The menu may be anchored in Caledonia, but it doesn’t so much wander around the globe as stagger drunkenly across it
There is nothing that should work about Guy’s. Really: nothing. Its location in a featureless modern building on the fringes of Glasgow’s Merchant City doesn’t exactly seduce at a wink. Inside, the long, narrow room rammed with closely packed tables gives the impression of an overstuffed tunnel. And the decor? Um. Many, many decorative plates, chandeliers, cushions. A gallery’s worth of Gerard M Burns’ super-naturalistic and “symbolic” paintings (he’s the chap responsible for portraits of Nicola Sturgeon and Alex Salmond). I know, I know, all art is subjective, but the cumulative effect is like being locked in Jack Vettriano’s mad auntie’s attic.
A red light above the kitchen flashes when dishes are ready to come off the pass, reminding me quite painfully of my own Glasgow waitressing days. Technology has not caught up with Guy’s. And the menu: holy mince’n’tatties. Despite the appearance of this Scottish teatime favourite, we’re not talking all cock-a-leekie and rumbledethumps. The menu may be anchored in Caledonia, but it doesn’t so much wander around the globe as stagger drunkenly across it, careering off the walls. Sushi? Pasta? (“Al dente”, informs the menu sagely, as if you’d choose to have it any other way.) Steak pie? Bang bang chicken? Teriyaki? Haggis? All here for the asking. This document’s oddities don’t stop at having sashimi jostling with prawn cocktail, foie gras nudging up against “Mamma Antonia Stott’s caponata”, there’s also the hilarious prices for side dishes: £5.45 for a green salad! Is it because we Glaswegians have a reputation for being salad-dodgers, so pricing it like truffles makes it all the more alluring? Lord alone knows.
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