‘This charming bistro has survived for more than 25 years without the likes of me’
Walking through Aberdeen one sunny Saturday lunchtime, I found Cafe 52 in a cobbled courtyard, just opening for lunch. The menu was full of delicious-sounding things such as cullen skink, hot smoked mackerel, and Normandy chicken casserole with leeks and tarragon. As I loitered by the door, something about the cafe’s name rang a bell, then, to my glee, I realised this was the place whose owner famously doesn’t like Guardian readers, and who earlier this year penned a job advert banning them. Perhaps I should have been offended, but there was a bread-and-butter pudding made with crumpets on the menu, plus, to quote Groucho Marx, “I refuse to join any club that would have me as a member.”
No chef truly wants to see a restaurant critic waddle into view the moment they begin service, dip a finger in the demi-glace to check its consistency and behave as if a cold plate is the nadir of suffering, so I found it rather refreshing that the chef/owner here had already set out his stall that he had no time for my ilk. This charming, long, narrow strip of a bistro has survived for more than 25 years without the likes of me, and is these days serving a sort of boho, rustic, French-Scottish, casual-elegant menu to a unending stream of walk-ins. Cafe 52 has no need for my pronouncements.
