Fisherman's Lodge Restaurant

Sep 10 2004 By Geoff Laws, The Journal

Fisherman's Lodge Restaurant
Jesmond Dene
Jesmond
Newcastle
Tel: 0191 281 3281
Open: Monday-Saturday: 12 noon-2pm and 7pm-10pm.

Lord Armstrong was a man of vision. He could see how the natural world could be enhanced by man to make a marvel and Jesmond Dene is a good example.

Carved from the rock by the river and helped to its finished state by the efforts of stalwart Victorian men, Lord A. recognised and realised its potential. His lodge house has become a splendid setting for a restaurant.

The question tonight was, "Would the kitchen be as successful in matching natural ingredients with the skills of man?"

We seemed to have hit on a lull in the relentless down-pouring of the day and strolled alongside the rain-swelled torrent of the Ouseburn to the Fisherman's Lodge.

The restaurant has won several accolades and proudly trumpets its achievements in the entrance hall, but that's as loud as any trumpeting goes. Everything else about the place is very understated.

The décor in the bar and dining room is a mix of warm greys and browns, lit by occasional spots and table candles.

Large modern prints and mirrors punctuate the muted tones, sending a clear message that this is where adults come to eat. It's not starchy or overly formal, but there is a distinctly mature atmosphere.

A Campari and soda for my companion and a G&T for me, with canapés, started the evening off well before we moved to our table.

When reviewing restaurants the position of the table is crucial. While others may want a view or a quiet, candle-lit hideaway, the perfect location for me is a well-lit corner, a seat facing into the room and a draping cloth to hide the notebook. This one ticked every box.

Our 2002 Lucien Crochet Sancerre more than fulfilled my hopes for a crisp, fruity wine with a fragrant finish. The dishes we had chosen would be well complemented by this demure, blonde wine.

A woman of few words, I don't think, my companion chose a starter succinctly named, A Taste of Crab, while I went for the loquacious Ballotine of salmon, herb fromage blanc, caviar, shellfish and herb cream.

The crab came in three guises. The first, a warm filo parcel, the second, a timbale of white meat in a light mayonnaise, and the third, a tiny cone of Thai wrapped dark meat that held its fiery secret to the last mouthful, and then hit home.

Some iced water helped calm her tingling taste buds.

My ballotine was at the other end of the spectrum. The salmon, resplendent in evening dress of pearly skin, was offset by polka dots of sauce and tiny minarets of cream cheese topped with bubbles of glossy black caviar.

It was the kind of dish that you needed to concentrate on in order to appreciate the range of subtle flavours and textures and it was worth every quiet moment.

After a respectful interval we moved on to our main courses. I am a relatively recent convert to lamb.

It's no longer the fatty-rich meat of my childhood. Farmers have been encouraged to produce leaner cuts that enable chefs to use a lighter touch which, tonight, was definitely the case.

Slices of pink-centred roast loin lay in medallions on a truffle mash next to a timbale of feathery-rich shoulder meat. A light cassoulet of beans and baby artichokes kept them company, while herby tarragon jus linked them together. A wonderful celebration of lamb at its very best.

My companion's Roasted sea bass with basil tortellini, stuffed morels, asparagus and broad beans was also a star dish. The chef had cooked the fish perfectly. The skin was iridescent and crisp, while the flesh remained moist and fell lightly away.

Bells of translucent tortellini chimed in with the crinkly, dark morels and the greens of the asparagus spears and baby broad beans. The intelligence behind the design of this dish shone out and its execution was flawless.

What could top that? Dessert maybe?

While we toyed with the idea of yet more, I became aware that, although every table was full, and thankfully there is a smoking ban so nobody was spoiling my food with their habit, there was a mellow volume level.

The staff were busily serving, clearing and, when required, adding an occasional contribution to conversations as they dipped in and out. The overall feel was of a mature calm that fitted the food.

Dessert beckoned. My companion chose a Coconut and raspberry confection leaving me the Chocolate marjolaine with spearmint ice cream.

If there were a god of chocolate who decided to invent a chocolate heaven, this dessert would figure largely in the plan. The marjolaine, a soufflé-light sponge, had an intense chocolate sweetness that seduced me to keep on tasting, just to believe it possible.

Before I knew it, it had disappeared.

The spearmint ice cream, in a fluted chocolate crisp basket, was almost another dessert in itself and, amazingly, the same vanishing trick happened again.

My companion's dessert was equally fascinating. A tower of coconut ice, topped with sugar spikes, a swirl of fresh coconut and a velvety fresh raspberry stood elegantly beside a buttery Madeleine that combined coconut with tangy lemon.

As if that wasn't enough, a ball of mild coconut sorbet offered a third option, not to mention the Malibu jelly.

So much thought and wit had gone into this dish it was almost a shame to eat it - but somehow she managed.

To finish this extravaganza we had some espresso, with plenty of rich roasted dimensions that came with some unnecessarily indulgent petit fours, which left incriminating trails of cocoa powder in the direction of a certain part of the table.

What a rare delight this meal had been and, with a price of £120.40, it would remain so, but we all deserve a treat occasionally.