‘This kitchen isn’t here to whisper’: The Art School, Liverpool, reviewed

Standing in front of The Art School's building, on the edge of the Georgian Quarter, it looks more Mayfair than Liverpool. It has the smell of old money. Which I like.

Walking through the front door, hairs start going up on the back of your neck. The gaff knows exactly what it’s doing. Mainly because the Chef-Patron, Paul ‘Porky’ Askew, knows what he’s doing. Paul is an old-school chef, trained on Escoffier and understands structure as well as flavour. Ask him to do a Sole Bonne Femme blind, and he will deliver it perfectly.

There is a very classy lady waiting for you with a smile that lights up an interestingly gloomy reception, welcomes you and passes you over to the front of house in an attentive and confident manner.

You feel special before you’ve even sat down.

The bar on the way through to the dining room wouldn’t look out of place in the Connaught Hotel down in that there London. You can sit here a while and have ‘un coup’ while you browse the menus; at lunchtime there is a good-looking prix-fix at £49. I added on one dish, the twice-baked cheese soufflé; I remember it from a lunch I had with Tony Schumaker, one of Confidentials columnists who is famous now, particularly for the BBC dramas The Responder and The Cage. I’m proud of him.

I’m also proud of the soufflé; it’s a brutalist Escoffier dish that should wear a leather jacket with gang colours on the back, and I don’t know a chef in the UK today who can get it right apart from Porky. Let’s see if he’s still on form.

The format these days is no longer a la carte, but set menus with several ‘courses’; not quite those eighteen mouthful marathons so beloved of Michelin, where it’s difficult to know what the fuck is going on after the fifth; my palate can’t, and I sometimes feel like nipping to the bathroom with a sharp knife to open a vein on the thirteenth hole. And if you are a mug and order ‘a wine flight, STOP IT. Now.

There is no way this works on an appreciating level. Buy a bottle of Champagne (a good premier cru will cost about the same as the wine flights; I recommend Cossy. Old money class) and maybe a good glass of Beaujolais for the protein in the middle, and you’ll be laughing. The sommelier won’t, but hey-ho.

Porky’s courses are more Brett Graham at The Ledbury (the best restaurant in the world? Discuss) than Simon Rogan at L’Enclume, as we will see.

Skidding to a halt on the lovely white tablecloth; punchy and full of swagger, delivering flavour with a shout, we get …Yo! Pay attention, we are the AMUSE BOUCHE MATE.”

This kitchen isn’t here to whisper. It’s here to cook.

The bread and butter superb. Cheshire cultured that butter, I’ll have you know.

A glass of wine follows a bit of gentle back-and-forth with Liam, the sommelier, who clearly knows his craft and isn’t afraid to guide you. There’s a relaxed charm to the service that makes the whole experience feel personal rather than rehearsed. It matters.

“Have you got a glass of white, something close to a Gewürztraminer?” asks Gordo. “Yes”, replies Liam. “We’ve got a Gewürztraminer.”

It’s not often you get a Turckheim Réserve by the glass. It’s like an affair with an Alsatian Countess. You’ll have to wait for the book. And, she was Austrian.

The first ‘proper’ course, a trout dish, was outstanding. Loch Etive trout (me neither) with sorrel sauce, compressed cucumber, Keta caviar (me neither, but Stan told me) and lovage oil.

Bloody hell. I loved this. The skin had been crisped and seasoned with something leaning towards salty, savoury, deeply satisfying. Immaculate Trout. I can still taste it. The sorrel sauce was classical cooking at its finest: sharp but creamy, bright, perfectly balanced. The kind of sauce that speaks of hard training, discipline, and respect for tradition. It lifted the dish into something memorable. The correct term is lush. Really, really lush.

A small but clever addition of cucumber cubes, lightly warmed, kept everything in check, preventing the richness from tipping over into excess. It’s these thoughtful touches that separate good cooking from great cooking.

‘Soufflé Suissesse’ delivered, Gruyère and Mrs Kirkham’s Lancashire with a Dijon sauce.

The anchor course followed, a sliced rump of lamb, and in many ways it was a showcase of both brilliance and overreach. Let’s start with the positives. The lamb itself was from a herd that had been coddled; tender, deeply flavoured, and pink. The jus was spot on: glossy, rich, and perfectly judged in texture. Not too thick, not too thin, just right. You could taste the care in the stock, the time invested, the quality of the bones.

There was also a carrot element cooked in lamb fat that was a Lady Gaga of an ingredient, sweet, rich, full of depth and dead cocky. It was as important on the plate as the protein.

But here’s the rub: the dish tried to do too much. Alongside the beautifully cooked lamb were additional elements: a piece of shoulder, a white cheese component, grains or couscous-like textures, and greens; and suddenly the clarity of the dish became muddied. One or two of these additions worked, but together they created a sense of clutter. The lamb didn’t need the help.

Desserts arrived as a trio. A pastry-chef-star is knocking about on the other side of that pass. Each element brought something different, and together they made for a lovingly satisfying conclusion. That said, one can’t help but wonder whether a choice of traditional single puddings, a simple choice of two classics would balance out the menu and make a statement against the modern renderings of kitchens at this level; not enough texture.

Ooh? Îles Flottantes anyone? That’ll get you a star, Chef.

Petit fours were exactly what they should be: refined, indulgent, holding hands with an excellent coffee. And the coffee itself deserves mention, I think I can guess a local roaster is in play. It’s really sexy.

A very good lunch — and with just a touch of restraint, it could be perfect.

A very strong Gordo Go.

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