'Not afraid of flavour': The Pen Factory, Hope Street, reviewed

I did a few laps of Hope Street before entering The Pen Factory. 

Not to burn off the last of my lunch before an evening meal, or to take another look at the space-age monolith that is the Liverpool Metropolitan Cathedral. 

I just walked past it. And with its recessed and unassuming front door down to the basement bistro, this is easily done. 

There really should be a neon sign blazing out from the side of the building and beckoning diners down. But clearly there's no need. The word is out.

The presence of so many strong personalities shouldn't work but in fact creates something wonderful, you know, like ABBA or an Irish funeral

Once the Everyman Bistro, the sort of necessary but uninspired offering that theatres once trotted out like an annual panto, it has spent the last decade learning its lines and now, off book, struts like a seasoned thesp.

My Thursday visit fell on one of the bistro's regular Jazz and Chess nights, and the paired back band of simply saxophone and a double bass mirrored what you'll find on the menu; few ingredients in full voice.

I took my seat at the table - one of those raised stools with a high table parallel to the bar. In other spots this would perhaps be the worst seat in the house, teetering close to the exposed ducting, but with the atmosphere here a mix of relaxed dining and buzzy post-work glasses of wine, it's the ideal vantage point for a nosy journalist.

I started with a Brooklyn Gin and tonic (£6.60 including tonic) to set the appetite whirring whilst I looked through the menu. It's a short list of dishes, and Brooklyn Gin is up there with the best in my book, so this really didn't take long. 

After a month of rich, heavy festive food (with a birthday thrown in amongst it for good measure) I was positively desperate for something lighter and preferably in the form of a fish. Whitebait with saffron aioli and parsley salt. They must have seen me a mile off. 

The whitebait (£9) were lightly doused in batter rather than plaster-casted, as can often happen, and the parsley salt gave them everything they needed to be enjoyed as is. But why would you not instantly reach for the saffron aioli? For something once so precious, they didn't scrimp on the saffron, and it lent the warming, garlicky aioli a sunflower hue and an even brighter flavour. Perfect with a cold glass of white wine.

Ah yes, the wine. Here at Confidentials Towers we are firm believers that restaurants should have the option of wine by the carafe, a 500ml option that allows you more than one glass but not so much that you're found four days later, screaming at seagulls and baffled tourists on the waterfront. 

It might just be me, but I feel as if I don't see Albariño on wine lists that often. The big boys of the new world (sun-bleached and overly dry), and the aloof elders of the French regions (remortgage your flat for a glass) still crowd too many a menu. Albariño is always surprising for me in some way or another, which is why I like ordering it when the chance arrives. This, the Castelo Do Mar (£23.50), was subtly sweet, involving and dangerously suppable. I could hear the cackle of distant seagulls.

Next up was the baked seabass with fennel and olive breadcrumb, citrus medley, roast artichoke and salsa verde (£23). While maybe not the most enticing of colour palettes - a forest floor of mossy green, brown and beigey-white - this was a Royal Rumble of astringent flavours battling it out on the plate to beautiful effect. The presence of so many strong personalities shouldn't work but in fact creates something wonderful, you know, like ABBA or an Irish funeral. 

They weren't shy on the fennel, and nor the salsa verde, giving an aniseed lift to the white fish that was addictively astringent. It pained me ever so slightly but I kept coming back (said the judge to the madame). While it may not be to everyone's taste, if it's to yours you'll love it.

Dessert could have gone so many ways - cherry cake? cheese board? Sticky toffee pudding m'lud? Again, the festive indulgence of the previous month had me wanting something smaller and simpler. Homemade vanilla ice cream it is then (£2). It clung to the spoon just as it should, and was the ideal closing statement of a succinct menu with a clear manifesto.

There's much to see on Hope Street, a circuit of cultural institutions with glorious pit stops in the likes of The Philharmonic Dining Rooms. Many of the buildings more than make themselves known, but don't forget to look down. A bistro with atmosphere to burn and a menu to return for is just down the stairs. Don't miss it. 

The Pen Factory, 13 Hope St, Liverpool L1 9BQ