Food review: The Cornhouse, Shrewsbury

The Cornhouse has a new concept. And it is this. Starters can be served in larger portions as mains. And mains can be served in smaller portions as starters.

And that, fellow diners, is that. Eat whatever you like and go large or go small. Simples. Now how in Ambrosia's name we are going to fill the next 1,043 words? These restaurants don't make it easy.

The Cornhouse is a delightful Grade II listed building in one of the most attractive and popular parts of Shrewsbury. Located at the foot of Wyle Cop, it has been sensitively restored in recent years and offers a light, airy and welcoming space in which diners can relax in informal surrounds. Neutral tones, plenty of large plate glass windows encased in cast-iron frames and delightful exposed brick work give it the impression of a cool and chic restaurant that's not trying too hard, that's got it just right. It's like the girl who goes on a date looking drop dead gorgeous and says: 'Yeah, it's just something I threw on'.

The building was once a former corn merchant's house – hence the name – built around 1850 and, at the risk of sounding like an estate agent, the stepped corbelling to the gables looks beautiful. Savvy restaurateurs open premises in clusters, reasoning that they'll benefit from the trade generated by nearby competitors.

Ludlow's post-Millennial trio of Michelin Starred restaurants proved that theory with great aplomb and a similar pattern is at work in Shrewsbury. The Cornhouse is located near to other tried and trusted venues, including The Lion & Pheasant, Henry Tudor House and the trio of Peach Tree venues, in Abbey Foregate.

The Cornhouse may find the competition quite a challenge, possibly due to a lack of invention or creativity or perhaps its desire to appeal a crowd that enjoys less-rarefied food.

Rather than seeking AA rosettes or creating menus that change each day, The Cornhouse focuses on a gastropub audience that enjoys simple classics. It's aiming for a similar market to The Boathouse, The Fox at Chetwynd Aston and similar venues.

The only trouble is, it doesn't do things quite as well though. Service is friendly and polite and the food is half decent too, but there's no 'wow' factor, no energy in the dining room, no excitement on the plate. It's functional rather than thrilling, pleasant rather than exhilarating, intriguing rather than heady.

During the day it doubles as a venue for coffee and cake. It appears to be eminently child friendly, with plenty of colouring books and cartoons. I was half-tempted to ditch my smartphone and colour-in a armadillo.

The menu is fine, as far as it goes, though it lacks interest. And the food is similar. It's decent, it's fine, it is damned with faint praise. It's the holiday that is: 'yeah, it was okay, but I'm glad to be home.' It's the party that is: 'I had a nice time, but we didn't want to stay too long.' It is the gig that is: 'They were okay, yeah, but the support act blew me away.' Underwhelming covers it.

I visited during a midweek service and there were three or four other tables occupied. It was busy enough not to be tumbleweed, but not so busy as to be a night on the town.

The menu didn't take much time to figure out and I started with a mushroom risotto that seemed to contain a few roughly chopped leek stalks. I've no idea what they were doing there. They were fibrous and unpleasant. The remainder of the risotto was reasonably seasoned, on the tipping point between al dente and overcooked and it was garnished with pea shoots, which soon wilted from its latent heat. It was reasonable, not bad, a decent attempt, though the pea shoots and the what-I-thought-were-leek-stalks were as erroneous as a ring-a-ding mobile phone at a library.

My burger in a brioche bun with tomato, cheddar, gherkin and hand cut chips was better. The burger was moist and oozed dirty, savoury juice across the other ingredients, the way all burgers ought to. The chips were the best part of the evening. Golden, crisp on the edges and cooked with considerable skill, they were the one stand out element. The rest was fine.

The Cornhouse's starter/main, main/starter menu had been beyond generous. The risotto had been generously served – customers who are looking for bargain prices on well-sourced food need look no further. My repleteness had, however, rendered the dessert option obsolete and dreams of a decent apple crumble and custard headed south as my belt groaned.

Shrewsbury is a town teeming with decent mid-range dining options. It's as though the Restaurant Gods looked down on Shropshire's County Town one fine day and said: "Right, Shrewsbury, or is it Shrowsberry, I've got 20 good restaurants left over and no towns to put them in, what do you say you take them?" And Shrewsbury gleefully said 'yes', and gobbled up the lot.

That, of course, means competition is intense. Numerous outlets are duelling for the same shilling and in order to prosper, standards need to be high. At The Cornhouse, they are, but there's nothing to get worked up about. It's all a little bit beige. There's nothing wrong with cooking fish'n'chips or burger'n'chips – they're national favourites for a reason – but if you're heading down that route you need to make sure your version is the best your customer has ever tasted. And The Cornhouse's were merely fine.

Shrewsbury is bursting with invention and creativity, its chefs are uprooting trees to find new ingredients, better suppliers or a competitive advantage. But The Cornhouse offers little in the way of innovation. It's same-same, okay Jane. In a town full of restaurants all hankering to be Leicester City, The Cornhouse is WBA – midtable. It doesn't do anything wrong, but more passion, more conviction and a few new ideas wouldn't go amiss.

By Andy Richardson