Bardot: The Curious Incident of the Cat Food in My Starter

Please note that since writing this blog post, Bardot has closed down

I’ve got this vague, unwritten rule in my head not to visit restaurants within their first six months of opening: there are enough bloggers out there covering the latest “hotspots” as it is, and it’s rarely a true reflection of how a place will fare in the long term. Will someone tattoo that rule on my forehead, please? You’ll see why…

It was Westerpark, there were drinks involved, I was hungry – so far, so Friday night. My colleague had spotted newly opened Bardot in the Staatsliedenbuurt while biking past a week earlier, so we decided to give it a go. Mostly because I’m lazy, and trying to find new places to review (by which I mean places that have been open for longer than six months, but which I haven’t already reviewed) is getting harder and harder.

We ordered a bottle of Picpoul de Pinet. The wine, along with the fabulous service, was the best bit about dinner. Things were about to go downhill rapidly.

Our starters came, and I’d ordered the intriguing-sounding schelvislever, mostly because I didn’t think I’d ever eaten the liver of a fish before. That’s when the tin of cat food appeared. I kid you not – just take a look at the photo. I’m not sure whether the livers came in a tin from the supplier and the chefs figured they’d just leave it there, or whether someone took the active decision to serve my starter in a can. Either way, no one wants to feel like they’re eating cat food for dinner – especially when the texture and taste were as feline-friendly as the presentation. At this point, some bright spark will no doubt ask, “But how do you know what cat food tastes like?” to which I respond: I don’t, of course, but I honestly now I feel like I do. The sad part is it could all have been avoided: if the livers had been blitzed up with some butter, lemon juice, nutmeg and a few herbs, and “potted” in a small ramekin (they could have even chosen some hipster jam-jar vessel if they’d preferred), it would have worked just like the fishy version of a chicken liver pâté. But they didn’t.

My colleague’s starter was chiperones a la plancha, which were baby squid – although I didn’t see or taste much evidence of that plancha. They were wet and rubbery, and I avoided most of them in favour of the bread with aioli instead.

For mains, we thought we’d play it safe with sea bass. It came with a warm salad of pearl barley, celery and some sort of lettuce (I think) that formed a wilted replacement for the promised lamsoor (which is sometimes translated as sea lavender). Remarkably, it managed to be too salty and too bland at the same time. It should have been freshened up and offset by the salsa verde it was served with, which instead wafted grassily of compost heap.

We skipped dessert and instead enjoyed an extra glass of wine. It should be noted that the wine was on the house because we complained about the lack of lamshoor. The service, as I mentioned at the beginning, was impeccable – which is the only thing lifting Bardot from one star to two. But with dishes that resemble cat food and compost, the kitchen lags a long, long way behind.

I don’t think I can face returning to Bardot in six months’ time… If you do, please report back!