This is destined for UKGourmet, hence the formal style : There have been recent mutterings in the catering industry press of the death of the cult of chef. We are told that the British dining public are now more interested in the restaurant experience in its entirety and are no longer willing to subjugate themselves to the whims of the men in checked trousers. However, if the anticipation that surrounded the opening of Restaurant Tom Aikens is anything to go by, reports of its demise may have been exaggerated. The events of Aikens' recent past are well documented and there is little value in repeating them here. Suffice to say that he has been missed by many during his 3-year absence from the London scene and his return might be viewed as something of a Second Coming. Expectations are sky high and nothing less than the chef walking on the water or turning Hildon into La Tache will be enough to satisfy them. I took a trip to Elystan Street in Chelsea to find out for myself if Aikens' revival is the miraculous resurrection of a culinary messiah, or the return of a false prophet. Everything about the restaurant, from its name, to the Monday to Friday opening hours (allowing one brigade to work 10 shifts with weekends off and thereby ensure maximum consistency of product) to the Egyptian cotton covering the nicely spaced tables seems to be begging, or perhaps demanding like a sulky teenager to be treated as a serious grown up restaurant. Speculation is rife that Aikens is looking to regain or even improve on his former Michelin two star standing and the image the restaurant is so obviously seeking to project does nothing to contradict that rumoured ambition. There something very 1980's about the intimate black and white dining room designed by Anoushka Hemple. But it's a striking space and in the blonde and beige world of London restaurant interiors, it comes as a welcome change from the norm. A stark rectangle decorated by a few nudes hung on the monochrome walls seats 60 on oddly proportioned chairs which leave the feet of many diners dangling inches about the floor. A small bar and reception make up the remaining public areas of the single story converted pub. A beer (£4.00) for me, and a martini (£9.00, which when converted into old money comes out at roughly "nine bleeding quid!!!!") for the lady arrived with pleasing rapidity along with the black clad menu. Eight a la carte starters and main courses and a choice of seven desserts at £39.50 were all very tempting, but the seven course tasting menu for £49.50 including coffee and petit fours but excluding service seemed to be the best way to sample the best the restaurant had to offer. Things got off to an exceptional start with what might be best described as a small lipped vase of foie gras mousse, celeriac and horseradish soup with smoked sausage and cabbage. A very thin layer of the liver was topped with rather a lot of intense, aerated broth, spiked with the odd lump of meat and veg. More mousse and less froth was the only possible improvement to this lovely dish. The flavour of two weenie queenie scallops was all but lost amongst an over-poweringly acidulated and anise flavoured assemblage of poached grapes, Pernod, grape juice and fennel which also killed our Isabel Estate Sauvignon Blanc (£32.00) dead in the glass. It faired better partnering a boudin of guinea fowl, pickled ceps, cep vinaigrette and salad of green beans, wild garlic and herbs. The dish also included a small slice of foie gras terrine and more celeriac, this time in the form of a truffled remoulade. Arguably this was two starters sharing a plate, but it was in no way a chore to eat. Next came what was for me the highlight of the meal: pan fried fillet of sea bass topped with a beignet of langoustine sandwiched between a sheet of paper-fine dill flavoured pasta and a slice of avocado served with a red wine reduction and a dill emulsion. A serious display of technique and a harmonious marriage of texture and flavour. All too soon came what might be considered the main course, had it not been so small. An assiette of "pigeon steamed with thyme, chestnut veloute and cannelloni, soft lettuce" (as opposed to what I wondered, really bloody hard lettuce?). Two slices of pink breast, a variation on the boudin theme , the salty confit leg and a seriously good bit of pasta stuffed with an earthy preparation of the liver were united via the medium of the veloute. It all added up to a good but not outstanding plate of food, impressive from a technical point of view, but failed to provide a suitably satisfying end to the savoury phase of the meal. A selection from the OK cheeseboard was rather grudgingly dished out, but which included probably the best example of roquefort I have ever had the pleasure to put in my mouth. Two desserts followed, first a rich and beautifully caramelised apple and filo napoleon sitting on an unnecessary base of frangipan served with a vivid green apple sorbet and apple crisps: then a plate of pineapple 3 ways including roasted with vanilla and rum and an oblong of jelly. This was a little too much of a good thing for me, but faultlessly executed nevertheless. Coffee came with a three pronged mignardise attack of various flavoured tuiles, madelines and chocolates delivered in a variety of wooden boxes and stands that would not have been out of place in a Hawaiian theme bar. All of which served to give the meal a slightly bottom heavy feel, an embarrassment of sweet riches compared to a relatively meagre portions of the savoury delights. An extended pause between the pigeon and the cheese and then the cheese and desserts unbalanced the dining experience further and resulted in a meal lasting the better part of 4 hours, which despite the charming company was simply too long. Service was professional for the most part, but the attention of our waiter was almost entirely directed toward the attractive blond side of the table, leaving the over weight balding side feeling somewhat neglected. A question put by my companion to Mrs Aikens as to her opinion on whether the a la carte, with all its attendant surprise freebies was in fact better value than the what- you-read-is-what-you-get tasting menu was met with a flustered "I really couldn't say" and a swift retreat. I was not impressed. With two bottles of New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc, two of mineral water, dessert wine and a 12.5% service, the bill came to a not inconsiderable £218.00. Save for a few scraps of pasta, the almost complete absence of starch on the menu meant that I left feeling a little hungry and could have quite easily managed a ham sarnie or two by the time I made it back home to Brighton. Not really the ideal outcome of a hundred pounds a head meal. Dinner at Tom Aikens is not quite a religious experience just yet. But the cooking is accomplished and clever, the food never less than delicious, at times rising to the status of sublime, such is the clarity and force of its flavour. Its still early days at the restaurant and over time I'm sure the service will speed up a little, mature and acquire the appropriate degree of authority and assuredness that this sort of operation requires. When that happens, it could well stand comparison to the very best London has to offer.
