Norn, Leith, Edinburgh: ‘It makes me want to gasp OMG OMG, like a teen scoring a selfie with Harry Styles’
This article is more than 7 years oldNo matter what fish, fowl or foraged fungus turned up on the day, it would issue from Norn’s kitchen transformed into something ravishing
There’s a moment when you realise you’re in the hands of a special talent: at Norn, that moment arrives with the butter. Small and insignificant in the scheme of a seven-course tasting menu (eight with the unannounced extra of a tartare of ripe, fruity tomato dressed with oil, chive flowers, salty little capers, lovage and croutons), it sets the tone for an extraordinary meal. Homemade, bright and yellow as its namesake flower, the sweet tang from its culturing is as stirring as good wine. Don’t tell me this is “just” butter; it’s so much more than that.
Norn (not, apparently, the result of trying to say “northern” after a few drams) is an austere little restaurant in shades of chilly grey, the only punctuation the open kitchen and a lot of carpet (carpet! In a contemporary restaurant? Whatever next: curtains?). But the room could be hung with Old Masters and they’d still be upstaged by what’s on the plate. Because the food here, from chef/owner Scott Smith (ex-Peat Inn near St Andrews), is beautiful.
Of course, it’s seasonal, too – radically so. Two dinners are unlikely ever to be the same, a remarkable daily feat of creativity, and to describe each dish in detail would exhaust not only word count but superlatives. But no matter what fish, fowl or foraged fungus turned up on the day, it would issue from Norn’s kitchen transformed into something ravishing, be that bread made with northern Scottish beremeal for a loaf of bewitching, raspy crust and dense crumb (with that butter, oh) or good old chicken breast magicked into a dish of many-layered wonders: pheasant back mushrooms like a weird collision between meat, melon and ‘shroom; shards of crisp skin; charred cavolo nero).
My favourite dish is Shetland black potato – rare, because it’s difficult to grow, and difficult to find, because of its colour – is baked until truffly, the dry flesh doused in butter, the dense skin almost porky; it cascades waves of sweet, white crabmeat, with buttermilk foaming on top and a pool of crowdie cheese beneath; plus black rapeseeds for texture and tiny petals of caramelised onion for a fleeting note of sweetness. The whole thing makes me want to gasp OMG OMG OMG, like a teen who’s just scored a selfie with Harry Styles.
Course after course – hake with Dunbar salt marsh herbs and chicken dashi; asparagus with peas and sorrel – and there’s no let-up in the excellence, not one dreary note. Most striking is the unrelenting deliciousness, by no means a given in lengthy menus where more than the odd course is designed to “push boundaries” (aka chefly dickswing). And I love that it’s done with an absence of tricksy presentation or daft, hobbity vessels. Food is arranged on attractive plates and left to tell its own, lyrical story.
Desserts are where modern tasting menus frequently come unstuck, with vegetables and weeds barging rudely in where they’ve no business barging. My heart sinks at the first: ground ivy (yep, a weed with a piney, resinous flavour), woodruff turned into a perfumed, just bitter ice-cream, a puree of salted and fermented rhubarb and, on top, crumbled, caramel popcorn, all in layers, like a solid pousse-café. This kind of thing makes me want to demand a bloody cheeseboard and port like the fartiest of old farts. The chefs take it in turns to deliver dishes, as is the modern Nordic way, and this one is offered by Smith himself. “Try the layers individually,” he says. “It’s for the brave.” He’s not wrong there. But when eaten all at once, more magic occurs and the layers play together in the tightest harmony, delivering nothing but pleasure. I know, I know: you’re just going to have to take my word for it. A marginally more conventional dessert of strawberry (poached, raw, dehydrated) with white chocolate, almond powder and water mint is a lily-livered wallflower by comparison.
My Scotland-based colleague Joanna Blythman signed off her rave of Norn for The Herald by saying “Go”. I echo this, especially since the night we visit, we’re one of only two occupied tables. Sure, it’s expensive, but I’d rather have one meal like this than 10 lesser ones for the same money (plus there’s lunch at £20 for three courses). I want to say a new Scottish star is born, but that would be to do Smith a disservice. He’d be a star wherever he landed.
Norn 50-54 Henderson Street, Leith, Edinburgh EH6, 0131-629 2525. Open lunch Thurs-Sat 12.30-2pm, dinner Tues-Sat 7-9pm (last orders). Lunch, three courses for £20; dinner, four courses for £40, seven for £65, all plus drinks and service.
Food 9/10
Atmosphere 6/10
Value for money 8/10
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