Wherefore the fine fare of yore?

This review was published in April 2001

Yesterday was Shakespeare's birthday; the intellectually hardy have just devoted a week to historical meditations with the RSC, while "the Celtic season" (regicide and madness in fog and filthy air) is soon to get under way at the Globe.

The theatre itself, with its turning timbered galleries and eye-soothing thatch, is wedged with faithful incongruity between the brick mountain of the Tate Modern and the ironmaster's fantasy of Southwark Bridge. Next to it, within the modern accessory buildings, is The Globe Restaurant. How would a latter-day Falstaff rate the place?

Sherris sack is available (no longer, alas, so described), though quite what Falstaff would make of a mere mouth-moistening 50ml serving (for £2.50) does not bear relation. The Globe cup (a "delicious blend" of cherry brandy and cider) certainly qualifies as the sort of "thin potation" the great drinker would teach his thousand sons to forswear, and the only other drink on the entire list with any resonance for historical roisterers is a glass of Adnams' fine Suffolk strong ale. A man with "a whole merchant's venture of Burdeaux stuff in him" would not be mightily pleased by a single claret on the short list, the mild and obscure Château Melin (with no vintage specified, £16.50).

We noted an English wine, from Bath, at £15.50, though the ominous word "medium" was in tow. "I don't know how to put this politely ..." began the waiter's painfully truthful reply to our enquiry as to its qualities.

We were grateful for the warning and settled for a well-made Cote de Brouilly from Claude Geoffray's Château Thivin (no vintage specified once again, though it turned out to be 1999; reasonable value at £21). Anodyne jazz maundered on in the background. Over to our right, an office party was in progress; apart from that, we were one of just two tables in use. Perhaps the place was as full as The Garter Inn before and after that evening's performance, but I was still left with a sense of wasted opportunity.

There we were, gazing across England's coronary artery to the cool, madrigal-like perfection of Wren's pillared dome, listening as we sat eating our dinner to intermittent applause as the English language was pulled to its elastic limits under an open London sky, yet this restaurant might just as well be the second best in Dunstable or Dorking. No one's asking for badger or heron on the menu, and still less for a kitschy "Bard experience" themed restaurant with cleavage-selected serving wenches in flouncy aprons.

There is, though, grand potential for a celebration of fine English food and drink in this striking and airy room, as well as an exploration of the historical foreign friendships (Iberia, Aquitaine) on which much of our gastronomic culture is based. You can have much fun with Shakespearian quotations and references, as The Globe shop (and the cheap plastic macs for those standing in the Yard) prove: why not try a few on the menu, the wine list, the walls? At the very least, they should get a decent English wine and sparkling wine in, and serve them, with pride, by the glass. And dump the jazz.

The menu shows a little more patriotic imagination than the drinks department: potted ham; foie gras and roast russet-apple terrine with apple ginger jelly; a twice-baked Cheddar cheese soufflé; smoked-eel salad. Alas, though, execution limped behind inspiration like Falstaff's troop of "totter'd prodigals" before the battle of Shrewsbury.

Potted ham appeared to be no more than severed bits interred beneath a coffin lid of cold butter (a starter at £5.95); the jumbo scallops served with black pudding tasted all-too historical, while accompanying fried celeriac was artlessly cubed and unworked (£15.95). There seems little point in braising celery if it only serves to accentuate its stringiness - which it did in company with watery, though plump, guinea fowl served with a dark rent-a-jus (£14.95). Caramelised rice pudding strewn about with cinnamon-rich mulled plums was a success, though (£5.50); more so than the clementine jelly (whose wobbling made a friendly Polish waitress laugh).

Go on, guys: read the plays, play the pipes, drink sack, have fun, rethink.

Wine list scores one out of five.

The Globe Theatre Restaurant
Shakespeare's Globe, New Globe Walk, Bankside, SE1 9DT