Emma Pinch discovers another side to ex-Atomic Kitten Natasha Hamilton

WHO owns a restaurant like this? Let’s look at the evidence. Caressable suede walls, squashy sofas in recklessly pale shades, neatly banked – a surefire feminine touch – with damask cushions.

Eclectic sprigs of lamps throw pools of light into sitting areas, and a discoey white bar is backed with enough booze to satisfy the most rock and roll of thirsts – have you guessed yet?

A giveaway, perhaps, is the gallery of photos along one whitewashed wall chronicling the career highs of one third of the region’s most successful girl band ever.

Fortunately, it’s not the work of a rich but overly obsessed fan. This is the bar/night club launched by former Atomic Kitten, Natasha Hamilton – H, on Liverpool’s Victoria Street.

It’s billed as the “opulent and extravagant” sister of her Metquarter deli/café venture called Hamiltons, both of which were launched in a blaze of glory in the run-up to Christmas.

Pop stars launching restaurants is not an altogether new concept, with artists from Bono to Britney getting in on the act.

But Natasha’s ventures come with the know-how of her new husband Riad Erajji, whom she married last November, and who runs a string of cafés in the Midlands.

Mother-of-two Natasha chose the airy, neutral decor herself and it blends with the DJ booth and funky music to create an upmarket, clubby feel – a cheery contrast to the grey, rainlashed street visible from the pavement level sofas.

While H is promoted as a glitzy bar and night spot – which happens later on upstairs – it also offers lunch and dinner menus, and where Hamilton’s provides a pit stop during a shopping onslaught, H is a sanctuary to display the day’s victories over a glass of Pinot.

In the evening, there’s a three-course menu, tapas and copious individual platters.

The lunchtime menu is short – just eight dishes in total – with a nod to British pub staples and with British pub prices to match. But we were hopeful that concentrating on a smaller number of dishes meant they weren’t, in contrast to the tradition of the great British pub chain, simply banged out of the freezer and into the microwave, and the dial set on nuke.

The dishes ranged from light – homemade soup and a chunk of crusty bread (£4.95) – to the much heartier Aberdeen Angus Burger (£8.95), pan-seared calves liver on bubble and squeak, or traditional Scouse with pickle and beetroot, bread and butter.

We plumped for spaghetti carbonara (twice) at £7.95, club sandwich and chips, £6.95 and chicken Caesar salad (also twice at £6.95) and a bottle of house dry white for £10.95. I should add here that we were a party of five.

The new manager came to take our order and chattily apologised for the temporary shortcomings of the wine list, and made informed suggestions about which one we might prefer.

The chicken Caesar salad was the “purist” version of the US favourite, and although some customers had apparently recently bemoaned its lack of bacon and anchovies, I enjoyed the simple creamy tang of the creamy Parmesan dressing, sparingly applied to the meat and leaves.

The chicken was plentiful enough to make you feel you had eaten lunch, although fellow diner Isobel thought a little more would have been a good idea – particularly after the rather lengthy wait we’d had for the food to arrive.

It came with a shower of freshly fried croutons, which would have whacked up the calorie count, but were crispy and moreish.