Rumi, Glasgow It’s a balmy summer night right in the heart of the city as I spring into Rumi to be met by appetising wafts of grilling lamb, air-conditioned down drafts, and waiters who have that I’m-not-just-doing-this-while I’m-a-student vibe. Take a seat, have a menu, like-something-to-drink is all completed in the comfortable style of the seasoned professional, while a just-baked puff-ball of Balon Lavas fresh from the oven, whipped butter in a dish to melt over it, is on our table in minutes with the immortal words: complimentary, sir. Get Ron's review two whole days before it appears anywhere else.
At some stage, I’ll ask one of the waiters: is this restaurant owned by Turkish people? A question that’s got to be put nowadays with the post Covid surge of the theme-restaurant only loosely based on some recipes someone from somewhere read on the internet sometime (down to Brexit maybe). The answer in this case will be: 'Yes. Me.
I’m the owner.' And this from the guy who has served us on and off all night. Rumi, Glasgow (Image: free) Rumi sits at the bottom of a very languid Hope Street, this evening dotted with people in shorts and t-shirts, chalkboards promising All Euro 2024 Games Live! And yet in here, far from that madding crowd, it’s all cool, calm and collected.
Up there behind us – and I’m speculating here – there seems to be a large Turkish family gathering taking place. Over there, I hear the twang of American accents, the wrong train to Edinbu.