Fit for a Queen

Many moons ago, an apprentice food critic was commissioned to review the Olive Tree in Bath. In many ways, the job represented some kind of ‘arrival’ for the rookie: the restaurant enjoyed established ‘Bath Institution’ status; our fledgling foodie was a mere upstart. And yet there she was in the hallowed surroundings of the elegant but formal Queensbury Hotel, eating fusty food served from domed silver salvers by waiters who strictly adhered to 1950s-era ‘silver service’ standards. It was an experience our tyro would never forget - the point where the whole concept of food representing much more than fuel, the artifice of ‘fine dining’ and the relevance of the restaurant critic came together in one glorious melange. I (for yes, dear reader, that naïve novice was yours truly) didn’t quite have the confidence to say it like it is back then, timidly noting that “the attention to detail is superb but the overall event somehow lacks a certain oomph”. But I knew that, unlikely though it was, the Olive Tree and I had much in common: we each had a responsibility to develop.

Five years on, and boy, have we grown. Not long after I’d relegated the Olive Tree to ‘stuffy old relic’ status, Laurence and Helen Beere took to the helm, dumping the chintz in favour of warm-but-cool minimalist décor, blending a welcoming atmosphere with social and environmental responsibility and capturing the collective imagination of the hip hotel brigade without excluding the old school ties. Head chef Marc Salmon (est. 2005) combines gentle innovation with well-honed tradition to great effect, eschewing gastro-wizardry in favour of creating dishes that sparkle with unpretentious charm. Indeed, dinner at the Olive Tree today is an opportunity for me not only to evaluate where I’ve travelled on my own personal routemap since I first visited, but to assess what factors are moving and shaking the contemporary food scene. Our starters, for example, were all about contrasts: Cornish haddock and creamed leek mille feuille with roasted vine tomatoes, queen scallops with poached ham hock and sweetcorn velouté. Think about it: both dishes combine simple, top-notch, seasonal ingredients with a whisper of sheer luxury, giving familiar comfort zones a wickedly sensual edge. At first glance, menu prices may not be cheap. But at the Olive Tree, you get way more than you pay for.

Next up, my beautifully presented duck breast lounged in plumptous, languid slices alongside a freestyle patty of sweet potato, with thyme tatin and onion marmalade adding depth, tang and/or complexity depending on what components I chose to combine on the fork. Meanwhile, his Cornish seabass with Portland crab and butternut squash risotto – at first glance, a much simpler dish than mine - was quick to reveal equally dextrous hidden depths: the seabass’ crispy exterior gave way to sweet, tender flesh, while robust squash gave weight to a creamy, mild-mannered risotto that itself carried a buoyant supply of very fresh crab hidden within its soporific folds. A shared, mixed vegetable side order further represented Salmon’s textural mastery; wow, this chef is Hot. Throughout it all, the high standard of those all-important peripherals maintained a relentless pace: friendly, fluid service. Oven-fresh bread. An unbidden teacup-sized taster of butternut squash soup. An excellent wine list (and a highly competent guide). As I now have the confidence to say it like it is, I’ll say this for the Olive Tree: it’s pretty darn perfect.

After toffee rice pudding with apple and pear compote and flapjacks and lemon baked alaska with citrus fruits (both – as we’d come to expect – very, very witty twisters on the theme), we signed off with coffee and homemade fudge in the neat, chic lounge. I remember being delighted with that homemade fudge five years ago; some things, it seems, never change.