The Herald, 18th June 2009
Love Meat Tender at the Elvis grill
JAY RICHARDSON

Style: Understated bar with 50s touches
Food: Pub grub
Price: £42 for two three-course meals with drinks
Wheelchair access: Yes

Velvet Elvis conjures images of the most lurid Graceland souvenir, yet this new bar and grill in Dumbarton Road, next door to owner Allan Mawn's established Pinxto tapas restaurant, remains wholly on the right side of kitsch.

Attractive outdoor seating and high, open windows are immediately welcoming. A curved stone bar leads through to a moody back room, where large booths look more comfortable but rather less imbued with character than the reclaimed church furniture and assorted chairs in the airy, main cafe area.

The ambience and prices feel more Byres Road than Broomhill, but on opening night there was an undeniable buzz about the place, with a subsequent visit confirming it's a relaxing lunchtime hangout too. Staff suffered from a few forgiveable first-week nerves, but on the whole were young, bright and helped to contribute to the upbeat optimism of the surroundings.

The eponymous Elvis, dominating the gleaming tiles of the Edwardian butcher shop this building once was, is actually a restrained, almost tasteful example of the genre, the King's purple hindquarters framing the admiring gawps of besotted onlookers.

A series of sturdy meat hooks hang from the ceiling, a comment perhaps on Elvis' incredible sacrifice to an insatiable public - or simply his insatiable appetite?

Menus are inserted into the sleeves of vinyl LPs, reminding you just how wonderfully substantial they still feel, encouraging you to try the old-fashioned jukebox. A pound will buy you four plays of the Everly Brothers, Buddy Holly, or, as more often happened on the night we dropped in, Primal Scream.

The food is best described as decent if unspectacular pub grub. A starter of mackerel pâté is juicily flaky, served with oatcakes and pickled samphire, a salty, crunchily gratifying criss-cross of the slender seaweed, while lentil and ham hough soup is reassuringly thick, served with a couple of delicious warm hunks of sourdough bread.

Mains include crispy skinned duck leg, beer-battered fish and chips and a homemade burger. Christened after a legend in his own lunchtime, and many others besides, the Jack House steak pie seems to adhere to the Glaswegian journalist and bon viveur's stipulation that steak contents ought never to be cooked separately from their pastry lids.

True to demand, the golden pastry cracked satisfyingly, with pleasantly brothy chunks of meat uncovered within, nicely supplemented by al dente roasted carrots of various hues. Rather lighter, a salad nicoise benefited from plenty of anchovies, egg, green beans and olives, topped with a carefully seared tuna steak that was tender to the forking.

For dessert, a plate of so-so chocolate brownies arrived distinctly lacking in personality, while the lemon posset tasted vibrantly fresh with some lovely warm shortbreads for dunking, the texture a little custardly heavy for my taste.

There's one major caveat though for what is otherwise an easy to recommend establishment. The gents are without doubt the worst designed I've ever been in - and I've stayed in French campsites.

The door is effectively blocked whenever someone takes their place at the first urinal and with the bewildering positioning of the hand dryer, this same unfortunate must then suffer hot air blasted at his exposed person whenever a stranger dries his hands. Only Elvis suffered a less dignified toilet episode.

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