I must confess I've quite an appetite and very often I will eat way more than is necessary, healthy or advisable. However, I was constantly being told that, by Taipei standards, I was not eating enough. It was a fantastic concept, having sat through twelve or so plates of (mostly) delicious food, that someone who didn't want two kinds of soup on top of it all was not eating enough.
There were some stunning highlights. A teppan-yaki style meal cooked before us at the table (some of the best food I've eaten ever), freshly barbecued quail eggs next to an estuary, hot custard buns in a street market, home-cooked lamb soup & breaded pork, truly exceptional Taipei dumplings (with truffle!), tender beef barbecued at the table, outstandingly fresh seafood, beef noodle soup the likes of which I've never eaten before and dim sum to die for. This city is a culinary treasure.
One thing I observed about eating there was how keen everyone was to do it. Dinner was a huge event in the day; something that many have noted is sadly lacking in British culture. We've become about convenience and penny-pinching (a lot of that may be the recession) whilst our food has suffered.
And that's where St John comes in. One of the greatest franchises in British cooking, their outposts in London have garnered a well-deserved respect over the years. I've now sampled all three of their restaurants and thoroughly enjoyed each one, even if every experience hasn't always been perfect. The Restaurant was a glorious pig-eating group triumph, Bread & Wine a delightful surprise of an afternoon's eating, the Hotel a fantastic breakfast.
And in December last year, our first meal out after returning home was back to St John Bread & Wine, with another large group. Invoking the spirit of our amazing holiday but keeping things ever so local, it was - in theory - just what we needed.
The menu was similar to the whole suckling pig we'd enjoyed the previous year in that it was a festive feasting menu. The principle was consistent: pick something to eat, all of you eat it. The exception was in the case of vegetarians, which they dealt with at the table. The event itself started out on a whim. I sent the menus to a few colleagues of mine, implying only that the options were worth a look, when all of a sudden they were talking about when we should go.
Sucker for organisation (and feasting) that I am, we were on the way. Other friends were notified, a date was picked and a menu was selected. There were a few appetising possibilities but we had to have the beef. There was something about the three-courses that looked totally appealing; a mixture of familiar and slightly challenging.
The table was set, the company arrived, the drinks were poured. And out came our first course. Ox heart with celeriac was a dish that most people baulked at when I mentioned it to them. When you stick offal into anything it can put fairweather diners off and this certainly did sound like a slightly steep one. When it was brought out, any lingering doubts I may've been harbouring were dismissed.
Ox heart is basically like the thinnest, leanest steak there is. And it's made even more impressive when served with a pile of crunchy celeriac doused in horseradish cream (left). This stuff was intensely meaty, perfectly balanced with creaminess, bite, softness and - somehow - it was rather light. It was an absolute triumph and we were suddenly desperate to continue the beef goodness in the form of the main course.The centrepiece of the evening was either going to be as great as we all anticipated, or an unmitigated disaster. Braised beef with horseradish and dripping potatoes is clearly something conceived in the wondrous margins of heaven and earth, so messing it up should come with some sort of eternal damnation. Or a culinary suspended sentence.
Happily, this was entirely exquisite. The braised beef was made up of oxtail and cheek. It was cooked to a perfect turn, falling apart on our forks, swimming in stupendous braising liquor (right). It was the best slow-cooked meat I have ever eaten. A mixture of heavily-browned and feisty red colours combined in the beef to make the whole thing varied, enjoyable and just about perfect.
As great as the beef was, it was practically upstaged by the potatoes (left). Cooked in beef dripping, I had one of those rare moments one is sometimes lucky enough to experience when eating out: these were actually perfect. I finally got the fuss about cooking stuff in beef dripping (I've never done it myself) since these were crisp, fluffy and greasily glorious. All the clichés about great British roasts apply here: I've never eaten better.There were a few minor grumblings at the table that some token vegetables might have improved things and I could see the point. Beef, gravy, potatoes and horseradish is not a hugely varied combination. Some greens on the side might have been a nice touch of colour and variation, but the simple truth is we didn't need it. Food this good is fine as it is. We scarfed down the whole lot unceremoniously and loved it.
Pudding was syrup sponge with custard. And this - there's no point in dancing around anything now - was also the best I've ever eaten (right). Perfectly drenched in syrup, the sponge was nicely firm but perfectly soft and airy. The custard was right on as it ought to be at any fine British establishment, making the whole thing a deliciously sweet and indulgent delight.So, three courses, each the best of its kind I have ever eaten. Not bad for an evening's work. The inevitable comparison here was with the suckling pig from St John Restaurant. I loved both meals, but in terms of consistency and quality for each course, this was actually better. Everything worked perfectly (apart from the vegetarian main course; a mixture of cheese, lentils and vegetables that resembled baby food more than anything else) and everyone went home happy.
It was a fantastic way to get back into English eating after having gorged ourselves so extensively in Taiwan. But it was also heartening to see a big group dinner go so well. As with the first big St John meal, some of the guests didn't know each other but the spirit of sharing and togetherness was indeed representative of the festive season. There's nothing less British than a huge celebratory dinner meal just because you feel like it, but in doing so, it was one of the best meals I ate all year.
St John Bread & Wine
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