Rogue nation: “a state that does not respect other states in its international actions”.
It has to be said that Rogue isn’t the most obvious name for a restaurant, even if the word itself feels so deliciously au courant right now.
In truth, I’m not quite sure what drew me towards this place when I was desperately trying to think of somewhere new to review in St Andrews.
Maybe it was the fact it actually opens on Tuesdays, the only night we were free to eat out last week.
Or it might have been their website’s claim that this is St Andrews’ hidden gem, a statement which, for me, has all the allure of Liz Taylor hearing that the Koh-i-Noor diamond is actually hidden in a vat of fudge doughnut mix in her freezer cabinet.
But really it probably was that name – booking a table at a restaurant called Rogue while watching Emily Maitlis eviscerate the government on Newsnight suddenly seemed to embody an almost painful sense of nowness, coming at a time when the reunited Soft Cell could threaten legal action against much of the UK for wilful misappropriation of the word “sleaze”.
I suppose the positive elements of calling a restaurant Rogue are that you’re immediately singling yourself out as the misfit, the iconoclast, the one prepared to cause a bit of an upset.
This is normally a good thing, unless you’re piloting a 747, conducting open heart surgery or running a country.
This sense of roguishness, upset and unrest did become apparent the night we visited here – but only when the vegetarian starter was revealed and we started to worry about the kind of upset only a stomach tablet can cure. More of this later.
Rogue’s claim to be a hidden gem was actually partly true because it did take us a while to find it, even though I do remember often looking wistfully into this intriguing space
during lockdown.
However, a festively-lit St Andrews looked so beguiling it was nice to get lost walking past tasteful shops like Farmore Interiors and feel that maybe, just for a minute, life could be temporarily enriched by fairy lights and fripperies.
Rogue is quite unassuming and, as such, is a bit of a quiet beacon at the end of South Street.
A meat-filled chilled cabinet faces the street, lit like a Damien Hirst installation and reminding us that some of what we are about to eat was once alive.
I don’t know if it’s because I was with a vegetarian but there was something at once intensely glamorous and yet mildly creepy about this visual feature, as if the notion of nose-to-tail eating had been appropriated by some twerp with an interior design diploma and an Anthony Bourdain book.
I had already warned David there was little hope for innocent vegetarians venturing past this cornucopia of cow into these bovine depths of Hades oceans, where a Porterhouse steak is yours for £85.
Nevertheless, we soldiered on.
Surroundings
Rogue looks and feels good, like that wine bar you once discovered in a side street in Charing Cross and then could never find again.
It’s dark and feels quite seductive, somewhere you might come if you were having an affair or needed to confess to one.
Given that one of the more recent joys of modern life has been the reappropriation of the great, long-lost wine bar by places like the brilliant Noble Rot in London (closer to home, there’s also a great modern wine bar in Edinburgh called Good Brothers) I immediately warmed to Rogue as a place where you could drink too much, talk too much and think too many bad thoughts.
At this point I remember saying to David that all they had to do was get the food right, not throw the main courses in our laps and we’d be on the home run.
As ever, life wasn’t that simple.
Firstly, I have to apologise for not ordering steak when the restaurant seems to be at such pains to emphasise their steak credentials.
I mean it’s not like they’re claiming to be Brooklyn’s legendary Peter Luger or anything but when I subsequently read some online reviews I realised that most people coming here seemed to eat steak (albeit with mixed responses).
Tonight, though, I just didn’t feel like eating steak and also the cuts I would have chosen were only served for at least two people, and I was dining with a vegetarian.
Nevertheless, I apologise that I can’t comment on the steaks.
I did, however, stick to fish so their aim to serve “the best of seasonal, sustainable Scottish seafood and dry-aged beef” wasn’t entirely lost on me.
The food
We started with bread and olives – Barnett’s “artisan bread” (yawn) with Gordal olives (yawn), Guindilla chillies, garlic and rosemary (£5).
The bread was toasted and was fine and the olives were as good as ever but the ubiquity of Barnett’s and Wild Hearth breads and Gordal olives on local menus is beginning to be seriously annoying.
The advertised Guindilla chillies, garlic and rosemary just weren’t there, which made the £5 charge for bought-in bread and olives seem high.
I started with hazelnut-crusted North Atlantic turbot with foraged wild mushrooms, Jerusalem artichoke and truffle (£14).
The fish was fine – a bit overcooked, but still with some moisture – and the mushrooms were lovely but I just didn’t like the sweetness of the Jerusalem artichoke with the fish.
To me it jarred with the delicacy of the turbot and the woodiness of the mushrooms, as if someone had added a spoonful of Tate & Lyle to the dish.
The portion was small, as you might expect from a starter, but even though the king of fish is expensive I didn’t feel that this dish merited the £14 price tag.
David’s starter was a disaster, both in presentation and taste.
Apart from the soup of the day there was just one vegetarian starter on this menu, and it was horrible.
Lablabi (£8) was notable for many things, all of them negative.
Firstly, this lablabi stood out because it wasn’t lablabi.
Lablabi is a simple Tunisian dish of chickpeas in a scented broth, served over crusty bread. Egg is often added to the soup mix, along with variables including harissa, capers, garlic and vinegar.
The lablabi served here was stewed chickpeas, harissa, sundried tomatoes, preserved lemon mayo and black onion seed flatbread.
I have a photo of the dish with David’s hands poised above it and I have to say that even his hands look disappointed at the concoction below them.
The chickpea mush sat in the centre of the plate looking like some kind of pulse tartare.
Trust me – this is not a good look.
This dish somehow tasted less than the sum of its parts, which is to say that we could imagine 50p cans of chickpeas being opened in student flats all over St Andrews, mixed with tinned tomatoes and presented as dinner on the last day of the month before the bank withdraws your overdraft. Horrid.
David’s Moving Mountain burger with smoked vegan Gouda, slaw, pickle and fries (£14) was what you get when you try to make vegetable protein taste like Spam. I tasted it and thanked the Lord I’m not vegetarian.
In fairness I have to say that there was another vegetarian option – a barley primavera for £14 – which somehow seemed to promise less even than the burger, although anything that nods to spring in the middle of a Scottish winter has to be applauded for chutzpah.
My main course of poached Peterhead cod, braised leeks, Shetland mussels, oyster velouté and curry oil was pretty good, although the cod was overcooked and I couldn’t taste the curry oil. The presentation of the dish was messy and only emphasised the woolly texture of the fish.
It pains me to report these negatives as Rogue felt like the kind of place we’d really enjoy. But the food was disappointing and there’s no point extolling the provenance of your ingredients if the cooking of them is so erratic.
There are things to be applauded here, not least that someone in this kitchen has ambition and that this is a place which is trying to offer a more metropolitan experience than many of its rivals. All credit to them for that, and for a pretty good, concise wine list, even if the cheapest red is £34.
But, much as I loved the surroundings, I probably wouldn’t return here for a while.
There were just too many negatives with the food.
Service was fine although again you got the feeling you were part of a transaction. The three servers spent much of the night chatting behind the bar or staring at a laptop screen and, although they were all very affable, you didn’t feel that they cared very much about the experience.
As so often these days we left with no sign that we’d just spent the last
hour there – no goodbyes, no wishes that we’d had a good evening. Nothing.
You might think it churlish to report things like this but is it really so difficult to say goodbye to customers, especially when there’s only two tables occupied in the restaurant?
The verdict
Rogue isn’t terrible, and that’s what’s frustrating about it because it could be so good.
But that bedsit starter, the lack of precision in the cooking, the fact that both the cheese course and one of the desserts was apparently sold out at 7pm on a Tuesday… it just wasn’t great.
Is this rogue loveable? Well, it’s no Oliver Reed but then thankfully it’s no Boris Johnson either.
More roguishness needed here… good semifreddo though! (£7).
Information
Address: Rogue, 209 South Street, St Andrews KY16 9EF
T: 01334 470 354
W: www.rogue-standrews.com
Prices: Starters from £5, mains from £14 and desserts from £7
Scores:
- Food: 3/5
- Service: 3/5
- Surroundings: 4/5
