The Spence, Edinburgh

It's Georgian; it's part of Gleneagles; it's stunningly beautiful.  (Why is it called The Spence? Don't interrupt, please.)

37 St Andrew Square was built for the Earl of Dalhousie in 1781, then acquired by The British Linen Company to convert to a bank; adjoining buildings were acquired later; in 1846 the Grand Telling Room, home to today's venue, was designed by architects Burns & Bryce. (Yes but.. Wheesht! We'll come to that.)

The British Linen Bank becomes part of Barclays Bank, which becomes part of the Bank of Scotland. (No, I didn't know that either.) In 2017 the building is acquired by Gleneagles Hotel and opened five years later after many spondoolicks have been invested.

They give you a very helpful little booklet about the history and the art. Look above the magnificent external frontage and marvel at the six imposing statues depicting industry and commerce. Inside on the frieze surrounding the dining room are twelve medallions featuring noteworthy Scots. Equally striking is the modern artwork throughout, commissioned in the main from current, Scottish based artists. This is a truly marvellous space.

But you will search the booklet in vain for reference to a Mr Spence. My researcher (thanks, Zeph) tells me that spence or spens is the Scots word for a pantry or larder, the idea being to to evoke the notion of a storehouse of good produce. The restaurant is often erroneously referred to as The Spence Townhouse: It's simply The Spence, in Gleneagles Townhouse. (Satisfied now?)

Fine, but how was dinner? Getting the food right at a five star hotel aiming at a world market is tricky. It will generally be more international brasserie style than fine dining. The first chef Jonny Wright aimed perhaps at a London style, looking to evoke a grand European dining room in Edinburgh. Under the stewardship of current chef Elliot Hill, there is greater emphasis on produce, and all the finest that Scotland has to offer. A lot of Gleneagles branding leans into that slightly nostalgic, heritage tone. Hill is certainly in tune with that.

To our experience. Happy anniversary to us. Save up for the silver for next year. The first impressions of the service? Just wonderful, as were the middle ones and the last ones. I've never ever cracked the uniform code in great hotels. Generally if you have a jacket, you're quite high up, so I think that Jess was the maitre d' (I don't believe the word maitresse is used in the restaurant world.) Some had aprons; some were in shirt sleeves; some had waistcoats. Most, surprisingly, wore chinos.

I don't care. Loveliness and charm abounded, like being in the middle of that song from Notting Hill. OK, but  the food? Well you know, or ought to know, that it's going to be expensive. These statues and medallions don't come cheap. And the first glance or two at the menu do make you wince. Nine quid for bread. A tad OTT even if it comes with two of my favourite ingredients, Edinburgh butter and Blackthorn salt.

The prices on the section headed Scottish Seafood look less dramatic until you realise you're looking at starter portions. A combination of scallops with chicken crumble, fennel, hazelnut and chicken butter sauce sounds beguiling. Yes, though the actual cooking of the scallops was unusual, more of a throw back to the pre searing days. The beef tartare on the other hand was as good as it gets. The accompanying pickled onions and crisps had not been bought in.

Our mains featured pork tenderloin (that's fillet to you and me) and hogget respectively. Pair pork with black pud, apple, cabbage and mustard - you can't get more classic. Add some slow cooked pork cheek, and you have a very fine dish indeed, delicately and elegantly plated, the whole being greater than the sum of the parts.

On the drawing board I'm sure something similar had been planned for the hogget. The only problem was that half of the plate was occupied by two coarse cabers of sprouting broccoli. Yes of course they were perfectly cooked, but the incongruity of the size was a little off putting. Get that out of the way, then enjoy the rest. I thought the green gloop underneath was spinach, but probably wild garlic, mixed with curd. A great combo. The slices of hogget were lovely, but the star of the dish was the highly flavoursome faggot, rich with offal. A week's worth of iron in one stunning meatball.

No pud as usual, but somehow they had guessed it was a celebration meal. (Trust me, boys and girls, it pays to advertise.) A glorious freebie involving a couple of layers of the most delicate biscuit with a pear parfait, pear and hazelnuts. Hang on - parfait has cream. Not this one, made specially for us with some vegan oat milk sort of stuff. Lordy, Lordy. I really should save space and become an aficionado of more dessert menus.

What an evening. Thank you to Julia, Kaye and Jess. Thank you to Gleneagles and to the non existent Mr Spence. And, but a few weeks on, I've already forgotten how much it cost.