should do the same here – Wigmore is a creamy washed-curd sheep’s cheese from Berkshire) which was served with slices of apple, walnuts and honey. It was a simple but well-matched combination of elements.
As for the wines, the list here is both fantastic and terrible at the same time. Fantastic because there are some real gems on the list, from all manner of regions. Terrible because it is not even remotely organised, other than being divided into white, rosé and red, with three hundred wines (possibly a slight exaggeration) listed on each side of several pages of A4. Normally I enjoy browsing a wine list but the density of print here felt like reading the New Testament, and I began to wish I had brought my ruler and magnifying glass with me.
And yet I prevailed (phew!). As noted above I started with a glass of Crémant de Loire, before heading down the Layon.
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