What's that, you say? Excellent food in London? Isn't it all boiled grey?
We had to do some leg work, but it was worth it. And of course, the whole trip was centered around our trek to Fat Duck for KC's 30th birthday dinner.
A couple of months ago we noticed that the pound sterling was very low and we managed to find some reasonable airfares for us to meet up. KC stayed up very late one night, and we perpetrated a two-prong Skype attack to get reservations. He managed to get through and got a table for us on his actual birthday night.
And then, a few weeks ago, the hammer dropped. Fat Duck closed for a food poisoning scare, and KC was livid. Seriously. I don't know that I've seen him this upset before. We tried to get a famous scientist on the case, but he never responded to KC's email. Ah, well. But fortunately, in the nick of time, the restaurant opened again, and our reservation was confirmed.
So why all the fuss?
Fat Duck is a three-Michelin-starred restaurant outside London. There are only three three-starred restaurants in England, and in 2005 there were only 50 in the whole world. I'd never been to any three-starred restaurants before; French Laundry laughed at us when we were in Napa a few summers ago, and needless to say we did not get El Bulli reservations in Barcelona two falls ago (although we did get to Adria's brother's restaurant).
In particular, Fat Duck is famous for using molecular gastronomy to dish up crazy foods. And at Fat Duck, it sure seems crazy. Here's the tasting menu that we had. I admit, when I first read it, I was not enthusiastic.
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And yes, all this can be yours for the bargain price of 120 British pounds per person ... if you can get reservations, that is. We spent the money, and got one of the wine tastings for another 90 British pounds (the wines were all excellent).
Overall, I'd say the meal was outstanding. The location of the restaurant is very strange - it's in a suburb called Maidenhead, and you have to take a train outside the city to get to it. We didn't have any trouble, but it did seem odd to me. And if you didn't know which door it was, you'd walk right past the restaurant. Fortunately our cabbie knew exactly where to go.
This meal involved a lot of liquid nitrogen. The green tea and lemon mousse was "cooked" next to our tables, one puff at a time, and we had to stuff it in our mouths as soon as it came out of the nitrogen. The server sprinkled some green tea powder over the top of the puff, then spritzed the air with lime scent just before the mousse went into our mouths. It seems kind of silly, but it was very enjoyable, having the extra scent.
Lavendar pommery grain mustard ice cream came in a little well, with red cabbage gazpacho poured around. I've never seen food quite the brilliant purple of this gazpacho. It seemed like an odd combination, but it was suprisingly tasty; the flavors came in waves.
I thought the next dish was the best - jelly of quail (an absolutely explosive flavor), lobster cream, and brilliantly green pea smash came layered in a little pod, with a dollop of foie gras parfait on the top. It came with a teeny piece of buttered toast, spread with truffles and topped with the tiniest imaginable slices of radish. We were given little containers holding a single sheet of oak-flavored ... I don't know ... you know those breath-mint strips that come in the little plastic cases, and you melt them in your mouth? One of those. Our table was also given a dish of oak moss, and more liquid nitrogen was poured over the top of that, to make a mist of the oak and moss while were eating. The dish was incredibly tasty and a lot of fun to eat.
I was really looking forward to the snail porridge. There was an herb sauce on the bottom of the plate with a layer of delicate oats, and four snails on top. As garnish there was a whole mess of shredded fennel, and hair-thin shreds of ham. Tasty, but not terribly exciting. Same with the next dish, a foie gras that was perfectly cooked with fabulous presentation. Just not really my thing.
The "sound of the sea" was really entertaining, and if you're planning to go yourself, you might want to skip this part. I think they want it to be a surprise. First, the server brings out enormous sea shells with iPod shuffles hidden inside. Next, you get a two-layered glass dish. The bottom layer has sea sand, and the top has a lovely layout of fish slices, two types of seaweed, and "sand" that's made of tapioca and baby eels. (We were warned to only eat from the top of the dish - apparently crazy things happen at this place.) You listen to the shell while you eat, and afterward they ask you what it reminds you of. Funnily, all three of us were reminded of being at the beach as kids - but not warm sunny tropical beaches. We all felt cold, northern beaches - the Jersey shore for me. Very very cool.
Our two main courses came next. The practically raw salmon (the way I like it) had a layer of licorice gel on the top, and came with perfect artichokes and a powerful vanilla mayonnaise. Funnily, it was served on a plate that was dotted with precisely separated grapefruit pearls (you know how citrus fruit is made up of tiny packets that burst when you bite them?), olive oil, and some sort of brown gel. I thought the presentation was meant to be a bit of a joke, like the salmon had exploded on the plate. This was my least favorite dish - and the most normal. The pigeon was also "normal", although it was presented with a foam made from pickling brine - rather surprising when you bite into it. I was also not terribly thrilled with that dish, although it was cooked perfectly and beautifully presented.
At this point we'd turned the corner and headed into the long stretch of dessert. First we were presented with little cups of tea and instructed to drink them quickly. When KC and I did it, we were perplexed. "Hot tea?" I asked. KC's sister laughed, and told us to rotate our cups 90 degrees. When we did this, the result was staggering - somehow they'd poured the tea into an undivided cup so half the tea was hot and half was cold. The goal was to get both temperatures into your mouth simultaneously, and wow! What an effect!
Next we were given little cards that described a Victorian woman's contribution to ice cream making, and then we ate miniature ice cream cones that are apparently made to her recipe. These were immediately followed by little paper pots filled with pine dust. We scooped the pine dust out with little sticks of vanilla - KC's sister described these as "pixie sticks," and I think she wasn't far off.
The next plate had a lovely little custard-like fruity bavarois that came with dollops of different flavored creams - including mango and douglas fir. I didn't taste much tree, to be honest - the mango kind overwhelmed it. But it was lovely.
Then we started a breakfast game. Our servers came over and gave us cheery good mornings and gave us tiny boxes of cereal and a pitcher of milk. The cereal was made from parsnips, and the milk was parsnip-flavored as well. I made an embarrassing persimmon-parsnip gaffe, but we were so liquored up by this point that it didn't really matter. The overall effect was quite nice, very tasty, although slightly odd at the end of a meal.
Did I say end? Because next came the bacon and egg ice cream. The server wheeled out a gleaming copper saucepan apparatus, and told us all about the special eggs they get from the chickens in the garden. She even handed us one of the eggs, and then cracked another one into the skillet. Just before she poured in more liquid nitrogen to "cook" the eggs, I leaned forward and gazed into the skillet ... and saw no yolks. Our server looked dismayed - I think I'd broken a rule somewhere when I figured out these weren't real eggs. But whatever it was, it "cooked" up into perfectly fluffy egg simulacra, that tasted just like bacon and eggs and were served on tooth-achingly sweet french toast.
And finally, finally - it was 11:30, and I was about to slip into a food-and-wine-induced coma - the petits fours came out. Our plate was slightly different from the website's description. We had apple-pie toffies that came in edible wrappers; tartines made from violets; and the aerated mandarin chocolate.
And then it was time for the cold haul back to the city.
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