MobyP

jackal10 - are you writing the 'how to cook a perfect turkey' thread? And I always thought Turkey was among the hardest proteins to get right. Personally, I'd rather go with a four rib fore-rib roast, but so many of my English relatives are used to well-done beef, I just couldn't bring myself to do it. And I think the cook crying at the Christmas table would just ruin it for everyone. For desert, though, I was thinking of an Admiral's steamed pud variation. My step mum is the queen of fruit preserves. She has some mandarins that have been soaking in brandy for 3 years - I used them for little tarts this summer, and they were unbelievably good. I'm told they don't really come into their own for at least 2 years. The structure of the fruit has almost been replaced by crystalised sugar and brandy. Indescribable. After waiting for 3 months, Amazon finally found and sent me a copy of the famous Pudding Club's book. There's a very simple recipe for the Admiral pudding there which I'm going to use.

I'm in the same spot. I couldn't decide. I wanted something slightly unusual, and was going to go Capon, but apparently they're illegal in the UK. So - I'm thinking of doing a slow roasted/ half-braised shoulder of lamb in plenty of white wine and stock, and then a few racks of lamb with honey, mustard and bread crumbs. The shoulder I should be able to do the day before, and reheat - and the rack I can sear off before hand, cover in the good gunk and bread crumbs, and then at the last minute throw it in a really hot oven for 20 mins for med-rare. Or at least I hope that's how it will work.

You see? Yet another definition of what it means to be British. Spending your youth, sitting on a Swedish hot plate. How will anyone ever understand us?

I think that should be your signature line.

This I don't understand. There's been 10 or fifteen years of fantastic lobster or langoustine pasta dishes on the London scene - raviolo, tortellini - so how did they get it so wrong? Did they forget to kill it? Just wrap a sheet of pasta around a live lobster, attach it to a dog collar, and escort it to your table, where they smashed it with a sledge hammer? And after all that, I bet they forgot the sauce, right?

I've moved our Grand Egullet Meal to here.

Jonathan Day has one which came with the house in London (I'm sure he'll be here soon to tell you himself). As you can see, once they're in, they're in. You'd have to break down walls and hire a crane to get rid of it, I imagine. But his crafty idea is to switch it off in summer, and he has a 2 burner hob in his 'Summer Kitchen' (his pantry off to the side). They're impressive objects, I admit, but I wouldn't want my daughter to marry one. What I can't figure out is how on earth did these things ever get seen to be English (or British, as you State-siders keep calling it). Aga, for those of you not in the know, like Saab, is a Swedish company. Presumably they were always a serious investment - several levels and price multiplications up from a regular cooker. Now they're what? in the 8-12,000 pound range? Also, for you yankees, the image here is having one in your farm-house, or country pile - cold winters, rainy autumns - and curling up in the kitchen with a nice steaming mug of tea, and the rosy heat off the aga. The notion of having one in the city is just - well - odd. When you see one in action, you're dealing with a 2 ton block of clothes-singeingly-hot throbbing iron. It's less a kitchen appliance than a public-works contruction project. How on earth did that ever become the must-have item?

At Petrus?

Remember to tell us about it afterwards! And is it me, or have lobster ravioli, braised beef or lamb + faggots, and roast turbot (not to mention foie gras tortellini as a garnish), become ubiquitous for any multi-course haute dining experience? It seems to me I keep coming across them as a group.

I heard Bocuse still starches his own socks... and if I recall, the FL might have failed the napkin test.

Another week, another selection of little delectables... Please note : some of these links may require free or paid registration to view. This week's selection comes from: The Times The Independent The Guardian The Observer This is London And November's Observer Food Monthly. Restaurants Jan Moir at the Waterside Inn Marina O'Loughlin gets stuck in at The Anchor and Hope. And also looks at Treats and temptations Giles Coren at East@West Jay Rayner gives Shumi a classic kicking. Astonishingly, we announce the absence of an A A Gill review this week. I know, should he ever find himself extraordinarily, repulsively ill, that we would all wish him a speedy recovery. Features The old Hamper in the attic has a makeover. Food Rick Stein on buckets of Cream. Mathew Fort on the joys of Animal Fat. Mark Hix on Christmas Treats. Rowley Leigh on the joys of stuffing Veg. Richard Ehrlich on Luxury Goods. Susan Low on 1001 things to do with Chestnuts. And Pies. Gordon Ramsey on Party Food. Tamasin Day Lewis on tip top mail-order Foods. 3 from Jill Dupleix. Nigel Slater on Xmas. Wine and Spirits A tale of two clarets. Malcolm Gluck on desert wines. Roger Protz on strong lagers, ales, and beers of the world. Fiona Beckett - single malts.

Ah, the joys of psychosomatic dislexia - I read that as "He has a stump, and imprints it clearly." Yes, I say! I thought we were starting on the xmas captain hook jokes - Marcus Wareing being Peter Pan, I imagine. MPW is the crocodile... By the way - basd on the meal I had, my money's on Aikens to join the (Shhh!) 'G' list.

Welcome to eGullet, Pugster.

Maggie, was Enrico with you? And did you get the sense of a personality coming through the food, or was there something anonymous about it?

Is it the one in Putney? I might try that tonight. My life is full of boxes at the moment, and no kitchen to be found.

And I could always let you have it at - erm - a very reasonable price.

I found canned pumpkin ('Libby's, is it? An American brand, at any rate) at Sainsbury's (Kensington) - in the canned fruit or baking section.

Ah Moby, how ingenuous of you not to see that which is so self evident to everyone else? Sorry. If you expect people to read between the lines, you better leave a bit more space.

Forgive me for coming late to this particular party, but isn't this news rather extraordinary? Given the talent involved, the fact that Alex Lee's next place isn't a major NY opening, or SF, LA, Chicago etc (if Boulud contractually kept him from the NY scene) - isn't that news in itself? A country club? What the hell is one of the country's major talents doing in a country club?

Obviously when I say he hasn't cooked in years I mean hours. Actually, it's my impression that unlike Ramsey, he isn't regularly behind the pass. But if he's travelling consistently back and forth between (at least) 2 continents, and we have every reason to believe he is whipping about, cooking and being a chef clearly aren't the top of his priorities. I still believe he plays a major role in what food is served, and what food is sourced - within the boudaries of giving his protogees some freedom, but now he's selling the Ducasse Experience. Across the board. And I'd guess we get nada from Loufood for another few months, if then.

Can't find the 'nose-bleed' smiley.... searching desperately!

That's very good. I think any truly creative personality has a curve over which that creativity communicates itself with its audience to a lesser, and then increasingly greater, finally peaking, and then once again on the downhill slope to a lesser degree. I think MPW - who might have been a genius, to hear others speak - burned himself out trying to reach 3 stars; and whereas he himself predicted a revolution in his own cooking during his late 30's and early 40's, he found himself - having attained his superficial goal of 3 stars - and much to his own surprise - with nothing else to say with food; and only the knowledge that it hadn't brought him the 2 other things that he most wanted - money, and happiness. I think he looked around, and being a rampant narcissist, began to believe that if it was true for him, it must be true for all others. For him to maintain his 3 stars, he would have to, from then on, play a defensive game. And Nico Ladenis proved conclusively to the world that you don't need to be a genius to get 3 stars - there are other personality traits that will substitute, if you find yourself fortunate enough to be in possession of them. He knew without a doubt that, having waited for so long - i.e. that his determination and arrogance hadn't made his attainment of 3 stars a certainty, but the latter had been contingent on the former - the sustaining of that ranking would have to be a defensive game. His 'returning' of his stars was as preposterous as his attainment of them had been. I think Alain Ducasse - who to my knowledge hasn't cooked in years - may be unique in being both kinds of genius, but was fortunate enough to realise the ultimate truth - that there were perhaps only a dozen or so people in the world, finally, who were actually qualified to say whether he was or not on his terms. And with the exception of a few gourmands, the sort of bloated, hyper-wealthy, coked-up-escort accompanying uber-class who mistake their association with objects d'art as signifying their higher aesthetic attainment in the world, would never know whether he was or not. But, then, that was never important to them to begin with. What was and is important is his status. His 1st category of genius has been to transmogrify his worker bees - through a vast and brutal pedagogical system - into the kinds of 1st category genii themselves that will allow him to keep his 6, or 9 stars. I think the predicates that Ramsay started with were different to all of the above. I think with help but also impressively on his own, he synthesised the obsessiveness of MPW, the refinement of the Roux, the striving for perfection of Savoy into a pedagogy of his own. Whether this pedagogy is communicable, as it has been for Ducasse, is something we're all waiting to see. I believe that Gagnaire, as I mentioned before, is definitely in the 2nd category of genius. The magician. I don't know enough about him to know if he also possesses the pedagogical gift - although several eG members and reviewers have had extraordinary meals in London - where I understand he commutes to. Probably I should shut up now.....

I think we can know he's not a genius, precisely because we're talking about what would be on the plate. I'm not sure who said it, but I heard once, and agree with: there are two kinds of genius. The first is someone who does exactly what you do, only much, much, much better. And the second is a magician. You could live your entire life, and never know how he/she did what they did. And of course, the first is a misnomer, and not a genius at all. I think Gordon Ramsay is in this category. I think he has the ability to work ten times as hard as anyone he knows; and of course he has the according capacity for that work, as well as a palette to know the difference. I think if something is pointed out to him as a qualitative 'good' or sign of 'excellence,' then he'll work at it over and over until he can execute that skill, or achieve that end product, better than anyone in the vicinity. Ramsay has to win, at all costs, whether it's the perfect quenelle, or three stars. I think MPW said: "perfection, it turns out, is merely doing lots of small things extremely well." I think GR took this to heart, and I think it's earned him his stars, and career, deservedly. His food is, for the most part, immaculate. On a side note, it struck me during the meal that the room at RHR is completely emblematic of his food - warped glass sculptures, perhaps pretty on their own, but completely clashing with the striped wall paper, which clashed horribly with the spotted, speckled mirror, which had nothing to do with the shaved glass wall. Individually, these things were of very high quality, but placing them together - well it looks exactly how it is - someone who doesn't realise why these things weren't meant to be together, picking them up magpie-like, and placing them there 'for your delectation,' so to speak. On a side-side note, and as someone with not much class myself, I didn't notice any of the above unaided. My far classier better-half gave our table a deconstruction of the room that would've embarrassed a mid-coital elephant. (And I don't think we can blame it on the designer - what Gordon wants, Gordon gets. I think the last time he said the words: "oh I don't know, I'll leave it up to you." was during a dream he had when Pele turned to him and asked if he should take the penalty with his left or right foot.) I think Pierre Gagnaire is a genius, as in a magician. When I finished the meal there and walked away, I realised that almost none of my memories of the lunch had to do with the quality of produce, or the execution of a sauce - but rather with emotions, or memories. How something made me laugh, or feel ridiculous, or moved, or touched, or bemused, or revolted, or timid, or leonine. All in the course of one meal. And if I live to be a hundred, I'll never know how he did what he did.

"Have discovered a marvelous proof for the lack of Ramsay's genius, but alas, not enough room in this margin to demonstrate..." Moby's last theorem.

Yes yes - responsibility and all that. There I was, dealing with the trauma of being a Russian Stooge, but no, a fat lot you care. Details, he says. What make of brassiere, he says. And was it really an allegorical chihuahua, or were you just making it up? Ah, it was a great lunch. As for the road - well, Royal Hospital (french pronunciation), obviously, as is cunningly disguised in the title. We were there (3 of us), as I mentioned, for my wife's b-day. The Maitre d' kept throwing different menus at us - Lunch specials - Prestige - a la carte - but he said to my wife that if she wanted to mix and match, they were sure they could work something out. She said "no thanks very much, I'll just have the three courses." I said "thanks very much, I'll have the 7 course Prestige and can I substitute just about everything?" Very graciously, after some tantric yoga involving his generosity and the chef, he agreed. So: Amuse of Pumpkin Soup with truffle oil, and small dice of melting parmagiano. As good as you would expect. Cheese dissolved on the tongue in a manner reminiscent of Spasky's opening gambit against Karpov in '73. Roasted Foie Gras with caramelised endive, and something else - as we can see - entirely forgettable, with a sauterne sauce. Two large, thick slices of foie gras, crispy on the outside, pure custardy pleasure in the middle. It was like the best creme brulee you've ever had - except it wasn't. Not in the slightest. Every creme brulee is complete rubbish compared to this, and I'd suggest we throw them all away, and spend the rest of our lives committing atrocities to ducks, and sending the resulting livers to Gordon so he can fry us up some lunch. Raviolo of wild mushrooms with perigord truffle and a light veloute/vinagrette sauce. This was superb. I had this instead of the Langoustine raviolo - and was right to do so. The langoustine raviolo was merely very, very good, but to its detriment tasted nothing like a mushroom. This however, and in what can only be described as in 'stark contrast,' tasted exactly like a mushroom. Left me smiling like a goat who's exceptionally happy, for whatever reasons goats have. Which of course, no one has any idea about. Roasted Veal Sweetbreads Had this instead of roasted Baby Turbot. The great advantage of the sweetbreads was that everyone else at the table hated them. They were perfectly cooked, of course, and it left me free to castigate loudly the terrible devastation done to Turbot stocks when the little fishies are torn away from their mums, all for the insensitive bastards who demand their roasting, and then stuff themselves at haute cuisine restaurants. Unlike the baby veals, who frankly have no idea what their sweetbreads are actually for, and frankly can't get rid of them quick enough - so long as you offer enough dosh. [Edit to add - my roast sweetbreads had a fried quail's egg on them (I think it was quail), and I was amazed at how the yolk of the egg blended with the meat of the sweetbreads. Great dish. Shame about the poor baby turbots.] Roasted Cannon of Cornish lamb with confit shoulder, Provencal vegetables, and thyme juice. This was very good, and so the let down of the entire meal. The restaurant staff were quite excited however, because it was actually on the menu, which as far as they were concerned, was a big improvement. Selection of cheeses A fantastic old farmer's bike of a cheese trolley, arranged very clearly. Cheeses were wonderful, right temp and ripe as ripe can be. Pineapple Granita on yoghurt with (I think) some compote on the bottom. And a crumpled, frozen coriander leaf on top that would have had Loufood roll her eyes, and then kick her sofa through a window. Tarte Tatin (for 2) Ordered this after Tarka gave it a rough 17,000 out of ten (insisting to me that she smelled truffle in the pastry), instead of a Parfait of something with something poured over something else in the menu. Oh - and here I should mention wine. With this course we ordered a Bulgarian Tokaji (a classic sweet dessert wine, for those not in the know). The two together - half a pound of butter, half a pound of sugar, burned to a tongue-singeing caramelised perfection, a few apples, and a glass of this Bulgarian nectar - well, I think one would have to consider removing ones clothes, and swan-diving Tarzan-like naked into a three ton tank of melted vanilla ice cream with several similarly dis-robed members of Olympic Swedish massage team (middle weight ranking - opposite sex, preferred), in order to experience the savage hit on the pleasure centres that this gives you. After-bits Chocolate truffles filled with liquid caramel - These were - Moriarty-like - fiendishly clever. I must have shoved 48 of them in my mouth before I realised they might have the unforeseen side-effect of killing me stone dead from the 18-wheel truck of sugar heading for my adrenal glands. Pulled back just in time for the: White chocolate truffles, filled with Strawberry ice cream. Which were jolly nice too. We could have left there for under 100 quid a head, I promise (if only I'd managed to suck the moisture out of my napkin). (Un)Fortunately, we were with someone who knew their wines, and has a much, much better job than I do. Anyway, the joys of being a debt-slave are few - but this was one of them. Not including my substitutions, or the wine, the Prestige (lunch) menu comes out at 80 smackers. On a personal note, I’d just like to add: Will now sing Christmas carols for money....