Story

I would argue, dearest reader, that I am not one who follows the crowd. Oppositional defiance disorder is a terrible affliction, believe me. Beads up the nose are the very least of it. So, I do tend to react badly when I am told there is a new restaurant that I “must” try.

Look! A picture... from someone else. We were too busy
enjoying the food to take pictures. Also it felt rude.

Story is an exception to this.

From the first review I read, I adored the concept of it. Good ingredients, presented in unusual ways, all fitting within a larger story that the chefs tell through food. It took me a little while to get a table, but eventually the stars aligned and I was awake and at a computer on the first of the month and I managed to get a table for four.

I hope that you won’t think any the less of me if I tell you I counted sleeps between the booking date and the date of the meal.  I also hope you won’t think less of me if I tell you, in the interests of full disclosure, that I visited Story back in mid-September. An unfortunate truth of my life is that I am never as organised as I want to be. If you could see the sheer range of writing projects I am mid-way through, the processes I am engineering for work, the cooking and baking plans dotted around my house… well. Maybe then you would forgive me for the delay between eating and reviewing.

First off, the thing that has stuck with me most about this meal was the sheer spectacle and theatre of it. From the venue to the crockery, the food to the service, it succeeded in making a real impression. I loved the concept of bringing a book with me, and I loved what the staff were trying to do. I did feel that on the night we visited some of the food was more successful than other courses (darling Julian said that he felt the kitchen was still coming to terms with the autumn menu) but there were moments of dizzying brilliance, and overall the experience didn’t disappoint in the slightest.

My little group of four chose to go for the 10 course menu – an easy decision – and then set about devouring a beautiful range of amuse bouche bathed in candlelight. For me, these little mouthfuls were some of the high points of the meal. The crispy cod skin with tarmasalata that we opened with was one of the most perfect things I have ever eaten and the others (nasturtium flowers with oyster mousse, corn on the cob with corn pudding, radish stuffed with seafood butter, Oreos made of squid ink and smoked eel, rabbit with disks of pickled vegetables) were equally good. Over the space of a quarter of an hour, they let the kitchen showcase the consummate skill and imagination they have on hand, and I would have to say that this has lived on in my memory as one of the most enjoyable series of food I have ever eaten. Everything was so beautiful and perfectly executed, and the plates and crockery they used was so carefully chosen… yes. How often can you say the amuse bouche alone was worth the price of the meal?

I am not going to spoil you for the first course. You probably know the twist already, and if you don’t, then you should just sit back and enjoy it. I kicked myself that we didn’t pretend it was a surprise to us – the poor waitress’s face when she realised we knew was heart-breaking. Again, it was hugely enjoyable, and incredibly well presented – theatre and culinary skill all bound together.

After an opening like that, you might think it would be hard for the kitchen to sustain the quality. You would be partly right – the next three courses were really good, but they lacked the complete perfection that the meal had opened with. The fifth course though? Oh, my.

You might not think a course called heritage potato, turnip, and coal would be outstanding – but this… To describe it as mashed potato seems wrong somehow. It was more a suspension of potato in sweet, silky butter. It lives on in my memory. The only reason I don’t write poetry to its memory is that it might be seen by some as creepy or unhinged. All other potatoes will suffer in comparison, and I may never be able to eat mash again. It was worth it.

Something with beetroot happened after that. I’m not sure. I was mostly in a post-potato haze. I know they showed us the ducks – nestled in pots, surrounded by straw, and letting off a haze of smoke. “They won’t look like this when you see them again,” the chef said, like this was a good thing. He was right – they didn’t. This was not a good thing.

Maybe there are some people in the world who prefer duck breast to the interesting parts of duck. There might even be those who remove the skin from duck before eating it. I wouldn’t know. These are not the sort of people I am friends with. All I know is that if you show Julian and me whole ducks with smoke crisped skin and then try and feed us skinless breasts, well. Disappointment will ensue. We briefly considered raiding the kitchen (think of all the spare legs, my dears! WE WOULD HAVE EATEN LIKE KINGS). We weighed the inevitable social shame against the legs, and (on the basis we may as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb) more potatoes. In the end, you’ll be relieved to know, we were distracted by another glass of wine, and the tattooed chef coming to the table, bearing a melting brie infused with English truffles. What can I say? I am a creature of simple tastes. We went for the cheese course (with jam! Oh, such jam) and the pain of the brie entering our veins dulled the mourning for the duck.

There was puddings after that. Three of them. They featured a lot of snow. One of them (the lovage one) had an oddly medicinal taste but I ignored that I favour of the milk skins. They were… nice. Skilfully done, but nothing that won a place in my heart.  Again, in the interest of full disclosure, Julian and I were slightly more interested if we could steal the rest of the wheel of brie without anyone noticing. I maintain we could have, if Julian hadn’t been distracted by the candles that had been left on other people’s tables. Sadly we will never now know.

The meal concluded with coffee, strawberry milkbottles, and tea cakes. We sat there, mostly unable to talk because of the shocking acoustics, basking in the glow of an amazing meal.

The week after we visited, Story won a well-deserved Michelin star. I am so pleased for them, and very grateful that I started Forty for Forty with an experience like this.