Two at Six

I like a restaurant that has a bit of quirk to it, so it's not just completely about the food. A talking point, a unique feature, something that just gives it a little bit of an edge. And I'm just talking about the ladies loo. I've been to Six at the Baltic a couple of times, usually for cocktails with the amazing view of the Tyne bridges rather than food. My sister came back from London and who was I to say no to her request to go for dinner. It's worth it just to see her ashen face in the lift (she has a touch of vertigo). Just the location and going to a gallery for dinner is enough to get me over enthusiastic. I just with the gift shop was open late, but maybe then I would miss my reservation.

You take the lift to the top and should arrive forty minutes early to grab a cocktail in the cosy area at the back of the restaurant. They've changed it around a bit so it's a little bit more intimate (only six tables in there now - I worry I will be disappointed when I go for weekend cocktail and it's packed). I was feeling pretty delicate after corporate sponsored alcoholism the night before and gravitated towards the Bloody Mary, thinking tomato juice would sort me out. Mistake - it had enough vodka in it to sink the Tyne Cruiser. Oh well, start as you mean to go on. My sister had an espresso martini which maybe would have been a better idea for dessert - like tiramisu in a glass - lovely. 

My heritage beetroot tart  was surprising, I was expecting something similar to a french pissaladiere - roasted, sweet and pastry overload. A pastry disc arrived, topped with tiny baby beetroot which felt cruel to eat, with red onion chutney and a big dollop of clotted cream on top. It wasn't what I expected but it was interesting and delicate, and must have made life easier for the chef. L had mussels cooked in Scrumpy cider - mussels in anything for me is always a winner. Especially in Guinness or Newcastle Brown Ale. The maitre d' took the mickey out of her when she asked for more bread to soak up the luscious sauce, mocking that "there was always one." I was starting to enjoy myself watching her squirm - she hates any attention like that from strangers, especially ones that clap and point at her in a crowded restaurant.

The mains were well worth the wait. My duck with port and orange jus was sublime, melt in the mouth, crunchy on the outside, cooked just past pink. I want it again, now, for breakfast. There were clever accroutements, such as sweet potato fondant, mini pate balls and caramelised chicory. It all complemented each other perfectly. L's butternut and amaretti ravioli was exactly the kind of innovation Six delivers - I'd never tasted anything like it. The giant pasta square laced with almond liquer was exciting. I wish I could recreate the triple cooked chips at home and the roasted beets with dill creme fraiche helped me to get over my mini beetroot guilt. 

Disappointingly, I couldn't manage a dessert but had just enough room left for the delicious petit fours - eight mini pieces of heaven. The chilli chocolate fondant kicked in a couple of minutes afterwards and provoked much water guzzling, the rosewater marshmallow was a light alternative and cherry jelly was just silly. I floated out to strains of "You Can Call Me Al" from a wedding being held downstairs, dancing next to the Tyne pretending to play the trombone. What more can you want from an evening? 

Oh, when you go don't forget to visit the ladies, even if you're a bloke. It's worth even going undercover as a woman for the view, ceiling to floor glass. Very cool.