Find Out What we Thought of This Michelin-star Restaurant in Newcastle
We head to Kenny Atkinson's quayside restaurant, Solstice, to try a Michelin-star weekend lunch
Once seated, we can still peek into the kitchen from our table, and we’re perusing the tablet which displays the drinks menu when we’re presented with a chilled Blancs de Blancs each, in a delicate tulip-shaped glass on a thin stem. An auspicious start.
We’re here to try Solstice’s lunch menu, a slightly shorter take on their evening offering of around 18 courses. We’re not actually given a menu until we leave, so aside from the fact that it’ll be around 12 to 15 courses, we have little idea of what to expect – except that this (along with Newcastle’s iconic House of Tides) is one of Kenny Atkinsons’s restaurants, and therefore expectations would be high even if it hadn’t just been awarded its Michelin star for the fourth year in a row. We have visited House of Tides before, but Solstice feels different at once – a little chicer perhaps, a little more refined, yet just as welcoming.
Each course is brought out by one of the chefs from the kitchen (including Kenny himself, and head chef Scott John-Hodgson), and our first dish is a zingy bite-sized croustade of satisfyingly chewy beetroot and horseradish crème fraîche, topped with a golden beetroot rose.
The next course comes in two parts. Another one-bite tart – this time with smooth duck liver parfait, plum jelly and ginger in a case so fine it’s almost translucent, which turns out to be made from spring roll paper – is served alongside a deeply-flavoured consommé made with duck neck and mushrooms. Kenny brings this out in a fine glass pot, and infuses it at the table with fresh chilli, mushrooms and coriander before pouring it through a tea strainer into tiny, sake-style cups. It’s an explosion of flavour, and my partner (who says he’d like a flask of it to take to the football) can’t help pouring himself the dregs from the pot – dripping the dark liquid onto the white tablecloth as he does. Such concerns go out the window with flavours like this, and I’m only sorry I didn’t think of doing it first.
Our first paired wine is a Chablis-esque white from the Azores, cutting beautifully through the beurre blanc on our Lindisfarne oyster, which has been poached in its shell and topped with caviar and pickled cucumber. A Scottish scallop tartare dressed in white soy and ponzu comes with Thai basil, pea tendrils and tiny pearls of finger lime, which burst like popping candy on the tongue. Paired with a polished Japanese sake, it’s fresh and citrusy and a real delight to eat.
Next, a chunky piece of pollock comes covered in a pale nam jim yoghurt, decorated with stripes of black garlic in tribute to Newcastle United, and with a pleasingly punchy red pepper and fermented chilli sauce. Served with a sunny glass of Californian Riesling, it’s a fun dish, and acts as a nice tribute to the city without compromising on flavour.
Without having seen a menu, and so unable to mentally prepare myself, the next dish scares me as soon as I hear the words ‘Craster kippers’. I like to think I’ll try anything, but very smoky flavours remind me of nothing more than a chimney – and this is a seriously smoke-centric dish: a Craster kipper rilette, with smoked pink fir potatoes, smoked caviar and a smoked Craster kipper sauce. Even the bread it’s served with is topped with kipper skin salt.
Obviously I needn’t have worried. Everything is delicately done, the smokiness enhances rather than overpowers, the milk loaf is as soft and pliant as you could hope – and the kipper skin salt is genuinely moreish. My partner, who knowing my predilections has been quietly hoping to get double helpings of this, is left disappointed as he only gets to eat one.
If my heart sank a little at kippers, the word venison has the opposite effect. With a glass of Italian pinot noir, we cut into deep pink venison loin with foie gras, wrapped in cabbage and served with celeriac, truffle, purple kale and a light whisky sauce.
We’re not really pudding people, but a refreshing pre-dessert of goats’ milk cream and Pink Lady apple finished with fragrant rosemary oil is a welcome (and not too sweet) change of pace after… how many courses are we on now? This is followed by a warm Valrhona chocolate soufflé tart (which I could have eaten by the pound) with a side of toasted macadamia nut ice cream.
Finally, we order a tea (for me) and an espresso (for him), to enjoy with our petit fours, the very best of which are a warm brown butter and poppyseed madeleine, and a blood orange pate du fruit. Coated in citric sugar and seasoned with orange blossom estate tea, it’s basically a gourmand’s take on a fruit pastille, and is perhaps a good example of what Solstice does best. Nobody could question the talent and commitment of the whole team, and their many accolades are testament to that, but they don’t quite tell the whole story. They take food seriously here, but it’s also seriously fun to eat.
