GCXZ

Be that as it may, we eschewed the snails in favour of two well-crafted and imaginative starters. A tiny drum of steak tartare, complete with a raw quail's egg on top, was accompanied by a slab of what was artlessly described as "corned beef" – in fact almost a species of rillettes, unctuous and tender – and a beetroot remoulade (there was a comma of beetroot purée as well, as if the chunkier remoulade had leapt on the plate and skidded on landing). We enjoyed the individual elements, but felt that the acidity and chilli heat of the tartare didn't marry up well with the earthiness of the beetroot. We also evinced disappointment that the singular "nasturtium" in the menu was intended literally (I remember experiencing a similar tristesse over the solitary anchovy I was given at Pizza Express once).

More fully resolved was John's seared scallop with "charred cauliflower" and Bayonne ham. "It looks like an aquarium!" he exclaimed, mistaking an upstanding "trunk" of de-floretted cauliflower for the tentacle of some giant mollusc. The creamy, ever so slightly rank sweetness of the cauliflower was a perfect match for the little queen scallops, robustly seasoned, cooked furiously but quickly and still moist and translucent within.

We were extemporising a Don DeLillo novel about Bristol ("The city beats to its own occult energies, moi loverr") when our main courses arrived. Our alcoholic needs were being more than adequately met by two 500ml carafes: a Picpoul de Pinet, dry as a peach stone, and a soft and tarmacky VDP d'Oc (the latter is currently the house red at £11.50 a half-litre). John had opted for a "cannon" of lamb ("Eet ees, 'ow you say … ze back part," said one of our three Modern European waiters), with sweetbreads done more or less alla Romana – that is, whizzed up into little polpetti and deep-fried in breadcrumbs – and a glossy reduction of the juices. This was delicious, though we agreed that whereas the beefy starter had had maybe one flavour too many, this had one too few.

I had turbot, a little on the salty side like the scallops, and quite scantily cooked so it retained a silky firmness and a kind of opalescence. This came with an excellent creamy cucumber sauce.

Sides were generous in quantity and hearty in character: herby Jersey royals, crispy "heritage carrots" (cue a snort from the other side of the table), fresh cabbage simply tossed in butter.

Next came a good cheese board with a lovely spiced fig preserve and a Brillat-Savarin (a sort of superbrie devised in 1930, and for my money one of the best "industrial" as opposed to artisanal cheeses in the world). We felt the puddings were a bit Eighties (the Lavender Panna Cotta Early Warning System kicked in promptly) but we did try a white chocolate "delice" ("Eet ees, 'ow you say, like a mousse"), made lip-tingling and almost medicinal by the addition of pink peppercorns; and a couple of glasses of banyuls, a full-bodied sweetish red wine from south-western France. Leaning backwards, we framed our closing arguments.

John felt the food was too fussy ("It's nouvelle cuisine all over again") and the portions too small for the price (though he conceded the sides were generous). I countered that by London/MasterChef standards Glassboat was understated: bourgeois rather than hipsterish, an intelligent and passably up-to-date fusion of classic French and Italian dishes and techniques with good British ingredients; and I wished there were more places like it at home.

Welsh Back, Bristol, BS1 4SB, 0117 332 3971; glassboat.co.uk. Three courses with wine and coffee:

*Matthew Norman is away