Thursday September 15th: Marcus Wareing at The Berkeley, Knightsbridge
The wife (or 'the other half' as she was known then) loves to eat at swanky restaurants. You may snort with derision and accuse me of being exactly the same - I'm not denying that I love a high-end slap-up meal - but she really does love to see the stars on the menu and live the high life. As such, it was only fitting that the one remaining two-starred restaurant in London we had not sampled should kick off the long weekend of birthday celebrations.
Marcus Wareing is a revered and respected fixture of London's restaurant scene. He has come a long way from being Gordon Ramsay's patronised sidekick running Pétrus at The Berkeley, and many in the know feel his third Michelin Star was long overdue some time ago. Indeed, the cringe-worthy, sometimes amusing and fleetingly interesting Ramsay documentary Beyond Boiling Point, filmed at the turn of the century, shows Wareing to be a young, ambitious chef. On the occasion of receiving his first star, he instantly professed his desire to go on and win his second. You could tell the boy meant business.
The sad truth of most cookery partnerships in the modern age is that they do not last. Mainly because most modern chefs are highly competitive men. They cannot stand anyone being better than them. As happens with most chef pairs, the two eventually fell out and went their separate ways, leaving a trail of lawyers binding them for longer than they would have liked. Ramsay kept the name and re-opened one street over, Wareing kept the premises and the concession at the prestigious hotel.
The fuel to Wareing's flame for so many years was wanting to be better than his business partner and mentor. Which is, I suppose, what any young student wants. But when the master is one of the most renowned ball-breakers in the business, it isn't so simple. The two do not speak or deal with each other any more. Their time is done, and whilst the teacher maintains a high-level restaurant empire with panache, the student is still plugging away in search of that third Michelin Star. He's also opened The Gilbert Scott, taking the first steps toward forming his own empire.
Marcus Wareing at The Berkeley is one of those places at which you can make your reservation and instantly expect to have an outstanding evening. There should be no extra mile the staff won't go to, no small detail overlooked, no imperfection of taste. Enough has been written expounding the Lancastrian's pedigree and virtue for the last ten years, so there should be plenty of 2 to 3 star sheen on show to rave about.
There are a few issues I have with Wareing at The Berkeley (from now on I'll just call it Wareing), starting with the lighting. It's too large and capacious a room to be so dimly lit. I recall struggling to see parts of the room and having a right old challenge trying to take any photos. The atmosphere is a bit dead too. You don't want a bunch of hoorays leaping off the walls when you're somewhere high-end, but a little buzz would be nice. There is a sort of revered hush which could be construed as misery.
What shouldn't be making people feel miserable is the food. And if the canapés and amouse-bouche are anything to go on, that's a certainty. The first was a delightful medley of heritage tomato and Berkswell cheese atop delicate parmesan shortbread. A cheese overload you might think, but wonderfully offset by the soft, counteractive tomato. Alongside were some meaty rich slivers of pork terrine with plum chutney. Nothing to sniff at, these disappeared in seconds.
Bread and butter were also terrific. It might seem silly focusing on such a minor aspect of the day, but when brown walnut butter is put in front of me and I actually enjoy it I realise I'm actually in quite a special restaurant. Instead of the sickly taste I characterise with most any nut, this was a sweet, mild sensation, a true blip of genius spread on bread. The bread itself was a dazzling array of honey & potato, sourdough, rough French country and rye. All of it enjoyable.
One more before starters, they gave us BLTs: lettuce soup, bacon foam and crushed tomato crisp in a tall shot glass. Ridiculous but fun, the foam in particular was a lovely touch. So far I was entertained and impressed. The dim lighting and subdued atmosphere certainly belied the impressive and creative elements we were sampling.
Starters came and this is where a few of the problems with the place became clear. The menu reads like any classically contemporary restaurant's seems to: a basic list of the main ingredients for each dish. This ploy can go either way. The chef can be applauded for letting the ingredients sell themselves; a clear act of understated knowingness on his part. Equally, it could be labelled pretentious; keeping the customer in the dark about what's coming.
Fortunately we know our stuff and a little mystery was never going to hoodwink us into making an ill-informed decision. Our choices were made with our absolute enjoyment in mind, since this was a very special occasion, after all. She chose lobster. Lobster with egg, cabbage, nori (Japanese seaweed) and vinegar. Whichever way you look at it, ingredients like that are going to be hard to mess up. Despite the dish being served in a slightly haphazard, piled-up manner, the combination was indeed excellent. The cabbage and punchy, salty nori perfectly counterbalanced the sweet lobster meat, which was in turn brought back to earth with the silky egg yolk. I couldn't fault the idea or the execution.
Mine was foie gras. With milk, sweet cicely (a green, leafy herb), raspberry and walnut bread. Usually I'd baulk at the idea of walnut bread but since they'd already won me over with walnut butter, I took the plunge. Now, looking at the parts of this I'd say the dish was made for me and I'd love it without question. Sadly, the event did not live up to its billing, and here is the downfall of just listing ingredients. If you see all components of this dish on a menu, you're expecting a delightful bouquet of tastes and smells, stunning varieties of texture and a show on a plate. It turned out to be a misappropriation of almost every part of the dish. The foie gras was mousse, the milk was foam. The raspberries were halved and the cicely sat on top. The bread was wafer thin. It did not work. The tastes were decent but no more, the textures a literal flop, with no bite or substance in anything.
Main courses ought to have lifted things, being venison and beef as they were. The venison in particular looked eye-catching. Served with hispi (summer cabbage), baby turnip, black fig, chocolate and sherry vinegar, this was surely going to knock our socks off (left). Well, yes and no. Yes because the venison was the most perfectly-cooked piece of deer I could remember eating. It was utterly sublime: soft, juicy, pink-red and rich. No because the sides - the chocolate in particular - just couldn't sit with it. Meat this good wants impeccable support, and even though this stuff was good, it wasn't quite there. The chocolate was not bitter enough, which made the whole thing slightly too sweet. The rest was fresh, acceptably solid and pretty, but just not as glorious as the meat. It was good in places, misjudged in others and agonisingly, marginally short of the mark overall.The other main course was so to the wife's taste I needn't have even bothered asking her what she wanted: Galloway beef, truffle, leeks, radish, parmesan. You're talking classics now (plus a £10 supplement). This is absolutely what we want to see on our top-end menus: amazing combinations with the promise of outstanding delivery. The beef was almost as good as the venison had been. I've eaten better beef, but not many times. This was another pretty special dish, with the truffle grated on at the table. The combination was right on. The truffle added some earthiness to the soft meat and sharper leeks and seasoning, leaving the whole thing a rather delightful plate. It did, however, look like a five-year-old had assembled it. A mess of sauces, dressings and scraps, it was bloody lucky it tasted as good as it did, because it was an eyesore when put before us.
Pre-dessert was just a hoot: Wareing's take on a pina colada. A small plate of coconut mousse, coconut ash, pineapple cream and rum jelly. Given that I don't drink and I detest coconut, it wasn't really for me. More to the point, I don't think ash has a place on any dessert. It was not a fantastic accompaniment, the charred black flakes adding only colour variations to the plate.
My choice was a little riskier in the form of iced lime mousse, served with soft meringue and sweet & sour pineapple. It was far more original and well-balanced than the chocolate but it too suffered from a slight mismatch on the plate. The meringue certainly added a visual edge but the taste contribution was negligible. The mousse itself was lovely and surprisingly not too cold, but the pineapple didn't sit right with it. Liquorice on the side was more of an inconvenience than anything else. It was a pretty good symbol of entire the meal in all honesty: almost there, but something's been lost in the mix.
We wrapped things up with some in-house chocolates, which the wife in particular enjoyed. The banoffee were the highlight. As we finished our chocolates and I paid the bill, I looked at what I'd paid (not the moon but certainly a fair whack) and what we'd eaten and asked myself what I really had thought of the night. It was lovely, there's no doubt about it. Great service and a special occasion lent a lovely sentimentality to the night. The wife (or, as she was about to be known, the fiancée) had a great time and that clearly was the most important thing.
But what of Wareing? How does it stack up? For starters, I must say I'm siding with Ramsay when it comes to comparisons. Restaurant Gordon Ramsay was in almost every way a better meal. The problem with Wareing is that it has become a feverish mission of attaining a third Michelin Star which, frankly, I cannot see coming. The menu has been fiddled with to the point of over-complication, which left me mildly frustrated. I'm not for one second saying the food was bad, but it wasn't as good as I'd hoped for.
There are good things to be said for Marcus Wareing at The Berkeley, but there are a handful of diminishing features which made this less of the perfect birthday meal (which, kudos to Ramsay Holdings, was one year earlier) than I had anticipated. My advice to Marcus would be to simplify things. Make it great in a classic way before you go for broke on mad combinations and hints of pretence. Just turn up the lights and re-think the ingredients.
Marcus Wareing at The Berkeley
Friday September 16th: Old Tree Bakery, Golders Green
It appears the wife's annual birthday tradition has become a trip to buy lots of meat at Smithfield Market. It's a fantastic experience, a great trip and one that I can't recommend highly enough if you've got a 4am slot spare in your diary. We traipsed up and down the magnificent market hall with a little wheelie trolley and packed it with meat, eggs and other delights.
We then took in a little breakfast down by the Thames as the sun came up and I proposed to her. It was a lovely moment, characterising us perfectly: a proposal next to a big stack o' meat. Well, we were happy anyway.
Back home, we packed away the meat and I put her to bed for the day whilst I prepared the flat for her surprise party that evening. Baking a cake, sweeping and mopping floors, general tidying; I was on quite impressive form for a man who had not had a great deal of sleep.
Some time later, with me flagging considerably, I surprised her with a trip to Old Tree Bakery, a venue in north London which I had on good authority to be the best Taiwanese food one can find in these parts. It is a small café which focuses on traditional elements of Taiwan's cuisine.
We ate some beef ribs which were another picture of smooth meatiness. The meat was spare, as it tends to be on ribs, but worth the effort. Chunkier than your average spare pork rib, these had a nice gelatinous quality to them, making the intense flavour stand out even more. Good stuff indeed.
One of the dishes that did not sit at all well with me was the chicken, served with black sesame oil, chilli, garlic and mint. Just reading that back sounds like a bad idea and it certainly was. The over-strong flavours of the seasoning completely overwhelmed the chicken... And mint?! Not something I expect to see paired with chicken on any continent.
Taiwanese sausage was a pleasant surprise (right). Somewhere between chorizo and a good old-fashioned English banger, these sliced morsels were lovely. We even took some home and re-fried them with garlic which was even more impressive. I did not know any Asian country could do sausages particularly well before this, but I'm pretty convinced by Taiwan now.The dessert snacks we tried - an egg tart and a custard cream bun - were not overly impressive. Neither had the sort of milky creaminess that one expects from classic cute Asian puddings. The bun in particular was a little dry and the egg tart no more than run of the mill.
I'm happy we went to Old Tree Bakery, particularly on such a significant day. The wife's verdict was that it was "normal" for Taiwan. And that, I think, is the point. It isn't all that amazing or outstanding if you're from Taiwan. But if you're not, it is a bit different from a lot of other stuff you can get in London. And even if you're from Taiwan, "normal" may be the best you're likely to get in London.
After a hearty tea, we went back to the flat where a cavalcade of friends were waiting to surprise the wife. It was a lovely evening and a wonderful end to a special day. The chocolate cake went down a storm and I was finally able to sleep at the end of a very, very long day.
Old Tree Bakery
Saturday September 17th: Park Room & Library, Mayfair
Yet more surprises were in store on the Saturday, which was the wife's actual birthday. In planning the weekend, I was trying to fit in as many distinct food experiences as I could to avoid anything getting boring. Afternoon tea is always a classic, the wife having chosen such herself for my birthday back in July.
It was going to be hard (and ultimately pretty futile) for me to try and top The Dorchester, but I figured the place that had won the Tea Guild's Award of Excellence for 2011 might help. The Park Room & Library is the rather confusingly-named tea and breakfast room for the Grosvenor House Hotel on Park Lane. It is, as all Park Lane salons are, equipped with a lovely view of the lane and Hyde Park. It is spacious, very green and plush. It is, every inch, the sort of place one might expect to have a corking afternoon tea.
It was, as I hinted above, not quite The Dorchester. But it was pretty good all the same. The spacious and relaxed environment made for a wonderfully serene meal. Each course came with a minimum of fuss and we both kicked back and enjoyed ourselves.
Sandwiches were a rather disappointing affair (left). Nothing really standing out from the standards which were trotted out. Cold beef, smoked salmon, egg, chicken... It was all acceptable fare but not much better. We also sadly observed that the bread was a little on the dry side. Not stale but still not too pleasant.
We eschewed any more in the hope that pastries and scones would be better. Fortunately the occasion picked up smartly as the stack of sweets was brought to the table. The cakes were generally rather fabulous, with a rose theme running through the menu for the day (right). The rose éclair, panna cotta, sponge cake and macaroon were all lovely. A little on the rich and slightly flowery side (naturally), they all worked fairly well.We opted for some seconds here, which led to the non-rose desserts being presented to us. The normal chocolate éclair was as good without the flowers, as was the panna cotta. The Victoria sponge we were given was also a winner, neatly served as a small circular cake on the side of the plate. The strawberry tart that was present on both occasions was enjoyable enough, while the slice of chocolate cake wasn't.
Scones were nice enough, but merely felt functional in the circumstances. It was all a bit clinical and underwhelming at the end of it. The main draw of this place is the room itself which, despite being a bit office conference-y (it is a Marriott hotel after all), is absolutely pleasant. The food and to a lesser extent the service needs a tune-up though. I'm not sure how this place won the prestigious tea award on the showing of this Saturday afternoon.
It's a decent place with a semi-decent tea, which is not altogether worth the £35 per person they are charging. I wouldn't say don't go there, but I would recommend getting a reservation in early and going down the road to The Dorchester, where they're carrying off this sort of thing with way more style.
Park Room & Library
Sunday September 18th: St John Hotel, Chinatown
One last surprise followed our late afternoon tea. We took a walk through the Soho streets, as ever marvelling at how exuberant and absorbing the backstreets of W1 can be. Our journey took us to the final destination of the weekend: the St John Hotel, somewhere we'd been talking about going for months. I figured this was just about the only occasion we'd be able to justify the £250 for a one night stay in some time.
I should add that £30 of the fee contributed to our having breakfast in the restaurant the next morning, which is no bad thing. I'd been perusing the restaurant menus for some time leading up to this visit and I was always struck by two things: the menus looked lovely but they were damned pricey.
The hotel itself is a quirky work of art, much like the entire St John franchise. The whitewashed, wood-panelled rooms have a delightfully nautical feel to them. The green rubber flooring, which I initially raised an eyebrow at, actually works wonderfully well, giving a comforting and satisfying depth to each room. I'm not in the business of recommending hotels, but if you have the spare change, a night here is a real treat.
Breakfast on the Sunday morning had been decided by observing the menu on Saturday night. The fact that they had a pigs' cheek omelette and girolle mushrooms on toast was good enough for us. Sadly, when we got to our table we found out that both had been removed from the menu. The wife being as determined and inquisitive as she always is managed to wrangle them both for us. I was very pleased.
We started with yoghurt & fruit and a fruit bun. The yoghurt was sour, with even sourer cherries within. It was a serious waste of £5 and no mistake. The fruit bun was better, a sugar-glazed, Danish-type affair. It made you feel both comfortable and guilty, which I suppose is what any decent breakfast pastry should do.
Main courses were something else entirely. In my sleepy stupor, I ordered a boiled egg on the side of my girolles on toast, when I meant to ask for a poached egg (left). I would hazard a guess that the poached would've been better, but the boiled wasn't too shabby. It was a classic St John dish in the event: exceptionally simple yet well put together. The mushrooms were cooked to a slight bite of perfection, served on thick grilled toast. The seasoning was spot on and both of us loved it.
Even better was a pigs' cheek, Berkswell cheese and pea omelette (right). The salty, succulent meat was flaked over the top, with the peas inside the eggs and the cheese graciously sprinkled over the lot. It was a perfectly conceived breakfast dish that was enjoyed wholeheartedly. Paying a little extra (it cost £8.50) for this was in no way an extravagance. Delicious stuff.Breakfast at the St John Hotel is a treat which I believe will be better within the next year when the place really finds its feet. (The maître d' admitted as much to me when we were ordering.) It's rather a special feeling eating a swanky breakfast in your pyjamas whilst pedestrians wander to and from Leicester Square a few yards away.
As much as I enjoyed the food here, it is a touch overpriced and I would say the more worthwhile treat is a night's stay in the hotel. Amazing rooms, atmosphere and mini-bars, this is certainly the real deal when it comes to smart London hotels. Just don't bother with the bar; we wandered in there on the Saturday night and it's more like a youth hostel than a west end hotel bar.
St John Hotel
You only turn 30 once. I think a breakfast, a lunch, a tea-time and a dinner is a good way to celebrate. Plus a surprise party and an engagement. It was a great weekend and, as usual, most of it was to do with food. I have promised the wife, in the interests of my bank balance, that she can have a birthday like this once every ten years. It might be a tough act to follow but I have the best part of a decade to think up the next one.
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