Review from Venue Magazine 25th Aug - 3rd Sept
Food (*****)
Service (*****)
Ambience (*****)
Words Marc Crewe
"Whoever had the chutzpah to come up with this deserves to succeed," said Julian as we stared at the fixtures and fittings, then across the roof terrace into the middle distance, across Bristol towards Dundry and the Mendips beyond. And chutzpah is most definitely the word for what they've done here: a disused furniture store towards the top of Park Street has been transformed into an all-purpose multi-storey eating and drinking den, with a cafe/bar serving a breakfast and brunchy menu all day and evening; a first floor champagne and cocktail bar with a warren of adjacent rooms that you can wander around or sit in; the restaurant proper, spread over two floors, open lunchtime and evenings; and a plethora of private rooms, available for corporate purposes, birthday piss-ups or whatever it is you feel like doing in them.
There are so many rooms, in fact, that it's easy to get lost or end up somewhere you shouldn't be, or at least end up somewhere you don't know whether you should be or not, which all adds to Goldbrick's intrigue. And there are an awful lot of stairs, too, which means they'll have the fittest waiting staff in Bristol should the dumb waiter fail to work for any reason.
There's also the same kind of ambience and low-key self-assurance that you'd expect from somewhere like Hotel du Vin or Babington House. I'm sure that such a complex operation has led to blind panic behind the scenes, but you, dear punter, would never be aware of it. In any case, three weeks in and the Goldbrick crew appear to have pretty much nailed it. The menu's not, perhaps, as experimental as you might have hoped for - beef AND lamb wellington when there's only a total of four meat choices for mains? - but if things initially look a bit lacking in the envelope-pushing department, you'll certainly be impressed by the elegance of the packaging.
Julian ordered asparagus with fried duck egg & parmesan (£7) and that's exactly what he got: a good, sturdy starter with each item clearly advertising itself. I had the duck & foie gras terrine (£7), dark, pressed meat giving way to smooth liver in the middle, unusually partnered with lentil salad and pickled endive (that's chicory to you).
Still, it's the main courses that really show head chef Piero Boi's pedigree. An uncompromising celery, gorgonzola & walnut pesto risotto (£11) proves that vegetarian dishes can be every bit as powerful as their carnivorous counterparts. The celery in this one launches an uncompromising assault on the other items, even overpowering the normally stinky gorgonzola. It tastes fantastic, and I'm not even a massive fan of celery. The duck breast (£16) also nails its colours convincingly to the mast. Normally you'd expect to find black cherry or orange or something sweet to complement our no-longer-quacking friend, but this tender little fella gets a feisty, fearless peppercorn sauce, caramelised endive and a turnip gratin so creamy that it could almost double for dauphinoise potatoes. This food is sensational, we agree, and I've also picked a bottle of Argentinian red which is so good that even the waiter congratulates me on my choice while the bloke on the next table wants to swap a glass for a glass. Swayed by the chocolate pudding but informed by the volatile mix of red wine, pre-Goldbrick pints of Guinness and a lot of rich food, Julian settles for the prune & armagnac creme brulee (£6.50), brulee being the dessert of choice for people who don't really want anything else to eat. I went for an uber-wobbly and rather childlike vanilla panacotta (£6.50) topped with something syrupy and dotted with mini-cinnamon fritters. Lovely. Slid down a treat.
The next week I popped in for cocktails. The weekend after that I went in
for lunch downstairs. Next week I'll probably drop by again. There's the odd
little niggle - service sometimes seems simultaneously over-attentive and a
tad on the slow side - but by the end of the year, when Goldbrick House starts
to feel comfortable in its own shoes and all that chutzpah begins to pay off,
it will be an impossibly hard act to follow.
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