Ottolenghi Edinburgh

Yes, I know it's the hottest ticket in town, but what on earth are all these people doing at our table? Or that's how it seemed. In the best traditions of restaurant inspectors, the Tom Eats! team are a douce bunch, silently analysing each mouthful, wetting our palates with a little water from time to time.

Believe that and you'll believe anything. When the Retired Captain of Industry and I visited, the place had been open for a fortnight. For some reason, my invitation to the opening had failed to arrive. Mind you, we have been having a lot of IT problems, but let's gloss over those. The place was hotching. It's a long space on the south side of George Street, with a mezzanine area at the back.

The announcement of the impending arrival of Yotam Ottolenghi's first restaurant in Scotland had caused quite a stir. Yet, when I spoke to folk, remarkably few had ever visited any of his places. L and I are big fans. We love the combination of informality and innovation. The days of the salad bar seemed long gone, but the Ottolenghi salads are unlike any others. And these with sweet teeth drool about the puds. The man has written at least one book dedicated to these alone. Ah, the books.

I was gifted Jerusalem shortly after it came out. It fairly soon found a dark place on a lower shelf. Why? Well what the hell was za'tar or sumac? Where would I find pomegranate molasses, even if I knew what to do with it? How quickly we've moved on. As has as the man himself. He opened a couple of upmarket market places, one of which, Rovi in London's Fitzrovia, was reviewed here a few years back. So which version would arrive in Edinburgh?

Neither, is the answer. Not a salad in sight. Everything with a middle eastern touch. Not cheap, but not aiming at the highest end either. One might expect a few teething problems. Not many, really, except when it came to ordering wine. Ah, we are told, I'll see if the barman can track down a bottle of that. He may just have enough for a glass. Top tip when opening a new place: have large supplies of your cheapest and second cheapest bottles.

That aside, we were superbly looked after. Thanks, Mia and Saskia. No need to explain any concept. We can read. But we were a little bewildered by the Starter section. Six listed, plus bread. You can have them all for £15. The option of having just a couple didn't seem to be on the table. I have no problem with that as such; however, subsequent visits might become a little repetitive. But it was our early mastery of this which led to the formation of what must have looked like a communal table.

The RCI and I had worked our way round the selection of small plates. Miso butter bean mash, fasolakia beans, cucumber achar, burnt aubergine, you know the sort of stuff. There were a few other things to go with the flatbread and black garlic butter. The bread confused us. It wasn't flat, and was described as wildfarmed. No, I don't know either, but it was very good and they happily gave us more on request.

At this stage the tables either side of us became occupied by people of quality, to wit Jean and James and Pauline and David. We imparted our starter knowledge, and the conversation soon flowed. They looked approvingly at our lamb and aubergine and rice pie from the sharing section, with cabbage, garlic and chilli on the side. I loved the former but was less enamoured with the latter. The chat covered football, travel and, of course, food. There was another lamb pie on one side and lamb chops with burnt butter and cumin salt on the other. I had spotted them on the menu, but raised my eyebrows a little at the 42 quid price tag. Got that wrong. I haven't seen such a plate of sheep  meat in a while.

RCI and I had finished our meal but were unwilling to leave such fun company. So we did what all douce restaurant inspectors do, and called for another bottle. This would have been a fine experience even without the added craic. Thanks, Yottam for a new and different addition to the Edinburgh food scene. And I've added a couple of readers to the blog. Welcome to both. And welcome to Ottolenghi.