“GASTROSCOPY” , LONDON CHAPTER 1 : Aperitif at Bar Boulud & Dinner at ‘DINNER’ by Heston Blumenthal, Mandarin Oriental, London I have been away five years from a city which I considered home, a city which I watched evolve gastronomically in a manner so magical for over a decade……………now I return to find a deterioration, so dreary, detectable in the arrogant ejection of culinary integrity especially in the milieu of restaurants labeled haute cuisine. There is a problem with the label itself: it allows its carriers to affect a posture and assume a manner which is both superior and high handed….. whereas both the product and its service, were able to, once upon a time, ratify these characteristics, today the former seem to have been cruelly orphaned in a show of complete contempt for the crowd! When these restaurants, and their chefs, enjoyed less recognition by a smaller but more expert audience, they had humility, possessed manners all but aristocratic, and showed a rigorous loyalty to their craft…………….I write this from Umbria, Italy, after dinner at an unassuming restaurant on a cliffside where my supper, if the last I ever ate, would allow me to die a happy woman…………..but lets move back a few days to a ‘sunny day in London town, which after ‘Dinner’ had me low, had me down…………..’ I kicked off at Bar Boulud, by Chef Daniel Boulud of ‘French origin & American Reputation’. Bar Boulud is his ‘second label’, if it may be called that in the tradition of the great French Vineyards; his first, stamped with the stars of Michelin is restaurant Daniel in New York. At BB, over a few glasses of a Riesling, and in anticipation of many more, I thought it wise to line my frequently over ambitious intestinal wall with some bar bites: they included Pork ears & Crackling, Tuna Tartare with cucumber wonton & preserved lemon and buffalo chicken oysters. Lets begin the description of this comedy of errors with the last……….to reduce what is possibly the most magnificent, yet overseen and underutilized part of a chicken to a style found in an American burger bar or diner in the form of buffalo chicken wings, was in itself an incineration of an ingredient otherwise exquisite! Then the pork ears & crackling with the texture of puffed rice, lasciviously laced with a taste of pork fat so subtle, comfortingly invisible and instantly gratifying, a dish which would have compensated for its predecessor’s unsuitable attire had it not itself undressed the palate with an aftertaste of salt which can only be described as scathing. ……..finally the tuna tartare, which added fuel to the fire of salt via an injection of capers which outweighed the quantity of tuna, in itself of a cut too small for a tartare, and in almost complete defiance of its title on the menu, replete with oriental pretensions……………but things were about to get a little better, before they got worse. My companion and I moved to DINNER, by Heston Blumenthal…….an uninspiring décor, a corporate crowd and an awkward attempt at a reversal of snobbery : the Australian General Manager of the restaurant qualified all of the above, as a means by which to be more approachable……….in short, the only easier access is that the cooking isn’t molecular ; in fact Heston’s attempt at going back to basics has been stretched to dishes which derive inspiration from as far back as c. 1390, for example, one of the starters ordered entitled Frumenty, and explained as “Grilled Octopus, smoked sea broth, pickled dulse & lovage”…………a delight of succulent Octopus perched on a bed of spelt, and hydrated with the most delicate shellfish broth, yet, in spite of its claim to multiple ingredients, the over-riding flavor was that of sea-weed which was absent in the description : the lovage emulsion, samphire and pickled dulse simply need not have been used. The other starter, however, celebrated each and every ingredient within its fold, and that was “Roast Marrowbone, Snails, Parsley, Anchovy, Mace & Pickled Vegetables” : in a word, genius ! Alas, our palates and patience were both about to be tested by our main courses, the experience of which could not be numbed even by the formidable dessert………”Powdered Duck Breast, smoked confit fennel & Umbles”, and “Spiced Pigeon, Ale & artichokes”: powdered merely refers to some medieval marination, and if anything what was served was the antonym of a fine powder; neither my companion nor I had been asked our preferred degree of cooking, and what was presented were two birds, dropped unceremoniously in a pan for a time immeasurable in its brevity, bloody on the plate with no caramelization, frugal flavoring and textures which tore the palate. I returned the pigeon; it came back vastly un-improved, which is more than I can say for the General Manager who seemed to magically disappear after this debacle, and much before our departure……..but the saddest of all was a side order of Heston’s famous triple cooked chips: what was served may be likened to the fat chips, drunk on grease, served at the average fish & chip stall, which, at the very least, do not break their promise. Haute Cuisine may have run out of ideas, and gimmicks, but to go back to basics requires a greater effort; it is easier to reproduce Ferran Adria’s potato foam than it is to copy Robuchon’s potato puree…..it appears the chefs have forgotten how to cook, and therein lies the problem, to which a solution might be a refresher course at the Cordon Bleu Paris, the Culinary Institute of America, Leiths of London, and the list goes on…………………………………………………………THE END
Posted on: Wed, 17 Jul 2013 08:09:58 +0000
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