Sebb’s, Glasgow

Restaurant names always interest me, and I'm always pleased when in the central belt of Scotland they're not in Gaelic. The upstairs joint, Margo, which we reviewed a few weeks ago and which is owned by the same group, is named for co-owner Jonathan MacDonald's late mum. So it perhaps wasn't unreasonable to expect the family tree to contain a Sebastian. Totally wrong as it turns out, but we discovered this later.

The other member of the party was Scotland's Finest Former Journalist (West), well known to regular readers. It was almost the anniversary of our one and only tryst with the SFFJ (East), just a few months before his departure to a better place. We like to think that during our outings he's nodding approval and raising a glass of good red.

Sebb's describes itself as, an underground venue with food cooked over fire, wines on tap, a dedicated cocktail kitchen, a top-tier sound system and a rotating program of music and DJs. A bit trendy sounding for gentlemen of mature years in search only of food and wine. Thankfully the sound system, music and DJs were resting. The room is a long narrow space. The kitchen runs almost the entire length of the place. They really do put chefs first in their layout.

When it comes to designing a bill of fare, one has to be a bit different to stand out these days. From the days when Scoop Restaurants (as they now are) opened the then ground breaking Ox and Finch we have become accustomed to broad ranging menus; however, there is a line between being different and trying far too hard to impress. Here, I fear, that line has not just been crossed, but a new long jump record has been set. We have (and this list is not comprehensive) influences from the States, West Indies, the Middle East, Turkey, Spain, India and Peru, and obscure ingredients from most of them.

I had to look up an awful lot of the listed items. While the lovely and ever patient Daisy was on hand to answer all enquiries with a smile, we just got fed up asking. Does this matter if the food's good? Well, yes and no. At school no one liked a show off and the world of food writing isn't that different. Texan hotlink is a spicy American sausage. Rather good, as was the accompanying gold sauce, a mustardy gloop claimed by various states as their own. Here, the said sausage is stated to be DC's. I have no idea why, nor do I understand why the slices of dill pickle on the side were stated to be bread and butter pickles.

I am conscious of my irritation getting the better of me - I don't usually have to work this hard to write a review - so let's start focussing on the positives. Hummus can be dull. Not this broad bean version, an excellent appetite whetter to aid the deciphering of the menu. Once you order, the dishes fly out as and when they're ready. We're used to that these days. Good pakora are always welcome, and the accompaniment of piccalilli sounded great. But why decide to accompany it with lord of the hundreds which, as you will know, is a hard ewe's cheese from East Sussex? Quite tasty, but why?

A similar question might be applied to the baffling decision to give chalkstream trout, that most delicate of fish, a tandoori treatment. Coley also featured on the menu, and one could have understood combining that with tandoori spices. In fact the coley was listed as coming with padron peppers and preserved lemon mayo. That too was sufficiently spicy to overcome the flavour of the fish. Bizarrely, the two plates didn't taste that radically different from each other. The sausage and the gold sauce were spicy too. Everything was beginning to meld into one. With jerk pork belly, you know what to expect, and there was a nice hit of citrus before the chilli kicked in. Chicken leg came with fermented hot sauce and ranch.

Did we just make poor choices? I don't think so. We ordered half of the dishes on the menu. Among the ones we missed included aubergine with salsa macha (Mexican chilli) or rump steak with peppercorn and guindilla butter (Spanish chilli). Both of us are huge fans of Indian food and have spent many a happy hour marvelling at the complete variations you can detect in a meal which is jam packed with spice. I have to say that with one exception I enjoyed everything we ate. It's just that few of the dishes linger in the memory.

That one exception was rolled lahmacun. Lamachun is a sort of Turkish pizza on a flat bread base. Roll any type of pizza and you have to make sure there is enough filling to keep it interesting. They didn't and it was left mostly untouched.

As ever when we meet we had a terrific time, enlivened by very reasonably priced red wine and good chat, but even as we were emerging into the sunshine we did comment on how it had all been a bit same-y. It does take quite a talent to do that from a menu so geographically diverse.

But just as Rick and Ilsa always had Paris, we'll always have the memory of the wonderful Daisy. Just before we left, I enquired about cousin Sebb. Doesn't exist, she said with a smile. The name comes from

Sixty

Eight

Basement

Bar

She may of course have been pulling my leg, but at least it's not Gaelic.