Food review: Number Four, Shrewsbury

I felt like I was on the set of some new sci-fi comedy chick-flick show starring Rita Ora and Kim Kardashian.

Both have famously modelled silver: in Rita's case it was a fabulous pair of shimmering sneakers and in Mrs Kardashian-West's episode an exquisite Malandrino dress. Hot Hollywood, dontcha just love it?

The staff at Number Four, in Shrewsbury, were similarly attired. Silver was the unexplained theme of the day and trainers, boots and a jump-suitey-thing were among the outfits on show. I've no idea why – for a laugh, I guess. Anyway, the staff looked sensational. They looked stunning. They looked hot to trot.

Rather than serving food, they ought to have just catwalked their way along the length of the restaurant, sashaying past customers while offering a running commentary along the lines of: "Sophia is wearing leather ballet shoes from the White Company, priced £29, while Maxine models Haley Silver Glitter Trainers from Pink Boutique, a snip at £22."

Were prizes being handed out for off-the-wall elegance and ritzy chic, the lady with the shiny silver trouser-and-blouse combo would have won it. A large bouquet of flowers for that woman, please. And very well done. You looked great.

Not that the all-that-glitters-might-as-well-be-gold nature of service overshadowed the nuts and bolts of dinner.

Quite apart from looking like extras in a scene from Star Wars, the staff were brilliant. Friendly, polite and a little bit matey, they were top drawer throughout a thoroughly enjoyable evening.

It was full of 'What can I get you?' with big girlie smiles. And 'How's that then, alright?' with a supercool and modish raise of the eyebrows. Staff were attentive and engaged but didn't take themselves too seriously. Which is as things should be for a venue that embodies similar characteristics.

Number Four is light on its feet and, curiously, has a delightful French motif that runs thus: 'jour sans le vin est comme un jour sans le soleil'. And, for non-French readers, that means: 'Day without the wine is like a day without the sun'. Ain't that the truth.

Number Four strikes the right balance between informality and chumminess. It's friendly without being over-familiar; it offers high quality without any pretence; it keeps it real and doesn't slap itself on the back or wallow in its own supposed brilliance, as so many do. The menu is full of things that people like to eat, rather than dishes that chefs make to show off.

So there are simple starters like whitebait with lemon and garlic mayo, parma ham with peach and mozzarella, chicken liver parfait with fig and toasted brioche and a delightful salad of stilton with walnuts, capers, carrots and crackers. Delish.

King prawns in garlic butter with chilli and lime were first up for my unbooked and impromptu midweek supper. The chef had cut a long slit in the back of the prawns to remove the digestive tract – well done that man – and they were lightly cooked in a hot, foaming butter then served with a mango and chilli salsa and a wedge of lime.

The acid hit of citrus cut through the rich garlic butter as I messily pulled the unshelled prawns apart and devoured three like a dog with a freshly roasted oxtail.

And while Number Four wins no prizes for reinventing the wheel – I mean, c'mon, fried prawns isn't a particularly complicated dish – it wins top marks for doing the basics well. There's much to be said for those who follow the principles of KISS – keep it simple, stupid.

The choice of mains was just as exciting as the starters. Nothing too fancy. Nothing too avant-garde. Just stone dead classics with nice ingredients and well-balanced flavours.

So, for instance, a smoked haddock fish cake was paired with a softly poached egg, béarnaise and green salad; a rib eye steak was matched with fries, béarnaise and a mixed salad – as it ought to be; grilled cod fillet was coupled with new potatoes, chorizo, courgette and roast tomatoes. Perfect. The menu read as though the world's finest matchmaker had paid Number Four a visit, checked out what was in the store cupboard and paired ingredient-friends with unerring precision. I opted for the perfectly inviting burger, a sirloin and chorizo number that was cooked medium, rather than killed. Why people cook the life out of burgers defeats me. The flavour comes from the fat; so leave a little in.

Burgers remain flavour of the month and across the UK ever-more chains and independents are springing up offering to cook the best there is. Five Guys, Birmingham, is among the best, promising heaven in a brown paper bag. I'm not sure heaven would fit in something so small.

When I think of the promised land – not that I often do – I imagine something wider than the Pacific, higher than the sky and with longer, prettier hair than Amal Clooney rather than something that would fit into an alcoholic's gin bag. Maybe my expectations are too high. I don't know. An afternoon listening to Pharrell Williams with my son is This Guy's nirvana.

The burgers at The Brum joint, incidentally, aren't heaven in a bag. They beat the hell out of anything from McRubbish, Burger Thing or most other fast, furious and tasteless high street chains. But for all of their peanut oil fries and £6.50 bacon cheese dogs they're not a patch on the humble patties served at Number Four.

Their chorizo and sirloin burger was tasty, moist, full of flavour and served in a toweringly sweet-and-buttery brioche bun that knocked the spots off the Asda-like soft-and-squidgy baps from the place in Brum.

A side of pickles and chillies, a small pot of mayo and a mess of melted cheese completed the chorizo-and-beef creation. It made for great eating and had an 'I'm-doing-something-bad-but-I-really-don't-care-and-I'm-going-to-damn-well-do-it-anyway' quality, rather like necking a bottle of Prosecco before uninvited in-laws arrive for Sunday lunch.

Number 4 offers a thoroughly reasonable three-courses-for-£22 deal and so I stayed for pud. A lemon posset had a tart passion fruit glaze, was topped with small pieces of bitter chocolate and served with a light and buttery shortbread biscuit. Combinations, textures, presentation – everything – was 10/10.

Mind you, you can't go wrong with passion fruit. Like tumeric, the world would be a better place if there were more of it. C'est magnifique. Très bien. Sehr gut. Ottimo. Fan-flippin'-tastic.

The posset was sharp and creamy, a perfect blend of cream, sugar and citrus. The biscuit added texture and ballast while the passion fruit and chocolate were the missing links. Happy days. I can't recommended it highly enough.

Service continued to sizzle. There were polite enquiries throughout the evening from the silver-shoed laydees who engendered a buzzy, excitable atmosphere among the early evening diners.

And that was that. Good service, a neat menu, reliable and consistent cooking, a lack of pretence and an artful interior: I'm not sure it should be called Number Four. It's more like Number One.

By Andy Richardson