There are key factors in weighing up whether or not the boat out-pushing has been worthwhile. Happily for the sake of my writing, they are the most classic and predictable factors ordinary punters consider after a meal out: food, service, value, atmosphere, occasion. Easy-peasy.
Of course, when you decide to take a punt on a place that everyone has raved about from the day it opened, a place that has been coveted extensively by all your friends and contemporaries and a place which earned a Michelin Star within a year of opening; you ensure that your standards are at that exorbitantly high level which warrants spending as much as you're about to.
Dinner By Heston Blumenthal (or 'Dinner' from here on in) is one such restaurant. Actually, it is the restaurant that I mention above. It has garnered nothing but praise in its relatively young life so far and is generally at the top of most people's to-eat list if they haven't been there already. I have, so here we go...
Getting into the place isn't easy. The only booking we'd managed to secure for a Saturday night (well in advance, too) was the late seating. It was late in the evening when the wife and I stepped into the Mandarin Oriental to celebrate a week of being married. We'd had a pretty excessive day of working in the kitchen preparing for Taiwanese new year and if there was one thing that could lift us out of our weary stupor, it was a decent dinner.
And 'dinner' is the word. Ever since Heston rolled into town promoting his historically British menu, a million miles from the sort of science experiments going on at The Fat Duck, this has been just about the hottest place to eat in London. The idea is great: trawl through the annals of history looking for the coolest, quirkiest dishes to put on an exclusive hotel menu. There's nothing about that formula that shouldn't equal success.
The place itself is one of those cooler-than-cool bar-fronted suit-fests which lead into the quieter restaurant. It's hellishly dislikeable whilst you're slaloming through the noisy crowds in order to get to your table but it's a lot nicer inside. It's even moderately tranquil without being stuffy which is always a good sign. The most impressive thing about the restaurant itself is that the kitchen is right on display in the middle of it all. Glass-panelled, the chefs' activities are on show for all to see which makes for some theatre whilst you eat.
We had a seat right in front of one of the meat preparation stations which, interesting as a small insight into a modern kitchen as it was, made me ironically nostalgic for a time before I was a teenager; of ramshackle, slap-dash kitchens where a dozen chefs ran around screaming at each other. Here, the team serenely glides from one section to another without the faintest whiff of any drama. Mind you, if kitchen knives were still being hurled about, we wouldn't be looking at how kitchens worked anywhere.
First things first, we were unimpressed with some bread that was more or less burnt when it was brought to the table. It was hard-crusted which is fine, but we were worried for our gums when we bit into the stuff, so we asked for some more. The waitress obliged, but half-hinted that the bread was supposed to be like that and we were a couple of know-nothings. I'll leave you to ruminate on the nature of myself and the wife as diners but the bread wasn't great. The second helping was decidedly more palatable and away we went...
I was genuinely interested in the origins of the dishes. Some going around 600 years back in time, there is plenty to learn here. The back of the menu even has notes about the origins of the food. One thing I'd heard enough about to know I was desperate to try was the meat fruit. Aside the attraction of eating paté in a fruit jelly, the fact that it is a recipe from around 1500 means the attraction is one of pompous curiosity if nothing else.
When presented at the table, the fruit has that look of something special; a surprise you're expecting but are damned excited all the same (left). The Smooth mandarin jelly gives the dish that look of plastic-y perfection, with a decorative green stalk thrown in for authenticity. I was warned not to eat the stalk, but anything else goes. The jelly on the outside was acidic-sweet and very robust. It spread on the toast yet was slightly resistant to the knife. I guess it's exactly what you want from the outside of your meat fruit. Sadly, the hyper-strength of the sweetness was a little too much, yet this was rescued by a delightful chicken liver parfait inside: simply excellent.
The wife ordered Salamugundy, a word I'm sure I've heard in passing at some point in my life but I couldn't tell you from where. It turns out the definition of the word is as disparate as you'd expect: a mixture of stuff in a salad. (I have taken the liberty of modernising - you're welcome.) In the event, it's a far nicer plate than the description suggests, combining chicken oysters with bone marrow, salsify and horseradish (right). Actually, that still sounds close to idiotic, so let me just assure you it's a fine mix. The chicken could be picked out above all the heady strength of the horseradish and marrow, with the salsify grounding the whole thing. It was a delicious and well-executed starter.I did not go particularly adventurous with my main course. Steak & chips might feel a bit of a cop-out at a place of this exuberant calibre, but I had to give it a go. After all, we ought to expect the very best for our money when we are at a place such as this. Especially given the fact that it comes with red wine juice ('jus' anywhere else in the world), mushroom ketchup and triple-cooked chips. The sides, let me tell you, were stupendous. Possibly Heston's greatest gift to the world of food is his triple-cooked chip and the crunchy-soft beauties on the table were a testament to that. Mushroom ketchup was a silkily punchy reminder of how versatile mushrooms can be and how great they are with meat, whilst the juice/jus was spot on: rich, a little smoky and superbly flavoursome.
The steak was a Hereford ribeye, which should deliver on every front. It should be the zenith of flavour when it comes to beef on a plate. (I prefer a fillet but that's me being pretentious.) The sad thing about this particular bit of beef is that it didn't hit the spot (left). It should've done though: served with a sliver of bone marrow, some Japanese panko breadcrumbs on top, a perfect sheen of juice from the meat and sides to die for. I was sadly unmoved though: it was too salty, not smooth enough and didn't have a soft enough texture. It was, ironically, just too meaty.
The wife had spiced pigeon with ale & artichokes - a modest description for a delightfully artful plate of food (right). The pigeon was perfectly rare which gave it that fantastic gamy flavour you get from properly cooked pigeon. The artichokes had been grilled which gave the dish a fantastic balance of textures, as well as sweetening the vegetables nicely. The whole thing had been tied together with a rich ale sauce which made the dish a meaty, earthy one whilst the delicate spicing of the pigeon added notes of citrus and a light variety to the array of tastes. It was exceptional.
We opted not to order the popular tipsy cake with spit-roasted pineapple for dessert and went for Taffety tart and baked lemon suet pudding. The tart was an amazing looking thing, with a layer of piped cream sitting on top of wafer-thin pastry and fruit underneath (left). Sadly, there was an unpleasant, gravelly note of nut running through the whole thing which was to the detriment of the dish. The thinness of the pastry didn't help either, with the whole thing becoming a splintered array of shards with cream by the end. The blackcurrant sorbet was lovely, but the lack of anything soft, warm or pudding-y let this one down.Happily, the wife's lemon suet pudding was more of what you'd expect from a classic English pud. It was a comforting and warm combination of basic but bold flavours which resulted in a winning finisher. The pudding was as thick as anything, housing a deliciously sharp lemon filling. Ordinarily, I would have expected lemon caramel to push the whole thing into the realms of bathroom cleaner-levels of zesty citrus but it somehow helped to temper the flavours, combining beautifully with the spongy suet. Jersey cream merely made the whole thing a great marriage of textures.
Evaluating this meal seems best done in light of the five factors I started this piece with. The occasion was lovely: the two of us really enjoyed ourselves and the restaurant is certainly not lacking when it comes to a bit of a show whilst you eat. The service was stop-start but there is something in the blue-shirted darlings gliding around that is both professional and graceful: pretty much what anyone wants.
The next three features are where it gets tricky. The food was at times outstanding. All of the wife's courses were rather special. Two of mine lacked in some capacity though. The dessert looked a picture but was clearly a bad choice for me: it was not a great pudding. The main course was a superb chorus supporting an average main act which was just infuriating.
The ambience at Dinner is a slightly muted, slightly confused one. It's supposed to be representing classical English cuisine, which is well accomplished in the design of the menus and the informal nature of the dishes. However, the atmosphere of the venue is more grandiose, akin perhaps to some more glamorous eating which I think strikes a slightly uncomfortable contrast. The price is a tricky one too because this place is not cheap. £32 for a steak which is left wanting is pretty scandalous, and even the pigeon which delighted so was expensive at £33. It is certainly trading on its celebrity fairly well.
I think that may be the problem with the place in all honesty. When somewhere has been fawned over as much as this place has, any small imperfection is massively magnified. The one thing that you can be sure of with Heston Blumenthal's name being on an exclusive Knightsbridge hotel restaurant is that the price truly reflects it. For a restaurant which bangs the drum for English cooking, this leaves a strange taste in the mouth. Yes, you feel you've had a good evening out, but it's one that leaves a lasting impression on the wallet above anything else. There is a lot to admire about Heston Blumenthal. Sadly, what really makes him a treasured chef has not quite made it down to London.
Dinner By Heston Blumenthal
No comments:
Post a Comment