Peter Green

I was reading David Mitchell's Cloud Atlas, and a line near the end made me smile in a way that I know I'll be quoting Mitchell for some time: Dhondt to Frobisher - "My worry is that the next war will be so big, nowhere with a decent restaurant will be left untouched."

I'd probably be considered a regular by the Four Seasons in Bangkok. The perks? You'd think superb service, but the service is already very good to begin, so the differential isn't as much as you would thnk. The most beneficial perk is that, as the Four Seasons staff are either rotated through properties, or poached to different operations, I keep on coming across people who remember me from those brunches and dinners, and can help me with what's happening at new (and old) venues around Thailand. Well, okay, maybe the service is quite superb, too.

I just noticed on Star Anise's web page that April 16th will be their last night.

Joon, much will depend on the season in which you visit. The time of the year pretty much dictates the quality of the air. Luckily, it will also dictate the ingredients that you can work with in your food.

Ah, but you have to drop the hard "v" (wiangchan vs vientiane?) I'll be back soon. It's just been really busy. "Hoiity toity?" Moi?

As a comment for Canucks, I was sweating bullets about bringing in my collection of bottles from the US. But I knew I was better off declaring than being caught out. But, after my one bottle allowance, this bottle of absinthe and another of New York Apple whiskey only set me back ten bucks in customs. And Canada Customs was really apologetic about it; "You can't get this quality of stuff otherwise. We really shouldn't be charging anything." Moral of story: be honest. You'll feel better about meeting some good people.

It's very good. But, at (I think) 68%, it does hit pretty hard. A good drink to start (and end) the day). These guys may be my favourite distillers.

In Denver last week I was overwhelmed by the quality of distilling being done by the Leopold Brothers, particularly their gin. They also have an Absinthe Verte, and I found it in Joy, across the street from Fruition (we were waiting on a table). I saw the bottle, and snagged it (batch 31). By their label, they start with grape spirits and grande wormwood, adding in fennel, anise, and "proprietary botanicals". Here's a section lifted from their web page www.leopoldbros.com "Before the Absinthe Verte is bottled, it must undergo a coloring step. Many commercial absinthes are colored artificially. Ours is colored in the most traditional manner by placing our hand selected coloring herbs (Hyssop, Melissa, and Roman Wormwood) in cheesecloth and steeping the blend in warmed Absinthe Verte. These coloring herbs strengthen the floral aromas and citrusy undertones of the finished Absinthe Verte. The high alcohol content of the Absinthe Verte leaches chlorophyll from the plant material, turning it a wholly natural, vibrant green color that is similar to the gemstone Peridot. This unique hue is one of the reasons that French Impressionists of the Belle Époque took so strongly to traditionally prepared, handcrafted Absinthe Verte." I need to get this back to Canada, so I can't open it yet. Needless to say, I'm quite excited. Impatient, but excited.

I'd go with the earlier recommendation. Hold off until you travel somewhere with caviar on the menu in their dishes, and then give it a try. Some people just don't care at all for the flavour. Our East Texas friend in Moscow considered it "bait". If you're happy with what you taste, then order from one of the mainline dealers. That'll ensure that you're getting good quality product (there's a lot of trash out there). As a penultimate comment, there's more and more Pacific sturgeon (white) caviar coming on the market from the Northwest. It is quite good. This is fished in a managed fashion, so hopefully it won't go the way of the American Atlantic sturgeons. And don't forget, if you run out of salt, you can always use caviar.

Les Deux Salons October 14, 2010 It was one of those nights. I’d worked late, everyone else in the office had evacuated (except for one, lone, brave sole who was manning the desk and arranging my drivers), and I was looking at a grim, cold London night. But I had reservations for Arbutus. So, I turned up on Frith Street hoping to catch up on things, only to find that Daniel and Allan were tied up at the soft opening of the new restaurant. I moped for a bit, indulged in some very nice bread and a carafe of cab/merlot from Spain, when I had an epiphany. “I’ve just had an epiphany. Can they fit me in down at the new place?” A whisk, a bam, a waving of nonchalant digits at the wine I’d taken, and I was off to William IV (just turn left by the Portrait Gallery). “Tell Caroline that Tom sent you and that you’re Peter Green.” I can deal with the second part of that. The new place is quite an undertaking. Two floors, with the two rooms split – ground and first. As tomorrow (today as I write this) would be the grand opening, they were still working the kinks out on the ground floor before opening the second. The vision is to create a slice of Parisian bistro life in the Covent area. Terroire had done the lead work on this, with their wine bar across the street, but this was an essay at the grand French bistro/café, with the bang of glasses, the buzz of conversation, and more of the bang of glasses. Okay, there might be a bit too much banging. Anthony admitted that the lighting needed to be adjusted a bit. Take it down a notch so that it’s not quite so expository. As for the sound, I don’t think there’s much they can do. There’s not much opportunity in a design such as this to introduce baffles to subdue the acoustics. The first floor (which I did not see) is more velvet and other fabrics, which will subdue matters somewhat, while benefitting from the clatter below, so I’ll probably make reservations for the floor above next time I’m back. I began solo, ordering a nice meusault on the advice of my waitress, and starting with the Herefordshire snail pie. Pleasant, a good crust. The snails were slightly lost, making their presence known through a rubbery announcement of their existence. But a pie is about being a pie. The ingredients are merely the bonbons under the wrapper. Following this, there was a bit of confusion. A very pretty plate of veol ravioli came out, quite succulent with the fat carrying through from the pasta. But I just said “No, I’m having the sweet breads”. Sure enough they, likce the cat, came back and I was told they were a kindness from the kitchen. Who am I to say no? Luckily, as I am always on the verge in such instances of doing a Mr. Creosote, the table next to me had adopted me. It’s a good thing to live in the world of foodies, say I. This allowed me to share out the ravioli to some extent (one of our company did not do red meat…..pity). Following this were the sweetbreads, presented in a puff pastry. No concerns with this, as I’m always content with the texture and pleasant feel of the thyroid gland (has anyone ever had the pancreas, which the Penguin Guide to Food recommends as the more desireable of the choices for sweetbreads?) From here, we were on to the mains. I’d ordered the slow cooked ox cheeks, being the glutton that I am. I must admit, I was grinding to a halt at this point. But the meat was so moist, the onions sauted to that warm, sweet flavour, and the mash, well, just mashy. It’s a good dish, perhaps more Belgian to me than French, but that’s a quibbling point. Mind you, when my friend offered me her rabbit, I really was getting onto the edge of appetite (which would be a great name for a band). No, I foreswore dessert. At least until the point where the rum baba showed up, and the gravy boat of warm rum was unloaded. I can always make a bit more room. Armagnacs and calvados to finish, and it was a long finish. We talked for a few hours, joined by Allan, of Thailand, the travails of business in Covent Garden, and other matters of the restaurant trade ( my friends being far more knowledgeable of these matters……I’m always happy to be a fly on the wall). Of course, talk of the critics reared its head. It’s a hard thing, the reataurant business, and a harder thing when you’re bringing online a massive two story bistro with seating for roughly 160 over two floors. There are teething issues (the lighting, the network, access to the credit card companies), but overall things were pretty good for what was an impressive opening. As mentioned, it was a bit loud, but that’s the feel they want. I can see Yoonhi preferring this over Arbutus, but I might take Arbutus over Les Deux Salons. Mind, you, I’ll do what my wife says, every time. It’ll be interesting to see how the staff shake out. They’ve drawn people in from the other venues, and they may stay here, or move back to Wild Honey and Arbutus. It’s yet to be seen. But one of Anthony’s best attributes is that he can hold good people with him, as many of the staff knew my friend from the Putney Bridge days. A good bit of talk, and Anthony’s one of those people in the trade I like listening to. By the time we coasted to a halt it was approaching two, and the restaurant was clear. I had a horrible feeling that I needed to be up by four for the next flight. Next – Hey, I’m already two years and roughly a dozen trips behind. You’ll get what’s next when it’s next

September 15, 2010 A Few Moments at Le Cordon Bleu Dusit Culinary School As expected, the World Gourmet Festival scuttled plans for attending Le Cordon Bleu’s open house on the 10th. I was just having too much fun to get away. So, once the dust had settled (and there’s a lot of dust where I’m involved) I MRT’d (as opposed to BTS’d – I was no longer at the Four Seasons) down to Silom, cut through the Dusit Thani’s parking lot, and made my way through the front lobby of Le Cordon Bleu Dusit. It was fun to see the place all abustle. When I was here before, it was just opened, and some of the classrooms were still unfinished. Now it was packed with students, fresh white jackets, and eager smiles. The café up front had become an active demo kitchen, a sea of starched white jackets all taking notes and paying dutiful attention. Past me bustled a trio on their way out, knife cases swinging purposefully. I enjoy living in a time lapse. But let’s live in the present, shall we? Shawn Morya, the marketing manager, came out from the office to answer my questions, give me a brief walk through, and generally be extremely patient with me. When I was here before, back in 2007, I’d asked about their plans forThai cooking, but they’d felt (quite reasonably) that the first order of business was to get the standard curriculum in place. With that, they’d concentrated on Le Cordon Bleu’s French standards course, as they had done in Japan, Korea, and in the West. Now, three years later in the last half of 2010, I’d found a note in the Bangkok Post advertising LCB’s new Thai Professional course Shawn took out some of the hardcopy material, and we discussed the new program. There are two facets of the Thai cooking program. One is the full pro course, which we’ll talk about first (as several people had said they were interested); the second topic is that of the workshops, which would be of interest to less hard-core folk (like me). The pro course is very much in the same vein as the standard course, with the focus on developing a chef capable of running a restaurant. This means that while you’ll spend a good portion of your time on Thai techniques, you’ll also be working on book keeping, management, budgeting, and the other aspects that the LCB handles. This all follows the same “watch, learn & do” blueprint. The course is broken into three terms of about 10 weeks each, for 30 weeks total, or nine months. There are three days of class per week (Monday through Wednesday), for 18 hours per week of course, giving you enough time to practice outside of school. For Thai students, they’ll arrange internships. For foreigners, it’s a bit more difficult, but they will work on a case by case basis . They’ll look at this once the student hits the Superior level, and has met at least a 75% grade. For myself, this is what I’d want to take advantage of, at least in the latter part of the program, once I had the basics in hand. The Thai graduates have been quite successful in securing jobs at the top hotels and restaurants, while the international students (who make up about 30% of the class) have generally been returning to their home countries to open restaurants. They didn’t say which one, but one of their graduates is now working at a 3 star Michelin in Spain - Restaurante Martín Berasategui Obviously, you’ll need a visa for a stay of this length. They’ll provide a letter of acceptance for you, at which point securing a non-immigrant education visa is pretty straightforward from the nearest Thai embassy or consulate. For an idea of content, I’ll crib some material from their handout: Term 1 - Evolution and history of Thai cooking (always a fun topic) - Basics of Thai cuisine and desserts - Equipment - Measurements & conversion - Ingredients - Kitchen hygiene - Northern, NorthEastern, Central, and Southern cuisines, as well as Royal, to include; snacks; salads; soups, curries, and curry pastes; dips & sauces; mains; rice and noodles; traditional desserts. Term 2 - Techniques - Curry pastes - Mains - Cross regional influences - Field trips to the markets - Accounting - Kitchen management - Fruit and vegetable carving - Working with banana leaves Term 3 - Restaurant teams - Wine pairing - More fruit and vegetable carving - Presentation of banana leaf craft - Restaurant management - HR management - menu planning and engineering - Cost control and pricing - Business analysis and business development All in you’ll be covering some “200 recipes of traditional, region, and Royal Thai dishes”. The chefs will be conducting guided tours through the markets to acquaint the students with the raw materials. But, as you can see, you’ll be covering a lot of the business side as well, so you need to consider what you want out of the course. In terms of pricing, the course will set you back 360,000 Baht, or roughly $12,000 at today’s exchange rates, although they will be extending the 5% discount to the next group. There’s also a 5,000 Baht application fee (non-refundable) a 6,000 baht uniform fee, and another 48,000 baht equipment (Wusthof knives and some Thai specific gear). All in, you’re talking some 419,000 baht, or roughly $14,000 in fees, plus your visa, airfare, and living expenses (although Bangkok can be quite reasonable when you’re staying long-term). There are surcharges for credit card payments, so it’s worth looking carefully at your payment options. The current intake is full, but the next one will be starting up in July 2011, which allows more than enough time to get the visas and paperwork in order. They’re now accepting applications, and it’s expected that this course will also fill up. For the workshop side, they’ll be conducting six hour, one day courses. These will start with a market tour at 9:00 followed by a lunch. At 11:30 you head back to class, and the final four hours, from noon until 4 p.m. are spent in cooking demonstration and then hands-on practical. The menus will run through three courses: appetizer, main, dessert. October 15 - Golden cups with filling; Thai style vegetable soup with prawns; Steamed pumpkin with egg custard. November 12 – Spicy glass noodle salad with seafood; Hot and sour prawn soup; Steamed rice flour stuffed with sweetened shredded coconut dumpling in banana leaves. December 17 – Spring rolls; Creamy red curry with chicken and crushed peanuts; Pandan, pumpkin and taro flour balls in coconut milk. The cost for the workshops will be 6,000 Baht each. They do require (as a sensible bit of safety) that comfortable shoes with a good grip be worn, preferably black, and, while the Cordon Bleu uniform is required for alumni, for the rest of us it’s enough to wear a white shirt/t-shirt and black slacks. All of the kit will be supplied, so unless you’re really attached to your own cleaver, you can leave the sharp bits at home for these days. For more details on the material to be covered contact lecordonbleu@dusit.com and the website is fully functional, so much of this material can be checked for updates and more info at www.lecordonbleudusit.com

HI, Heidi, Much of my life is an oversight. They had given the description as "beef hamburgers" I believe, but would "sliders" be the more appropriate term?

Hi, Erin, You know me, I think it's always a good time to come to Bangkok. Now is still a good time, with much of the tension being toned, and people ready to start having fun again. Finally the natural festive (as opposed to restive) nature of the town is coming back, with the WGF being the first event, followed by the Dance event, Jazz on several of the beaches, and technical exhibits like the Food Ingredients back at Paragon. As to the other question, regarding the changes to the WGF, please allow me to pontificate (I pontificate well over brunch): I don't know if it's so much a reaction, or rather an opportunity, both with respect to the civil issues and the age of the event. Certain dates work well as turning points. You hit the start of the second decade, and you can make break with past tradition. Things have changed before, but in small, evolutionary steps. With the jump from ten to eleven, you have a chance to start anew. Couple that with what has happened in the streets outside, with the hotel shut for a month, and you effectively have carte blanche to make your changes (and Malcolm Ormond, the F&B, has been here for a few years now). At this point people are just happy to still have the event, and this is the first major event since the troubles. So, strike while the iron is hot. Some of it helps to draw the chefs. As I'd said, many were far from comfortable with delivering a taught course of an hour or so at what was (11:00 a.m.) first thing in the morning for a lot of them (dawn seems to be the bedtime of choice for many). Now it's an appearance at noon at lunch, and a light demonstration for a few minutes. For many, this is enough. And if this keeps the chefs happier, then all the better. I do miss the classes, though. It gave me the opportunity to take in a number of new techniques, and also to meet up with a lot of my friends. Many people will only do one or two of the dinners, but will be happy to take in lunches, and the majority all seem to know each other. It becomes much more social. The loss of the Gala dinner is a mixed matter for me. It normally drew a completely different crowd. Whereas I've made a lot of new (and some very good friends) over the years through the lunches, the Gala dinners brings in people who, while fascinating, I never seem to come across again. However (one of my favourite words) the Gala was not raising the funds needed for charity, and while it could work out very well as a chance for the chefs to work together on a banquet, and it was a good excuse to decorate the ballroom (it was very pretty last year), it's a lot of work for limited returns. But, in terms of attendance, I've seen most of the dinners well attended, and some of my friends have been turned away with no available seats for several dinners (although the local habit of double or triple booking a weekend night always leaves a table or two free). Perhaps the withdrawal of the lunches has given them more reason to do an extra dinner or two? I must say, I"m hyped about the Scent Dinner tonight. As much as many other things have changed this is a return to earlier WGF's, with their theme dinners (the Luxury Dinners, and Nicolas' wonderful Riviera meal are still on my lips). So, perhaps it would be better to say different, but same same?

Okay, I run the risk of being off topic (in which case give me a quick email), but things have been mixed. This is my first time back in town since Demonstration Kitchens in March/April. The mood is one of reconciliation, and the business is coming back. Hotel bookings (for those that weren't completely shut) in the central area were down to 25%. However, the troubles did not really stretch out far beyond certain areas, and the primary tourist destinations were without impact. Trouble does flair up but it's not too bad. Yes, there are towns in the NorthEast and in the North, but many of these are far away from the tourist areas. Talking with the restaurants, it's been tough, but they're seeing a 30 to 50 % drop in business. but these are places doing their bulk of trade with expats here. Tourist joints are way down. Jason came down from Korea last month and went to Phuket and Koh Chang. He loved it. No problems. Good vacation. General rule. Keep your eyes open. don't go where you shouldn't go. Support local business and eat well. Okay, I've got to go back downstairs and make mique with Stephane.

September 6, 2010 – WGF11 – A New Beginning It’s that time of the year again, and, thankfully, the World Gourmet Fest is happening after all. It would seem a close thing, as only a couple of months ago the Four Sesaons (and many other of the hotels in Rachaphrasong) were shut down in the midst of the insurrection. As you can imagine, I was somewhat concerned. Primarily for the well-being of my friends here, but also with the fate of my perennial holiday. But the news came through a while back that they would make a go of it, and so I’d been making my plans for some time. There would be changes this year, the first WGF of this second decade. Some old standards went by the wayside. The Gala Dinner is no more. A pity, as it changes the dynamics, but it was meant to be a fundraiser for charity (The Red Cross’ Save A Child’s Life From AIDS), and at that (its purpose) it hadn’t been working well. The cooking classes are also gone. This was in part at the chef’s requests. Many of them, given the choice of talking in public or having hot tar poured down their noses would opt for the hot tar (I’m partial to creosote over public speaking myself). Instead there would be daily buffet lunches in the lobby, with one or two of the chefs on station and providing light demonstrations. The day-by-dramatically changes, and so this week will see more lunches on the town (and me actually accomplishing some things) with – for the most part – the afternoons and evenings spent here. ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ After the usual flight from hell, I stumbled through Suvanabhumi airport’s immigration to find a surprise. (Yes, why would you give an international airport a name no one can pronounce?) Note: full disclosure – The Four Seasons pampers repeat customers. They had a Merc waiting (WGF11 logo on the side) to bring me back where I belong. Nelson had pretty much abandoned the element of surprise through the Facebook posting, but you’d hate for some thing like this to go to waste because I’d blithely wandered out to the taxi stand. So the trip starts well, with my girth nestled into the leather of the rear seat, kaffir lime scented cold towels, and chilled bottles of water for me to rehydrate with. Outside Krungthep slid by in the afternoon sun. Let’s set the stage for the week of fine dining ahead. You can eat well in many places, but few offer the backdrop of tension and drama that can be enjoyed in the City of Angels. I’ve been away a few months, having been in on only the prequel to the troubles up to the start of April. But everything looked pretty much the same for much of the ride. There was the new skytrain link out to the airport that whipped past us, and, with the rains, the city was cleaner and crisper (but without that hard light of Vancouver). The Bangkok Post, discretely folded away in a leather binder, talked of reconciliation. Reconciliation is the word of the day. Beside me, at the toll booth, a truck loaded with pineapples runs up past us. A billboard sailed past. Tastes of Japan is on at Central. Another billboard: International Flavours at Paragon. The newspaper has an ad from Le Cordon Bleu talking of a new professional program for Thai cooking. That’ll be worth asking about. I’m also registered for Food & Hotel International next week ( a mere bit of bullying and questionable credentials, but that’s to be another story). Driving into Rachaphrasong, messages were mixed like a stir fry. The gilded excess is still present, but Central World remains charred, although the hoardings again talk of reconciliation. The driver takes the usual shortcut through Gaysorn – land of Gucci - and we glide past the Erawan shrine – all dancers and incense and Canon shutters – and then we’re back. There’s the reception line and greetings with people I’ve not seen for several months, and then I’m up to the room to find a new set of chef’s whites for me, and a plate of tarts from the good Mr. Calvert to welcome me home. And people wonder why I keep coming back? (Okay, nobody wonders why I keep getting bigger). I set to the tarts and fruit, which was enough to dull the edge of famine. The pears were crisp and wet, full of that sweetness that puts you in mind of a country morning in the Okanogan. And rambutan are still one of my favourite treats. It’s been a long time, but I still remember the rush of happiness on my first trip here as I bit into rambutan, mangosteen, and other things I’d never dreamt of.\ A swim shook the cobwebs off of me, to some extent, and then I repaired to the executive club for some chardonnay and snacks. The central kitchen was preparing things this evening, and I had wisely avoided eating airplane food. (“You don’t want dinner, sir?””No thankyou, I’ll save my appetite for Bangkok.””Good idea, sir.”) Back from the swim, I found the tray of sweets replenished. Stephane Calvert is an evil man intent on banishing any hint of a waistline I might ever have (but in a good way). Obviously, then, I would need snacks. And that is what the executive club is for (among other things). Grilled asparagus with olive oil and shaved parmesan; the Four Season’s house-smoked salmon with a very Japanese drizzling of mayonnaise; a tidy little dollop of crab meat in a mushroom cap, livened up with Thai chilis to water the eyes; seared tuna with balsamic and asparagus; and a bit of deep fried softshell crab (with more mayo). These moments in the club are another benefit of the week. It gives me a quiet time to focus on what’s come and gone, and still to transpire. Transpiring Next: Alejandro Digilio

Le Cordon Blue, in today's Bangkok Psot (Outlook Page 3) is advertising a "New Professional Thai Cuisine programme" They're doing full pro courses, and workshops. There's an open house on September 10. I'll try to attend.

Given that I’m sitting in the lounge, waiting for the flight that will take me to WGF11, I suppose it behooves me to finish up WGF10. I’ve been distracted. October 10 – Fulvio Siccardi & Lungarotti We take no umbrage with Umbria Our penultimate dinner was a break with tradition. I would not finish in Biscotti, as was my wont, but rather take the final meal in Shintaro. This was necessitated by the lunch class with Shintaro earlier in the day. I wanted a day to mull over what happened on the stage, before taking it to the table. But Shintaro and Sawada is another story (for which I am madly searching for the photos. They may not be on the laptop). Biscotti was as welcoming as ever. Abuzz with conversation, packed out, with the draw of a Michelin starred Italian chef having filled the billet. Fulvio Siccardi is a Piedmont lad. He’d moved around Italy a bit in his years, but has come to rest at Ristorante Conti Roero at Monticello d’Alba, being both the chef and owner. He’d already earned one Michelin star at Le Clivie, and he took another when he opened Conti Roero. For wine tonight we’d be drinking Lungarotti, from Umbria. This winery was influential in landing the Torgiano (the old Etruscan town) their DOC back in 1968. A good reputation for their product, and, honestly, Italian wines usually shine when taken with their foods. I always admire their earlier insistence when the wine tastings were more common that they would only do tastings if these were followed by the matched meals. First we opened lightly with a prosecco Spumante Rustico N/V. As I said “light”, but cooling given the temperatures we’d been dealing with outside. And,honestly, with the amount I drink at these things, I don’t need to load up in advance (well, except for the exec club, but that’s just late afternoon tweensies). I’m growing very fond of Italian sparklings, with their small, crisp bubbles. Oh, and check out the stemware, I’ll come back to that later. Lightly smoked and marinated beef tenderloin with grain mustard and chives emulsion A pretty dish, reminding me of Lucille Ball in pancake make-up, a tangle of shredded carrot atop the ruddy meat, the carrot giving some crunch and sweetness. The beef was very lightly smoked indeed, with just a trace of the wood in there. Very pleasant as a dish, and an interesting way to take the meat – not tartar, and also not so tangy as to be a carpaccio. Our first wine of the Lungarotti’s was a Pinot Grigio dell Umbria IGT from 2007. It did everything you’d expect of a pinto grigio, giving a bright contrast to the carnivorous rendability of the flesh on our plate. Good start, I was enjoying this. Next up was ”EGG in Jail” Egg with Black Truffle, Scented Parmesan and Milk sauce With a cabernet sauvignon DOCG 2005. A nice enough nose, and a reasonable match for the truffles and fats. Now, while I didn’t attend his class (it would have meant missing a dinner) I did snag the class notes. So here are the details: The eggs are steamed first, then cooled with ice in order to peel them. The sauce is worked up from butter with chopped truffle, and then a bit of corn starch to thicken. Milk, cream, and parmesan is added in and the whole thing is cooled on ice. Then the truffle cream goes into the plastic wrap (which is in a mold) the egg drops on top, and you put more sauce on top and grate some parmesan. Tie it off with a string, and serve with croutons on the side. Simple. Opened up, you get that big hit of truffles full-frontal, with the fat from the cream and cheese sneeking in after the truffles have opened up your mouth through the nose. Why haven’t I been doing this at home? After this, Potato gnocchi with bra sausage and veal ragu, served with a Cabernet Sauvignon DOCG 2005. Yoonhi really, really likes gnocchi. Yoonhi really, really liked these gnocchi. The bra sausage is traditionally veal cuts with pork fat, so you get the best of both worlds, with a slightly granular texture from the sausage filling in around the softness of the gnocchi. And lets hit that with some parmesan. Everything tastes better with parmesan. As much as Yoonhi likes gnocchi, I like goose. I love the way it’s almost like ham when cooked right, that reddish meat that flakes away. Caramelized vinegar goose leg withBelgium endive and chanterelle mushroom Served with a Rubesco Vigna Monticchio Reserva DOCG 2000. Good nose, and it had been open for a bit. Nice wine. Great goose. The tang of the vinegar, the bitterness of the endive, and the dirt of the mushrooms. Yoonhi wasn’t as taken with this dish, so I ate hers. It’s good to have a spouse. I suggested to our friend M that I could help her with hers, too. With the main attraction out of the way, we settled into the Panna Cotta Trilogy, a selection of a chocolate panna cotta, panna cotta foam, and traditional hazelnut panna cotta. While the chocolate, with its abundance of berries was attractive (red currant, raspberry puree, fresh raspberry, blueberries, blackberry, and strawberry), and the foam clean and refreshing on the palate, I still leant towards the traditional hazelnut. It had cognac in it. We finished with a dulcis vino liquoroso from 2005, the smell of anis lurking over the table as we wrapped up. As we departed, every guest was presented with a piece of the stemware. I’d mentioned it earlier. Schott Zwiesel 1872. Beautiful shape, and way light. These are a branding of Schott’s titanium magnesium crystal glass. Replacing the lead with titanium lightens them up amazingly, to the point that you get really nervous about handling them. But, having recently dropped one, I can attest to their resilience. I use the two regularly at home, and adore the feel of them in my hand. My only concern is tippage if on a tablecloth, but somehow they never fall over. Our housekeeper is still terrified of washing them. Our gifts collected (and no more glasses to be wheedled) we stumbled back to the elevator. Next…..once I find the photos…. Sawada and the Sake finale.

I've been happy with Rodriguez' Latin Ladles. His handling of tripe is something I use regularly.

A fair meal at Candelas. Thanks, Kalypso.

Thanks, Kalypso, I was looking at the Linkery and their offshoots online. They do look good. It's just the distance that'll do me in. But the schedule of the 'Con is pretty grueling from now on, so I may have to make do with the first part of your list. It's been hit and miss so far, with some blase Mexican (eaten in a desparater 30 minute break from the 'Con - our only meal today), mediocre Cajun at Cafe Indigo (but I liked the Blue Moon lager from Dixie); more beers at Rock Bottom; and a good meal and Capcom games at Analog. Thanks again. Gotta go. Venture Bros is on. Peter

Five days ahead of me in San Diego starting 5 hours ago. We're staying in the shadow of the Cortez, and we'll be at the convention centre for most of the time, so we're limited to Gaslamp for lunches. What's recommended in this area? Dives to high end. Cheers, Peter

And she had a voucher, too. Still, I don't begrudge the price. Yoonhi and I were discussing the matter, and in comparison to the prices charged in many other places in the London area it's not too far out of line (and the meal, per head, was less than some of my extravagances from a couple of years ago). As I mentioned, you can see where a lot of the money is going (and liquid nitro isn't cheap). It's cold comfort for those on sterling and euro payrolls, I know, but even with the increased prices now isn't a bad time do an eating tour, given the relative strength of the Canadian and Australian currencies.

February 11, 2010 There are few things as fun and invigorating as an overnight intercontinental flight. Waterboarding, perhaps? We were back, and this time we had reservations (of the dining variety). +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Now, I’ll preface this matter asynchronously. Before I left on this trip, once I knew we had bookings, I busied myself reading Heston Blumenthal's Further Adventures In Search of Perfection and the opening history section of The Fat Duck Cookbook. This was as a means to getting to know the chef better. The result of this prep work was exactly what he wanted. Excitement. The thrill of a little kid being taken out to an opening movie, or a trip to the sweet shop. Well enough. We came away from the meal with as much excitement as when we went in. Immediately after the meal, I put down my initial reactions, and what were, in most cases, guesses. So, upon my return home many weeks later (a couple of weeks ago), I sat down with The Fat Duck Cookbook, and started educating myself on what we’d enjoyed. (In case you're going to as, "No, I was not about to use up half my luggage weight allowance carrying The Fat Duck Cookbook with me as a working reference"). Hence, I’ll be writing most of this in two (perhaps three) time zones, so bear with me if things get a little tense (past, present, or future. I’ll leave the plus qu’imparfait out of this). ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ There’s a comfort to recognizing places. Much of the trip to Bray was still in our mind’s eye from our earlier foray to the Hinds Head. Luckily, that recognition factor meant that we had a clue (or at least our driver did) as to where the parking was, as much of the village is limited to residents’ parking only. It was cold enough - and we were hungry enough - that I couldn’t even rally our group to pose out front. By the time I had the camera focused on the door, they were through and in. We never peeked inside last time (I’m funny about these things) so I was looking forward to seeing what the fuss was about. What I found was a pub’s interior redone as a dining room. White plaster walls, and rough-hewn dark wood beams (conveniently located to bash your brains in) as per traditional building codes – this in counterpoint to white linen, light brown serving trays with clean, straight lines, and horizontal, bright abstracts, with a lustrous yellow theme to bring the room up. (We debated the topics of the paintings – whale songs, topographies – I hold the one by the window, that my friends felt might be eggs, was actually a vertical profile of Heston Blumenthal. They told me to keep quiet until after the meal, someone might hear). A bowl of interesting olives arrived (extended, irregular and lozenged in shape), their green complementing the tones from the lilypad in the bowl that made up our center-piece. We started with still water, and then they brought the selection of sparklings – rose, brut, and a blanc de blance by Tattinger, the BdeB being our choice all around. The delivery of the menu is a bit of a tease, as there’s not a choice in the matter. Lunch or dinner, it’s the one tasting menu. (In fact, it’s best to think of the restaurant as having two seatings, rather than lunch or dinner as different items. One seating just happens to be quite early, at noon) There is a valid reason to present the menu, and that’s to check on allergic reactions (or intense dislikes). While the majority of the house was engaged in the same meal (which gives you a great ability to preview and prepare for what’s to come), there were some individuals who were receiving different plates at times. But, to the food. Lime Grove Nitro Poached Green Tea and Lime Mousse (2001) Our opener, to cleanse the palate, was a technical affair. The tray had an ice cream bucket, a selection of plates, and a flask of liquid nitrogen. (Yoonhi still won’t let me have liquid nitrogen in the kitchen.) It’s such a pleasant change to see a good pour of superfrozen fluid. The bowl steamed over, and I commented on the chill on my leg. “it’s my hand that’s feeling the chill,” advised our waiter. Apart from the table’s equipage (is that a word?), our waiter had a seltzer bottle of mousse. This he spritzed onto a spoon. This was then taken into the bowl, and worked around to flash freeze. “Yes, it is rather chilly.” The result, a perfect little meringue. The liquid nitrogen had achieved the same effect as heat would, normally – the removal of all of the moisture. “What is cooking?” says Yoonhi, and then answers the question, or at least muses upon it. “With protein, it’s the addition of heat, which denatures the protein. Egg white is protein, as is meat. But cooking isn’t really the heat, per se, it’s the modfications to the proteins. We ‘cook’ with acid in ceviche. ” We have the most interesting conversations at times. The meringue was tamped with green tea powder – a quick ‘Pop! Pop!” The dish was delivered to Yoonhi, and she was advised to take it quickly. Meanwhile, a small atomizer was used to perfume the air with lime notes. I have the book, and, given the length of time it’s taken me to come to rest and get back to regular writing, it’s worth taking a look and commenting. Many of my original questions are well served by the Fat Duck Cookbook, even if it has put a serious dent in my lap from bedtime reading. So, how do you design a palate cleanser? Plus, you want one that’s cool. Blumenthal gives credit to Mrs. Agnes B Marshall, who put forward liquid oxygen as a tool for making ice cream, some 100 years ago. The argument is that cooking, as with science, sees change through evolution, rather than revolution. What seems like a brilliant new idea is often presaged decades (or centuries) earlier. “Get an experimental chef and a like-minded scientist together and chances are that – sooner or later – they’ll be playing around with liquid nitrogen.” (page 135) Originally, back in 2001 when the dish debuted, he’d been going through way too much liquid nitrogen. So much was going to waste in the earlier versions, sitting about, or evaporating to the table. The answer was in the thermos flask we saw earlier. Not as Macbethian as the original South African stewpot he’d used, but far more sensible. (I have fond memories, too, of Paco Rancero and his assistant manhandling that massive liquid nitrogen canister onto the teaching stage back in 2004 in Singapore). His objective with this dish was to cleanse the palate, and to get the appetite going. Getting the appetite going means, effectively, salivating. It’s that mental trigger that has our mouth watering at the thought of certain foods. Citrus, for instance. The thought of lemons and limes gets me going, and this is often accomplished at the start of a meal with a pleasant aperitif. No fat, just the alcohol to carry the flavours about the palate. A gin martini with a twist of lime, for me. In this case, the chef opts for vodka as a neutral spirit to whisk about the other flavours. Analysis from Tony Blake had shown Heston that green tea tannins could be effective in neutralizing residual flavours in the mouth. How much of a “kick” the tannins deliver can be controlled through the heat of the water used to infuse. Ferran Adria gets a nod for his work with whipping cream canisters. They provide the “light puff!” needed in the finish of the mousse. Just a hint of fumes from the nose as you take it into your mouth just to have it disappear; curls of vapour twisting dragonlike from your nostrils. As a committed fan of Jeffrey Steingarten, it behooves me to comment upon the bread and butter. The congealed mammary fluid was a lush yellow, rich in fat. Perhaps a criticism from our table was that it was just too cold to spread easily. But, given the nature of the block, I see that this could lead to unconstrained polymorphism that might not fit the aesthete at hand. The bread was crisp of crust, with a variety of voids internally. Soft and pully, meeting the criterion of a dinner companion. Luckily, it wasn’t so soft that it couldn’t take the too-cool butter, but you had to be careful. Another dish from 2001 was Red Cabbage Gazpacho, Pommery Grain Mustard Ice Cream. A lush, satiny bed time story of a soup. Mustard ice cream, seeds apparent like moles on a top model, recumbent on a bed of diced cucumber, put to sleep with a gazpacho of red lettuce. As expected, the mustard worked very well in an ice cream, the granularity of the seeds against the cream and the richness of the cabbage. Toss in the bit of crunch from the cold cucumbers, and the match is all good. It’s an interesting study., and one he admits is one of the few he hasn’t fiddled with over the years. I’d wondered about the original draw to this idea, and the book reveals that it lay in memory of fresh, peppery, red cabbage from his youth. Of course, he does like ice cream. And cold on cold is hard to argue with. In the details, he’d found that the cabbage aroma dies off quickly, so he reinforces the gazpacho with fresh cabbage juice just before serving. The cucumbers, which were a delight, were brought up in intensity by sous vide’ing them beforehand, retaining that “jade green colour”. Jelly of Quail, Langoustine Cream, Chicken Liver Parfait, Oak Moss and Truffle Toast (Homage to Alain Chapel) The tribute is to Alain Chapel’s restaurant in Mionnay, and his Gelee de Pigeonneaux, Trous Sot-l’y-Laisse et Jeunes Legumes. From our appetizer of the tea fields, to the green of the garden, we moved to the deeper forest. A wooden board hosted a slab of truffled toast, topped with radish and parsley. This brought forward the earthy smell of loam. The bowl contained a trio of purees; peas in the bottom layered over by a quail puree (200 quails to make today’s puree) in turn topped by a cream of langoustines. Resting on this was a chicken liver parfait with a fig tuiles atop. To settle the atmosphere, we were also served little singlets (what do you call these things?) of oak moss essence served as if they were breath fresheners. This was put out on a bed of said moss. Oak resin had seen some use in stews and other dishes where the intent was to get a deeper flavour (credit here goes to Francois Benzi for bringing the aroma to Heston during a session at Fermenich). The Fat Duck had already been messing around with it in their earlier ice cream of leather, tobacco, and oak that had drawn my friend R’s interest many years ago. But oak resin was in thin supply, and so they moved to oak moss, which was more accessible (and common in use of perfumeriers). This was worked up, and infused in the “breath mints” we saw before us. From the deep woods smell of oak, it’s a small step to get to truffles, and so these were a natural companion. And, as the theater of dinner is an important part of the meal, the bed of oak was hit with dry ice (reminiscent of the way that Da Dong serves out his final fruit). I do enjoy the theater. It was all very pretty, but it was really the amalgamation of the flavours that drew attention. The peas gave a fullness, the cream provided the fat, and the quail lent a slight gamey gelatinous texture. And we all just like chicken liver and parfaits, so that’s a bonus. Blumenthal, of course, goes into more detail. He was looking for a release of flavours from these dishes; a release which would stage itself over time. First we took the film in our mouth, and then we dug down into the bowl to ensure that we had a selection of each element. And he also wants that contrast in the textures of jelly and cream. This dish – originally from 1999 - did vary from the book (which was published in 2008). In the book, the top with a parfait of foie gras, but, as that was to follow, he’d moved to chicken liver instead. There’s star anise in there, (”It punches above its weight”), along with other Asian flavours. But there’s also Armagnac, Madeira, and Chardonnay, backed up by the carrots and leeks and onions of our part of the world. And the truffled toast just makes it that much earthier. This was one of my favourite dishes of the meal. ROAST FOIE GRAS, Rhubarb Puree, Braised Konbu and Crab Biscuit If you look this up in the book (on page 177) you’ll see instead Roast Foie Gras ‘Benzaldehyde’, Almond Fluid Gel, Cherry, and Chamomile. I like the changes, as the seaweed and sesame that top the foie, reminding me of Korea. And the crab biscuit is a natural with the seafood note. This dish also carries on the theme of combining sea and soil, something that Blumenthal credits to L’Esperance. To perk this up, he’d worked up a slug of rhubarb sporting some green, and dotted the plate with balsamic. The rhubarb replaced the stone fruits used earlier, and is a sensible substitute (I like using rhubarb alongside foie gras when I cook in Vancouver). I’d written soon after the meal that “This was a good example of solid technique, with no real fuss or technological wizardry”. My friend, Ean ensconced beside me had been grousing to some extent at the experimental elements of much of the meal, but was more comfortable with this dish. So, when I turn to the book, I find that the effect I so admired in the foie gras was a multi-stage evolution. Originally, Heston Blumenthal had been roasting his foie gras in the oven, constantly turning it, and hitting it with liquid nitrogen to adjust the heating gradient. From there he became obsessed with the issue of oxidation, and how to avoid it, which in turn led to sous vide. And then the focus became the temperature gradient to use, in order to avoid the “pappiness” So, what I ate had been done sous vide two days before, allowed to settle, then brought back to temperature for the meal and then blowtorched at the end to sear. It’s a lot of work, but the results were admirable. I should try this at home. But enough work. Next we were back to fun. The thought of it made me all brillig in my slithy tothes. We would be having mock turtle soup. MOCK TURTLE SOUP (c.1850) "Mad Hatter Tea" This is one that wasn’t in the book, a new invention. The bowl was set with a mock up of a turtle egg, with little enokis sprouting up, a little slab of meat, diced cucmber and radish, rolls of truffle, two dots of balsamic, and a tangle of coriander. That’s simple enough. Then, of course, we needed the March Hare’s pocket watch. This was delivered plop into a teacup. Hot water was then introduced to the pocket watch, and the pocket watch to the hot water. “Charmed.” “I’m sure.” This revealed that the watch was gold leaf wrapped about turtle bouillon. And then the broth goes all mumsy on the borogroves. I showed this to Scud, thinking it would interest him. “You’re drinking gold” was his reply. “Yes”, I said. “Gold”, he said, shook his head, and wandered off. I question how we’ve raised that boy. (Note: There's a lot of Asia wending its way through the cooking here. I wonder if the gold element came from the West, or if it's in the Indian tradition of taking small amounts of gold in your diet?) The Sound of the Sea (2007) came next. This was covered in part in Further Adventures In Search of Perfection when he investigated fish pie. The thesis of the chapter was that food enjoyment is as much milieu as mastication. That emerging the diners in the proper environmental aspects (here auditory) would enhance the food. Hence, enter the iPod conch(no jokes about shell scripts, please). (I have to ask…..if we succumb to the recorded screechings of seagulls, are we in tern gullible?......sorry. Yoonhi seemed to appreciate the idea (if not my jokes). The dish was quite a bit different from the book. Gone were the oysters, and in their place samples of salted fish (halibut and hamachi I could identify) on a bed of flavoured tapioca, a salty foam (originally this would have been worked up from the reserved sea juices of the shellfish, but as they had been replaced by fish, it’s unclear what the basis was for this) giving us our waves on the beach (or low tide scum, depending on how you look at it). Everything on the glass plate was to be eaten, and that’s what we did. It was a fun dish to pick through. There were little “sea jelly beans” which the book describes as Japanese lily bulbs. There are fried baby eels and anchovies worked into the tapioca after it’s been fried up. Miso oil is used to give it the wet sand texture. Underneath, of interest, is sand from the beaches of Venezuela. SALMON POACHED IN LIQUORICE Artichokes, Vanilla Mayonnaise, Golden Trout Roe and Manni Olive Oil The salmon in licorice was constrained in comparison. A very nicely done piece of salmon wrapped in a licorice gel, topped with trout roe (not ikura, as I’d first thought), and resting on dollops of vanilla aioli, individual grapefruit bits (as you’d find in a good Thai yam som o), and artichoke hearts, all drizzled with manni olive oil. Oh yes, and more beads of balsamic. This dish, from 2003, has changed a bit. While the use of licorice is still the centerpoint, the asparagus has given way to artichoke hearts, which is a trifle odd, as it was the common compound of asparagine that had drawn this dish together originally. Be that as it may, it was a very pretty thing to see, and nobody at the table had any complaints as to the execution. The salmon came out soft, rich, and well balanced with the licorice root in the gel. The mayonnaise/aioli and the olive oil put a bit more fat into the mouth, and the grapefruit tanged things up (and kept you busy sniping at the little lobes). POWDERED ANJOU PIGEON (c.1720) Blood Pudding and Confit of Umbles (2007) The pigeon followed. This was Ean’s favourite dish, one he felt that showed a chef’s mastery. The bird was – for me – just right, a shade off of bloody and the skin crisp. The jus was excellent, and the wafer was reconstructed from duck. And pigeon in the back was a blob of black pudding that looked like a pat of chocolate, and onions were lightly caramelized and supported by a bit of vinegary foam. His focus in the book’s notes is on the construction of the bird, how to get the skin crisp while the meat is tender. Traditionally, caul fat would be used, but this requires a slow cook (to render the fat) that would be a bit over the top for the pigeon. The answer lay in transglutaminase, which allows him to bind the proteins. My interest, however, lay in the blood. This had a fantasticaly smooth, rich nature. Cream, of course, was part of the answer, infused with the Asian spices that he was using in the cracker and elsewhere (a touch of Sichuan peppercorn, but I can’t say I felt any numbing). After some time in the fridge, it’s taken to the Thermomix and introduced to the blood, doing a slow dance for some hours at 170 F. Once you have a smooth puree you just keep it handy in a water bath. It’s almost like making blood ice cream. We’d worked through a couple of chardonnays at this point, contrasting New Zealand with Australia (“Imagine, a Kiwi with a bigger mouth than an Australian?”). At this point we entered the realm of desserts, and so took the sommelier’s suggestion of a finishing wine, a Maculan Torcolato 2006 form Venice. I wouldn’t have mentioned the wines at all, as this meal was much more a matter of food, but it’s interesting that the Venetians are getting so much of a push in the sweet wines lately. We saw this at The Latymer, and I was exposed to more during the course of this trip (but that’s for later). TAFFETY TART (c1660) Caramelized Apple, Fennel, Rose and Candied Lemon First, a treat. Crisp wafers of caramel over puffs of cream and apples. Piles of nuts and stuff on top. Running parallel, a sorbet of black current (our guess) with crystallized rose petals. And the candied lemon. This is one of his recreations of an older English dessert, something that leaks over into the menu of the Hinds Head to good effect. A very soothing little thing, the apple’s sweetness with the soft give of the cream. A bit of crunch, and, if you tire of that, you just shift your attention to the sorbet. I already used the Hemingway line. I’ll let the picture above speak to our level of satisfaction. And so, as we approached the end of the meal, it was time for breakfast. The Not-So-Full English Breakfast (Part 1) Parsnip Cereal This was theater on several levels. First was the staff, who appeared with our fixings and cheering greetings of “Good morning!” I admired the pretty (focus is my problem) eggs, proudly sporting the Fat Duck’s emblem. But that’s to come. We began with a bowl of Fat Duck cereal taken with a pour of full cream flavoured with vanilla. The cereal is crystallized parsnip chips, a byblow of the sweetbreads dish he used to serve with parsnip puree and cockles. “Nostalgia”, as he says in the small card on the table “is memory, and memory is highly personal.” The simple pleasure of a mini-box of cereal (and the minis hold a special place in our hearts) can’t help but make you smile. This kept us busy as the cooking gear for the eggs was set up. The Not-So-Full English Breakfast (Part 2) Nitro-Scrambled Egg and Bacon Ice Cream Our “eggs” were broken into the bowl, revealing that they had been blown and then injected with custard. This in turn was hit with liquid nitrogen, and worked up to produce a fine ice cream in a flash of time. The staff do really seem to enjoy their work. The liquid nitrogen makes for a very quick ice cream, and the texture is wonderful. Blumenthal’s musings on the dish indicates his concern with the scrambling of eggs. In ice cream it’s this going over with the eggs that is avoided so fastidiously. But what if you were to take it past that point, let the eggs cook up, and then blend it back down? And then, what if you infused bacon flavours into the milk before you did this? Ice cream. Bacon. How can you go wrong? The result was served on a piece of glazed “pain perdu” – brioche accelerated to staleness, and then sous vide’d with a mix of vanilla, sugar, milk, eggs, and walnut liqueur. Atop this is a long, crisp candied piece of pancetta and my beloved bacon ice cream. You can never go wrong with bacon. Table comment (unascribed) from my notes: “That’s just amazing.” The Not-So-Full English Breakfast (Part 3) Hot & Iced Tea Breakfast needs a good cuppa. The tea was an interesting twist. A thermal gradient, hot to cold, taken in one fell swig – quickly, before the temperatures muddied – and then assessed in your palate. This is a wonderful trick, accomplished through the use of tea gels, giving just enough viscosity difference to keep the illusion intact. Whisk(e)y Wine Gums (2006) Wine gums, and old candy store favourite, were replaced with whisk(e)y gums, something I wholeheartedly approve of. This had a mixed reception, however. If you are a drinker of whiskey, then it’s a fun study of the amounts of peat and smoke in the different gums. The heartier gums, redolent of the bogs, were a treat for me, the flavour disassociated from the alcohol and concentrated. They did a Glenlivet, an Oban, a Highland Park (I always think of a Korean in a kilt), a Laphroaig, and a Jack Daniels. But if you’re not, then the flavours, are rather…..disconcerting. Some at the table much preferred the Jack Daniels for its more accessible flavours. Others just didn’t care that much for them. Still, for the malt aficionado I heartily endorse this. Entering the final stretch, towelettes were served, each a small marshmellow of a puck until it was hit with hot water, at which time it all became rather Freudian. Tea was proferred, but most of us passed. Ean, the exception, felt like a cup, and so I recommend the Silver Needle, a white tea. I love the almost milky flavour of these teas. They also had an aged pu’er from the 1970’s that looked tempting. The tea was properly washed, and then poured and backpoured. I snuck a bit of Ean’s and appreciated the soft, milky tones of this marvelous tea. ”Like A Kid In A Sweet Shop” Finally our sweets arrived, in a jaunty pink and white bag. This contained four treats, which I photographed horribly, so let me just describe three of them. Technically, you could take this bag of treats back home to linger over, but home in this case held a pair of ravenous young men, so we decided to dally over them here and take our notes. The first was a playing card – the Queen of Hearts (going back to Alice) – white chocolate about a red tart interior. The Queen of Hearts, she made some tarts The second was an Apple Pie Caramel, with an Edible Wrapper (no need to unwrap) (2006) - wonderfully soft, and no danger to my fillings. The wrapper on this draws from the same source as the film used for oak moss flavouring in the puree dish earlier. The third was an Aerated Chocolate Mandarin Jelly (2005) A round, brown hemisphere of happiness reminding me of an Aero bar with it’s tidy pore structure. Sicilian mandarin “essential oil” was used to get the hint of oranges in this. And the fourth a tangle of sweet coconut, which I really liked, meant to replicate the old “baccy”. Coconut Baccy Coconut Infused with an Aroma of Black Cavendish Tobacco (2006). I like coconut. And I still remember the smell of my dad’s pipe back when he was a smoking man (a burning obsession, back then). I was surprised to read that this dish was inspired not from childhood, but from Galette of Rhubarb, as he played with rhubarb and coconut combinations. From there the associations with sweets of Christmas Past came about. And credit goes to David Thompson for advising on the right coconut to use for the proper texture – recommending coconuts in their “teens” for use. Mr. Thompson does know his coconuts. At this point, we were done. They were kind enough to take us for a tour of the kitchen. We were asked not to take photographs however, which is fair enough as they’d been quite free in the dining room, as long as we didn’t disturb others. As expected from The Fat Duck cookbook, the dimensions are challenging. I would have difficulty fitting in the kitchen, let alone maneuvering. It’s a tight fit, but the staff are smilling, and (I’m assuming we were unannounced) there’s no swearing or cantankerous behaviour. In part, the economy of space is a tip of the iceberg. This is the working kitchen, but there is also a separate baking area letting out to the back, and across the street is a prep kitchen, where the mis is worked up; the schedule of long lunch, long dinner not allowing enough of a gap in the day to be able to handle both. Also across the street is the famous experimental kitchen, which must have been where we saw Heston rushing to last trip to the Hind’s Head. All in, the Fat Duck runs on a staff of some thirty or so with a bit of overlap in shifts. For the front of house, it’s pretty much one person per table. That’s a lot of staff. When you consider issues like this, and the funds that have gone into research, you can see where the money goes in a set up like this (”You were drinking gold, for Heaven’s sake”……”Quiet, Scud”) Needless to say, I was well impressed. We’d eaten and been entertained for almost four hours, and were leaving properly full. It would have been nice to meet up with the good Mr. B, but as we’d chatted on the earlier visit, it wasn’t the end of the world (we did think we’d seen a bald-headed man in chef whites talking frantically into a phone through the window earlier, but we couldn’t be certain if that was him). Months later, back at home, I found that working through the cookbook and seeing how things were done has brought it all back to me in detail, drawing even more value from the meal. So, would I go back? Yes. But I would wait for the menu to change over, to get the full effect of the work. I liked the mix of theater and flavour, and I really do admire the obsessive (if not manic) nature of Heston Blumenthal. The world (at least the one I want to be in) needs more of that.

I was directed to Harvey Nichols the night I arrived, and did, indeed, have a very pleasant dinner, the rain turning to snow outside the window. I'll look to get the pictures up soon.

I think you'll have a hard time finding something effective for the professional chef. The best thing might be to make an arrangement with one of the hotel restaurants to have you work with them in the kitchen for a period of time, but that may require a longer time commitment. Le Cordon Bleu in Bangkok may be a good contact to check with. They weren't doing Thai cooking last I looked (which was a couple of years back) but they may know where to go.