Dining out is a spectator sport at a very special Cirencester deli

It’s all eyes on Bob as MARION SAUVEBOIS settles down to watch a high class deli in action

“LOOK at your plate,” my mum would order impatiently as I gawped shamelessly at every entrée and dessert — especially dessert — floating out of the restaurant kitchen on the arm of a flushed waiter.

I was compulsively curious growing up and still am today. I favour tables inches away from the hustle and bustle of the kitchen and can never resist stealing a peek through a set of flapping swing doors.

Some people play with their bread roll to pass the time; I like to guess which plate deposited on the counter will soon make its way to my table, or match carefully arranged ingredients on others’ plates to the correct dish on the menu.

As discreet as I try to be, my wandering eyes have repeatedly got me into trouble. Apparently staring at someone else’s pavlova for 20 seconds straight is considered rude. I beg to differ.

So I was delighted, although a tad disorientated, when I stepped into Made By Bob in Cirencester’s Corn Hall.

The deli defies convention and etiquette by not only tolerating a little gawking, but actively encouraging it. No need to twist your neck peering through flapping doors here: an open plan kitchen takes pride of place at the centre and the restaurant area and deli counter are arranged around it.

For those itching to be at the heart of the action (me!) there are ‘front row’ stools available at the bar, surrounding the mammoth cooking station.

A champion of gastronomy as a production, with myriad sounds, smells and sights, chef and owner James ‘Bob’ Parkinson, designed the dining room as a “theatre”.

The kitchen is a stage and patrons are urged to enjoy the fast-paced show.

Watching unflappable chefs swapping pots for pans, meticulously dressing plates one second before turning to the griddle the next, I was riveted. My partner was beginning to see the attraction of unfettered behind-the-scenes access.

We managed to tear ourselves away long enough to peruse the extensive menu.

More than your conventional sandwiches, mezze and antipasti deli, Made By Bob’s fare matches any high-end restaurant, with such gems as mussels in charcuterie cream and lamb kleftiko.

The attention to details at Made By Bob reaches new heights with no fewer than 20 symbols flagging up vegan, vegetarian and pescatarian dishes as well as a catalogue of possible allergens. Anything from a benign rash to full blown anaphylactic shock has been carefully considered. It’s no wonder the place has just been awarded a Bib Gourmand by Michelin for the second year running.

Keen on a light lunch I opted for chargrilled tuna (£17.50).

My partner ordered a more substantial rib eye steak with Béarnaise and pommes frites (£19.75).

The guessing game didn’t last long. Within five minutes of placing our order, Bob himself grabbed hold of a meaty fillet of tuna.

By the time he laid it on the plate, applying the final touches to the enticingly pink steak, my appetite was suitably whetted.

The tender morsel was deliciously drizzled with zesty salsa verde and served on a plump bed of fennel.

After careful inspection and reassured his steak was indeed blue, not rare, my partner dug in greedily.

Our plates cleared, my attention swiftly returned to the ‘show’.

Torn between the array of desserts proffered on the menu and the assortment of pastries and cakes available at the deli counter, I settled on a Portuguese custard tart (at a very reasonable £1.70) from the deli.

Swayed by the selection of ices, my partner ordered refreshing scoops of lemon and back cherry sorbets (£3), “to digest”.

The presentation lapsed somewhat on the desserts and my lonely tart plonked on a small plate looked rather desolate. But the light cream and fluffy pastry soon washed away the initial disappointment.

Reluctant to depart so soon, we dithered, taking in the flurry of activity, clink of utensils against pots and heady smells drifting from the piping hobs one last time.

Had she been with us, I’d like to think my dear mother would be too busy gawking to tell us off.