Heston Blumenthal: just the name conjures up so much. His
boundless enthusiasm. His fondness for the theatrical. The bloody waiting list
for the Fat Duck.
But whatever you think, you have to admit that he is an icon
for English food at the moment, so when a foodie friend visited from the
antipodes, well, there was only one place we could go really.
Ideally we would have gone to the Fat Duck, but again: waiting
lists. Also cost. Also not fitting in with travel itineraries. This left us
with Dinner, the restaurant at the Mandarin Oriental hotel in Knightsbridge,
where Heston recreates dishes from the archives of British cookery history.
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| Meet fruit. A dish that evokes all my feelings |
I was apprehensive – I’ve wanted to go for a while, and
there’s always a concern when you finally get to tick something off a wish
list. What if it doesn’t live up to expectations? What if the waiting staff
realise I am not a proper person? WHAT IF IT ALL GOES WRONG?
Spoiler: it didn’t go wrong, the waiting staff were lovely,
and it more than lived up to expectation.
I must confess, right from the start, that I think I chose
more successfully than my dining companion. But since I am a being of infinite
compassion I accepted swapping courses halfway through. This was something of a
struggle, and no one knows what sacrifice or love means until they have had to
pass the half remaining M
eat Fruit (c 1500) to a friend. |
| Powdered duck |
Oh, my loves. The Meat Fruit. If I ever go back, there is a horribly
high probability that I will have three courses that are Meat Fruit. I asked
the waitress if I could and she said yes – that, indeed, other people did that already. I wish I had known
that before I ordered. It was so silky, and rich without being cloying, and so perfect. Seriously, I may not kill to
have one right now, but I would happily grievously wound people if it let me
end up with one. Unfortunately they won’t let you take them away (something to
do with health and safety) and that might be a good thing. I am nearly forty.
Frankly the longer I can put off gout, the better.
My dining companion (let’s call her Ms Platypus) ordered
Salmagundy (c 1720), which was lovely. Chicken oysters are my favourite part of
the bird, and I have feelings about
bone marrow. As wonderful as it was though, it suffered in comparison with the
Meat Fruit, and future dining companions should take note – if I eat there
again I am not sharing.
I had ordered the powdered duck breast (c 1670) as a main
course. Powdered, in this case meant brined and it was meltingly soft and
perfect. Ms Platypus had the spiced pigeon (c 1780), which again was great,
even if it lacked the meaty perfection of the duck.
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| Tipsy cake |
Darling Julian, who didn’t attend the meal, had forewarned
me to order the tipsy cake (c 1810). I followed his advice and was so VERY GLAD
that I had. Fresh from the oven, it was like sweet, caramelised sponge clouds
that melted in my mouth to leave a sticky, cakey residue. In comparison, the
grilled pineapple was firm and slightly sour, and it worked SO WELL. Ms
Platypus ordered the quaking pudding (c 1660), a meek little thing, that
quivered on the plate like an intimidated lover. It was pleasant enough, but I
would choose the tipsy cake every single time.
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| Meek, quivering, set up for the camera by the waiter |
Technically, the meal was absolutely superb, and the service
was brilliant – attentive yet casual, and the waitress who served us was chatty
and supportive of my feelings about the Meat Fruit. Overall, there wasn’t the
same sense of theatre as there had been at Story – but it was a hotel
restaurant and that wasn’t what they were going for.
I’d definitely go back, if only so that Mr Peas could try
it, and next time I am definitely having two courses of Meat Fruit, followed by
the tipsy cake. Even at this stage, I suspect that forty for forty will result
in either gout or death. Let the record show that I regret nothing.
