Wilfrid

That is a good question, and I will think about it later. I just wanted to note that the Time Out restaurant guide to London used to attempt to divide Modern British, Traditional British and French with hilariously arbitrary results. Not easy. As far as the Modern British/French distinction goes, my first thought is that a Modern british restaurant ought to have at least some dishes on the menu recognizably derived from traditional British cuisine: obvious examples would be Gary Rhodes faggots stuffed with foie gras or Richard Corrigan's pork dishes featuring black sausage and crubbeens (spelling?). But that certainly doesn't rule out "French" technique being used, either in those very dishes, or elsewhere on the menu.

I have an ever-growing collection of little china dishes. Every kitchenware store seems to sell them for two or three dollars, so whenever I buy something for the kitchen, I always pick up at least one of these. I used to use one of these for my salt, but now find a small ramekin better for pinching without spilling. The coarse salt, as Steven said, is always at hand for instant seasoning. You have to watch it with the butter, and consider what your intentions are. It's good to have it out and soft enough to handle for some purposes, but if you're going to use a beurre manie technique for thickening a sauce - which I do use, very sparingly - you want to work with butter only recently out of a fridge. Try to make buerre manie pellets with soft butter, and you end up wearing butter and flour gloves!

You got me!!! :)

I mentioned my recent dinner at St John on the Son of St John thread. On the same trip, I also ate at Axis on Aldwych and the Lindsay House in Soho. I went to Axis about a year ago, and found the food competent if over-fussy; for example, a decent rabbit dish really didn't licorice in the sauce, but at the same time wasn't spoiled by it. This time, the meal was horrible. Started with 'cullen skink', which should be a smoked haddock soup. I am prepared to concede (having looked it up) that there need not be pieces of haddock in the skink, but this was just bad-smelling yellow liquid. I hardly touched it, and no-one asked why. Next was "hay baked" lamb. Well, the lamb was fine, but who would know it had been near any hay? The problem was, first, the brown gravy - yes, gravy - surrounding the little castle of mash on which the lamb was perched. Then, before I could stop, the waiter ladled mint sauce into the gravy, turning the dish into a vinegary puddle. Ugh. I risked the cheeses, and they were okay (untouched by the kitchen). Service was generally bemused. I have follow Richard Corrigan's cooking with interest since he was in the rather dull space at the Barbican, and I have eaten his food at the Lindsay House many times since it opened. For anyone who doesn't know, this is an eighteenth century terraced house in Soho. Under previous management, it was richly decorated in the alleged style of the period - heavy curtains and dark oil paintings. When Corrigan moved in, he stripped everything out, leaving bare boards and stark white walls. That look, which has not changed, has always, I think, been at odds with the attempt to present fairly refined and luxurious cooking. The last two or three times I've been, there weren't too many tables taken either. Maybe it does a great lunchtime trade. This time, I shared the downstairs room with two other people. I rate Corrigan's pork and fish cooking very highly; but this dinner was imprecisely prepared. Tiny seafood souffles were wrapped in sardine fillets. Trouble is, they weren't fillets. I don't mind sitting there pulling tiny bones out of sardines, but it made it impossible to eat the dish as conceived, with the tastes and textures of the sardine and souffle combined. The entree was signature Corrigan stuff: rabbit saddle stuffed with blood sausage, and rolled into little turrets. Facing off from the other side of the plate, equivalent turrets made by layering polenta, rabbit kidneys, and the liver. Rich mashed potato in a side dish. I have loved such plates in the past, but here someone had gone crazy with the salt. A pity. Very good cheese plate, this time, with a number of Irish selections. Has anyone else been to the Lindsay House recently? Don't tell me Corrigan has lost it. I had the feeling that he might be bored and ready to move on.

I went a second round with Tabla on Friday night. For some reason, it was full of tourists, so we were about the best-dressed couple in the place (hmmm, how many people did I just offend?). Copied Glenn in sharing the two five course tasting menus. Last time I thought Tabla was exceptional, this time I found it just okay. The place was busy, and I had a sense that the food had been shuffled onto each plate pretty hastily. But we enjoyed both shrimp dishes, and the scallop with mushrooms. Overall, we found the meal sufficiently copious, but we did have a problem with the duck curry. It was leg meat, and I would estimate there was about one quarter to one third of a duck's thigh on the plate. The waiter was visibly surprised when I pointed this out to him, and returned with a dish of extra meat, thus correcting the problem. One surprise was finding English mead on the dessert wine list. It's years since I've drunk mead even in England. It can vary from being viscous, syrupy liqueur to being a lighter, but still sweet, drink. This version, from the Lurgashall Winery was on the light side, but certainly had a kick. At $15 the half bottle, who could resist? 'Ere be their web-site, turned to the relevant page: http://www.lurgashall.co.uk/meads.htm I note that the English Mead is fortified with spirits, which would explain a lot. I imagine the Christmas Mead is more towards the syrupy end of the scale. And at 3 pounds 75 the half bottle, you can see the room for the mark up!

I was reviewing my library stacks in the South Bronx yesterday afternoon, when I came across a book I'd forgotten I owned. It was a good beer guide to New York, published in 1995. The author, Michael Jackson - Britisher, Trotskyist, real ale campaigner, and TV beer pundit. At a glance the book was way out of date. Has anyone seen more recent attempts to give a beer-focussed guide to New York bars? (The Shecky's guide is useful for a general impression of what a bar is like, but doesn't get into much detail on the drink front).

Yvonne, can you tell me where you found the yellow stuff? I struck out. The liquor stores I tried had heard of the green version, but didn't have that either. And considering I was paying around $30 a bottle for disgusting things like Bailey's (I was re-stocking the bar; I'd run out of gin for the negroni too), $28 sounds like the going rate. Steve KLC, your orange/rum gear sounds delicious. Prompts me to ask if anyone knows what's in Alize - which seems to come in orange as well as other flavours. Is it cognac-based? Because I see they make a cognac too. Not that I like the stuff: just curious.

I hate the table two right next to the wall, so the wall is immediately to your left/right, and you smash an elbow every time you lift your arm to eat or drink. When that happens, I haul the table out into the aisle, thus impeding the progress of servers.

Okay, I can now refine my enthusiastic babble by providing some facts. The appetizer was indeed called 'Fire and Ice' - no copyright there, I guess - but it was a lobster dish, not an oyster dish. Seems to have been a pairing of cilled lobster salad with a slightly spicy lobster succoutash. Anyway, I knew I liked it. From there, I appear to have moved on to a bison filet. Further details of the wine proved scarce. The next night it seems we went to a raucous spot on South Beach owned by Gloria Estefan called Lario's. There was dancing on tables, but nonetheless I ate a huge, home-style ham hock, soft and delicious. I guess that's a peasant dish which turns up in cuisines all over the world! This must have been a good week, because I ended up back in New York at Bouley Bakery a few days later. :)

I get a warm nostalgic glow on the rare occasion these days that I am confronted with a table bearing platters of curly triangular sandwiches, little sausage rolls, cheese and pineapple chunks on sticks, and bowls of crisps. But it is a nostalgic glow, not a gastronomic one. When one was a child, it all tasted great.

Re-reading Christopher Russell's campari and grapefruit recipe in the campari thread, I realised that not only do I have no yellow chartreuse, but I've never knowingly drunk it. Have I drunk green chartreuse? I cannot remember; possibly in a cocktail with other ingredients. But it got me thinking about liqueurs in general (and how hard "liqueur" is to type correctly). For many years, I avoided them as sticky sweet confections, but I have now grown fond of a number of them - and I am thinking of them primarily in their own right, rather than in cocktails. Favorites: Amaretto. Benedictine. Cointreau is just a staple - essential stuff. My Beloved regularly brings home Licor de Coco from the Dominican republic - coconut liqueur in a bottle made from a real shell. I drink Grand Marnier in airplanes, and at no other time; why? I also have a guilty passion for the ginger liqueur, Canton. I usually drink them at the end of the day, over just a little ice. They are all fine poured over ice cream (or just about any dessert) too. Anyone else got a sweet tooth?

You just wanted to tell us that, didn't you? ;) I am grateful, though, because I have made a note to buy some grapefruit juice and at long last try Christopher Russell's recipe above. I'm thirsty now.

I think taking notes when you are dining with other people is intrusive in much the same way as chatting on a cell phone (or indeed opening a book to read). Having worked as a journalist, although sadly not in the food/dining field, I have always found taking notes to be distracting and intrusive in all kinds of circumstances. Sometimes you have to, of course. My memory is lousy, but I found the best substitute for taking contemporaenous notes was to sit down as soon after the experience as possible and scribble as much as you can remember down on paper. Obvious, I suppose. I decided several years ago that unless I took some kind of notes, all the good dining experiences I was having would quickly fade into a pleasant, vague blur. So, I adopted the practice of writing down all I could remember as soon as I got home. I could always tidy the notes up later. I now have notes of most restaurant meals (and notable home meals) for the last five years. My new problem is that they are in unindexed journals, so finding them is starting to be a pain. (Oh yes, I should have put them on a computer in the first place; thanks). Incidentally, although I have eaten alone frequently over those years, one of the main reasons I don't take notes at the table even in those circumstances, is that I quite obviously get mistaken for a restaurant critic often enough as it is. It's the only explanation for some of the special treatment I've received even on first-time visits to restaurants. Makes no sense to me, as I have the impression restaurant critics are often accompanied by someone, thus allowing more dishes to be tasted. On the other hand, if you want to be taken for a restaurant critic, get scribbling.

Alain Ducasse was a very full three and a half hours, and my Beloved kept still because it was my birthday. I can sit in a restaurant all night, but I know it's not for everyone.

I'm not at all sure, Steve. Trouble is, I launched off on a post about how great our dinner was before realizing, (1) I couldn't recall the details, and (2) my notes on the dinner, which I certainly have, are in a stack of unsorted journals in the still disorganized library in my new apartment. I will make a note to look it up over the weekend. And I must figure out a way to make this information more accessible to me, not least because it will allow me to participate on the wine board more often (sorry, no excuse, but a terrible memory all round and getting worse by the year :( ).

Do you mean 6th Street between A and B? If so, I'm in the area and will look out for it.

I ate the seven course menu a few months back, and certainly wasn't struck by any Indian authenticity - good, though it was, and filling as I recall. I am going tonight, but I doubt if I can get my dining companion to sit still for seven courses. I think we'll try the two five course menus, and thanks, Glenn, for posting them :)

Yes, I have pored over table plans for those old style banquets, and it is just hard to imagine how they could have been pleasurable. The concept still survives in some grand hotel buffets today, where a lot of work goes into the architectural aspect of the presentation. But at least you visit the buffet with a plate, wander around it, and carry your bounty away. I find it hard to imagine being seated for such a meal (as John correctly described). I do once recall pulling my chair up to what was intended to be a standing buffet, and digging in mightily. I think that was in the days when people would offer me funny but appetite-enhancing cigarettes.

Thanks for the FoodSaver tip, Rachel. I had completely missed that thread. Here's the maker's website: http://www.tilia.com/

Interesting to ponder the historical background. There are a whole bunch of different approaches. In France alone (and my experience dates only from the late 70s), I recall it being quite typical for restaurants to offer several menus at different prices, as well as a carte. The most expensive menu would often be called something like menu gastronomique, or indeed menu degustation - which is the closest akin, I would say, to the New York/London concept of a tasting menu. In less expensive French restaurants, one also saw formules which presented different ways of combining bits and pieces from the menu at various set prices. I wonder if this doesn't, very broadly, have its roots in the concept of a table d'hote? As I understand it, this was originally the one meal on offer in an eating house, served at a communal table. It came to mean a basic set menu, to which, if you were lucky, there might be some a la carte alternatives. Robert, my recollection accords with yours to the extent that I remember sitting around the table in ordinary French restaurants where one person would eat the 50F menu and another the 150F menu. It was not beyond the wit of the waitstaff to deal with different numbers of courses. I have no idea when the concept of the whole table eating the same menu came in, and no reason to disagree with you. Am I wrong, though, in saying that - however objectionable - it has become fairly standard practice in New York (and indeed London) to state that tasting courses are for the whole table only? I really am open to correction on this; I just have the impression that the restaurants which do offer flexibility are the exceptions. Incidentally, I often eat tasting menus. The main reason is that I miss the days when any dinner in a good restaurant might be expected to be a protracted, several course affair: appetizer, fish, meat, cheese, dessert, petits fours. Not so much from greed (although let's not exclude that ;) ), but because I like the idea of a meal being the focus of a long, leisurely evening. I hate being back out on the street in an hour! Also, I need lots of courses to go with all the wine I've ordered. :)

I recall being given exceptional freedom at the restaurant at the Ritz Carlton in San Francisco. I think a former Le Cirque alumni was cooking there, but I am struggling to remember their name. The menu offered a fairly long list of classical preparations, grouped by food type rather than by courses. I was encouraged to order as many dishes as I wanted, in any sequence. I would be charged by number of dishes, but the kitchen would adjust portions according to how many I ordered. This was an expensive, fairly sedate restaurant, with a comparatively small number of covers. And of course I stuffed myself. A place in New York which I have always found highly flexible is March, where they not only have several tasting menus, but are enthusiastic about you jumping around between them. This is all great fun, and I wish it would happen everywhere. Steven has pointed out some reasons why it can't. I think another good reason is where unseen parts of the menu like surprise inter-courses (is that the term? :) ) are structured to occur within a chosen menu. It used to be this way at Atlas - maybe still is. My only concern about Steven's closing suggestion, which I as I read it leaves matters to the kitchen's discretion, is that it might promote an appearance of inconsistency. The table next to me is allowed to order a double portion of the tasting menu risotto, because that makes sense for the kitchen, but then I'm not allowed to pick two beef dishes from different menus because it will insult the integrity of my meal (for example). That sort of thing annoys people. I am all for clarity either way: tasting menus for whole table only, without subtitutions, or order at will.

Some interesting discussion of tasting menus on the New York board thread about Gramercy Park has raised general issues. Is it reasonable for restaurants to insist that tasting menus have to be taken by the entire table? Should you be able to order a la carte, but pick a dish from thre tasting menu as part of your order - even if that means the restaurant has to scale up the portion size? If the restaurant has several tasting menus, should you be allowed to scoot around between them, essentially customizing your own? Are these privileges you expect to see only in very expensive joints, or are they reasonable requests to make in any good restaurant? Or is the chef entitled to limit the ways in which you can structure your meal? (Personally, I think it's entirely up to the restaurant, and any leeway you get is a luxury. Sorry.)

One way to get enough space, to the extent there's any available, is to have a heavily pregnant woman as your dining companion. My Beloved and I used to get moved around until we were I the best possible spot when she was tipping 200lbs.

Does this resolve it? Consumers may be stupid, in some cases, to rely on what they are told by a vendor (especially if the vendor is represented by someone who appears ill-informed), but they are nonetheless entitled to rely on it. Legally, and I think ethically too. (It was a funny picture, too. :( )

Stop fishing, Liza, we've all said how young you look. I just thought I would trade in decent service at restaurants in exchange for looking ten years younger. Then, I thought, no don't be crazy. ;)