Loch Fyne review

Loch Fyne fish restaurant sits beside the Old Parsonage Gardens in a building called ‘Ye Olde Cock Inn’. Now I know its juvenile, but the name makes me laugh. The contrast between this lovely suburb and the idea of an old cock is extreme - but the two are not entirely unconnected, if you take cock to mean cockerel.

The staff don’t outwardly hate you for reproducing, which is a bonus, although the food confirmed my opinion that fish is much of a muchness in Manchester unless you go all out at San Carlo, or take a punt on something mental in Red Chilli.

Back in the 1700s, this former pub was a place where people fought with crazed roosters; today it’s a family-friendly playground.

Two magical parks (Fletcher Moss and the Old Parsonage Gardens) form a focal point for days out and there are a rash of independent shops.

A family-friendly restaurant by the park would be weekends sorted, I thought, as I stood outside Loch Fyne restaurant last Sunday.

Starting out as a shack beside the real Loch Fyne in Scotland, Loch Fyne has grown into a 46-strong chain over the last 12 years. Snapped up by Greene King Brewing and Retailing Limited in 2007 (ooh sexy), the brand nevertheless remains fairly true to its ethical ethos, which is explained on a plaque as you walk in the door.

‘This company is dedicated to the protection of our seas, our maritime communities and all forms of marine life,’ it says. The many menus (specials, two for £10, kids, mains, Christmas) repeat this mantra, as do placemats, staff and comment cards.

Lobsters and sea bass are August and September’s best catches, they advise, drawing your attention over and again to Loch Fyne’s thoughtful fishing methods, and concern for the environment. Oh for God’s sake shut up would you, I thought.

Frankly, I'm not that bothered about where my food comes from, more about whether it tastes good and first impressions were pleasantly relaxed rather than out and out worthy.

Settling into a table by the courtyard with the help of our grinny waiter, I ordered a platter of six of Loch Fyne's own rock oysters for me, my son Arthur (6) and his dad Mark to share, with a steaming bucket of seafood mariniere and heap of pillow-soft bread on the side.

“Nice,” said Mark, as the ice-laden oyster platter arrived.

“Uh,” said Arthur, spitting out an oyster on to the table. “You left the sea water in it. On purpose.”

I nudged him towards the mariniere instead. Warm lime and cream flavours were matched with buttery bread which complemented the stock stoically. At home I might’ve thrown in a few handfuls of punchy herbs into the mix but the dish worked as it was. Arthur’s verdict: “Better than oysters”. Mine: drippy-licious, with several napkins required to recover.

Giving Dad a bit of man-time with the Observer, Arthur and I went for a walk between courses. Ducking under low beams and creeping around corners, we counted 140 seats, around one third of which were populated by families, couples, and perhaps even Mrs Cohen.

The Loch Fyne newsletter told us that she is a very loyal customer approaching her 100th birthday. Congratulations, Mrs Cohen. We tried to spot her, and admired paintings of salmon and trout in soft, washed-out colours. They were cool, we agreed, and we liked the huge, marble altar at the back of the main room too.

Customers can buy fresh fish from this sturdy slab (see some of the pictures which Arthur took of the display) and cold dishes are prepared here too, including our oysters, and my main course dish of lobster with lime and chilli. Cold, compact and clammy with a kind of fake limey flavour, I didn’t like it at all and, more to the point, I didn’t get any lobster deconstructors either.

Arthur liked his simple main of mussels, fat chips and ketchup well enough (okay, he didn’t really eat the mussels, but he did put a couple in his mouth, which I was pleased about) while Mark eyeballed his seafood selection suspiciously.

Built from grilled fillets of sea bass and salmon, with a couple of seared scallops and a shelled, king prawn on the side, the dish sat in an intense, almost meaty bisque. Unsure of where to start, he was waving the king prawn around like a weapon, so I placed my hands delicately on top of his, with the intention of breaking the shell in the right place.

“Get off!” he muttered to me while Arthur was looking the other way. “This isn’t f**king Ghost.”

Indeed it wasn’t a romantic 80s movie and neither was the platter. Too fishy tasting and too over done - although Arthur was into the grilled salmon.

Pushing the bill up to around £95, we shared a lemony bottle of Sauvignon Blanc from New Zealand’s Awatere Valley (highly recommended) and so-so sticky toffee puddings and crème brulees for dessert, with a Movenpick ice cream for Arthur as part of the weekend's 'kids eat free' deal.

Much like Croma in Chorlton and Didsbury’s Piccolino, Loch Fyne is calm, friendly space that feels distant from world outside.

Stepping in here is like pressing pause on life, a quality which I like in restaurant, and one which makes a return visit likely.

The staff don’t outwardly hate you for reproducing, which is a bonus, although the food confirmed my opinion that fish is much of a muchness in Manchester unless you go all out at San Carlo, or take a punt on something mental in Red Chilli. It was average yes, but special offers such as two meals for £30 with wine, and kids eat free make Loch Fyne worth a punt.

Venues are rated against the best examples of their kind: fine dining against the best fine dining, cafes against the best cafes. Following on from this the scores represent: 1-5 saw your leg off and eat it, 6-9 get a DVD, 10-11 if you must, 12-13 if you’re passing,14-15 worth a trip,16-17 very good, 17-18 exceptional, 19 pure quality, 20 perfect. More than 20: Gordo gets carried away