Futurology is a game fit only for fools, I was thinking during a recent chat with an astonishingly patient pensions adviser. While murmuring agreement about fiscal details that entirely bamboozled me, the mind drifted away and alighted on the predictions that peppered newspapers when I started work some 20 years ago ... how, by the early 21st century, we would all travel by jet-packs and why, with technological advances permitting mass retirement before 50, the main challenge facing us would be usefully filling those endless leisure hours.
I had made my way to this meeting on an underground train that moved slightly slower than it did when the Metropolitan line opened during Queen Victoria's reign, to hear why (given sustained growth in the stock markets of the Pacific Rim) I might just be able to retire on my 92nd birthday. The Likely Lads theme song had it right, it occurred, as the image of reviewing care home canteens for Steradent Monthly (part of the Saga Group) zimmered into the consciousness. The only thing to look forward to is the past.
This in mind, unwonted caution is needed when writing about a restaurant/brasserie/deli/cookery school/art gallery on a swanky waterfront development in the centre of Bristol. Bordeaux Quay certainly ought to be the future of British restaurants, but whether it will be is quite another matter.
What is so impressive about this place is, well, everything. Owner and head cook Barny Haughton converted this 1920s warehouse to maximise the use of rain water (filtered and served, still or sparkling, absolutely free) and natural light, and to minimise the need for central heating and air conditioning. Apparently close to being the country's first carbon-neutral restaurant, Bordeaux Quay relies entirely on produce that's been grown locally, or at least within a 50-mile radius
Laudable as this is, all those good intentions would be little more than landmines paving the road to hell were the restaurant itself mediocre. In fact, it provides just about the perfect medley of food, decor and service, and this was as fine a lunch as you are likely to find anywhere at the price.
Although the downstairs brasserie is reliably good, according to my friend who lives in Bristol and was once a restaurateur herself, we ate upstairs in the posher area - a vast, airy, cool space plainly done out with a tan carpet and dauby abstracts on the walls, suffused with plants and swathed in light from full-length windows overlooking a swan-laden canal. It's one of those rooms in which you instinctively relax in expectation of a treat, and so it proved, with a succession of faultless dishes served by highly knowledgable young people smartly clad in white jackets and striped pinnies.
My friend loved her starter of purple sprouting broccoli (very slightly overdone) with roasted cherry tomatoes and a piquant sheep's milk cheese called Berkswell with something herby that was later identified, after consultations with the open-plan kitchen, as a member of the cress family. My starter was also great, delicately smoked pieces of eel and salmon coming with crunchy, lightly pickled bits of carrot and fennel, and a subtle horseradish crème fraîche.
It wasn't until the main courses that provenance really came into play. Generally the sourcing of ingredients is pointless posturing, but in a restaurant that's so genuinely committed to using local organic suppliers, the hackles remained static. My friend's fish, caught the previous day in Weymouth and cooked to the ideal, crispy-skinned finish, had the authentically ethereal flavour of wild sea bass, and came with girolles, spinach, artichokes and chard. My loin of venison, which the menu revealed came from the Quantock hills (before going on to educate us about plans to reintroduce wolves to Britain to reduce the harm deer inflict on woodland areas), was as regal a rendition of this autumn classic as you could imagine: a generous serving of gloriously gamey, ruby-red meat enhanced by black cabbage, celeriac purée and a gutsy sauce of morels and Madeira.
With both of us poised to undo all the environmental good work with longish motorway drives home, we could gaze only longingly at a wine list that follows the clever precedent set by Arbutus in Soho of offering every wine in small carafes. But we did get stuck into the puddings, a wonderfully sharp plum jelly with an orange cinnamon parfait and a lemon tart with crème fraîche that was sensational enough to provoke some Meg Ryan-esque moaning.
In short, this is a gleaming jewel of a restaurant that underpins its principles with flair, imagination and rigorous professionalism, and illustrates the value of buying first-class ingredients and then cooking them with precision but without fuss. That such a simple winning formula remains so widely elusive is testament to the smugness of an industry that should come to Bordeaux Quay by the coach-load for a glimpse into a utopian future that only the unreconstructed believer in jet-packs and comfortable retirement at the age of 47 would be crazy enough to predict.
Bordeaux Quay 9.5/10
Telephone: 0117 943 1200.
Address: V-Shed, Canons Way, Bristol.
Open: Mon-Sat, lunch, noon-3pm, dinner, 6.30-10.30pm.
Closed Sun.
