BARTENDERs should absolutely, unequivocally, never, ever, ever be allowed anywhere near the playlist.
NEVER.
One of the most satisfying aspects of going out for a meal is that you're forced to sit down, speak, listen, laugh, share life. I'm also fond of the sound of my own voice and get pretty narky when I can't hear it.
If you’ve ever studied the bartender, not so much the inbetween-jobs or student bartender (although most start this way and become hooked on a luring cocktail of good tips, bad drugs and easy inter-bar sex) but the lasters and the lifers, you’ll know that most are as odd as dolphin’s slippers.
Twisted by terrible working hours, even worse diets and a fairly regular stream of abuse from Joe Public, bartenders forge insular tribes, fascinated by lime shavings, obscure Japanese bourbons and copying each other's funny haircuts (the first three people I knew with that Samurai top-knot were bartenders).
Hello handsome
Ungoverned by daylight hours and nine-to-five humdrummery, their judgements become distorted, and such, their personal tastes are never, ever to be trusted. Particularly when it comes to the music played on a restaurant playlist.
Manchester's most successful former 80s TGI Friday bartender, Tim Bacon (CEO and Co-Founder of all-conquering Manchester-based restaurant and bar group Living Ventures), knew better than anyone, as a former bartender, that the tastes of bartenders are not to be trusted.
So he created a remedy - It's called the LITMUS test (Lighting, Temperature, Music) - a strict guide to venue ambience enforced under pain of death across all his units.
And you can 100% guarantee that should Allotment have maintained a similar order, I wouldn't have had to listen to some tit from Linkin Park scream 'NUMMMMMMB' down my lughole for almost all of my pheasant course. This was Spinal Tap volume eleven. Even after they turned it down. Twice.
Allotment
The thing is I want to like Allotment. I really do.
This latest in a stream of Northern Quarter openings is a start-up by two young entrepreneurial chaps who've worked their arses off in Vodka Revolution over the past five years in order to pool enough dough to go it alone. Good on 'em. That's what the Northern Quarter should be about (sadly less so now); youthful aspiration.
I even enjoy the bold interior, of that recent Botanist/Lawn Club vein, like Alan Titchmarsh has been forced on to some bastardized version of 60 Minute Makeover using only stuff gathered from his shed. Buckets for light fittings, astroturfed corners, potted plants and white picket walls. Shamelessly twee fun and anything other than the city's default distressed NY warehouse fit-out is now refreshing.
But bugger me the racket. Whether it's the bartender's iPod, or Spotify, or whatever, kill it. One of the most satisfying aspects of going out for a meal is that you're forced to sit down, speak, listen, laugh, share life. I'm also fond of the sound of my own voice and get pretty narky when I can't hear it.
Olive plant pot
Soggy bottom goujons
So when the food came - which it did promptly and delivered each time with charm and patience - it may as well have been perfectly seared Unicorn steak. I couldn't give it my full attention.
But I remember bits.
The bread and olive plant pot (£3.50) was a little treasure. Juicy olives, sun dried tomoatoes, cornichons and caperberries. A pot bursting with flavour which probably made them next to sod all in profit. A nice touch.
The following haddock goujons (£5.50) were less enjoyable, thick batter downplayed good fish and gave them soggy bottoms. The tartar was also suspiciously uniform, unchunky and probably bought in. C'mon chaps, homemade tartar takes ten minutes. The creamy garlic garden mushrooms (£5) were tasty but needlessly lost in a sea of soup.
A companion's courgette, feta and mint salad main (£7.50, main image) was sharp and fresh with beautiful ingredients but one-dimensional. It needed another flavour. The pheasant breast braised in cider with caramelised onion and smoked bacon (£13.95) was unremarkable, the dryness of the bacon had bullied much of the game bird's succulence. It looked a bit sad sat there on grannie's plate, like a bunch of grumpy kids forced to play together.
The pheasant breast braised in cider with caramelised onion and smoked bacon
Jarrah Wood Shiraz
A reasonable £15 bottle of big-hitting Jarrah Wood Shiraz fought off apathy throughout. Sadly, desserts were passed before the cochlea had to uncoil itself and dive down the throat for some peace and quiet.
Allotment could be more. Perhaps it should decide whether it's more bar than restaurant or vice versa.
The chaps have grafted like navvies to turn this knackered old Nickleby's pub into something very handsome indeed but the specifics need knocking into shape. It's easy to get bogged down in menus and overlook the importance of ambience but you really don't need some Nu Metal nuisance blasting the bird off the end of your fork.
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Allotment, 24 Dale Street, Northern Quarter, Manchester M1 1FY.
0161 222 0580
Allotment
