Peninsula Dining Rooms - restaurant review

LET'S strip it back to the bare bones, to the Platonic ideal: that’s not the Wirral over there, that is mighty, windswept peninsula. It Tarzan, we Jane. 

Think of Owen Wilson’s novelist character in The Royal Tenenbaums who worries away at the word “wildcat”, whispering it over and over, enunciating the syllables in a variety of ways as if they might evoke something profound. 

Jam roly poly with 'real custard' was like shoving your face into a big plump pillow. If such puddings make you think of Ambrosia, then it ought only to be of the original, small 'a', God-food kind

The Wirral can certainly do Kate Bush “deep” – Thurstaston beach, Hilbre Island – but it’s not overburdened with location managers brainstorming “rugged”. 

With a little more raising of the water levels, Wirralians might be cosying up to one another on a different geographic curiosity: an isthmus. That word you do have to say over and over, because it comes out all spitty first time. 

New Brighton is not the peninsula’s most dramatic corner. Even the human behaviour captured by Martin Parr’s The Last Resort is mostly a thing of the past. But here, at the restaurant named for the region’s defining physical characteristic, the food is seriously diverting, and the name Ross Gray worth repeating. 

For those hooked on the silent moments as reality show contestants wait to find out who’s made the cut (are these ever-lengthening periods a case of pop eating itself?) the fact that Gray was a finalist in ‘Wirral Chef of the Year 2011’ may add a little further dramatic frisson. 

When telephoning to book I’d asked if the head chef would be cooking that night. “Why do you want to know if the head chef’s in?” came the reply, from the head chef, to judge by his urgent tone. 

“Just to know. I’ve heard a lot about him,” I’d said. 

“I’m here every night,” Gray had responded. “You can’t get rid of me.” 

The exchange had a slight edge to it. But when we arrived, rarely have I felt so welcome at a restaurant. 

Around a third full this Wednesday evening, we had a range of tables to choose from. As we sat down, Gray came over with the menus. We were after a beer. Listed were John Smiths and Guinness and an invitation to ask about their selection of bottles. He cited a few lagers but we fancied ale. His response was music to our ears. “Yes I have some. They’re free.” 

Exsqueeze me? It seems they currently have a lot of samples from the Liverpool Organic Brewery and, on the understanding that they would take a snifter to try themselves when pouring, we could have one of our choice for free. I felt like Homer Simpson. 

To accompany the drinks we were brought a fusion of the world’s two greatest foodstuffs: curry-flavoured popcorn. It was a fine, light appetiser.

When we’d placed our food orders out came another nibble – a couple of slices of homemade fruit and nut bread, griddled, with a sort of whipped truffle butter. It’s not just that they’re hard to come by that truffles are potent – their aroma is evasive, so you end up chasing after it, like a name on the tip of your tongue.

Gray is keen on gluten-free bread and other produce, and encourages guests to ask what’s available – perhaps something to mention when you book. 

We’d had a feed already and so far it had all been free. It’s a fantastic way to run a restaurant, where the commerce feels secondary to the coming together of an enthusiastic craftsperson and a receptive audience. 

Our starters hadn’t looked like knock-outs written down: we’d gone for haggis with potato rosti and a fried egg (£6.50), and crispy mushrooms with blue cheese mayonnaise and rocket (£6.25).

But the photos will give a sense of how well executed they were. If these little numbers are from the Gray repertoire, then he certainly learnt to play them tight as can be.

The batter on the chunks of Portobello mushroom was pretty heavy duty, but expertly done. The blue cheese mayonnaise sang. Half the pleasure of my haggis dish was playing with it, dismantling this little parcel of goodness. The eating was fun too, especially with the thin, homemade brown sauce puddling into the yolk and grainy haggis.

The menu is reassuringly brief: six each of starters, mains and puddings. Excepting the ribeye steak (£15.95/17.50), the most expensive main is £12.25. 

Upsetting the 6-6-6 symmetry is the handful of chalkboard specials.

Among these was my main of lamb with a white bean purée and chargrilled aubergine that had a rich Heathcliffy darkness that got me feeling like the aforementioned Kate Bush on the Wuthering Heights video. 

From the printed menu my companion chose a pumpkin, white bean and spinach curry (£11.25). This was a light dish which concentrated on letting the vegetables speak for themselves. Nor was it a case of chucking a few spices together and calling it a curry – Gray told us it was a recipe that a former colleague passed on to him. 

The five sides (£2.50-£2.75) are an interesting bunch: chips; bread basket; Lyonnaise potatoes; spinach and peas with chilli and garlic oil, and mixed salad with microgreens. Wine runs from £13.75 by the bottle or £3.85 for a glass. 

In keeping with the warm welcome, there’s a certain domestic feel to the interior – simple wooden tables that make you think "kitchen", whether or not you’ve seen one like this in a home, and soft furnishings in a purple and mauve palette.

But let your eyes soar above the level of bums and eating and chatter for a vision of Wirral as peninsula – wall-mounted photographs capture local landmarks like Leasowe lighthouse, Ss Peter and Paul church in New Brighton and what looks like Bidston windmill, with startling crispness against stark skies. 

The unusual diversity of the pudding list (all £5.25) is further testament to Gray’s passion. It’s worth naming a couple that we didn’t have: vanilla panna cotta with griottine cherries, cherry brandy glaze and orange shortbread biscuit; chocolate brownie with orange ice cream and chilli syrup. 

We went old school. Jam roly poly with “real custard” was as good as you’d hope, like shoving your face into a big plump pillow. If such puddings make you think of Ambrosia then it ought only to be of the original, small "a", God-food kind. 

I tried the rum baba, which came with chargrilled pineapple and mascarpone. It was fantastic, like an enormous baklava – I couldn’t finish it. The sole disappointment was the stale-tasting espresso. 

There are all manner of offers throughout the week, with two courses for either £15.75 or £17.95 at different times. Gray is a dynamic operator: he runs cookery classes and special events.

We slipped away from the wily, windy peninsula, back to our murky pool.

I’ll be back, Ross, let me in-a-your window.

ALL SCORED CONFIDENTIAL REVIEWS ARE IMPARTIAL. Critics dine unannounced and the company picks up their bills - never the restaurant, never a PR company.

Venues are rated against the best examples of their kind: fine dining against the best fine dining, cafes against the best cafes. Following on from this the scores represent: 1-5 saw your leg off and eat it; 6-9 get a DVD; 10-11 if you must; 12-13 if you’re passing; 14-15 worth a trip; 16-18 very good to exceptional; 19-20 As good as it gets.