Friday, April 29, 2005
The Fat Duck
How many of your dreams have you fulfilled? This isn't an idle question. Nothing quite comes close to the feeling of having accomplished something you always, without quite articulating it, knew you wanted to do.
Yesterday Van and I celebrated our 4th anniversary. I took the day off from work and woke up at 830 (in itself, a little vacation). We left the house at 10 and drove an hour into Berkshire and a little town called Bray, where the best restaurant in the world sits smack in the center of the High Street.
Yes, we ate at the Fat Duck, a temple to "molecular gastronomy" and one of only two restaurants (El Bulli in San Sebastian being the other) in the world to offer such ultra-experimental cuisine. Three Michelin stars and a place in the top 10 restaurants for three years running. The day I booked our table, it was at #2 - the results for this year had yet to come out. It was the next day's Guardian that broke the story: The Fat Duck was the #1 restaurant, overall.
*cue flashback* Ever since I started living away from home in Jakarta I've been fascinated with food and the creation of food. I started cooking steak, moved on to burgers and fish - yes, haute cuisine at its finest! The ingredients in China were a lot stranger, but no less fun to work with. Here in Britain at the height of the food renaissance, eating out is something I enjoy passionately. The unspoken dream was to eat the very best food in the world, and it was only reading that paper two weeks ago that it found a voice.
Even so, when we walked in the door and got seated at the window, I almost balked and got the three-course lunch menu, which Van did order. Our sommelier was all smiles and recommended an aperitif, a lovely Kir. After some somber staring at the price (£97!) I got the courage to ask for the 18 course "Tasting Menu". Our waiter admonished us that we BOTH had to get it; eighteen courses while she waits on her cold entree was just not to be done. And besides, he cheerfully added, this is "an experience". So began the best 4 hours of eating I'd ever done in my life. Buckle in - this is a long one.
The first thing to say is that the service was impeccable - we never felt that it was too stuck up, or "proper", for us to have a great time with the food. Our servers, of varying degrees of cheerful, were all flawlessly efficient anyway. The theatre began with a nitrogen-cooled green tea foam, which frostmelted as we popped it in our mouths.
Beetroot jelly with a hint of orange followed, and an oyster in passion fruit and horseradish. A huge plate framed a dollop of mustard ice cream immersed in red cabbage "gazpacho", and the tastes traveled up and down our tongues. We were already in heaven at this point, and it was only course #4! Our procession of jellies ended with a delicious quail and langoustine concoction.
Now, onto the serious stuff. The snail porridge was unreal, in both texture and taste. I can rarely say this, but it was unlike ANYTHING I'd ever tasted before. The roast foie gras in almond gel was Van's favorite, so light and buttery, the result of vacuum cooking and slow roasting wizardry. The sardine on toast sorbet had to be the least memorable course, and it still beat anything I'd ever had in London for taste and freshness. Last of the fish courses was a delicate salmon in licorice jelly with the tastiest asparagus spears on the side.
As I write this, the flavors seem to come alive again in my brain, the heady buzz of our table wine (a very mineral Sancerre) increasing the potency of each course. Our last "main" was a tender and heady Anjou Pigeon leg with pistachio and cocoa. Van swore off vegetarianism forever. Our favorite waiter explained how the blood in the leg itself cooked the meat to such richness. After a brief pause, we were off to desserts, starting with a quick mouthful of white chocolate and caviar, and a "Mrs. Marshall's Margaret Cornet", which mysteriously came with its own propaganda leaflet. Hmm. My favorite moment came as we were talking about childhood memories of food (as prompted by the oh-so-casual table cards) and I remembered sucking powdered milk through a straw. The next "course" was a paper fountain with a pine straw filled with lemon powder. Serendipity?
A mango and Douglas Fir(?) puree satisfied my ice cream loving girlfriend so much that we hardly noticed the jellies that followed. We were mysteriously served "cereals" which turned out to be parsnip flakes in parsnip milk. "Breakfast", we were told. And breakfast it was, the next course being the now-infamous Smoked Bacon Ice cream. My long boring stories to future grandchildren were now complete - I could tell them what bacon ice cream tastes like. As our glasses were topped up for the last time, we ordered coffee to go with our air-light rose tartlets and spicy leather, oak and tobacco chocolates. Both of us were dazed, stunned and a little giddy. We kept snapping pictures and raving over various courses. We talked about the future and the past, but always, always the food came first.
My only regret, as I write this, is knowing I will never taste these concoctions for the first time, ever again. The textures and flavors will forever be a memory, one that we both will share, whatever else happens; but the novelty and wonder of it won't ever be duplicated. I don't expect I'll ever go to El Bulli, simply because however good it may be, it will only be an echo of this, this place and the four hours we spent "tasting".
Yesterday Van and I celebrated our 4th anniversary. I took the day off from work and woke up at 830 (in itself, a little vacation). We left the house at 10 and drove an hour into Berkshire and a little town called Bray, where the best restaurant in the world sits smack in the center of the High Street.
Yes, we ate at the Fat Duck, a temple to "molecular gastronomy" and one of only two restaurants (El Bulli in San Sebastian being the other) in the world to offer such ultra-experimental cuisine. Three Michelin stars and a place in the top 10 restaurants for three years running. The day I booked our table, it was at #2 - the results for this year had yet to come out. It was the next day's Guardian that broke the story: The Fat Duck was the #1 restaurant, overall.
*cue flashback* Ever since I started living away from home in Jakarta I've been fascinated with food and the creation of food. I started cooking steak, moved on to burgers and fish - yes, haute cuisine at its finest! The ingredients in China were a lot stranger, but no less fun to work with. Here in Britain at the height of the food renaissance, eating out is something I enjoy passionately. The unspoken dream was to eat the very best food in the world, and it was only reading that paper two weeks ago that it found a voice.
Even so, when we walked in the door and got seated at the window, I almost balked and got the three-course lunch menu, which Van did order. Our sommelier was all smiles and recommended an aperitif, a lovely Kir. After some somber staring at the price (£97!) I got the courage to ask for the 18 course "Tasting Menu". Our waiter admonished us that we BOTH had to get it; eighteen courses while she waits on her cold entree was just not to be done. And besides, he cheerfully added, this is "an experience". So began the best 4 hours of eating I'd ever done in my life. Buckle in - this is a long one.
The first thing to say is that the service was impeccable - we never felt that it was too stuck up, or "proper", for us to have a great time with the food. Our servers, of varying degrees of cheerful, were all flawlessly efficient anyway. The theatre began with a nitrogen-cooled green tea foam, which frostmelted as we popped it in our mouths.
Beetroot jelly with a hint of orange followed, and an oyster in passion fruit and horseradish. A huge plate framed a dollop of mustard ice cream immersed in red cabbage "gazpacho", and the tastes traveled up and down our tongues. We were already in heaven at this point, and it was only course #4! Our procession of jellies ended with a delicious quail and langoustine concoction.
Now, onto the serious stuff. The snail porridge was unreal, in both texture and taste. I can rarely say this, but it was unlike ANYTHING I'd ever tasted before. The roast foie gras in almond gel was Van's favorite, so light and buttery, the result of vacuum cooking and slow roasting wizardry. The sardine on toast sorbet had to be the least memorable course, and it still beat anything I'd ever had in London for taste and freshness. Last of the fish courses was a delicate salmon in licorice jelly with the tastiest asparagus spears on the side.
As I write this, the flavors seem to come alive again in my brain, the heady buzz of our table wine (a very mineral Sancerre) increasing the potency of each course. Our last "main" was a tender and heady Anjou Pigeon leg with pistachio and cocoa. Van swore off vegetarianism forever. Our favorite waiter explained how the blood in the leg itself cooked the meat to such richness. After a brief pause, we were off to desserts, starting with a quick mouthful of white chocolate and caviar, and a "Mrs. Marshall's Margaret Cornet", which mysteriously came with its own propaganda leaflet. Hmm. My favorite moment came as we were talking about childhood memories of food (as prompted by the oh-so-casual table cards) and I remembered sucking powdered milk through a straw. The next "course" was a paper fountain with a pine straw filled with lemon powder. Serendipity?
A mango and Douglas Fir(?) puree satisfied my ice cream loving girlfriend so much that we hardly noticed the jellies that followed. We were mysteriously served "cereals" which turned out to be parsnip flakes in parsnip milk. "Breakfast", we were told. And breakfast it was, the next course being the now-infamous Smoked Bacon Ice cream. My long boring stories to future grandchildren were now complete - I could tell them what bacon ice cream tastes like. As our glasses were topped up for the last time, we ordered coffee to go with our air-light rose tartlets and spicy leather, oak and tobacco chocolates. Both of us were dazed, stunned and a little giddy. We kept snapping pictures and raving over various courses. We talked about the future and the past, but always, always the food came first.
My only regret, as I write this, is knowing I will never taste these concoctions for the first time, ever again. The textures and flavors will forever be a memory, one that we both will share, whatever else happens; but the novelty and wonder of it won't ever be duplicated. I don't expect I'll ever go to El Bulli, simply because however good it may be, it will only be an echo of this, this place and the four hours we spent "tasting".
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