Number One: The Ledbury – Notting Hill, Monday 18th October, 2010

And so it came to pass. If spring and summer's ventures to unchartered and glorious culinary waters were the proverbial cake and St John and The Square contributed the icing, then going to The Ledbury was the cherry on top. A fortnight after it was named best restaurant in the UK, I was taken for dinner there. That's right: taken. A very good friend of mine was generous enough to offer a meal out for the two of us and made the mistake of saying "wherever you like".

When I reported on The Ledbury's promotion to the top of the UK list, I made the foolish assertion that I would report back before the end of 2010. Of course this did not come to pass and once again I humbly apologise. However, one excuse worth throwing out there is that I did have some un-planned ankle surgery in November which somewhat curtailed my writing progress.

Again, I will start by saying that the tone I have set out with is one I will most probably finish with: The Ledbury is a wonderful restaurant. Not perfect but wonderful all the same. It's one of a fairly exclusive group of restaurants in London with two Michelin stars and its popularity soared in the wake of the press it gained from being declared best restaurant in the United Kingdom. Evidence of this was that we could only get a table on a windy Monday night in October. This place ain't easy to get into these days.

There is a lot to admire about the Ledbury, right down to its uncomplicated and unpretentious head chef Brett Graham. An Australian with three years at The Square behind him, he opened The Ledbury under owner Philip Howard's supervision. The place itself is pure class: delicately lit, comfortably-sized tables, unobtrusive spatial apportionment and lovely staff.

On to the matter of food, there was heaven on a plate and there were touches of showy pretence which I could've done without but overall I really enjoyed myself. The foie gras tartlets to kick things off were just what I wanted after stepping inside after a walk from Ladbroke Grove: fatty, smooth and satisfying.

My starter was a raviolo (big ravioli to you and me) of calf sweetbread, which came with a velouté of toasted hay (left). Anything that contains toasted hay is fine by me because let's face it; toasted hay?! It was creamy, rich and almost imperceptibly fresh. It wasn't that you had to look for the freshness per se, more that you had to take a moment to fully register the amount of joy you could get from offal inside pasta. It was impeccably constructed and, whilst failing to soar to the heights of the seafood ravioli (should that have also been raviolo?) at Gordon Ramsay the month before, it was lovely.

My (very generous) companion had not been as exposed as I to high end restaurants like this before and was determined to throw himself in and enjoy it as much as possible. It seemed appropriate therefore that he had a go at foie gras for the first time in his life (after the tartlets that is) and ordered the terrine with cooked and raw apple in Sake (right). The Japanese liqueur didn't really register with me but the paté was spot on, combined with the sharpness and contrasting textures of apple. I suppose if you're going to serve something as predictable as liver paté in a posh London restaurant, you darn well better find a way to make it interesting. Top marks on that front.

My main course was something that would drag you in off the street if you were walking past and happened to spot it on the menu. During autumn in England, one should be eating game. Venison surely fits the bill. But at The Ledbury they're making it look uber-trendy by calling it roe deer - after all, that is what it is. They're also serving it with bone marrow, beetroot and malt. And they're baking it in Douglas Fir (left).

Being a huge Twin Peaks fan, I was pretty convinced by the fact that they were baking anything in Douglas Fir, but given that they were essentially throwing in a load of well-suited bits and pieces with the deer, my mind was made up. The meat was, predictably, fabulous. Smoky, rich and a divine deep red. Strangely though, as great as all the combinations were together, the dish looked slightly haphazard and rough, which disappointed me a bit.

My friend chose some lamb. And this really was 'some' lamb. Best end (what else?) and shoulder, served with - wait for it - "an aubergine glazed with black sugar and garlic". Crazy. But tasty, as we soon discovered. With combinations as laughably pretentious-sounding as this, one ought to be wowed. Fortunately we were. He described it as the best lamb he'd ever eaten and upon tasting it, I was nearly as bowled over. Not quite dish of the year material, but worth trying.

The desserts were a really interesting part of the evening. I had hoped to be utterly blown away by pudding, but I wasn't. Having said that, there was certainly something in the dessert to be impressed by, because the memory and taste of it remains vividly imprinted in my mind. You might say I have been haunted by it. In a good way. Maybe...

It was a spiced bread and eucalyptus honey soufflé with thyme ice cream (right). Now that really is getting a bit ridiculous in terms of posh-o nonsense and whilst I was quite right to expect the moon from this one, I assuredly did not get it. The texture of the soufflé was perfect but the taste was so biting and unnecessarily bold that I lost a lot of the light joy one desires when eating a well-formed pudding such as this. The taste, however, was quite extraordinary. I still can't quite shake it from my taste buds to the day, which has to count for something. Despite it being overly sharp and excessive, the originality of the dessert was worth it in itself.

My friend went for the slightly less risqué choice of a brown sugar tart with some ginger ice cream. We were both a little underwhelmed by this one, since it didn't deliver any sort of fireworks, good or bad, in the taste or presentation. Not unpleasant of course, but not quite worth the price of the a la carte.

So there we are. The Ledbury is apparently the best restaurant in the country, but I have to say I believe that is more down to the philosophy and general fashionable nature of the restaurant above anything else. Not for one second am I suggesting the food is bad or even average, but it is a little below what one expects from the number one venue in the UK.

I would definitely go back to The Ledbury. Graham clearly knows his ingredients and has the right uncompromising approach to good food. This may all depend on when can I next afford to go (or if my friend is feeling generous enough again), but it's somewhere worth a place on anyone's shortlist.

The Ledbury

London Restaurant Festival: 4th-18th October, 2010

I cannot pass up an event. If some sort of promotion is going on in the capital I have to partake. A swathe of restaurants offering up cheap set menus is one such event. I've done it before in 2009's inaugural event and I bet that I'll do it again in the future. 2010 saw a less vigorous set of meals than in days gone by but that was due to the the sheer amount of amazing food I'd eaten in the year so far.

Only four restaurants this time, and two of those I'd been to before. Still, it all counts and in these times of financial hardship we mustn't quibble. I was excited by the prospect of one, enthused by another and happily looking forward to visiting one old favourite and a one-time winner from a couple of years back.


Le Vacherin: Chiswick, Friday 8th October

I've written about Le Vacherin before. I've eaten here some four or five times now and it's close to being my favourite restaurant in London. Never letting me or my fellow diners down, it's always delivered in so many ways, but particularly on the food which is always what matters most to me.

Mike, a good friend of mine and the other half all joined me for a Friday night feast which was prompted by our interest at their latest menu (it's changed fairly frequently and something always looks tantalising enough to suggest a visit). The place was pretty packed which wasn't surprising. What we went on to discover was that this hamstrung the evening somewhat.

We tried a variety of classics: scallops with black pudding to start were as glorious as ever and the chocolate fondant was lovely for dessert. However, the evening did leave me a little cold after all was said and done. The partridge I ordered was nowhere near the succulent gaminess I would've expected and there was no real sense of truffle on the plate, which there was apparently supposed to be. Steak, as ever, was delicious.

There needn't be more written about Le Vacherin on this visit, primarily because I don't want to write any more about how one of my favourite restaurants slightly let me down. I haven't been back since but I will do, there's no doubt about it. Somewhere as good as this deserves another couple of chances for sure.


Le Vacherin


The Square: Mayfair, Monday 11th October

As always with these kinds of event, there was one place I had earmarked from the beginning of the piece as a must-try venue. The Square is one of only a handful of London restaurants to hold two Michelin stars and as such I felt it was worth a day off work to go there.

The Square is every precise inch a modern Michelin-starred restaurant. Shiny but soft, welcoming but formal. I suppose you want a bit of intimidatory sheen when you take a day off work for a restaurant. One might wonder what the point was if it was just another badly decorated pretender to modern comfort.

There is much to admire about the food at The Square. Philip Howard is the main man behind the venture and he deserves all the respect coming his way. There are three London restaurants in his portfolio. Along with The Square, he holds a stake in both The Ledbury and Kitchen W8. Put simply, that's five Michelin stars across three restaurants: some rate of return.

Howard still cooks and oversees the kitchen at The Square, but the head chef is now Robert Weston, who appears to have been given the instruction to maintain the high standards of years gone by. A tall order, but for a Mayfair-situated, Philip Howard-run French institution, not an impossible one.

We ate six dishes - a proper two-person lunch - and generally speaking, expectations were met. I always feel a bit cheap and cheerful ordering from a set menu - event or no event - at a high end restaurant, but money talks as ever...

The first starter was a juicy and well-formed rich game terrine. Including duck, foie gras and grouse, it had most of the bases covered and the flavours were as bold as you want. The capers which seasoned the terrine were sometimes a bit too punchy though, but this was a little offset by the sweet damson chutney on the side. I'd always take a paté over a terrine (and always take a parfait over a paté), but this stuff was decent enough.

Our second starter leapt off the page as soon as I read it. A velouté of girolle mushrooms with truffle chantilly cream (the finest sweet, whipped cream) and something called Vacherin gougères on the side. Now, I know Vacherin is a cheese but I was interested to see what these gougères were. As it turns out, they are little pastry puffs with the cheese inside them. So, back to the dish... it was good but not amazing. I expected better to be honest - the soup was a little thin for me and the in-season girolles weren't quite as rich and satisfying as I thought they would be. Hints of truffles were all we got, but I like my truffles suggestively dancing on the tongue, not just hinting.

Main courses were where the fun got started. We opted for one meat and one fish and we enjoyed both. The meat was a cut of suckling pig - in a good restaurant you can't really go wrong with this - along with a crisped flake of shoulder, stuffing and assorted vegetables, jus and some quince acting as a chutney / apple sauce substitute (left). Perfectly cooked, it was tender, moist and salty-soft. Delicious stuff, even if it wasn't perhaps as stunning as the whole swine we put away at St John a few weeks prior.

Surprisingly, it was the fish which was the real star of the show for me. A fillet of halibut served with pumpkin purée, parmesan gnocchi and chanterelle mushrooms turned out to be delicate, flavoursome and beautifully combined. The issue I usually have with dishes like this is that they have never been particularly well thought through and the ingredients are too distinct from each other to make it a genuine 'dish'. In this case however, the fish was perfectly cooked: sweet, soft and wonderfully presented (right).

Dessert was a tale of one outstanding pudding and one that was also on the table. I'm not suggesting the chocolate mess with ice cream, coco cream and hundreds and thousands was not pleasant, sweet and quite lovely (left), but the show stealer was the cheesecake (right). Brillat-Savarin was the name attached to it and I'm pretty sure the great chef himself wouldn't be disappointed if he had made this cheesecake. Wonderfully soft, deliciously glazed with strawberry and outstandingly accompanied with ice cream and fruit. Most probably the best cheesecake I have eaten.

So The Square might not have been perfect throughout, but it certainly showed enough flashes of brilliance to suggest it has earned its stripes as a two Michelin-starred restaurant. I'd love to go back for the a la carte when I can afford it and I would suggest you do too if you are able.


The Square


The Mercer: City Of London, Tuesday 12th October

After the heights scaled at The Square, we decided to have a go at somewhere I'd never heard of on the Tuesday: The Mercer. Situated in what may well be an old trader building on Cheapside, it's not doing much to stand out from the crowd in the area, because most restaurants in this area are exactly like that.

The food on the set menu - and on the menu in general, actually - is a summary of everything that's fashionable to eat in the city: pies, faggots, offal, game... Nothing to complain about but everything to be suspicious about. If anywhere in EC1 can do this sort of stuff well it's worth finding out about. I used to think 1 Lombard Street was the best thing on offer in the city before a re-visit left me irritated and cold, so maybe The Mercer could fill the hole?

Unfortunately no, but that's not to say the meal was a total let-down. Certain areas were indeed rather pleasant. The partridge as a main course was most enjoyable: served draped in bacon, topped with sage, above some turnips and some creamy sauce to finish... I put it away with gusto. The venison and ale stew was also pretty decent but I couldn't say as much for the rabbit pie, which was disappointingly bland.

Parts of the starters were respectable but for the most part they didn't wow any of us. Crispy oyster salad with ox tongue should be electrifying during autumn but was more a side event to something that never came. Devilled chicken livers on sourdough with girolles were okay but nothing more and the braised calf's liver faggot with bubble 'n squeak was the best of an average bunch. Very rich, slathered in gravy and dying to be eaten, it wasn't comfort food at its best, more high city fashion executed satisfactorily.

Dessert was a matter of one decent and two indifferent shrugs from the kitchen. The steamed sponge passed the first test of being better than something you get out of an upside-down pot in the supermarket but failed the second in that it wasn't as properly sweet and joyous as a sponge pud should be. Elsewhere, the trinity burnt cream with Baileys was in fact a lousy crème brûlée further ruined by the addition of Bailey's. The baked apple pie was so nondescript it fit right in with most of the rest of the fare on offer.

There isn't a lot to say about The Mercer because The Mercer isn't really trying to say an awful lot. I'd love to have said this restaurant is the future of the City with its bold British cuisine and strong flavours and ideas but alas... It turned out to be just another place where the best way to enjoy it is to order enough red wine that the food gets comped and you can have an indirect shouting match with the post work boys at the next table.


The Mercer


Roast: London Bridge, Friday 15th October

This was a re-enactment of sorts, given that I'd been here on the London Restaurant Week of 2009 and loved every bit of it. The other half had not been here previously so we thought it a good opportunity to sample.

We could only secure a late night booking on the Friday which was a trifle inconvenient. What it meant was that the place was seriously rammed and the atmosphere was a heady and heated scrum of post-work, pre-weekend diners.

The Festival was clearly good news for the restaurant because plenty of patrons were enjoying the event's set menu, augmented by a bustling and bright kitchen. So bright, in fact, that the heat lamps from it were illuminating our table.

Unfortunately, Roast was really rubbish in comparison to the meal I'd had there before. It was pretty poor on all fronts and much of it could unfortunately be compared to what I had back then. The first point is the pork belly, which I fawned over a couple of years ago. This time around it was crusty, hard and unpleasant. Where I couldn't finish it first time around through sheer indulgence, the second time it was through relentless monotony.

Also, the rhubarb crumble I tried on my first visit to Roast lingers long in the memory as one of my favourite versions of one of my favourite puddings. Alas, this time around the blackberry, apple and almond effort they threw in ramekins and doled out was way short of any such praise.

Elsewhere, the trout mousse to start was nice enough but ruined by burnt-to-a-crisp toast and the Gressingham duck breast was nothing to write home about. It's hard to mess up a duck breast (though it can be done) and whilst they didn't ruin it as such, I expect a hell of a lot finer than average when it comes to English food in season at Roast.

The other two dishes we tried were a chicken (also from Goosnargh) with lemon and thyme and a caramel pot for dessert. The latter was okay; good for a few spoonfuls before you started wondering if the effort and calories were worth it on your palate and figure. The chicken was - and I say this very truthfully - worse that I make at home. Dry, lifeless and exceptionally dull, we didn't bother finishing it.

Some years back, I lauded Roast as the ultimate in modern British eating, and the ingredients of a great eatery are still there. The location, image and philosophy of the place is top-notch. However, the food has clearly take a turn for the worst. That or my standards have sharply risen in the past year or so. It is probably a bit of both to be honest, but one thing I will say is this: I might have flown through the review but it shows just how much of a pain it is to revisit it after so many months, rather than the pleasure it might've been.


Roast


So, another event gone, another set sampled. Roast is clearly dead, dying or had a monumental off day. I hope for their sake it's the latter. Le Vacherin remains one of my favourite restaurants yet they were also clearly not at their best back in October. I will brave it again soon but I haven't since that fateful night. The Mercer should buck its ideas up if it wants to be relevant and add something to London's cuisine, whilst The Square is, simply put, a very fine two Michelin-starred restaurant.

It's easy to look back on all this with a dismissive wave of the hand some seven - seven! - months on, but I still remember all the food, the memories, the smells and sounds... It is enduring, rich and vital: the reason I eat, review and keep writing this damnable blog, even if nobody reads it. Roll on the next seven months.

St John - Smithfield, Saturday 2nd October, 2010

2010 really was the year of the restaurant. And I don't mean in terms of eating out a lot or just spending too much money (both of which happened), I mean the really good restaurant. Or the restaurant which I'd planned to go to for ages. If two years ago, you told me that by autumn 2010 I would've eaten in Hibiscus, Le Gavroche and Restaurant Gordon Ramsay, I would've laughed. What a year it was.

But it was only September. It wasn't over with the glorious trip to Ramsay's main restaurant. That seemed to kick-start a new, less high profile but equally fulfilling spate of restaurant visits. The first one of these was a trip that I had been planning for many months: to St John to eat a pig.

St John has been one of London's most idiosyncratic and special restaurants over the past 15 years or so. Founded by Fergus Henderson and Trevor Gulliver - heroic chef and business partner respectively - in 1994, the restaurant is probably the most important in London. It's no secret that modern, fashionable eating in Britain means seasonal, local and uncomplicated. St John is the zenith of fashionable modern eating. It is the synthesis of these three features in the most assured, perfect way that make St John so vital.

Two years ago St John got itself a Michelin star, after years of waiting in the wings. Almost certainly the cooking here isn't as good as it was in days gone by, but Michelin have now started realising that showy Euro-centric cuisine isn't necessarily what deserves the most kudos when it comes to handing out the accolades. Cutting to the chase, I was thrilled to be going here.

To order a suckling pig, you need to have at least 14 people, some £350 to spend between them plus the costs of whatever else it is you choose to eat. The process of booking such a large table is rather protracted, since you have to select from a feasting menu, where you can only order a maximum of two dishes per course, with everyone sharing. The process is difficult, but the idea is excellent. People eating together, sharing the same combinations and enjoying the same experience is a wonderful thing.

As you may suspect, I loved this meal. I loved the restaurant, the occasion and the food. But that's not to say it was all wonderful. The foie gras to start was a bit thick and stodgy, which the finest paté never should be. The stuffing for the pig was predominantly bread, wine and onion. It was too thick in all honesty. The bread and butter pudding with dessert was laced with some sort of alcohol which literally soured it.

That said, it was an amazing evening. They are quite right that the same grand meal brings a whole group together. Since we were a party of fifteen, a good few of the table didn't know each other well, or even at all. This didn't matter. Brought together by the sense of occasion and the best roast pork I have ever eaten, we tucked in and didn't look back. The pig itself was glorious. Crackling skin, silky soft fat and the most moist and succulent flesh there is. We passed the head around at the end of the meal and had a go at cheeks too which were amazing - the tenderest part we tried.

One dish we had all been dying to try was the signature starter of the place: bone marrow and parsley salad. It sounds dry and minimal and isn't much to look at, particularly as a stellar dish. This is the genius of Henderson: simplicity, elegance, offal. My personal tips for the dish are:
1) Let the marrow cool down before spreading it on the toast
2) Go easy on the salt and the salad
3) Pray that the toast isn't too dry
If all goes to plan, this is a heavenly starter but I found you need a bit of practice to get it spot on. For the idea alone, they deserve kudos. The execution may have been technically flawed in a few areas on our visit, but I don't think it even matters, such is the sense of occasion.

The other area of the evening that deserves a howling from the rooftops mention is the second dessert. If the bread and butter pudding was good but not great, the apple pie with custard was great and greater still. It looked like a pie gone wrong, a TV cooking disaster that had been thrown out with the plastic forks but tasted like something else. Probably the best apple pie I've eaten and when a dish looks like that but tastes the business, you need to pay serious stomach-hugging, peace-making respect.

I cannot recommend St John highly enough. Not a restaurant for the faint of heart - I could barely move the next day and it took me all of Sunday to recover - but one for anybody keen on finding great English food. The meal itself divided opinion; one-time contributor Mike wasn't overly impressed whilst another friend of mine lauded it even more than I.

The whitewashed walls, hardwood floors, labcoated waiters and simple paned glass of this converted smokehouse harbour an institution. One that is almost as vital as the great Smithfield Market which resides so near by. I may have only been once but that is enough to show me that St John is quite probably the heartbeat of London's culinary history.



St John

The Holy Grail: Restaurant Gordon Ramsay - Chelsea, Friday 17th September, 2010

Autumn last year saw a real surge in cookery television. Masterchef: The Professionals was, as always, compelling and essential viewing. (I was pleased to pick the eventual winner Claire Lara weeks ahead of the finale.) The food is usually a stunningly high standard - particularly towards the end of the competition - and the tasks are fantastic. Cooking lunch at The Ledbury is one thing, but preparing food at Noma, the world's best restaurant in Denmark, was what surprised me most. Great television, even if you aren't into food.

Opposition elsewhere came in the form of Channel 4's Ramsay's Best Restaurant. The Scotsman sent his minions out to sample the best restaurants in various categories across the UK. Each category then had a cook-off against each other, with the winner progressing to a next round meet against another winner. Or something. Typically over-sexed, outrageously brutish and glossed up to the nines. Absorbing viewing, but not on the same level as the BBC's show.

Vitally, each early episode of the Channel 4 show culminated with the two kitchens cooking opposing meals in Ramsay's flagship restaurant, the eponymous Restaurant Gordon Ramsay. By the time I was watching this programme, I had already eaten in the famous Michelin three-starred establishment, having taken the other half there for her birthday.

The cache that this restaurant holds is unbelievable. Until Alain Ducasse at The Dorchester was awarded Michelin's top honour a year ago, it was the only three-star restaurant in London. Its chef patron is the man who put his name on it, a man who fifteen years ago was genuinely a great chef as opposed to an overexposed, thinly stretched TV personality. Fortunately, the place is still in good hands. At the age of 29, Clare Smyth was made head chef of Ramsay's prize venue. She maintained the stars, continued the excellent cuisine and still presides over the kitchen to this day.

There is no doubt whatsoever that this is the restaurant in London which you can walk into and expect to be impressed with everything from the lighting to the petit fours. Everything about the place is supposed to exude class, excellence and near-celebrity panache. You ought to feel special, cared for and totally satisfied by the time you walk outside after eating. And reasonably so, too.

There is some fiasco you have to go through for booking a table though. Three months in advance, we called up and managed to scrape a 10:30 table on the Friday night. We then had to fax back a form confirming our table, saying that the restaurant could take some £300 off us if we didn't show up. To confound things on the night, we were late. I was half worried they'd keep a tardy meter ticking in the corner until we arrived, but they were terrifically understanding and in we went.

The restaurant itself looks like a private club from the outside. A simple black tablet, illuminated with Ramsay's autograph signifies how damned exclusive this place is. Unfortunately, the inside does not maintain the simple, elegant exterior. Cheap-looking panelled walls and by-the-numbers dining room carpet makes you feel as if you're eating on the set of Ramsay's show. It is a disappointingly stuffy and small room, which I didn't like from the minute we sat down.

Great restaurants should automatically employ great staff. It's a given that if you're paying anything above £50 for your meal, the service should be excellent and for £95 per head it had better be exceptional. This is where I got the first sense of what the three stars have been awarded for. It's amazing how quickly a rubbish dining room can be transformed by careful and compassionate service.

The maitre d', Jean-Claude Breton, is a long-standing colleague of Ramsay's, having first worked together at Aubergine in 1993. A fruitful partnership for sure, and the proof is certainly in the service. The guy is charming and charismatic in the extreme, with this clearly influencing the rest of the staff. Lightning quick to discover why we were at the restaurant and what the occasion was, they did their utmost to make us feel comfortable and that is exactly what people want in top end restaurants, which few ever deliver.

We were swiftly presented with a couple of amuse-bouche which were just the job to settle us in. Little mouthfuls of foie gras on the side of some wafer-thin crisps which contained pesto but still tasted fantastic. Our second pre-starter introduced a theme which continued throughout the evening: langoustine. They gave us some similarly thin cornets containing seafood-y stuff and it became clear that meals here are very true to high end French food: formal, excessive and holding nothing back.

After we had selected our menu choices, we were presented with our second langoustine dish; a pre-starter of consommé with a little caviar and the langoustines sliced in the middle of the bowls. Not necessarily a winner, but pleasant enough and palate-cleansing enough to pave the way for our starters.

It's no secret that I love a good bit of foie gras. The stuff, if done well, is enough to make me stand up to any protestations about it being cruel, abhorrent or unacceptable. At Royal Hospital Road, I found the peak of my paté experiences. Sautéed foie gras served with roasted veal sweetbreads, carrot purée and almond cappucino was, essentially, perfect (left). I actually laughed out loud as I took my first bite - it was that good. The creamy foie gras combined with the soft sweetbreads to form a light and delicate mouthful which still packed a heavy and meaty punch. Take this and add the sweet foam and rough purée and you have the best starter it has ever been my privelege to eat.

We also tried what was apparently a signature dish on the menu: seafood ravioli. The filling was langoustine (naturally), salmon and lobster. The ravioli was poached in bisque. The sauce was light, lemon-scented and delicate. The result was simply stunning (right). I don't think I've ever eaten a starter so vibrantly sea-centric and fresh. I felt as if I was taking a bite out of the ocean as I ate. A horrible cliché I know, but I can't really think of another way to put it. Just perfect.

The other half went for the lamb for her main course. A composite of best end (essentially the leanest, tenderest part of the beast), shank and confit breast, the summer vegetable sides and the combinations of meat were lovely (left). The overall dish wasn't quite the real deal for me, simply because it was a bit lightweight. There was something missing from it, but I couldn't really tell you what. I think it may be to do with the idea of light summer vegetables with such rich and varied meat. A contrast that worked, just not as well as I felt it might've done.

My main course was another long-standing favourite of mine: a bit of beef. It wasn't exactly put like that on the menu, but if you put an aged Casterbridge fillet with ox cheek and bone marrow on your menu, you will see me ordering that dish. Particularly at a restaurant where I had a pretty good notion it would be as good as a beef fillet could be. It was. Oh saints be praised, it really was (right). Stunningly cooked and served chunky steak, with the flaked ox cheek and gelatinous bone marrow sunken into the delightfully fluffy fondant potato. I couldn't really hope to have improved upon this dish in any way. (Except maybe getting rid of the spinach... Actually, scratch that; even the spinach was great.)

Main courses were an unadulterated triumph. We were both superbly happy with our choices and how they had been delivered. And for £95 per head, we ought to have been. So far, so good. Our pre-dessert was a champagne and strawberry soup, served with a big straw in a champagne glass (left). It was thick, comforting and not half as pretentious-tasting as it sounded. It set the tone for desserts and we instantly homed in on a tarte tatin for two.

Earlier in the summer, we had eaten what I described (quite honestly) at the time, as being the best French apple tart I had ever eaten at Launceston Place. It was thick, juicy, sweet as anything and just the ticket. The effort of Restaurant Gordon Ramsay leapt ahead in the league of tatin (right). Carved at the table, served over drizzles of caramel and with a pot of vanilla ice cream on the side, it was as showy as anything but that doesn't matter. Firstly because you're eating at one of the very showiest and best-renowned places in London, secondly because it tastes like a piece of heaven. It was just about perfect.

Post-desserts served only to show off the kitchen's skills further and emphasise the fact that they were pushing the boat out for the sake of it by now. It's not necessarily that they didn't need these little morsels, just that they didn't need to do them in such an extrovert way. Or did they? Regular joes like us have to save up for this kind of meal. We expect a few fireworks at the table. We want to see what makes this place serve "exceptional cuisine, worth a special journey" (according to the Michelin classification of three stars.) So yes, do your worst, Smyth: let's see what Michelin three-star after-desserts taste like.

Amazing, as it turns out. Perversely, I'd hoped there was something in this meal I might be able to really take issue with, and it was just about a part of the after courses that did it for me. It certainly had nothing to do with the creatively served and rich tasting chocolate truffles that were silver-coloured and served on a model tree frame (left). It was the need for rosewater Turkish Delight, served on the side of the dry ice-chilled strawberry ice cream coated in white chocolate (right). I don't really like rose-flavoured stuff and Turkish Delight leaves me a little cold. But the ice cream with the chocolate was delightful: a really imaginative touch and something to send any diner away with a few stars in their eyes.

It was half past midnight when we finally got out of the restaurant. We (or I: it was a present) had spent comfortably over £200 for three courses plus all the showy sides - and no alcohol - and we were happy. Really rewarded and satisfied. It was the best meal I have eaten to date, just edging out the efforts of Christian Le Squer in Paris. I was delighted with the evening and as happy as I've been after a meal.

I do think, however, that this is the way to do it if you want to eat at Restaurant Gordon Ramsay. Make sure it's a special occasion. Put away a little bit each month building up to the event. Take your time and expect to be impressed. Above all, enjoy yourself: if there is anything to be said for great French food in London, this place might be it. Ten years of three Michelin Stars and several high-ranking positions in the world's best restaurants doesn't count for nothing. Yes, it's pricey. Yes, it's unbelievably showy. Yes, the man who put his name on it might not be in the kitchen any more. But believe me, after you eat here, none of this matters.



Restaurant Gordon Ramsay

Smithfield Market - Friday 17th September, 2010

Early September last year proved to be a period of rest and recuperation after the hectic month of August. Long working hours, physiotherapy and rehabilitation on some ongoing injury problems, weddings and (of course) restaurants meant I was just about burnt out by the end of the month.

The other half and I took a couple of days off to dash down to Brighton for a seaside jaunt when we had the time, which took us right up to her birthday. Part of the reason I believe her and I get on so well is mutual interests. When I asked her what she fancied doing for her birthday, she said she wanted to go to Smithfield Market, London's legendary historical wholesale meat market.

We stayed up very late and left the house in the early hours of Friday morning. We arrived on a fairly cold day at the hauntingly traditional and remarkably preserved market around 4am. People were already leaving with sacks full of meat. At first this was slightly surprising, but then I remembered that this is the sort of place where restaurants, cafés, traders and all sorts will come to actually acquire their daily stocks. It's wonderful.

One of the instantly appealing features of Smithfield Market is its undeniable authenticity. This is a real food market. Proper wholesale butchers selling all cuts of meat: whole carcasses, offal, speciality meats and to top it off, a whole load of cakes, pastries, sauces and other ingredients which add to the possibilities when you step through the plastic drapes.

We agreed a budget of £100 to pick up whatever we felt would keep us going for the next few months. We went, we spent and we left carrying a huge box of goodies which were carved, cut, wrapped and stored with relentless ruthlessness: our freezer was packed with meat.

The range of customers is striking. I assumed at 5 o'clock on a Friday morning that we would mostly be faced with traders and restaurateurs buzzing about, elbowing their way to the front of queues and leaving with minimal fuss. Instead, there is a real mixture of casual cooks such as us, tourists and folks who are just curious as to what all this bright-lit noise is about in EC1. It's wonderfully inclusive and not half as intimidating as I suspected it might be.

The butchers are friendly and helpful, the stalls are buzzing and accessible. The buildings are beautiful and grandiose. The produce is generally very good. For £100 we took home a huge piece of lamb rump, a large roast beef joint, some fillet steak, chorizo, pancetta, a huge pack of smoked bacon, venison and duck fillets, two dozen duck eggs, black pudding and two pigeons. Beautiful, indulgent, good value foodstuffs.

I suggest you get on down to Smithfield whenever you need a mass re-stocking of your fridge and freezer. It might require a little time off work, but think about this: how much good quality meat and dairy produce could you get for £100 in a supermarket? Well worth it on every count. And check out their website before you go: it's essential for first-time visitors.



Smithfield Market