Guy's Glasgow

Well done, Guy's

Number 24 Candleriggs, in Glasgow has been home to several restaurants that have all had to struggle with gloom. These difficult premises are exceptionally deep and cavernous, entered by a small mouth from the street into a narrow corridor bottleneck. This in turn takes you into a broader area at the back, but it has absolutely no natural light. On its past track record, I would have been tempted to write off number 24 as problematical for a restaurant because of its awkward shape and darkness.

But let there be light! In its new incarnation - Guy's - number 24 Candleriggs is unrecognisable. It has been transformed into a restaurant where the decor is as much of a lure as the food. The narrow area nearest the street has become an elegant bar illuminated by spectacularly gigantic circular chandeliers, the sort of thing you might see in a historic Parisian brasserie or a Jugendstil dining room in Prague.

A grande luxe atmosphere continues in the broader dining area in the back. You nibble away on Melba toast, a nod towards a byegone era of lavish dining. The tables are set with white linen, sparkling cutlery and elegant glassware.The walls are lined with gilt mirrors and an individual collection of paintings. The space is lit by what feels like hundreds of flickering candles. Carbon-neutral? Most certainly not, but the effect is magnificent. You instantly feel cossetted, privileged, looked after. It all creates a sense of occasion. You feel you are in for a treat.

Surveying the menu, I couldn't help wondering what foreign visitors might infer from this eclectic mix. Tuna and scallop sashimi, spaghetti with ragu, Chinese-style roast pork, steak pie? They might struggle to get a sense of any clear cultural identity, not to mention feel confused by workaday dishes like mince and tatties rubbing shoulders with foie gras.

The only way to make this sort of menu work, I find, is to choose a nationality and stick to it, so we went into Italian mode. For once, I ordered well. Usually, I deliberate too long and change to something at the last minute, which proves to be a mistake. But I was most impressed by Mamma Antonia Stott's caponata. I don't have a clue who the aforementioned matron might be, but this was Sicilian caponata as it should be. Properly softened aubergine and fondant celery with capers, grapes and olives in a well-judged agrodolce (sour/sweet) tomato reduction flanked by chargrilled toast and lively, well-dressed rocket.

Then I went on to enjoy an escalope of succulent rosé veal coated with piquant flavours of chilli and garlic, ably fried, then freshened up with parsley and lemon, with a side order of tender, buttery spinach. Both these courses were what I was after, being light on the stomach, healthy but flavour-packed.

My dining companion fared less well. He made heavy weather of his monkfish and scallop risotto, which was stiff, rather than soupy, and too fulsomely fishy, perhaps because the monkfish was past its sparkling best.

He toiled over his duck breast drizzled in aged balsamic vinegar which had been chargrilled, a nice idea, but in this case the charring was over-enthusiastic, producing a burnt taste. The meat was still pink and tender, and the dish might still have been saved if it had been seasoned with a more restrained amount of aged balsamic. As it was, the plate was awash with thinner vinegar that lacked the syrupy, raisiny aristocratic qualities of the elder statesman versions of this celebrated Modenese speciality.

Both of us were happy with the wine list, which is strong on French and Italian bottles from good producers. Mark-ups are restrained and vigilant wine buffs will spot the odd outright bargain.

It was tempting just to go for the cheese - an Iain Mellis selection I'd guess - which included soft Pecorino with white truffle, Keen's Somerset cheddar and the sweet, grainy sheep's milk Brucklay from Aberdeenshire.

Fortunately, I can buy these in Mr Mellis's excellent shops, so we finished off instead with an impeccably wobbly pannacotta anointed with amarena cherries in syrup and a quivering jelly of red muscat wine which came with beautiful fresh berries.

There's tweaking to do. But Guy's feels like a worthwhile addition to the Glasgow dining scene.