Blumenthal: In Search of Perfection

[Norman Walsh]

First off, welcome Norman!

I've tried several of the recipes and whilst there ARE bits over the top (I'd disagree about the sausage, but agree with the vacuum cleaner) all the ones I've tried were very very good indeed, and worth the effort.

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Hi Kutsu

Funny enough today I thought I would try his Fish & Chips.

The fish batter without the soda syphon, I double the lager and omitted the vodka(after all 300ml of vodka would have me stotting all over the kitchen)

I used cornflour instead of rice flour.

When the oil was at 200c I mixed the lager into the rest of the ingredients then fried the fish, drizzling batter over as per recipe.

The fish was haddock from North Shields fishquay and I must say this was the best batter I have tasted.

It was golden cripsy and perfect

Hurrah for Heston

Norman

[fisherman]

Sounds more like Hurrah for Norman rather than Heston, it wasn't really his recipe by the time you'd done!

[kutsu]

But in fairness, not much was changed as rice flour and corn flour aren't a million miles apart, and the vodka is tasteless in the recipe anyway. The soda syphon would make it more crunchy if anything, so no taste imparting there either.

Try a few of the other ones Norman, that treacle tart is fantastic, although I didn't try his ice-cream, sod that!

[Andy Fenn]

So Tim, how was the meal?

Did Heston come out with one of those aprons with Arnold Schwarzenegger's body on the front? Unfortunately, after the photos posted on this thread, I can't imagine him without one.

[Champagne Sadie]

Oh do hurry up Timbo.

I'm simply giddy with anticipation.

[Tim Hayward]

So I finally found myself getting out of a taxi into a misty evening in Bray. The journey had been arduous. It wasn't just the physical issue of getting to this odd little enclave, there was also a considerable motivational barrier to be overcome. I'd done the El Bulli Experience and I'm seriously unimpressed by some of the shenanigans of 'Molecular Gastronomy'. There is, therefore, a certain unwillingness to drop a couple of hundred notes on a series of foodie in-jokes.

As it happened, I didn't need to overcome my reluctance because it was all arranged for me. A friend had assembled a team of six and booked everything the required two months in advance. All I had to do was get there and suspend disbelief.

I now realise that Bray helps that suspension. Half an hour away from civilisation by train, ten minutes down dark rural lanes in a taxi and popping up in a sort of Disney village is pretty much guaranteed to alter your perceptions. I wouldn't have been surprised to see hobbits running from house to house - actually, to be fair, even creatures with a 400 year lifespan and a Medieval work ethic couldn't afford a mortgage in this place.

We arrived 10 mins early for our 7.00 table and were politely turned away by the FOH staff who were still in the final stages of cranking up the smoke generator and polishing the mirrors.

This was no real problem as Squire Blumenthal also runs the village pub, an absolutely, central casting country boozer. We walked into an authentically rural chill as small knots of suspicious looking individuals turned and stared. Admittedly they looked more like provincial bank managers than poachers but the mistrust and low cunning were no less evident. We ordered drinks, sat and chatted until suddenly, at 7.02 the entire place emptied and decamped to the Fat Duck.

The restaurant is lovely. They've resisted the temptation that lurks in every true Englishman's heart, to expose the beams and hurl chintz at every flat surface. There is a respect for the original materials, a tasteful modern presentation and a certain masculine appeal. (Hmmm. Wonder where he's going with that idea)

We realised immediately that we were going to be an odd table. There was one four top of those scrubbed young men in suits and gel that zoom around the country in expensive cars yelling into mobiles. (Someone at our table snorted 'salesmen' , I felt that with all that blond crop and uniform, they might just stand up and sing the Horst Wessel Liede). The rest of the room was two-tops, equally split between older couples looking like they'd travelled a long way and very young couples who looked like they were blowing the savings. All of them looked fairly uncomfortable.

We pootled around the menu for a while. It's unfortunate, but entirely understandable that the tasting menu has to be a unanimous choice. We tried to get extra dishes inserted but were firmly refused. The staff, it should be said, were brilliant and gave a faultless, warm and intelligent performance throughout. It's only when you attempt to go off-piste and experience the forceful redirection of course, that you realise how very organised and very rehearsed, this has to be.

So, tasting menu for six. We baulked at doubling the price for the recommended wine selection and came up with a cunning plan to begin with a riesling, keep a red and a white on the table as we moved through and finish with an eiswein - OK, not rocket science but it seemed sensible (actually, as the plan was suggested by a mathematician who does string theory recreationally, maybe it was rocket science).

The bread offered was excellent. So excellent, in fact, that I ate far too much of it. It was offered with two butters, salted and unsalted versions of what they swore was a simple biodynamic butter from Normandy. I found it phenomenal, creamy with a caramel hint rich and rare. Two of our number actually began an unseemly scrap over the pats.

I have a congenital aversion to the term 'amuse geule' particularly when it's shortened to 'amuse' in an attempt to seem offhand and professional. Having said that, talking about the tasting menu at the fat duck without it is next to impossible. So, on to the first AG.

You may, like me, have been to see Tom Stoppard's excellent film 'Shakespeare in Love'. You too were probably appalled by the members of the audience who laughed ostentatiously at the referential jokes just to show their own cleverness for 'getting' them.

The first AG was two squares of jelly - one orange, one beetroot. Stop me if you've heard this one.

The problem is, I can't tell you anything more about it because, I don't want to spoil it for those few of you that haven't heard the joke. I had heard it and, though it was a lovely thing to eat, I missed part of the experience. I can't help feeling that, if the joke is really part of the multi-sensory approach HB needs to constantly refresh his material.

Fifty years ago when staff were cheap and professional, a restaurant might have particular waiters who specialised in tableside theatricals. I remember a Berni Inn in the centre of Bristol where an elderly Italian could be produced at will to flambe Crepes Suzette in a chafing dish. It's reputed that the original Quaglinos kept two full-dress Cossacks who dealt with flaming brochettes (they actually came in from Croydon on the bus with their uniforms in brown paper parcels but the myth remains). The Fat Duck has a Nitrogen Waitress. Let's face it, there's something really fun about the whole liquid nitrogen schtick and, when presented by a woman who's accent - I picked up French/Lithuanian - is entirely impenetrable it can veer into the comic.

We laughed. A lot. In fact it was really noticeable that we laughed right through the meal. Sometimes we laughed in sheer joy at the food, sometimes we laughed because the staff were friendly and funny but my overwhelming memory of the entire evening is of happy laughter.

Nobody else in the room cracked a smile all night. Which I reckon is a great shame because what distinguished the Fat Duck from El Bulli for me was a uniquely British sense of self-deprecating humour. I think HB is have a cheeky laugh and by not laughing along with him, we're missing one of the precious, multi-sensory stimuli he's trying to deliver.

Edited November 30, 2006 by Tim Hayward (log)

[Tim Hayward]

First of what a lesser man would have called a 'quartet of starters' was "Nitro-green tea and lime mousse (2001)". According to the nitro-waitress this was a plat clanger. The mousse, shot from a cream whipper was shaped into quenelles and dropped into the liquid nitrogen. We were served one at a time and - I think she said - we were to eat them at once.

The mousse goes into the mouth feeling a little like a crisp meringue and effectively evaporates inside your head. It was so beautiful, so delicate and gone so quickly that the entirely emotional reaction was sorrow. A total headfuck. I actually felt like crying.

It undeniably clanged my plat.

Next up was "Oyster, passion fruit jelly, lavender" which arrived looking so spectacular that I forgot how violently allergic I am to oysters. A smallish oyster is set in the clear fruit jelly and presented in its shell which is perched on a puck of rocksalt with a stick of lavender stuck through it. I have to assume there was actually lavender in the gel because with the best will in the world, I can't see the scent climbing up the side of the shell and permeating the oyster. It went down a treat but, as I have a particular aversion to oysters (they asked at the start, by the way, I just forgot to mention it) I can't fairly judge it.

Third starter was "Pommery grain mustard ice cream, red cabbage gazpacho". This was a right little stonker. Quite apart from the awesome colour and jewel-like presentation, the combination of that particularly sweet and fruity mustard with the very earthy background of raw red cabbage was stunning. Though HB could probably whiffle for a year about the association of one with another through the common root of Brassicas, spotting and delivering that particular combination is the sort of thing chefs should really get paid for. I'm not going to say that HB changed my life, but he's turned me onto a new flavour combination and that's going to make a difference.

For me, this is the big question about the Fat Duck and its molecular cousins. There's something wonderful about delivering exquisite demonstrations of taste and craftsmanship - tiny servings are perfectly-judged, revelatory, educational, sensational in the truest meaning - but I'm having trouble finding where this experience fits in my life.

A culinary theme-park ride is an unfairly coarse comparison, yet it works if I'm going there and paying to have sensations.

One could make pompous comparisons to, say painting or some other art, where experiencing the work changes the way you see things but that would be de trop. Comparison to art is stupid because soup doesn't change your life.

In fact, for me it's more of a craft thing. Because I work with food in a small way, a demonstration of a new idea will change how I do things. What HB is doing is a brilliant exercise in communication of ideas which are of enormous relevance to other cooks. The question then arises, what does it all mean for people who merely eat it? If you can't take the revelation of mustard/cabbage and do something with it you're left with a thimble full of mauve soup and the comment 'Hmmm, that was nice'.

The final starter addressed this problem nicely. "Jelly of quail, langoustine cream, parfait of foie gras, matsutake (homage to Alain Chapel)" was a masterclass in the understanding of umami and a total crowd pleaser. Every ingredient and texture was calculated to ravish.

In the base of a porcelain eggshell was a sort of platonic ideal of a jellied stock, iced with a thick layer of langoustine cream. Topping it all, yolk-like was a quenelle of foie gras. Any of these alone would put your salivary functions into some kind of catastrophic meltdown but together it was a brilliantly executed military assault.

In my wildest dreams, I've imagined what it must be like to be delivered into the hands of an extremely competent and depraved courtesan, in the peak of fitness, with an encyclopedic knowledge of the sensory palette at her disposal. I've imagined, in some detail, the thorough seeing-to I'd experience and without a hint of exaggeration, that's what this dish did to my mouth.

I feel I should be apologising for such a resolutely unPC (Gillesque?) metaphor but I can't think of anything that better describes the indecent efficiency of the sensory manipulation. If it weren't so enjoyable it would be cynical.

Edited November 30, 2006 by Tim Hayward (log)

[Andy Fenn]

Great stuff Tim. Looking forward to the next instalments. Interesting that nobody else there seemed to be laughing along. My experience last year was that everyone in the room had a permanent smile on their face.

[Tim Hayward]

Next to the table was the famous "Snail porridge. Joselito ham, shaved fennel", an excellent conversation starter and, as far as the Blumethal brand is concerned, the most effective marketing tool in his armoury. I'm pretty sure anyone coming to the Fat Duck must have overcome any mollusc aversion. The remaining shock value of the recipe lies in the mental image of snot meeting wallpaper paste. In reality, two coy snails are propped perkily atop a little slick of viridian oat risotto. The microtomed fennel makes a cheery afro wig for the gastropods and the ham, another one of HB's umami coshes ties the whole together with a smokey undercurrent.

Snail porridge resolved the challenge of its name by tasting neither of snail or porridge. Unlike the gazpacho, this did nothing thing new with flavour, it was just impressive that HB had managed to combine two such odd things in a palatable way. On balance, though it's got the most column inches, this was the dish that most made me ask 'why bother'.

The "Roast foie gras" came next with "Almond fluid gel, cherry and chamomile". I'd been about to launch 'into one' about the overuse of foie gras. It's such an effective way of getting the tastebuds jumping that it's almost like getting a shot of something. If foodies ever really got it together we could open 'foie dens' where we could go, lie about and have foie administered until we passed out with the bliss. There's a fair argument that this is cheating. Any oaf can serve lots of foie gras - the clever money would be in making turnip do to us what foie gras does.

But, once again, HB pulled it out of the bag. The roasted cube of foie was plunked on the plate, front and centre and topped with a carpet of freeze-dried chamomile fragments - looking for all the world like gangrenous dessicated coconut. Again the flavour combination was utterly unexpected and very very seductive.

Top right of the plate, almost as an aside, a single preserved cherry sat in a Nike swoosh of almond gel. I can see the duck liver and cherry thing, I can see the cherry and almond thing, so how does he pull off the almond and duck liver thing? The chamomile. Somehow the chamomile pulls it together.

Now onto the 'Sardine on toast sorbet'. By this point as one of our group pointed out, you've pretty much forgotten that an ice cream should be sweet. Once you're over that perceptual hurdle it's a pretty easy ride. The sorbet's presented with a little boneless tranche of sardine, some marinated daikon, a decorative 'salad' based on dried seaweed and a recommendation to drink sake - all of which was a bit 'so far, so sushi'. I can't help feeling that, over the years, the whole Japanese tip has somehow lost its power to thrill. Now Pret does sashimi much of the novelty is questionable. The sardine ice cream though, didn't need any of the trimming. Many people find the taste of sardines, all fishiness and proletarian resonance, polarising. If you like sardines you'll be genuinely delighted by the ice cream.

This was, I think, the only dish that challenged any of our table. Unlike the snail porridge this actually tasted like it sounded and that's obviously not right for everyone.

Next came the "Salmon poached with liquorice". A cube of salmon enrobed in a liquorice flavoured jelly, two slices of baby artichoke heart, each garnished with a single coriander seed and a large plate dotted with Manni olive oil and cells of pink grapefruit.

I can forgive plate dotting, even in 2006, I can forgive the painful preciousness of the single seed garnish, I can even applaud the use of liquorice with salmon - another real coup - but I couldn't live with sous vide salmon of such abiding off-putting sliminess.

I know sous vide should work, I know the combination of moisture and flavour retention should be awesome but here it just amplified the slightly dirty flavour of the dark meat near the spine and made the texture compare unfavourably with wet tofu. In such unappetising company the gel coat began to take on a menacing resemblance to sump oil.

Cooking the salmon almost any other way would have turned this into something sublime. I really want sous vide to be good. It really angers me how some chefs and food writers have almost campaigned to get rid of it but if I'm honest, this one cube of salmon was all the argument I'd ever need to hear for carting every Gastrotherm in existence straight to the landfill.

Edited November 30, 2006 by Tim Hayward (log)

[Tim Hayward]

On to the final 'main' course, the "Poached breast of Anjou pigeon pancetta". It's a complement to the complexity of HB's inventions that even when part of the dish carks spectacularly there is still an enormous amount of pleasure to be taken from the rest. Usually a failed portion of a well planned serving makes the whole thing turn to ashes in the mouth and it's perhaps part of the charm of HB's approach that he's encouraging a forensic analysis of every plate.

In this case it worked to his advantage. I've never had pigeon poached before. It's by far my favourite way to eat other poultry so, however he's done it, this gets a big rush of happiness from me. Pistachios which seem to have been candied in a way that made me want to steal them from everyone else's plate were strewn around and cocoa and quatre epices appeared as flavouring dabs. All was good.

By this point we were parsing dishes, riffing like 1980's Cult Studs students. "Hmm, he's quoting Maghrebi cuisine with the pistachios", "Oh yes, but I'm so digging the cocoa/cinnamon substitution". Along with the genuine chuckles of joy it was great to see a bunch of people throw aside their fears of Pseuds Corner and really discuss food. Christ, for a couple of seconds there we could almost have been French. I hope to God this is what HB intends and I love him for it.

But the "pastilla of its leg" though a stunning attempt which fitted beautifully into what was now starting to feel like so much more than a plate of food, let us down with a crash. Inedibly stringy little drumsticks, that had to be gnawed then chiselled from the interdental cavities, could so easily have been left off the plate.

There was a short pause then a couple of AGs. "Mrs Marshall's margaret cornet", a mini ice cream cone (accompanied by a short but informative essay on Mrs Marshall's life and work) and a "Pine sherbet fountain" wrapped in an authentic paper tube and sucked through a hollowed vanilla pod.

It may be that, by this point, wine was clouding my judgment, but it seemed that in both cases the hilarity of the delivery distracted from any exceptional sensation.

I confess that the "Mango and Douglas fir puree" , though it made me want to sing the Monty Python song about transvestite lumberjacks, otherwise left me unmoved.

The "Nitro-scrambled egg and bacon ice cream (2006)" was presented by the nitro-waitress who wheeled out an authentic looking chafing dish and did a bit of garbled business about forgetting her matches. She cracked several eggs (which seem to have been miraculously pre-beaten) into a copper pan of liquid nitrogen and scrambled up another stunning savoury ice-cream. Served with pain perdu 'toast' it was a rousing finish. It didn't even matter that it was the third savoury ice cream in 13 courses. It was bloody great.

A strange, unbilled AG comprising dried parsnip 'cornflakes' served in little boxes with a jug of parsnip milk produced an initial chuckle followed by a near universal "Eh"?

The final coup was "Hot and cold tea (2005)" which again produced laughter, awe and admiration. Again, I'm not going to spoil it by telling you why.

It was, by any standards a phenomenal meal. The few places it dropped below excellent were more than outweighed by some genuine foodie epiphanies. Will I go back? On balance no. For that kind of money and travel, it was right for new experiences to come thick and fast. The sensory economics of it wouldn't work on three a la carte courses.

As a cook I learned a huge amount, both in specifics and in broader approach to flavours. I'm not sure what non-cooks take out of it. If I was cynical, I would say they are looking for a high-priced thrill, a piece of conspicuous consumption that adds to their self image as broadminded gastronomic adventurers - bungee-jumping for restaurant collectors.

Some of the directions he's starting to explore are loaded with pitfalls. The 'sense memory' stuff is massively subjective and ultimately undermines his genius for flavouring. The whole area of 70's schoolyard treats get a big, cheap cheer from a certain age group but is irrelevant to everyone else. The day he comes out with anything that quotes 'Flying Saucers' or 'Spangles' HB may need to be humanely put down. Finally there's the fatal connection to doomed leviathan of Molecular Gastronomy. Everything good about the menu could have been there if MG had never been dreamed up - except possibly the nitro-waitress. Good science obviously rules in his his kitchen, as it should in everyone's, but we've got about six months to run before nitrogen at the table is as much the standup comic's staple as "tiny tall food on giant plates" which killed nouvelle.

HB is clearly a man with exceptional talents and wonderful enthusiasm. What he's developed with that menu is a set piece of experiences unlike anything else. The Fat Duck is designed to deliver that one product brilliantly and it does. It will continue to sell like 'The Mousetrap'.

It also works equally well without him. It's perfectly clear that HB's brigade and FOH team have honed that experience to oiled perfection and, unlike the Ramsay fiasco, he hasn't built up a fraudulent cult of personality around it. Nobody expects him to be there charging the cream whippers. Ramsay must lie awake at night, gnashing his teeth and wishing he could pull of the same trick.

The day HB walks away from the Fat Duck and opens a restaurant where he uses even a tenth of his talent to develop a changing menu, I will pay any price and promise to slaughter, with my bare hands, anyone ahead of me in the queue for a table.

Edited November 30, 2006 by Tim Hayward (log)

[muichoi]

Exceptionally good notes, Tim, henceforth probably the best online reference for this destination. Doesn't make me want to hurry along, though-for me the real advantage of this inventiveness is more in the search for perfection in everyday things that the TV show is ostensibly about. Perfection renders the the normal thrilling, and for me that is gastronomy. It is very very rare. I agree with you about sous-vide. The truth seems simple-it's a fabulous, indeed the best method for intractable cuts of meat, but for those that are naturally tender the results to my taste are quite disgusting. A slice of boned saddle of lamb with fat intact cooked like this at a very grand establishment was the worst thing I've eaten this year.

[apshelbourne]

Superb, Tim. Many thanks for a brilliant report. Best thing I've read for a long, long time.

- Tony -

[Champagne Sadie]

Cheers Tim.

[Andy Lynes]

unlike the Ramsay fiasco, he hasn't built up a fraudulent cult of personality around it. Nobody expects him to be there charging the cream whippers. Ramsay must lie awake at night, gnashing his teeth and wishing he could pull of the same trick.

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I don't really understand that point Tim. Heston is The Fat Duck. Very few people beyond these forums would know the name of the restaurant's head chef, or even that the restaurant had a head chef that wasn't called Blumenthal. I would imagine any viewers of Perfection tempted to blow a couple of hundred quid at the restaurant after watching the programme would be mighily upset to discover that Heston wasn't actually going to cook their surreal supper for them.

[TheBacchus]

Tim as ever your writing engages and entertains me at the same time - something that most things, given my rampant ADD, fail to do

Its a familiar story and certainly one that resonates with me having been a couple of times earlier this year - i suspect that the emotions that FD draws from people are the same over and over for customer after customer and as you say long may it continue.

And on a final note i am now satisfied that i am never going to convince you of the beauty of sous-vide salmon and therefore agree to drop the matter and pursue you on sous-vide sirloin instead

Tim, thanks for taking the time to post what the rest of us are despairingly incapable and, in any event, far too lazy to do

[Corinna Dunne]

Great report Tim. Thanks so much.

[Tim Hayward]

unlike the Ramsay fiasco, he hasn't built up a fraudulent cult of personality around it. Nobody expects him to be there charging the cream whippers. Ramsay must lie awake at night, gnashing his teeth and wishing he could pull of the same trick.

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I don't really understand that point Tim. Heston is The Fat Duck. Very few people beyond these forums would know the name of the restaurant's head chef, or even that the restaurant had a head chef that wasn't called Blumenthal. I would imagine any viewers of Perfection tempted to blow a couple of hundred quid at the restaurant after watching the programme would be mighily upset to discover that Heston wasn't actually going to cook their surreal supper for them.

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I know it's wierd. It surprised me too. But there are several things at work here.

1. Where things really astonished me it was the strength of the idea that was the key element

2. Execution was soprecise as to be slightly dehumanised

Then you factor in the FOH team. They've worked, over a long time, with a menu which involves a far higher level of knowledge, involvement and performance than any other I've experienced. They are really, really good at it (though obviously they have great material to work with).

I'm really starting to hate the theme park metaphor but it keeps coming back. When you go to Disneyland the staff are utterly efficient at delivering the experience. If you do anything that strays from the path you can feel yourself being subtly guided back to the prescribed track. The overwhelming feeling is of a benign but powerful force taking control.

It's actually quite nice. These nice smiley people really want to make sure I enjoy myself. They are obviously very good, I place my trust in them.

Leaving the FD I had the feeling that, after he'd done the initial work, it made no difference if HB was there or not. In fact I rather hoped he was off, somewhere else, having loads of fun mucking about in a lab so he could do it some more.

Ramsay has so carefully constructed the image of the controlling genius/despot that, when I interact with an FOH person my overwhelming feeling is of pity for them. I am supposed to imagine they spend their lives being tonguelashed by the boss for incompetence. I am supposed to believe that nothing that GR hasn't personally passed would never meet his rigorous standards.

This is what fascinates me most about chefs now - how they manage their public profiles. Ramsey's construct, though he could never have planned it, curses him to be at every passbar and permanently on our screens, simultaneously. It's an impossible position to hold and, like any public lie, it can't last.

By coming across as a gifted, enthusiastic nerd, by generously appearing to be always learning from others, HB, equally inadvertently, is building a brand which will allow him flexibility.

HB could launch a £500, do-it-at home, grown up chemistry set out of his tasting menu and it would sell. He could open any number of different restaurants and touch them with something special. If he can avoid being dragged down by MG, he can go on doing amazing things indefinitely. Any time people tasted something new they'd roll they're eyes and say 'that's pure Heston'.

HB comes across as a searcher, discoverer, educator and enthusiast, a fundamentally likeable pattern and one which admits others.

GR has no image but 'angry perfectionist'. He's made it so personal he can't ever escape it.

[Andy Lynes]

All very interesting but I still don't see why you think the average punter wouldn't expect Heston to be in the kitchen. I don't imagine many people would be able to get past the thought that he only has two restaurant which are about 500 yards away from each other and so why the fuck shouldn't he be in one of them. Especially if he wants £97.50 for his tasting menu, a couture rather than diffusion price to pay.

Whereas Ramsay - Mr Channel 4, Threshers & BHS with nine London restaurants and other scattered around the globe can't possibly be expected to being peeling shallots in Royal Hospital Road, even by the thickest numpty who only vaguely understands what running a restaurant empire and media career like that entails (and who among us does?).

[Tim Hayward]

All very interesting but I still don't see why you think the average punter wouldn't expect Heston to be in the kitchen. I don't imagine many people would be able to get past the thought that he only has two restaurant which are about 500 yards away from each other and so why the fuck shouldn't he be in one of them. Especially if he wants £97.50 for his tasting menu, a couture rather than diffusion price to pay.

Whereas Ramsay - Mr Channel 4, Threshers & BHS with nine London restaurants and other scattered around the globe can't possibly be expected to being peeling shallots in Royal Hospital Road, even by the thickest numpty who only vaguely understands what running a restaurant empire and media career like that entails (and who among us does?).

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Actually, I've been thinking about this while wheeling m'trolley round Sainsbury's (Higher than usual nutter count at Camden today).

I think it might be something to do with age.

Ramsey was in at pretty much the beginning of the sleb chef thing. As far as audience and producers were concerned, the important thing was that he's, y'know, a chef. All white tunic, shouting and pot banging. When he began building his brand, it was all about making a star out of a sexy bloke who worked in a kitchen - and, I think that meant restaurant food. Latterly, in a more crowded market, he's taken to reiterating all this... "I'm a real chef not a jumped up cockney commis or a posh bird who writes about it". I'm shouty and I run restaurants. All of which just reinforces the image of a man who should be in his kitchen and ties him totally to high end restaurants and restaurant food.

Later chef/personalities have had more flexibility. Though he's tried, GR hasn't been able to really get any traction championing anything but restaurant food and celebrity. His attempts to champion, local, regional, healthy, kids, real, traditional or cheaper food have all been a bit of a washout because, basically he's about big posh restaurants.

It's been easier for HB, later to market, to take a different stance. What he's been able to do, counterintuitively, is position himself so he's about a more general look at food and eating that isn't necessarily centred in restaurants.

I'm sorry if I sound like a marketing geek but it's unavoidable given my background. It's curse to view chefs as brands - though unfortunately, it's increasingly how they regard themselves.

If, as is my natural tendency, I had to sum it up in a glib slogan it would be...

GR, food for people obsessed with restaurants

HB, restaurants for people obsessed with food

Edited December 1, 2006 by Tim Hayward (log)

[Zoticus]

It's been easier for HB, later to market, to take a different stance. What he's been able to do, counterintuitively, is position himself so he's about a more general look at food and eating that isn't necessarily centred in restaurants.

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You make it sound like hestons success was only possible by appealling to punters who are offended by GRs personality. But what does the personality of a chef have to do with the food?

I thinks its important that Heston is in the kitchen, and I'm sure that the experience would be 13% better if each dish had been indvidually cherished by Heston himself.

[MobyP]

Well, as Heston would be the first to tell you, Ashley (the head chef) has been there since the beginning. He's the boss of the hot kitchen. And although Heston is often at the pass come service, you couldn't tell the difference between his work and Ashley's.

[TheBacchus]

It's been easier for HB, later to market, to take a different stance. What he's been able to do, counterintuitively, is position himself so he's about a more general look at food and eating that isn't necessarily centred in restaurants.

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You make it sound like hestons success was only possible by appealling to punters who are offended by GRs personality. But what does the personality of a chef have to do with the food?

I thinks its important that Heston is in the kitchen, and I'm sure that the experience would be 13% better if each dish had been indvidually cherished by Heston himself.

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I dont think so at all - Head Chef at Fat Duck is Ashley Watts and he's more capable and talented than most michelin starred chefs in sleb restaurants in London.

HB is the face of FD and its founder. He has personally designed these things called recipes and spent a few years training his team to cook these recipes whilst he goes about the business of, erm building his business, which now includes highly lucrative book deals, tv shows, other restaurant ventures, talks etc etc

I dont buy this artist thing and comparing chefs to painters. When a painter finishes his masterpiece he isnt expected to trail the world from auction house to gallery trying to flog his paintings so why are chefs expected to be in their kitchen 24/7?

HB has made his mark - he has created his masterpiece and now his team of highly trained, highly skilled umpa-lumpas re-create that masterpiece for children of the world everywhere who make the magical visit to Berkshire

[algy]

GR has no image but 'angry perfectionist'. He's made it so personal he can't ever escape it.

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why would he want to? He's making a fortune.

[Corinna Dunne]

So... if you were to plot Heston's next move from a brand perspective... what do you think it should be?

[grahamR]

Whereas Ramsay - Mr Channel 4, Threshers & BHS with nine London restaurants and other scattered around the globe can't possibly be expected to being peeling shallots in Royal Hospital Road, even by the thickest numpty who only vaguely understands what running a restaurant empire and media career like that entails (and who among us does?).

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I think they are exactly pitching for the omnipotent Gordon image. Hence the CCTV installations going on in his kitchens.