REVIEW | The Flixton, Urmston

IT WAS pointed out to me the other day that my review of Knutsford’s Brasserie Blanc was rather ‘stinging’ and that the locals didn’t appreciate their characterisation as adorable red-faced Tories either. While I’d love to think of myself as having a whiplash tongue, only able to communicate in devastating apercus, I’m well aware that this is not the case. At worst I’m just giving places a friendly tease, fully aware that it doesn’t apply to most of the people who live there, most of the time. When it comes to being critical, I’m afraid I’m much more Mary Berry than AA Gill.

I find pomegranate seeds a little irritating, perhaps because they haven’t really committed to being either seed or fruit

All this springs to mind because it’s locales such as Didsbury or Knutsford or Hale that have the kind of local profile that’s easy to rib. They are clichés, yes, that no-one really fits the mould of, being fully developed human beings (in most cases), but we all recognise the earnest vegan hipster or the yummy mummy in the white Cheshire HGV (Highlights n Gym Vehicle) as belonging to a certain postcode.

I say this because my review this week lands in a place that had me stumped when it comes to such cheap shots. All I know about Urmston is that it is the birthplace of the National Health Service* and that there was a rather nice spot called Isinglass here for a while. In the tradition of that restaurant is The Flixton, serving Modern British to the denizens of Urmston.

But sense of place is important to Urmstonites (Urmstonians? Urmstonistas?). For one thing, I hear that some are rather miffed at the choice of name, seeing as Urmston is most certainly not Flixton (please don’t even mention Davyhulme). Actually, the name comes from the road it is situated on, rather than any geographical confusion.

Black pudding bon bons

So, after some jigging about with Google maps, we arrive at The-Flixton-in-Urmston and launch straight into the starters. Black pudding bonbons (£5.95) are little globes of meatiness, which are rather one-note until they suddenly spring to life (not literally, thank god) with a lick of the accompanying mustard sauce. The moules mariniere (£5.95) in contrast, are an example of sauce overload. Did you know that mussels could drown? I didn’t until I had The Flixton version, drenched out of their tiny lives in double cream. Not that too much cream is the worst thing that could happen to a dish, but please, let the flavours of the sea sing a little next time.

Just in time for National Burger Day (seriously, do burgers really need the popularity boost? What’s next, Staying In Bed An Extra 10 Minutes Day? Finding A Fiver In Your Pocket You Forgot You Had Day? I could go on, but I’ve been told my sentences are too long and I do way too many digressions. Oops sorry, too late), we spied the Wagyu beef and bone marrow burger (£14.95). Wagyu beef is famously produced from Japanese cattle which enjoy a pampered, if short life full of beer and massages, like a bovine version of George Best. The marbling of fat throughout the meat is meant to provide the most succulent (and expensive) steaks in the world. Not all beef labelled ‘wagyu’ is Japanese. Much of what we get here in the UK is actually Scottish beef masquerading as Japanese, which put me disturbingly in mind of Sean Connery in You Only Live Twice, a cultural clunker if ever there was one, not to mention some very bad eyebrow acting. 

Still, Bond’s racial insensitivity shouldn’t undermine what is still quality meat that makes a superb burger (I don’t know about the source of this particular beef, just a comment on the general trend of wagyu beef). The addition of bone marrow only ups the unctuous mouthfeel, presented here in a as stripped-back a fashion as possible, no cheese, no baconnaise, no pork pie surprise in the middle, just the patty with some relish and pickle for added tanginess, all presented in a brioche bun which, although it had the sad look of a hat that has just been sat on, tasted absolutely fine. The only side was skinny fries, which were fine, and for the first time I did find myself missing a little bit of side salad or ramekin of trendy coleslaw. Not that these things get eaten anyway, but it just seemed a bit too brazenly straight up, like a one-night stand without any flirting.

Moules marinière

Persian chicken salad

The Persian chicken salad (£9.25), on the other hand, was rather over-blessed with greenery, consisting mainly of a pillow pack of leaves, punctuated by strips of yellow pepper, chunks of red onion and pomegranate seeds. I find pomegranate seeds a little irritating, perhaps because they haven’t really committed to being either seed or fruit, but a kind of gritty combination of the two, though they are undeniably appropriate for a ‘’Persian’ salad. Anyway the chicken was gorgeous, very tender and flavoured with a soft, smoky marinade.

It was in the puddings that the true character of The Flixton really allowed itself to peep through. First up was the ginger and apple trifle (£5.50), which came served in a modernist glass dish a smurf would have been proud to call home – Le Corbusier for pixies. Luckily its contents weren’t quite so odd, a satisfying trifle composed of soft sweet apples, a hint of ginger and a good sprinkle of almonds. I would have welcomed a bit more than a hint of ginger in the flavour department, but otherwise this was a good start.

Ginger and apple trifle

The gin and tonic Eton mess (£5.50) had no such reservations. A riot of flavours and textures, it all started to make much more sense when I started approaching it as two desserts rather than one. The first consisted of lime jelly, which came in gelatinous cubes of mouth-puckeringly delicious sourness, while the gin sorbet was refreshingly crisp with hints of botanicals. The second was dollops of cream topped with the crunchy-on-the-outside, caramel-on-the-inside meringue, which I felt didn’t go with the cubes one bit, but were mighty fine in their own right.

The Flixton is, despite the name, a cracking local restaurant for Urmston. There is definite talent in the kitchen that perhaps just needs a wee bit of a confidence boost to really express itself. Sometimes criticism really is meant to be constructive – a few tweaks here and there and it will be wonderful.

* yes, I do know Trafford General is in Davyhulme.

The Flixton, 46 Flixton Road, Urmston M41 5AB