WITH every Tripadvisor review, my trepidation grew; 10 of the first 17 in the “terrible” category, could that even be some kind of record?
So it was that with an open mind but a sinking heart I found myself at the Everyman Bistro, not to be confused with the, er, Everyman Bistro.
This was essentially an awful lot of cauliflower. And I mean awful. Cold, hard and drab, it was, a fellow diner observed, 'like permanent Lent'
And here resides the immediate problem. You could never confuse the old bistro with its replacement in the basement, but by retaining the name you inevitably invite comparisons. And these, by and large, have been negative: “dreams crushed”, “shocking”, “left in disgust,” “don't call me matey”. They are not all damning, just most of them.
It didn't help that as the closure of the beloved Paddy Byrne/David Scott venue caused a city-wide spike in tissue sales, there was much rash talk of recreating the “spirit” of the original.
But words like “spirit” struggle for life in the world of redevelopment programmes.
Everyman Food and Beverage Director Tom Lang may well be a good chap with good intentions but he is without overall control of the new bistro; that privilege went to BaxterStorey, “the UK's leading independent corporate restaurateur”, and, as everybody knows, “corporate” is code for a company that has sold its soul to the devil in exchange for a licence to destroy humanity.
I have no axe to grind here; mine was no 40-year love affair, me and the old bistro were more on nodding terms. Besides, nothing lasts forever, the place was, arguably, on the wane, and, for the most part, the rebuilding of the Everyman looks like a pretty nice job.
But I know this much: the spirit of the bistro, like all such places, was in all of it – the marks on the tables, the fellow feeling, the disastrous dates, the mates, the hipsters and shysters and Jagermeisters, the rubbish toilets – and it's gone now, a lot of it in skips, and you can't resurrect it by giving it the same name and the same location.
Actually, it's not the same location; like the new Cavern Club, which occupies an adjacent subterranean space to the one of legend and the Beatles, the new bistro is separated from the old by a wall, the salads that shook the world but a ghostly memory therein.
They should have held their nerve – easy for me to say, I know – and just moved on. And now that failure of nerve has become the excuse: “people don't like change”. But if the new bistro's only problem was that it wasn't the old bistro all would, eventually, be right. Unfortunately, on our visit, the inadequacies went deeper than that.
Chilli with chocolate
In spite of the lights that cover the ceiling, hanging high and low, brightly and dimly, according, it is said, to “diners' moods”, the dominant tone is brown. It's everywhere: the walls, the brickwork, the bar, the menus, the pepper pot, the little clipboards for the menus. Brown is just the thing in Delamere Forest; down here it only adds to the sense of being interred.
Banquettes (brown) line the walls while tables and chairs (brown) look like they were put out for a BaxterStorey training course.
A portion of that Tripadvisor criticism was reserved for the service but, in the main, ours was smiley and helpful. There may be confusion here; you order at the counter and they bring it over but this is not at all clear when you arrive.
The menu is designed, it says here, to “nourish body and soul”: sharing boards, daily specials, salads, and a dozen or so regular dishes – meat, fish and vegetarian – mostly available as “small and big plates”. Some are “ready in 15 minutes” for those who have an eye on the notional curtain in the main house.
Actually, the small plates are pretty generous, though, as it turns out, this is not necessarily a good thing.
Shetland mussels and chorizo in a white wine sauce (small £7.50/big £10.50) arrived tepid: mediocre mussels heaped on to a shallow (no danger of drowning) pool of liquor and served with bread fit only for making crumbs.
“Chunky” shin of beef chilli with chocolate and “chunky” bread (small £6.50/big £9.50) was an unexceptional stew which made the fatal error of using sweet chocolate, an absolute no-no for chilli. The surprising addition of onion rings was by far the best thing about the dish.
An 8oz “local” beef burger (£8.50, add bacon/Monterey Jack cheese/avocado for £1 extra) was served in a “freshly baked” ciabatta bun, the bottom half soggy, the top rock hard, with a ball of meat that tasted of nothing.
The six chips that came with it were bang on, the highlight of our night no less: probably parboiled, they achieved the ideal of fluffy, flavourful inner and crisp, perfectly dry outer. Whoever's in charge of the deep fat fryer needs a pay rise.
From the sides (all £3), cheesy mash with roasted garlic had no discernible trace of garlic. Sauteed spinach was an improvement, but it takes a special skill to mess that up.
Wild mushroom and Ashcroft leek (whatever that is) pie with poached egg and chive cream (£8.95) was a good idea spoiled by the detail. A loose-fitting puff pastry lid, flimsy and bland, was a last minute addition and had no opportunity to take on the character of the rest.
Of the filling, the mushrooms were very good, the egg just so, and other assorted vegetables fine, but someone had decided the best way to add depth to the dish was with a big dollop of Dijon mustard. Which says a lot about the attitude of restaurants towards vegetarians.
But not nearly as much as the spiced cauliflower, harissa, pomegranate yoghurt and black sesame seed (small £5.50/big £8.50) does. The low point of the meal, this was grim fare, the red and black seeds doing nothing to disguise the fact that this was essentially an awful lot of cauliflower. And I mean awful. Cold, hard and drab, it was, a fellow diner observed, “like permanent Lent”.
Cauliflower harissa, pomegranate yoghurt and black sesame seed
Indeed, if it does “nourish the soul”, it is in the same way that whipping yourself with a garden cane does (unless you like that sort of thing).
Puddings (£4.95) were better: rhubarb and ginger crumble with “proper” custard, was a little short on crumble, but warm chocolate brownie with Cheshire clotted cream felt like compensation for surviving the folly of the cauli.
We are told that an award-winning local restaurateur applied to run the bistro but did not receive the courtesy of a reply. Time to pick up the phone and grovel.
All scored Confidential reviews are paid for by the company, never the restaurant or a PR company, and critics dine unannounced.
Everyman Bistro
13 Hope Street
Liverpool
L1 9BH
T: 0151 708 3700
Rating: 10/20
4/10 food
4/5 service
2/5 ambience
Venues are rated against the best examples of their kind: fine dining against the best fine dining, cafes against other cafes etc. Following on from this the scores represent:
1-5: Straight in the dog bowl
6-9: Get to the chippy
10-11: In an emergency
12-13: If you happen to be passing
14-15: Worth a trip out
16-17: Very good to exceptional
18-20: As good as it gets
