Zoë Strachan

The Cabin

996-998 Dumbarton Road, Glasgow

Tel: 0141 569 1036

www.cabinglasgow.com

Nautical was in, so I donned my stripey wedges and tied a piece of rope round my waist before realising that what looked so Givenchy, darling, on the pages of a glossy magazine was frankly ridiculous in real life. Especially when I was heading off to the Admiral Benbow to hook up with Long John Silver. That wily old sea cook knows a thing or two about victuals, so map in hand we set sail on another culinary voyage, only to veer off course somewhere towards the end of Dumbarton Road. Fearing sharks and gnashing rocks, we flagged down a cab. Seconds later, a beacon shone out from the roadside: the illuminated deco sign of The Cabin. Land ho! we cried, tired of pemmican and grog and eager for more salubrious fare.

Entering The Cabin is rather like stepping back in time. It looks like a cross between the Queen Mary (indeed it’s a cat’s whisker from where that great liner was built) and a 1930’s suburban living room. The ceiling is low, there are brass fittings and nautical striped blinds, a cosy sideboard, gorgeous vintage ship-shaped lamps and flowers on all the tables. Not measly florist’s offcuts either but big bunches of daffs and tulips. It was very pretty and welcoming, and just about small enough to cope with the fact that there were only two other tables in. This seemed rather a shame for a Thursday night, but we settled down and ordered a bottle of Rioja Crianza 1999 Conde de Valdena (£16).

“Ahh, Jim m’lad, reminds me of my time on the Spanish Main,” said Silver, with a satisfied gulp, and launched into a happy reminiscence about Capt’n Flint and keelhauling which almost put me off my dinner.

            Goat’s cheese is never my favourite meat-free starter, so I ordered it with roast Mediterranean vegetables (£4.95) more out of necessity rather than inclination. A slice of cheese that was generous to a fault sat atop a crouton surrounded by salad, veg and balsamic reduction. As expected, it was just a little too heavy for the beginning of a meal. Silver’s confit of duck leg with flageolet beans and vegetables (£5.95) sounded like a main course, but what arrived was a perfect little mound of tasty stew topped with succulent meat.

“Never can tell when you’ll be marooned,” he said, gnawing the bone clean with gusto. I told him to mind his table manners or he’d find himself in Ben Gunn’s shoes, and given the choice, I’d rather be abandoned on a tropical island than in Whiteinch.

The starters came with soda bread, which vanished in a flash. Our waiter, Dennis, explained that he baked it fresh every day. Actually it seems churlish to call him our waiter. He was more of a host, and definitely the captain of this ship, checking everything was okay, chatting about Donegal with other diners, refusing a glass of wine from a table of regulars.

Silver’s herb roast rack of lamb with red wine thyme jus (£13.95) came with a small timbale of potato gratin and some nice carrots and sugar snaps. When I suggested that the meat erred slightly too far towards the pink side he said it was perfect, and threatened to shiver my timbers. I swiftly turned my attention back to my gruyere and spring onion tartlets (£7.95). There had been two veggie dishes of the day, and I chose these over the aubergine couscous. Again it was a healthy helping, and even with Silver’s help I couldn’t finish both of them, especially as they had a deliciously rich creamy filling of the kind that it’s incredibly difficult to get to remain in the pastry case. Despite this, I did manage to tuck in to the big dish of colcannon that arrived for us to share. Given the mark up on food, I always resent paying extra for side orders, so it was a pleasant relief to have this, and the wonderful soda bread, included. 

Perhaps it was the Rioja, but although The Cabin was quiet, it wasn’t lacking in atmosphere. It’s been going for fifteen years, so I guess it’s developed a bit of personality in that time. We’d certainly found our sea legs by the time the cheese (£5.25) arrived, daintily served on a wooden plate. “Just like on board the Hispaniola!” Silver exclaimed in excitement, but the Brie turned out to be a bit bland. Personally I just don’t see the point in Brie unless it’s so ripe you have to chase it round the room spearing it like a matador with a frisky bull, but we vegetarians have to get our kicks where we can. My chocolate parfait (£4.95) on the other hand was the sort of dessert that could cause an Ikea Edmonton style riot at a slimmers’ weigh-in. I used to feel sorry for people who thought chocolate was better than sex, but now I realise I’ve just been eating the wrong kind of chocolate. 

At the end of the evening Dennis passed us the black spot, or as he called it, the bill. It certainly wasn’t pieces of eight, but nor was it enough to induce apoplexy. The weekend set menu is a little pricier, but then it includes Wilma. Which leads me to a small confession. I’d been to The Cabin once before, some time ago, for the leaving party of a friend of a friend. Unfortunately one of the friends of the friend of a friend (are you still with me here?) was unwell, and retreated to the toilet to vomit between courses. As I’ve said, The Cabin is a small place, and we were right next to the bathroom. Perhaps not surprisingly, I could hardly remember what the food was like. Back to Wilma though. At weekends there’s a single sitting for the set menu, and afterwards, Wilma sings. Now this was something I enjoyed very much, but if you prefer not to end your evening sobbing into your wine while a buxom Glaswegian chanteuse belts out torch songs, well, shame on you. Go on a weeknight. If you do fancy it, be warned, you have to book about four weeks in advance.

            I might have missed the chance to request some spirited sea shanties on my return visit, but the food didn’t disappoint. Our cab drew up and Dennis waved a cheery goodbye as he popped over to the Seaman’s Mission for a nightcap. Silver had a mood to join him, but I cracked open the emergency rum rations and lashed him to the mast. X hadn’t marked the spot, but we found treasure nonetheless.

Dinner for two: £43 excluding drinks and tip