The Clarence is a new Glasgow gastropub in the nostalgic Noughties vein. If you’re wondering what on earth I’m on about, I invite you to cast your mind back to a not so faraway time when the century was young and we could still be appeased by a draught local ale and a chicken Kyiv (which, because Russia hadn’t yet invaded Ukraine, we still referred to as chicken Kiev).
Gastropubs got so good for a while that they almost made Britain great again. There was something so comforting and, well, easily digestible about seeing Tom Kerridge elevate a roast potato. Suddenly, we were all triple-cooking chips and getting misty-eyed about the religious ritual of the Sunday roast.
The times may have changed beyond all recognition but some things, thank God, stay the same.
Noughties but nice
So too do old-moneyed suburbs like Hyndland, which remain as immune to fluctuations in the economy as draughty sandstone tenements are to effective central heating. What better location, then, for the Clarence, where the walls are of exposed brick; trifle, rum baba and sticky toffee pudding crowd the dessert menu and the Sunday roast is £37 for three courses, which is the kind of good value I can get really nostalgic about.
Better still, it’s owned by the same team behind two of Glasgow’s best restaurants: the Michelin-starred Cail Bruich and the exceptionally cool Brett. It also ran the previous restaurant in this location, Shucks, which was fabulous — up there with the best seafood restaurants in the city — and I can only think it didn’t last the distance because the prices were hefty, even for Hyndland.
The Clarence, as if in response, is all about accessibility and value: oyster happy hour, a lunch and early evening menu for £35, and the aforementioned Sunday roast.
The Sunday menu is so crowd-pleasing, in fact, that I spend the train journey from Edinburgh agonising about what to order. Three options for the roast alone — the signature dry-aged Aberdeen Angus chateaubriand, roast chicken or monkfish tail, plus sole Grenobloise, and chicken or aubergine Kyiv. And that’s just the mains.
A flawless piece of fish cookery
The head chef, Declan King, knows exactly what will bring the regular diners in: a confident menu of British and French classics — it even does a prawn cocktail — with an emphasis on cooking on the grill.
My dining companion, Jen, pronounces her sole — cooked whole on the bone and doused in nutty brown butter, capers, parsley and loads of lemon — “outstanding”. It’s a flawless piece of fish cookery with nowhere to hide, requiring nothing on the side but a restrained bitter salad of chicory, pear and crumbled Lanark blue.
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I opt for the chateaubriand, a decadent French cut of tenderloin cooked over fire and sliced thin to showcase its soft, pink, buttery self. Only three slices on the plate, true, but they’re magnificent and the additions are generous: a giant umber Yorkshire pudding, an individual dish of immaculate cauliflower cheese, good enough roast potatoes and carrots, tenderstem broccoli, gravy and a parsnip puree which, OK, I wish was a slick of homemade horseradish sauce. Is it as good as the Sunday roast I reviewed recently at Ardfern? No. But it’s very good indeed.
Before that? A starter portion, happily on the large side, of handmade linguine, Arbroath smokie and cacio e pepe. An idea so irresistible, so right, that I can’t believe I’ve never come across it before. It’s at once homely and sophisticated, Cullen skink-y, laden with salty, smoked fish and toasty pops of cracked black pepper. Glorious.
Jen’s beef tartare is well executed and simply seasoned, with the traditional additions of egg yolk, onion and gherkins. In a wee nod to now, it comes with a beef-fat hash brown — hash browns being, keep up, the crumpet of 2025.
Extra caramel for unnecessary but joyous pouring
Wines by the glass are excellent, if a little pricey compared with the food. Jen is so impressed by her orange from Alsace and an exceptionally aromatic riesling, she notes them down.
To finish, what sentimental heart could resist the apple tarte tatin, served for two to share on Sundays only, for a £5 supplement? It arrives, gleaming with caramel, scenting the Clarence’s mezzanine with the parfum of a French country kitchen, all thin flaky pastry and hillocks of soft toffee-glazed apple.
I can think of no better nostalgic conclusion to a meal. Plus there’s a jug of extra caramel sauce, for completely unnecessary but joyous pouring. At which point our excellent server reappears to mention a very good Uruguayan dessert wine that goes perfectly with the tart. Might we be interested? Oh, go on then.
The Clarence is the sort of hospitable, happiness-inducing restaurant that makes you want to say yes to everything. And you will be glad you did.
The Clarence, 168 Hyndland Road, Glasgow, theclarenceglasgow.co.uk
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