REVIEW: Turtle Bay, Victoria Street

IN Liverpool city centre another day dawns, another concept restaurant arrives. 

Turtle Bay promises a true Caribbean experience. The real thing, or “ting”, as the Gloucester-based chain’s Sri Lankan creator, Ajith Jaya-Wickrema (he also founded Las Iguanas), would have it. 

“It’s the social ‘ting,” declares the website, a salutation that might have seemed faintly less patronising if only we had spotted a single Afro-Caribbean face in the 26th branch that was not painted on to the walls – a pity in the home of one of Europe’s oldest West Indian communities. 

Turtle Bay has more than once attracted the wrong sort of publicity; criticised for a tipping policy that required staff to hand over a percentage of their table sales, and later forced to apologise for a marketing campaign (quickly withdrawn) which involved blacking up customers’ faces and giving them dreadlocks.

jerk pit-grilled king prawns

In Liverpool, Turtle Bay’s owners have done a neat job transforming the inside of the Grade II listed Produce Exchange with sunny colours, fairy lights, reggae dancehall beats, cocktails which (by all accounts) hit the spot, an island bar adorned with vinyl displaying the music of the Caribbean, and the inevitable ghost of Bob Marley, 

Elsewhere, the high ceiling has been lowered right down for added intimacy, tables fashioned from reclaimed wood, and colanders employed as lampshades, though if these are big in Tobago I couldn’t say.

Plus there’s a nice vibe to the first of two outlets planned for the city. This one’s in Victoria Street, which has not seen much action since the days when The Living Room was up to its richly scented armpits in WAGS and magnates. The real bling.

Music is delivered at a level where one can converse without shouting oneself hoarse whilst simultaneously getting one’s groove on. Service, from Maddie, is familiar, knowledgeable and swift.

Trinidad curry chicken

As for the food – said to be inspired by the beach shacks and street hawkers of the Caribbean – its authenticity is questionable and the delivery a little inconsistent.

On the other hand, ingredients are fresh and flavours frequently bold. They are not afraid to turn up the heat and spice, unlike some of their contemporaries (independents aren't immune) who keep those commodities shackled lest they frighten the locals.

Good things include whole, shell-on, jerk pit-grilled king prawns (£5.95), glowing, meaty and perfect for dipping in the herb, chilli and garlic butter, the remnants mopped clean with good flatbread. And jerk spice marinated, grilled and glazed chicken wings (£4.95), their searing heat offset by a lip-smacking sour orange chutney.

Less good are crisp fried spiced coated squid (£4.95) ), which oddly lacked bite, and sweetcorn fritters (£4.95), balls of dough we were encouraged to enliven with hot sauce from bottles, but which ought to have had the character to speak for themselves.

Meat is cooked with precision. Jerk lamb steak (£12.50), marinated and glazed, came tender, pink and juicy, served with sweet potato mash and a Caribbean slaw that had crunch if little kick.

Jerk lamb

With shades of mango and coconut, the sauce with the Trinidad curry chicken (£9.65) might have them shaking their heads in Chaguaramas Bay, but had richness and balance. Shame it had not had an opportunity to penetrate the meat; a whole, plain breast, while cooked just right, is only added in at the end – which presumably explains why they call it “curry chicken” and not curried chicken.

Mrs Grill had on a previous visit had the pleasure of the goat, from the same menu of "one pot" stews, hers marinated and simmered for six hours in a fragrant, hot and heavily spiced curry sauce, with potatoes & carrots, rice ‘n’ peas, sweet onion chutney & flatbread (£9.65). 

You can approach Turtle Bay in one of two ways: as a cynical rip off of a culture and cuisine with little attempt to include the community it comes from; or as a convivial meeting and eating space in as close an approximation of a Bajan beach shack as you’ll get on a bone-chilling winter’s night by the Mersey.

Take your pick.