The Olive Tree

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The Olive Tree

Olive Tree

If your night out at this fine-dining hotel restaurant in Bath isn’t the stuff that dreams are made off, Melissa Blease will eat her superlatives

‘In years to come, I’ll be happy to say that I was there right at the start of the Olive Tree’s ascent into fine-dining greatness…’ That was me, around seven years ago, not long after Laurence and Helen Beere waltzed into one of Bath’s longest-standing hotel dining institutions (which was, at the time, a rather fusty, archaic experience), ditching the chintz in favour of understated bling and generally giving a Heritage City ‘tradition’ long since past it’s sell-by date a new lease of life.

And now that those years have caught up with me, I’m delighted to say that I wasn’t wrong. Today, I can’t imagine what kind of person could possibly dislike the slick, chic but thoroughly welcoming restaurant that forms the foundation of the subtly glamorous Queensberry Hotel, where head chef Nick Brodie has become nationally renowned for his wonderful ways with locally sourced, seasonal produce prepared and presented to its very best advantage. The decor – a paean to clean lines, pristine table settings and super-flattering lighting - provides a suitably elegant backdrop, while there simply isn’t enough available space here to do the wine list (award-winning), the service (the most elegantly efficient old friends you’ve yet to meet) and the delights of the hotel’s delightfully quirky Old Q Bar (where you wouldn’t be surprised to see Cheryl Cole shooting the breeze with Jeremy Paxman while The Hoff gets a round in) enough justice. Ah well, let’s get on with the task in hand, then: Nick’s nosh, summarised in around 300 words…

On paper, an emulsion of salt-preserved cod and olive oil doesn’t sound like a particularly promising partnership. But trust me when I tell you that Brodie’s brandade is a marriage made in heaven, served as it is with a soft poached egg, caramelised garlic and crispy parsley, all of which add layer upon layer of texture to every soft, soporific bite. A risotto of Cornish cock crab, meanwhile, came lubricated with its own veloute and enriched with perfectly ripe grana padano. Had our meal ended there we’d have dreamt about it for months to come – but, of course, we were only just beginning a journey into prandial perfection.

It’s my bet that only Brodie can turn slow-cooked Gloucester Old Spot pork belly into such a stylish and surprisingly girly treat to behold: neat, sweet and almost paté-like in consistency, piggy came served with spring onion-infused creamed potato and a shard of delicate crackling. But while Mr Macho’s choice of sherry-glazed shin of Stokes Marsh beef looked equally polite on the plate, the kick it delivered was a force to be reckoned with: a depth charge of meltingly silky carnivorous flavour, aided and abetted by characteristically earthy pied de mouton mushrooms and cavolo nero.

Our feast was punctuated with unbidden treats including oven-fresh bread, creamy butternut squash soup served in espresso cups and dinky briquettes of duck parfait. Wine recommendations were made after tasting sips had been offered, including perfect sweet matches for my divinely decadent dark chocolate fondant (given a playful twist by the addition of a shot glass of chocolate milkshake and an orb of peanut ice-cream) and His slightly more grown-up almond and fig iced parfait served with glazed figs and a splash of Mascarada liqueur; foodie fulfilment delivered in spades.

Now I’m fully aware that times are hard for most of us right now, and I really don’t want to be compared to Michael Winner by blithely writing off the total bill for such an encounter as a bargain at around £140. But at the Olive Tree you really do get what you pay for. If want to feel like an A-list superstar and remember such an event for years to come, this is the place to live the dream.