Wet, hot, late in the night, an empty street and a full restaurant, ah… bonjour Paris. We arrived in Gare du Nord just after nine at night, taking the Eurostar from St Pancras. It took us a while to find our hotel in Madeleine ( The Le Vignon, a delightful getaway, which I highly commend) but as soon as we dropped our bags, we were back on the Metro again. Our destination was Goncourt, we were out to find the 9th best restaurant in the world. It’s quite impossible to book a table over the phone, so I didn’t bother trying. I opted to turn up with a hope of getting a table for the 2nd sitting after 10pm, and in my opinion, the more appropriate way to eat supper in Paris. We were in luck, a Thursday night, there were only 3 tables ahead of us in the queue, and those from the earlier sitting were just starting to leave. So it appears that getting a table at one of the hottest restaurants in Paris wasn’t so difficult after all.

As I stood in line, I got started with two glasses of whatever was available that night – a white and a red Languedoc – while the missus scoped out Le Dauphin next door, surveying its respective queue. We were hedging our bets in deciding which two of Paris’ most famous restaurants turned tables quicker. Eventually, we decided that our first experience of cuisine de Iñaki Aizpitarte should be at his more storied bistro.

As the queue shortened, the man himself, Iñaki Aizpitarte, appeared from behind the stove to greet those waiting in line for a seat at his edgy neo-classical bistro. On the surface, Cool was a deafening wail percolating from every porous hole in the restaurant. Everything that was romantic about a darkly lit Parisian bistro fronted by a rock star chef, was present. There was no doubt in either of our minds: This was the coolest bistro in Paris. We sat down at 10.30pm.

This feeling extends to its creator, Iñaki is the very embodiment of the bistronomique culture. He is a tall slender frame, tussled dark hair, Liam Gallagher eyebrows, and a Jesus beard. Dressed in chefs robes, he was also a brooding vision of a rock and roll star. Few chefs really look as badass as this guy, even fewer have a cultish following and only an exceptionally defiant handful manage to command respect from stakeholders of hospitality by garnering a reputation of dishing out magnificent and utterly terrible cooking at the very same time. After all, there is a very fine line between those who have the ability to shape the future and those who are just plain bonkers.

As he looked out onto his patrons, I wonder what his thoughts were, my best guess would be “Fucking hell, I did alright.”.

The restaurant is rather run down, really, it’s so 1920s bistrot, it may as well be a working set as part of a period film. Tables were shaky and wooden, chairs were wooden but still sturdy, forget about table cloths and the smoky incandescence made you wish there were candles instead. The food is anything but vintage, it borrows from so much forward thinking concepts, it could represent the very resurrection of the Parisian surrealist movement. Everything about this restaurant is oxymoronic, its old-school decor is a facade, the cuisine appears to pioneer, yet feels like an afterthought. The restaurant’s sole menu doesn’t give diners a choice – the ‘menu unique’ – ironically utilitarian for a democratic restaurant. Everybody eats the same five courses, the same five amuse bouches and pay the same €55 for it. Wines by the glass were €5 each.

Five amuse bouches to start.

One, cheese puffs.

Nothing out of the ordinary here.

Two, ceviche of lime and fish.

Down that bad boy. A small wedge of fish drowning in lime juice and alcohol made this throat clearer feel like slurping a spoonful of goldfish from an aquarium.

Three, shrimp tempura.

Crunchy, with salty, purple powder. This was actually nice, but seriously, stop teasing, where’s the real food? We noticed how half the restaurant spoke English, in fact, the waiters had explained the choiceless menu to us in perfect English. It must be attributed to that World top 50 list, a lot of gastro-tourists here. What seemed intriguing was how Japanese the amuse bouches felt. Tempura, dashi… no Frenchness here.

Four, black pudding, pickled onion.

Warm, muddy, smooth, like a cafe au lait but mildly spiced with a sweetness that was chocolate-like. Not bad.

Five, dashi with shittake and lettuce..

…fishy oil. No it was umamilicious. Truly, but this initially prologue of simplification, distillation and examination of the essence of flavour was ironically tiresome. My brain was deteriorating under the second glass of anonymous wine. I searched for reasons why the beginnings of this menu was so Japanese-centric. It was mildly entertaining up to this point, but I also felt empty too. The bread basket came sans butter.

Never had I longed so much for a dollop of bearnaise and bowl of frites.

Course 1: Huitre, bar, concombre.

“Fish tataki, with poached oyster and cucumber” as the waiter quickly explained. So I scrape away the ice chips to find the oyster.

No physical oyster, but in its place a milky, ice cold sauce, which I assumed was made from the elusive oyster. The cutting crispness of cucumber brought a sense of liveliness, the low temperatures forced the texture of the fish (mackerel judging from colour) to tighten up and each bite was met with a forceful bounce. I was rather suspicious of the milky oyster sauce, it was a reminder of eating natives toward the end of April. It was nice, but one dimensional, and redolent of Viajante.

Fashion – it can become terribly cliched as it ages. Shaved ice, cucumber (and while we are at it, beetroot) feature on far too many ‘cutting edge’ restaurant menus, in my opinion. The Nordic thing may be in vogue and simplification may be an exhilarating experience for the cook, but I personally despise eating these things. They are so prevalent that they are hardly innovative anymore. It screams cop-out every time the chef pulls this trick. Cold cucumber, cold beetroot, with oh let me guess, goat’s curd, whipped. Fucking hell. Chefs – please let this obsession stop.

Course 2: Cabillaud, navet, radish, manzanilla

Dastardly simple, but one in which the genius came out to play – this was a lovely dish. Deft slices of turnip and radish layered atop beautiful nuggets of cod. I stuck my nose in there before I ate, mmm, the smell of white radish and white fish. Eating this was like making love underwater, every mouthful was smooth texture running across more smooth texture, the fish was so tender, mermaids were weeping. I’m sure the fish was sous-vided and I assume cooked with the lovely butter and manzanilla sauce, the fish was smothered in. That sauce… oh it was utterly sublime. It was heartbreaking eating such a fine example of cod.

Course 4: Agneau de lait, poireau, oignon, cresson, anchois

Presented as ‘Lamb five ways’ with leek, onion, watercress, anchovy. Let’s see now, there’s loin, liver, testicles, and some sort of dehydrated salty powder. Was it powdered onion or powered anchovy? Who knows. This lamb salad was chaotic, there was so little meat, it may as well be vegetarian. For what it’s worth, it was a delicious plate of foraged ingredients. I appreciated the no bullshit approach, but it was a complete anti-climax of a main course. So it appears, this is all there is to it.

Course 5 (alternate) : Fromages du jour.

I don’t know what the cheeses were. Something fresh, perhaps a goat’s cheese, something shaved, perhaps a comte and something soft, like a morbier but without the ash.

Course 5 (Sweet) : Lait ribot, herbs, beurre noisette.

Buttermilk, herbs, and brown butter candied caramel. Soured milk ice cream, little else to report really.

Course 6: Carupano, poire.

I surmised that Carupano referred to the provenance of chocolate, liquified to conceal cubes of poached pears. Well what can I say? It’s chocolate and pear, you know what they taste like when you put them together. It was a pleasant finish.

Modern Euro with a touch of the Orient, but I think this particular meal was probably French-Japanese with a touch of Nordic frost. It’s magnificently confusing, the cooking was so completely self-indulgent, it’s hard to pin down what the chef was trying to achieve. Was he bored with success perhaps? Or could it be completely expected, that this was the work of a defiant rockstar artist who had attained his cult status by not giving a fuck what the world thinks of his cooking. There is no question of ability. Iñaki’s kitchen is capable of great things, reading his canvas of dishes in totality, I can see it all hanging together very well, truly the mark of a culinary wizard.

On the other hand, this meal is also the culinary equivalent of a cocktease. The kitchen shows you just enough to tickle your fancy, but you never get to see more than just a peek, flirting with your palate, leaving you panting for very much more. It’s exhilarating and frustrating. Perhaps we all love abit of toying with our emotions (or maybe I do) and in a way, the competitive pricing helps to soften the blow of a night of contrasts of stunning and terrible cooking. Perhaps less really is more, I was hard pressed to find better value for entertainment at €55 in the city.

Factor in the dimly-lit effervescent ambiance, the charming service, the chaotic supper-club like gastronomy, the rockstar chef watching you eat and of course the anonymous glasses of wine, I found a grander picture in which the summation of parts equated to a rather exquisite experience of a restaurant.

I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I came away with a strange affection toward the meal. One might say that Le Chateaubriand possesses the certain je ne sais quo which encapsulates the very glamour of eating out. At midnight, the restaurant was still buzzing with so much energy that I couldn’t care less of what I was eating. I was totally in love with the idea that I was celebrating Life in a true Parisian Bistro. The restaurant is a very cool place to eat. So cool in fact, it has the power to transform merely ordinary plates of food into something worthy of far too much adulation.

I think Iñaki knows this and I think it’s always been part of his plan to created such a restaurant that purposely avoids a nerdist cross examination of provenance and technique. In that sense, Le C is so carefree that it is truly unpretentious. Instead, it delivers what is most important: A bloody good night out. And it surely was for us, it was an evening that produced all the sense of mystery and convivial adventure one could hope for. There’s enough substance to sustain a reputation, but its the overly stylish ambiance that ultimately won us over.

For the same reason however, it’s hard to predict a good meal here. Every other review describes a completely different cuisine, giving the impression that Le Chateaubriand is a kind of thematic and seasonal supper-club. If anything, this type of trend setting nomadic cooking is probably inspiring the next generation of chefs to push the boundaries of highly stylised anti-conceptual food freed from the shackles of defined regional cuisines. Roving chefs who frequent at the Loft Project come to mind.

At the end, we ate from a unique menu as described. If ratings start and end in circles, then Le C would lie somewhere in the nether-regions between 10 and 0 and 10, if that makes any sense. It was definitely not the best food I’d ever ate, but it was illuminating, terrible and memorable. Perhaps that’s why Iñaki has opened Le Dauphin next door, the princely tapas bar that is the Ying to the Yang of LeC. For starters, LeD is brightly lit with modern interior designs. At the very least, it lets you choose what you want to eat. I think he knows those who were led on by a meal at LeC, would want a full undressing of his recipe book. By all accounts, this is where the real cooking actually happens, and a pressure relief for us gastro-tourist who love nothing more than to pretend to pontificate as if we are paid to do it like the esteemed dead tree hacks we worship. This must all be just a humorous game to Iñaki.

I didn’t make it that far on this trip however, but I suspect I will be gravitating toward Goncourt again, the next time I am in Paris.

The Deets.

Le Chateaubriand
New Bistro, €55 set menu.
129 Avenue Parmentier
75011 Paris, France
Tel. +331 4357 4595
Metro: Goncourt

Illuminati: SmokySweet ; Nico ; Meg Zimbeck ; AGHT ; Food Snob ; foodtourist ; GT ; TEJC ; Skinny

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As you, I came upon Hedone filled with expectation. Fay likes it, Guy loved it, Andy – whose standards are as high as Taipei 101 – gave it a rare 8. So it must be fucking magic right? You’ll read alot of kerfaffle online about the birth of Hedone and its progenitor Swedish chef Mikael Jonsson, a trained chef, but who became a lawyer, before rediscovering his gastronome side with this restaurant. Curiously, I feel an aura of respect, which redoubtable comes across through the work of those food writers who visited Hedone. This is a rare occurrence. You’ll find similar glowing reports across egullet and chowhound too, and at time of writing, I believe this is what has contributed to its rocketing profile up the hypemeter.

I visited for lunch and had to drag Mark along for I promised him that Hedone could very well change his life. Unexpectedly, he was late, blaming the fact that he took the wrong bus. I was obviously flipping about uncomfortably by myself when the eagle eyed waitress saw this, she brought me the daily papers to keep me distracted. Top marks for service then, granted choice was a little wanting in the Telegraph or the Times, I chose the latter.

Proceedings kicked off as expected. A couple of amuse bouches that fit the conceptual, high cooking mould.

I think the first was a cheese sable with grated berries? Can’t remember.

Next, were wafer sandwiched with crab.

Lunch options were straightforward, 3 courses for £30, 4 for £40 and 5 for £50. I went for the five courses, and drank a glass of St Peray (£10).

The room is warm and brown, brick-laden walls and cave-men drawings made for a unique ceiling. It definitely fits with the leafy suburban feel of the Chiswick area. So far so good really.

First Course: Flame grilled Cornish Mackerel, Cauliflower.

Quite literal, a stub of mackerel the size of my middle finger, and what appears to be a few shavings of cauliflower. The fish was incredibly juicy and flaky and was the godsend that was as described by the blogs and critics.

Lovely start, the zen-like, IKEA, Japo-Nordic cooking might turn out to be one of London’s best experiences afterall.

Course Two, Cevennes onion and Pear shavings.

I don’t have anything against French onions…but to serve a few slices of it as a course on it’s own? Cevennes onions may be great, but it’s just onion…? Listen, I’m simpleton alright, I don’t know everything about food, but I am sensible and a little skeptical, to pay £10 for barely cooked onion and barely a slice of pear boggles the mind. Sadly I failed to grasp the subtlety of this dish. I’m sure I was missing something, but I promise you I tried to shake the feeling of the Emperor’s new robes. Was this artistry too refine for my savageness? I wondered how any serious chef could justify a few slices of onion as a real course. Come now, we’re not debating the concept of art, nor are we pushing any ground breaking ideas here. If he was going to force me to appreciate a single ingredient, why couldn’t he have done it with thick shavings of truffle?

It may have been a great onion of mystical provenance, but frankly, I could not tell. It did not help that this course came a quarter of an hour after the first. It was bitterly disappointing after a long wait. I don’t think its pretention, but this course was probably a sign of Mikael’s self confidence, for which I applaud.

Course Three, Scallop sashimi.

The next course was nice, barely cooked scallops. Expectedly, the scallops were sweet, its texture and faint flavours were verging on lychee. Again, this took another 15 minutes to prepare. Yes it was nice, but it was beginning to test my patience. Another tenner for a few dollops of scallop. What madness is this? Are we sitting through a satire of fine dining? I love Japanese food and unlike the onion course before it, I understand that eating raw scallops be it in nigiri format or as sashimi, is one of life’s greatest simple pleasures. I did like this, but not for £10. That’s overpriced.

Course Four: Grouse, smoked potatoes, offal gravy.

Our waitress told us the kitchen had some off the menu grouse, which Mark had to try. A breast and a leg, with feathers and claw intact. The dish smelled fabulous. The grouse, Mark remarked, tasted fine, he removed lead shot from it, which I found mildy entertaining – it was real game that was shot afterall. The smoked potatoes with the ethereal richness were as the Internet described, and so was also fine.

But that offal gravy, was – to put lightly – offensive. The gamebird is already strong flavoured, fluidising its offal is probably a risky idea. Of course, we were working on the assumption that the chef did indeed use grouse entrails. I did try a little but unfortunately I couldn’t swallow it. It reminded me of the time I tried Andouillette – a sausage made from tripe – for the first time, but this was a thousand times more potent. It was redolent not of food, but of the time I cleared the drains in my garden at the start of summer. You know the smell of mud and plugged decomposing leaves accumulated over a cold winter, sticky, sickly.

A neighbouring table proclaimed “It tastes like shit. I love it!” Perhaps he genuinely did, but for me, offal gravy was beyond the limits of what my palate is capable of interpreting. So shoot me, I am a simpleton afterall.

The other course four: Leg of Sika Deer, endives, horseradish.

I have fond memories of deer meat, my mum used to love stir frying this stuff with long beans, garlic and oyster sauce. And I liked this just fine. The meat was cooked fine. Juicy and tender, I would describe the flavour as similar to mutton, but just wilder. By now, the barren recipes were getting on my nerves. Meat and single strand of vegetable. I also hated the wonky presentation. It just looked as if no effort had gone into it. Was it a part of the ‘art’ , or was it simply lousy plating? Who knows. Two slices of deer, no larger than my index and middle finger combined – just a tad stingy surely. It was fine, but was hardly going to bring the house down.

Course five, English blueberry tart, vine peach sorbet.

Puddings were very good. The peach sorbet, mint and tea infused, gave an interesting feel, like mouth cleansing solution. I mean that in a good way, it was vibrant.

Finally, Hedone chocolate bar.

The only dish I genuinely thought carried gravitas, and which I really enjoyed. A whippy ganache-like centre, and a sticky (almond?) dacquoise base. The ganache like centre reminded me of the Louis XV. This was an elegant pudding, I like the dusted chocolate, redolent of another legendary dessert, Heston Blummenthal’s blackforest gateau. Sadly though, while it was a good effort, this recipe completely pales in comparison to the precise complexity of the aforementioned puddings.

We paid £123.75 for this meal, that’s roughly £60 per person plus a glass of wine each.

I think there is the potential for something amazing, but I also think there are some extremely disturbing things going on. The meal was a little weird, fetish-like and disjointed. Waiting times in between courses were erratic, and while I thought service was smooth in general, they switch off at times.

The skill in the cooking – or lack of – was much too subtle for me to detect. I can’t tell if he is trying to be very serious, or if he was seriously taking a mickey out of freewheeling homies (like you and I) who like spraying money on food. At times, I genuinely felt like the restaurant was running a parody of ‘fine dining’. If I told the story to a friend it would go like this “I had a fabulous meal, firstly, I had a fish finger no bigger than my middle finger, and that was it. Next, I had a quarter of an onion and that was it. Following that, I had a dollop of sweet raw scallops, and that was it. The experience blew me six ways to heaven.”.

I wouldn’t dare fault Mikael’s expertise in sourcing, and I commend the fact that this stark style of cooking shines a light on and forces the diner to focus on the main ingredient on the plate… by putting only that one ingredient on the plate. The restaurant is in this sense, unique. However, I will say that while great ingredients are essential to crafting great dishes, they remain only one part of that equation. The other bits involve an actual recipe. This is where I fail to comprehend the fuss about it.

We know this kitchen can cook an ingredient well, but this respect for the ingredient is so high that, I felt as if he forcefully neglected to complete the dish, in fear that it may sully its innocence. It is like looking at a pencil sketching of a Vemeer. It is obviously incomplete, you can see the potential shape and form, but until the obviously missing iridescent colours are painstakingly filled in, the Lapis lazuli in this case, the work is incomplete. And how shameful would that be, the painted brushstrokes are what makes the painting what it is, so I beg the question, where was the Lapis lazuli?

With respect, I apologise Chef Jonsson, I just didn’t understand the cooking, it was infuriating sitting through the meal. It may well be that there is something more going on here, but I failed to see the light, I am a mere simpleton, I didn’t get it. Please somebody, consider a thoughtful response, shed some light for me and show me where I am wrong. I really desperately wanted to love Hedone, but right now, I can’t.

If you were looking for what is in my opinion successful high concept cooking focused on provenance, driven by ingredients, you might look into Roganic and Viajante, or even Texture if you were after the Nordic sous-vided stuff. If raw food is your thing, sixty quid goes a long way in Yashin.

The Gist of It

Hedone
£65pp Modern.
301-303 Chiswick High Road, London W4 4HH
Tel: + 44 208 747 0377
Tube: Chiswick Park

Hedonistic legends, elsewhere: Timeout London ; Fay Maschler ; Andy Hayler ; Tamarind and Thyme ; Skinny Bib ; Brummie Tummy

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Despite the narrative the web has spun around Galoupet, you should know that this is not a restaurant. Don’t come here expecting to be fed, because you will be a little confused. Even the decor strays far from the norm, like the faintly perfumery, sterile ivory walls and beech floors, mirrors on either side and (if memory serves) a skylight. There was so much light coming from all corners of the room, that we could only be here for a spa treatment.

Such words are not usually applied to restaurant copy: ‘light, fresh, clean’ , ‘deep understanding’ , ‘adapted’. Let’s throw sensory in there too. This was as close an experience to having a detox treatment for the tastebuds… not that I’ve ever been to a detox session for any other bodily part. In practical terms, most of the dishes could pass as salads. There’s fruit in nearly every dish, I felt an eerie sense of being cleansed after the meal.

Yes, fella, this is not the usual restaurant, let alone wine bar, there is something of an unorthodox approach going on here. The emphasis on the grapes are a refreshing change, there aren’t many wine-led restaurants in town, even though most restaurants will try their bestest to flog matching wines with the food, it often feels second best to the food; and for the case of the wine bar, food tends to take a backseat to the wine. And that’s where Galoupet differs from the crowd, supposedly to take on the enviable task of bringing harmony to the disciplines of pleasure.

The owners are a family of winemakers. Naturally it is named after the family business which is based in Provence, Chateau de Galoupet, and quite expectedly, they sell their family wines at this London outpost too. At the front entrance is a long table which I imagine is so patrons can stand around and constantly top up short measures of their 36 wines or so which are in constant rotation from their Enomatic wine preservation machines.

Galoupet may well be the first restaurant/bar to visibly use the pay-per-measure system, but it certainly isn’t the first to deploy it in this country. As far as I know, a similar system has been going for years at the wine shop , The Sampler in Islington. I may love my Rieslings and my Spatburgunders, but I’d rather not splash on whole bottles of Gajas or Rothschilds, so the system is useful in a kind of socialist way of purchasing sips of expensive wine, whenever the owners decide to pop something abit special into the enomatics. Like I don’t know, how about a 1990 Vauchrains, from Nuits Saint Georges by Robert Chevillon, for example. I’ve done the impromptu self-led wine sipping at The Sampler many times before… it can be a rather liberating experience. You end up with all kinds of fruit, rust and mineral flavours swirling around your head after four or fiveakers. Naturally it is named aftt of course.

One of the family wines is a 2010 Rose, which costs £4.10 for half a measure (125ml) , and it is a staggering wine. Crispy, fresh, acidic and verging on the fizzy, it evaporates like ether as it goes does, fleetingly young at its core. So shoot me, I like delightful young juices that are shy on the palatte. Like a fizzy white wine with rose petals dropped in. Doing the math, if you expect the majority of the meal to be for tasting different types of wine, with the odd dish of food thrown in for distraction, then Galoupet can be rather fun. This was the first glass.

So let’s move to the first dish: Figs, fregola, purple basil, orange, konbu, hazelnut , £8.50, the large portion.

Yes very light, amazingly refreshing honey like figs and crunchy walnuts, acid orange, a rather dainty dish of food to look at in and a faint sense of Japanese cuisine stirred in with Italian. Not too bad, but a mere slice of fig hardly passes as a large.

Octopus, fennel, kohlrabi, miso, £9.50

Citrusy, it balanced out nicely with the crispy Galoupet rose, generally clean tasting, nicely cooked but really also rather quite bland.

Stone bass, burnt tomatoes, coriander, £8

The skin was burnt to a char, so too were the tomatoes, accompanied by a tomato paste, which I hazard a guess that this was a variant of romesco. Who knows.

O’Shea’s Onglet Steak, mandarin, peanuts, papaya, £12.50 (large)

For the meats, I asked for another 125ml, this time a glass of Riesling by Heinz Schmitt. I failed to check the harvest. This came with a mesmerizing hue of amber. Flavours of honey and hints of glue (or petrol, you get the idea) – as you’d expect from Rieslings – but this was a little more complex as the citrus was verging on sour. An interesting wine, wet and heavy, more than muscular enough to match with the meat.

O’Sheas is gold standard beef, from Darragh on the other side of Knightsbridge, and is impossible to muck up. This came properly medium rare, and hard to fault such good meat of course. The little cooking done to it was adequate for it to shine. Perhaps a little unnecessary were the sweet papaya which accompanied the beef – sweet steak was a little alien to me.

Chilli pork ‘rib eye’, cucumber, coriander, lime, £11.50.

Finally, we ended the brief meal with this Vietnamese style grilled pork. The pork was expertly grilled, juicy but because it tasted so much like something from the pho mile, I thought the meat yearned for some steamed jasmine rice, and perhaps an egg over it. It was just nude, it really needed some carbs. Not to mention the rather steep price, it could have really done with a little covering up.

I ended the meal with a short 50ml measure of a superb dessert Tokaj… beyond that, details of the provenance escapes me. Sweet and citrusy.

Sweet and citrusy pretty much summed up the meal. We paid £57.25. As a restaurant, I thought the kitchen output was irresolute, food certainly came across as second fiddle to the wines. In a way, it was to be expected, this is first and foremost a wine bar, but for the most part, I did think food was well cooked. I did notice that we were bread-free for the entire meal, personally, it was an aberrant sensation altogether. Fibre, protein, nectar, alcohol, fruit, fibre, fruit.

This begs the comparison to the admirable 28-50 (which I like), a wine bar by the Nordic owners of sleeper hit Texture (which I also like) – that restaurant has more of a urban vibe going for it. Galoupet is the complete opposite, this wine bar feels like a retreat, it’s a spa treatment, something that belongs in Monocle. A facial.

The edible bits of Galoupet are a little Tinto Brass, it’s self indulgent, but the drinking parts are absolutely gorgeous. This type of conceptual, sensory stuff is always going to attract negativity from anti-yuppies who will be quick to write this off as an expensive waste of time, but I ask you to give this a closer look, because this is one of few places where you can go and try alot of different wines, without having to fork out a small fortune. That’s relative speak of course, because it’s not exactly cheap in real terms, but as you know, wine is a game of try, try try, to expand your mental catalogue of what different varietals are capable of. Or so I think, I’m not really the kind of guy to engage a discussion on wine in this sort of capacity. Come on, be abit adventurous, step away from the chardonnay and try a Vouvray. So for reference, take the opinion of a local wine buff (maybe Andy at Spittoon, Blyde on Intoxicating or Gastro1 the Epicurean ) on Galoupet before making the visit.

The Gist of It

Galoupet
French, Wine Restaurant £40pp
13 Beauchamp Place SW3 1NQ
Tel : 0207 036 3600
Tube : Knightsbridge

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Consider this as the side project. An epilogue of a visionary concept. A retelling of a story told from another point of view. The breakfast room for hotel guests. Yes, The Corner Room is the child of Nuno Mendes’ Viajante, both nestled within the zen like confines of the uber cool Townhall hotel in uber edgy Bethnal Green on the East end. A spin-off, an overflow room for those who don’t like the idea of advanced reservations at the ultra fantastic temple of modernist gastronomy downstairs.

Perhaps the best part of it all, is how low-key The Corner Room has been kept. There is no weblink or phone and therefore takes no reservations and is totally egalitarian, if you can find it.

You’ll have to go through the main hotel reception, instead of the reception to Viajante to find the easily find The Corner Room. If you take the latter route (which we did), you’ll be taken through the guts of the hotel, maze your way through the immaculate designs and occasionally peek into the beautifully designed rooms as they are being kept. The Townhall hotel is a marvelous hotel. It’s a work of wonder. It’s understated and because of this, it probably makes cooler than staying at say The Renaissance, whose goth granduer is a little bit of a overwhelming monstrosity.

When we did eventually find The Corner Room (unsurprisingly in a corner wing of the first floor) , we were greeted with a distinctly subtle and zen-likeroom. The colour coordination, eye catching and low key was just fabulous, I particular love the large windows, whatever period they are from, as well as the dangling lamps that decorate the wall. The room has character.

Mark and I paid a visit last Saturday for lunch, and were given their weekend brunch menu. There might be a more complete dinner menu, but we didn’t see it.

Taking the low profile approach extends to the purposefully woefully written menu, that easily looks like it was swiped from a greasy spoon, as if to serve as a surprise in an exercise of suppressing the genius that would be served. “House bacon, hash brown & egg” , “avocado on toast” , “smoked salmon & scrambled eggs”.

Salmon & eggs? Far from it, check this out:

Smoked salmon with polenta, avocado & hollandaise, £8.

The smell, the wonderful fragrance of brunch! The salmon, butter, eggs and polenta, all congealing and all an interplay of pillow soft textures, easily glides in to my system. Mmm, there is abit of the cutting edge cooking from downstairs creeping into the recipe here, a dash of avocado cream, a sting of a zesty hollandaise, the custardy poached eggs and paprika infused polenta cake. It’s as beautiful to look as, it was attractive to eat.

Poached eggs with chorizo and paprika potatoes, £8.

The roast filled, relaxant feel of the chorizo and potatoes was morning after breakfast sex for the palate, mmm..

Pork loin & Portuguese bread pudding, £12.

…but this was the one which we both thought was bloody fabulous, prompting my buddy Mark to gesture “This is seriously good food. No fucking around ain’t it, dude.”

The savoury bread pud was from the spring from which comfort food had sprung. Like a rosti soaking with oodles of tomato, peppers and rich umami savouriness. We were both certain the buttery tender pork loins were the result of a master of the dark arts of cooking sous-vide. The original idea of what makes gastronomy the joy it is; an endorphine promoting and necessary part of the day, a celebration of the fact that eating is to refuel life itself.

Mackerel with celeriac & bacon, £6.

The weakest dish of the service, this was flash over substance, and compared to the dishes that came before it, it was easily forgettable. Still for six quid, it was edible art.

Final bill, including a mimosa £7, a glass of bubbles £6 and fresh OJ £2.5 was £55.69 for two.

What I like about the cooking here, is the attention to the cooking. And I say this with all the love for gastronomy from the very depths of my belly : The cooking was very handsome.

Sometimes all that flash and cutting edge modernity can be distracting to an unprepared diner, and if you’re not one to ooh and ahh over the procession, it can be exhaustingly esoteric, thus a little confusing and there is a danger that Viajante’s high end stuff may bore the living daylights off your appetite. But that’s why The Corner Room is special. This unplugged version of Nuno’s mind-bending high end stuff, strikes a perfect chord with the palate, stripping away the noise, and allowing the natural ingredients and the well honed skills of the kitchen to really shine through. This is off the cuff jazz to the disciplined masterpiece of chamber music. And so, this is the alternate interpretation of the travelling chef’s genius. It’s as if the kitchen had laid bare the inner workings of its soul to the public, private nosh turned public, like the way the butcher’s filet became the public’s onglet.

The Corner Room is brilliant. It may even be more fantastic than big brother Viajante downstairs. It certainly is a wonderful brunch venue, and I suspect it will not stay hidden from you guys for very much longer. I love Nuno Mendes’ high end trickery, but I also highly enjoy his low-key flirtation of a stripped down performance.

I fully endorse The Corner room and I suggest you find the time to pay The Corner Room a visit, or perhaps two.

The Gist of It

The Corner Room
Hidden Genius £25pp
No reservations, no phone.
First Floor at The Town Hall Hotel
Patriot Square | E2 9NF
Tube : Bethnal Green

In this coner: Euan Ferguson for TO

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What it must feel like to be Yotam Ottolenghi. Author of two likeable, innovative cook books; Owner of a string of likeable, innovative takeaway/café/restaurants, and the custodian of a weekly vegetarian column in Guardian. And women just love his food.

There is something extremely likeable about the brand Yotam has created for himself. It’s like everything you imagined organic food – healthy, delicious and expensive – to be. There are four Ottolenghis’ dotted around London, and quite a startling 15 years or so it has been for the native Israeli philosophy major. In 1998, he who had come to Cordon Bleu in London to study food before going on to solidify his pastry experience in The Capital, The Kensington Place group (with Rowley Leigh) and then become head pastry man at Baker and Spice (which I believe is somehow tied to the origin of Gail’s). Eventually in 2002, he opened his first Ottolenghi and the rest is history, as they say.

It has been a poster-child kind of success story, therefore the recent opening of his latest venture, Nopi (for North of Picaddily (circus)) is expected to be a high profile – amongst the obsessive gluttons – production that should have industry onlookers salivating with undulated respect.

On the surface, Nopi looks like the latest and greatest Soho-based, egalitarian and super hip all-day diner, though this could not be further from the truth. This is not Polpo 2011, ladies, this is something a lot more precise, better choreographed, a slicker operation; equating to a ridiculously pricy menu.

Naturally, it’s already submerged in overbooked sessions, being that it has only been opened for less than a month. There was no chance in grabbing a table for a late Saturday lunch, so instead I just showed up at 15 minutes before lunch service was planned to stop, to see if I could snatch a small corner table for some solo dining. I did much better, as they placed me at the bar. Décor is kept as elegantly as humanly possible, furnished to a brass and crème finish. The room is a long and narrow rectangle, and it feels rather like eating in a well-dressed and permanent marquee.

Staff are chillaxed and all smiles, the restaurant has a generally laid-back attitude about it, which is rather modern of them. They appear to carbonate their water, and the choice of still or sparkling is on the house.

The ambiance is something Alan Yau would be proud of, understated slickness, all the small touches you expect restaurants to get right, they have got right.

Everything came with a smile.

Kingfish carpaccio, curry powder, lemon oil, shiso, samphire £10

The luxury thick cut carpaccio, the densely buttery texture that melted accordingly, not unlike a Tsar cut of salmon. Crusted with curry powder and then drizzled with lemon oil that set off an ear-ringing zestful charge of citrus. The shiso and samphire was ample for decorative purposes, I think. This was a small platter of glorified sashimi, executed in splendid fashion. It was hard to fault it, in fact I loved it, though I couldn’t shake the feeling that this could well have been done before, such as say the Nobu new-style – wet, drizzly and zesty – sashimi. Is this really worth a tenner?

Twice-cooked baby chicken, lemon myrtle salt, red pepper sauce, £10

Next up was the first broth-boiled, then grilled, twice cooked baby chicken. Sweating with lovely chicken-stock juices. The sweet chilli mix it came it was very good, the chicken itself was reminiscent of soya chicken, redolent of chilli, broth, ginger and spring onion. But again, I couldn’t help but experience another bout of deja vu, that this apparently innovative recipe had been done before elsewhere, and in this scenario, a Chinese soya chicken rice recipe. It is not better than Uncle Lim’s Hainanese chicken rice recipe in my humble opinion, and I am mindful of the fact that Nopi fuses Medi and Asian recipes, but I find myself asking the obvious question : Is any single chicken wing and half a thigh really worth ten pounds?

It didn’t even come with a small bowl of stock infused rice.

Slow cooked pig cheek, celeriac and barberry salad, £10

By the time the third dish landed, I was sold on the fact that this kitchen could cook anything. Everything was delicious, like this buttery tender, superior slow cooked cheek that easily put the Brindisa version to shame. It was intense. Served with an extremely citrusy shaved celeriac salad, which for some reason, failed to equalise in flavour, and was palate piercing instead. Luckily the sourdough was fantastic, and helped to soak up and dilute the strong flavours. It carried a subtle bitterness, as if it was made with tea leaves.

Baked lamb belly, mixed mushrooms, sumac, £12

The procession of savoury hits reached a summit with this dish. I loved every bit of this highlight of muscular on muscular flavours. Sitting on a bed of yoghurt (or crème fraiche), the soured cream took the edge of the intensity of the mushrooms, for the gloopy texture of the cream against the mushy fried ‘shrooms, I felt it created a very stylish texture. The rolled lamb belly was expectedly pungent, but in this tirade of strong flavours, it was not overpowering, rather it was just succinct.

Pineapple galette, pandan, coconut ice cream £7.5

The smell of sweet, hot, burnt, sugar over hot, sweaty and burning pineapple. The winner was the exceptionally thin crust, the pineapple slices sat on, producing just the slightest crisp. The clotty and dense coconut ice cream was regal. Thicker than any gelato than I had ever eaten. This was an ace pudding. It wiped away all the previous strong flavours and left me with a cooling sensation.

The meal was fabulous. I could not fault it for the cooking and for its sheer likeability factor; I believe it is poised to be overbooked for many a cold night in the months ahead. However, I just cannot shake the feeling that they have pumped so much hard work in dazzling clientele that they have managed to fool everybody with their pricing. Plus a double espresso and five small plates of food, the bill was a whopping £58.50 – one hugely expensive all-day diner.

Granted for those who flooded the restaurant during the 50% soft opening, may have glossed over the bottom line after a couple of glasses (I would have too), but I just can’t see myself choosing Nopi over Polpo or even Polpetto, since the concept of sharing platters are so similar; save for that the latter restaurants are so much cheaper, and are more generous in terms of portions. On the otherhand, the food at Nopi is tastier, the recipes are better, and the atmosphere isn’t so rowdy.

Contrary to what the menu says the small plates are designed for (sharing), I don’t think they came out as intended. Portions are laughably tiny, even for one, let alone to be shared. Take the chicken wing for example, surely the most expensive chicken wing in London. If they were truly for sharing, I believe they needn’t suggest a recommended three savouries per person.

Nopi feels like a resurrected Maze (remember that?), another restaurant that has a menu built around the idea of sampling alot of successive small dishes. I feel that the Nopi portions are not big enough to be shared, but that they are just adequate for one person wanting to taste abit of everything. I had five dishes by myself, and I don’t think I would have enjoyed splitting those dishes with anybody else. The dishes did not seem scoop-able or partition-able, it might work for a couple but certainly not divisible for more than that.

The good news is that the cooking is just amazing. At least based on this one visit. Everything rolled out of the kitchen with panache, zest, passion and sheer umami.

In the end, I found Nopi not to be groundbreaking, rather I thought it was refreshing. The recipes are recognisable and are not alien to our palate. They are however, slickly repackaged, and exceptionally cooked. Fusion can swing a lot of ways if done incorrectly, but I think Nopi has got it under contol, and got the recipes just right. I think Nopi is what Kopapa should have been.

It brings the same rebooted feeling that Viajante has brought to the blurred fantasy of one global cuisine. If Viajante is esoteric folksy jazz, then Nopi is mainstream, bubblegum pop. Because of the menu’s apparent liberal nature, I believe it can only evolve to become better, as the chefs get bored with/refine their recipes. And as the loyal patrons, we have reason to keep coming back for more I suppose.

A great start, that comes with a hefty price. For now, I shall be happy to pay the price, but it probably won’t be long before they introduce some kind of set lunch menu. Lest it becomes a deterrent in light of the fact that there are so many nice things to eat in the city, for a lot less money.

The Gist of It

Nopi
Fusion, Medi-Asian and expensive. £50pp
21-22 Warwick Street W1B 5NE
Tel : +44 (0)20 7494 9584
Tube: Picaddily Circus

Soopi : TO , Wennie’s Affairs , What Katie Does, Tofufa , The Bountiful Plate ; The Skinny Bib , Winkypedia

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Ever since the Great British Pound took its glorious tumble following the economic rodeo of ’08, travelling the world with HM in your pocket doesn’t go as far as it used to no more, all my assets doing an extended shrinking violet number. Ta-da.

Picture the shock and horror whilst researching prices at top end restaurants in Singapore; Waku Ghin – Tetsuya’s Singaporean operation – a whopper of a SGD$400 (£200) per pop; FiftyThree, the well-regarded Euro-comfortica for a mere SGD$250 (£125), yikes..! Shinji – the Raffles Hotel pre-eminent shrine of haute sushi starts at SGD$220 (£110) and flattens out at SGD$450 (£225). Gosh, fine dining sure is pricy in Singapore.

All rather paradoxical considering this is a country better known for its amazing standard of hawker centres, food courts, char kuey tiaw, chilli crab, pratha, kaya jam, hainanese chicken rice, nasi padang just to name a few commonly accessible, easily affordable, delicious one platers.

Perhaps it is to do with the fascination, mystique and romance of the sycophantic fantasy propagated by high-rolling guides – the Michelin, the Miele and the World Top 50, all of which appear to back the idea that the quality of indulgence be measured not only by how well the food is cooked; but also by the expense spared in investing the restaurant’s cabinet of Laguiole knives and the completeness of their Le Creuset collection.

Obviously I respect these ranking guides, and if we believe these industry benchmarks, then Iggy’s is not only Singapore’s finest, but also the undisputed King of Asia (as described in Miele’s top Asian restaurants list) , bettering the best of HK, Taipei – a proposition that intrigues and puzzles. No disrespect to Iggy’s of course, but I doubt the best of S’pore can outdo the best of HK. Also named the world’s 28th best restaurant (bettering Keller’s The French Laundry and Robuchon’s Parisian workshop).

The owner is one very accomplished super sommelier – whose CV is as glittering as his awards cabinet – Ignatius Chan, who has stinted in many a luxury hotel previous to his eponymous debut in 2004, firstly at The Regent, and in late 2010, relocating to The Hilton.

A mammoth reputation to the tune of SGD$250 (£125), complete with the unfamiliar ‘++’ postscript for the ‘Gastronomic Menu’. I took my parents because all three of us were anxious as to what the allegedly best restaurant in Asia could produce. It didn’t take us long to start feeling that the weight of such high expectation was going to fail us inevitably: No a la carte for dinner service.

For a venue as new as this, I was shocked at how Nineties the décor was. Windowless, drab, dim, soul sapping, featureless and formless, dull greys and browns, just so damn business-like that I doubt even Gordon Gekko would consider this as his office.

Frosted glass auto-sliding doors, which – every time a waiter had to access the kitchen – gave diners a glimpse into the inner workings of the kitchen. Which was bright, colourful, cheerful and filled with files and cookbooks. Like cooking in heaven, and dining in hell no? Come now restaurateurs, in this day and age, elegance can be funky too, no? This type of establishment is just so boring to eat in.

First, SQUID. Sea urchin, dashi, ohba flowers.

Squidgy and fresh, bitter yet citrusy with a burst of the fragrance of freshly picked flowers. A subtle, if rather uneventful, uncooked start to the meal.

Second, KOHADA. Tomato, Clementine, mango, quinoa, beet.

Visually, the dish was beautifully, the tiny tomatoes were the size of a match head, strangely pulling my attention. Kohada – we were told – belonged to the herring family, here it seemed as though it was either poached or pickled, but I couldn’t really tell, because there was so little of it. The fillets measured no more an an inch across. Bursting summery fruity flavours, the clementine in particular was blindingly apparent on the palate. While I thought the subtle interplay of gentle flavours and textures was mildy entertaining, I also thought of how little cooking was involved, and thought how this dish was utterly pretentious and ridiculously tiny. Let’s see now £125 / 8 = £15. That’s expensive.

Third, SOUTHERN BLUE FIN TUNA. Carrot, watermelon, radish, bottarga.

Southern blue fin tuna…damn, it’s good. It’s more than just good, it was amazing. The texture was buttery smooth, I could hardly believe I was having the loin and not the belly. It tasted so alive. Leading me to wonder about the grade of tuna which Atari-ya imports into the UK.

I don’t think I’ve had Southern Blue Fin ever before, because I don’t think I’ve ever come across such a high quality tuna sashimi in London that has left with the same arresting impression.

We must address the issue of conservation, as unfortunately, this fish is critically endangered, because of people like you and I who crave it as we do.

Anyway, the rest of the fruit and vegetable medley was another summer on a plate. It served as a nice foundation to spruce up the sticks of prized tuna. I thought it was a nice exercise in texture, a syrupy, horseradish-like sauce, a chopped and grated salad, like the best tuna sashimi salad I’d ever tried, but therein was the problem, this was no more than a glorified sashimi salad.

I thought the recipe lacked guile and imagination, it was so easy to eat – all two spoonfuls of it – that it simply felt complacent. There was little doubt that this kitchen was very capable at slicing, dicing and plating, but my nose detected nothing and consequently I felt there was too little flavour involved with this kind of dish.

It was neither Japanese, nor European, and it certainly was not Chinese. Throughout the meal, I struggled with Iggy’s inspiration for his recipes, I felt they were erring dangerously close to being Pan-Asian, and truth be told, it did not feel Japanese, it felt – and I don’t mean this in the bad way – like a glorified vegetarian taster menu.

Fourth, QUAIL. Foie gras, faro, peas, mushroom.

So far, it has been a turtle-speed start to the meal. Three courses in, about three quarters of an hour sat there in a half empty dining room that was catering to no more than ten patrons. I’d hardly felt like I ate anything, and I wondered why food took so long to prepare. Aside from expertly sourced seafood, I’d not tasted any evidence that suggested this kitchen deserved to be Asia’s best.

Here we see some semblance of eurocentric Michelin inspiration. Firstly, excellently seared quail, nice cast-iron flavours, sealed juices and such, and kudos on pairing with umami rich ingredients including the mushroom and peas. Sadly though, I thought the dish failed as a whole. The selection of mushrooms were ordinary, barely cooked, so there was little in the flavour department. Again, ridiculously tiny portions, and I was shocked at the size of the foie gras, roughly the size and shape of a dice. I have never eaten such a poor foie gras dish, with so little of it, in a restaurant of such pretense before.

At this point, I wondered if the kitchen had merely added the duck liver to the recipe to make it sound posh, rather than make it an integral part of the recipe, which in this case, it wasn’t. Particularly poor was the pea puree, too thin and tannic , like the skin of the peas on my palate, and it lacked any potency in flavour. It was more like pea soup than a sauce designed to hold the dish together. No fire in this lake. I’ll say that this dish was very easy to eat, but I think it was easy to eat, because it lack so much. An empty recipe.

Fifth, ABALONE. Koshihikari rice, Perigord black truffle.

This was probably the best dish on the night. While it didn’t look like much, all three ingredients were majorly high end. Firstly, the koshihikari was amazingly. Superbly smooth, creamy and yet maintaining the individuality of each and every grain. I couldn’t ascertain as to whether this was US grown or Japanese, but it’s better than the Japanese Koshihikari I’ve cooked at home. Truffle shaved like sea weed, along with a luxurious braised abalone sauce gave way to a immensely powerful flavour profile that attacked the palatte. Pure umami.

Being Chinese – and given that we were in Singapore – I was disappointed we were not served whole abalone. Countable diced abalone is bad form, considering the setting. Come now, how difficult is it to source Taiwanese baby abalones? And even that’s low end. My dad recounted his experience of abalone at Ah Yat seafood , and did not have much nice words to say about this dish. If you’re going to put a banquet ingredient on the menu, at least do it with style. If this was say, a £10 dish at a more egalitarian setting (think Brawn), then I would say fucking wow. But at this level, I’m afraid it’s a monumental fail.

Sixth, WAGYU. Olive tapenade, Yukon gold potato.

Our waiter insisted the wagyu striploin was from Japan (whether it was Kobe or not, I could not confirm) and not Oz, with marbling score of 9 to 9.5. We were given Laguiole knives with metal hilts, which I was certain we didn’t need if indeed it was Japanese Wagyu.

Seared to just about medium. First impressions were that the meat was very oily. Was it that all the gorgeous fat had melted away? What remained, was disappointingly chewy, and strangely, it was devoid of flavour and distinctly lacked beefiness. The potato puree on the side was disgusting. It was too creamy, too buttery, too salty and too oily. Why the need for such an overpowering potato mash? Shouldn’t the natural quality of the beef be allowed to shine rather than be drowned out?

It looked as if the meat and potatoes sat on a strange clear, blubber-like sauce, like congealed oil, leaving me feeling queasy at the end of the meal. As it was the last of the cooked dishes, what appeared to be the most premium ingredient on the menu, also appeared to be the weakest. That potato tasted as bad as it looked. I couldn’t believe it was Wagyu, let alone being Japanese. Simply put, one of the worst beef dishes I have ever eaten.

Seventh, IGGY’S POP. Passion fruit, mandarin vodka, vincotto, gorgonzola.

This was nothing more than a two-staged palate cleanser, firstly with a white chocolate truffle with a liquid vodka centre, and then a kind of macaroon with an iced passionfruit filling. Yawn.

Eighth, WINTER. Chestnut, coconut, coffee, lemon.

To finish, chestnut ice cream that was alright, and shaved coconut, perhaps like the soil and sand stuff they do in molecular gastronolabs, with but a slight coffee infusion to wake us from the snore-fest of a meal.

We paid something ridiculous like $880 (£440) for three and we didn’t even order any wine.

Sobering. One of the poorest pricy meals I’ve ever eaten. I received a major bollocking from my parents for recommending Asia’s best restaurant to them, that’s how poor the meal was.

It was so pretentious, it intimidates with the mob of waiters and constant cutlery swapping and grown-up ambiance that as a diner, you are bullied into thinking that this setting means that any food that comes out from the shrine that is called the kitchen has to be food fit for kings. A woeful reminder of a time of out of control excess, when misplaced values didn’t matter. How this was a meal at the world’s 28th best restaurant is beyond me. Self-indulgence had got the better of the chefs, seemingly living in their own bubble, complacent with reputation, more in love with how their food looked than how it was cooked. I think somewhere along the way, someone had forgotten about creating recipes that married wild and fantastic flavours to create new, previously unheralded flavours. Where were the signature dishes? What were the combo revelations that has had industry insiders cooing in unison? What was I suppose to take away from this ‘gastronomic’ meal? It was neither the tediously illuminating dissecting light that molecular gastronomy shines upon the subject, forcing an education upon the palate; nor was it boundary pushing, rule bending, inventive marriage of world cuisines, which should have been, of the unpigeon-holeable fusion cuisine that Iggy’s strived to create. It was neither here nor there. I think what was most disappointing was that it seemed as though the kitchen had talent, but that this talent appeared to be mis-directed.

Singapore is a country full of highly competitive hawker centres that have to woo customers the old fashioned way: great food and value for money. Specialty one-plate dishes all have their own family recipes and unique twists, like the various versions of chicken rice for example, so I’d imagine that Iggy’s would at least show some of this national pride in cooking. So I was scratching my head as to what was so great about Iggy’s. What was I paying for? A lesson in food styling perhaps?

Maybe at one point in its lifetime, Iggy’s was deserved of its reputation, but if this meal was anything to go by, it was certainly the epilogue to the magnum opus. No apparent pursuit of breaking new ground, just a set of safe, labored and downright boring dishes, which were very much less that the superb provenance of ingredients it was built around. I fell asleep eating the food. The food was so clinical, that it lacked any genuine heart and soul. Gimmick ridden, flashy and too little fire. My apologies if you’re a fan but I just didn’t like it.

The next day, my parents and I cancelled our booking at FiftyThree, we didn’t want to take the risk of being wallet-raped again, and besides, French food probably tastes better in France anyway. We decided to eat the rest of our meals from food courts while shopping in Orchard Road. Much more of a gastronomic discovery, with better ambiance, fuller stomachs and at a fraction of the asking price at Iggy’s.

The Gist of It

Iggy’s
Fusion, SGD$250 + 10% service + 7% GST
The Hilton Hotel
581 Orchard Road
Singapore 238883
Flight: SIA SQ322

Eggy: GT ; Sparkling or Still ; No Expert

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Rarely do you come across new openings with a breezier philosophy than Kopapa. The website describes a modest and friendly outlook, also evident from the moment I picked up the phone to book a table, to the eventual visit. Pitched as a cafe & restaurant, this is Peter Gordon’s latest project in London; The New Zealander chef, widely respected as the one true genius of fusion cuisine. His double storied Providores & Tapa Room – high end restaurant upstairs, all day diner/cafe downstairs, based in Marylebone High Street – is a stunner. Especially for breakfast. While I’m not the biggest fan of his adaptation of Changa’s Turkish eggs recipe (poached, yoghurt and hot chilli butter over it), the rest of the breakfast menu – in my opinion – is award winning stuff, for its sheer variety and edibility. So now that he has expanded his operations to an even more central location, it was only natural for critics and blogs to follow his development closely.

When I saw a copy of the menu, I was only too happy to see that he had brought over the grazing mentality with him to his new all day diner. The menu is filled with reasonably priced sharing plates, platters, hot soup and larger fish & meat dishes, if one should be so obliged. If you’ve never seen a Peter Gordon menu, be prepared to be overwhelmed with the sheer diversity of his recipes. For example : Three styles of New Zealand Kaipara Harbour oysters; miso gazpacho, wasabi cucumber & sake broth; Smoked magret duck breast, goats curd, beetroot confit & pickled pineapple ; Red lentil, beetroot & pomegranate molasses soup with crème frâiche & Manouri cheese wonton. It’s as though he took all his recipe books, curated from the years of travelling around Asia, tore out pages randomly, reshuffled and recompiled into the master Kopapa book of recipe book. A melange of a food menu.

Anyway, we decided to mix and match with this meal, starting with a flurry of tapas as follows…

Grilled Pita with babaganoush & olives, £3.00.

The bread was excellent. Served piping hot, it tasted of hot cast iron, with a punchy, citrusy hummus.

Coconut sticky pork ribs, £6.20.

These were deceptively similar to Chinese BBQ pork ribs. Honey-sweet sauce, runny, juicy and messy. Yeah it was alright.

Parmesan & bone marrow sauce on toast with chrain, £5.20.

This dish reminded me of parmesan and mushroom toast at The Tapa Room, part of his breakfast menu over there. But this was better. The parmesan and bone marrow blended really well together in this sort of rough chopped paste, like it had been massaged under pestel & mortar. It took a sharp and smokey flavour. Salty too, and appetising. Horseradish and chopped beetroot took some of the edge off. I really liked this. I could easily see myself stumbling into Kopapa at 3pm just to have this with a cup of coffee. Digging through the memory banks, I am certain that this errant mention of horseradish was also part of the smell. Hot, cheesy, horseradishy smell. Mmm. Yes I could easily have one of these right now.

A poached egg on Stornoway black pudding with salsa verde, £5.60.

Unfortunately, this paled in comparison to the masterful ‘bloodcake with duck egg’ at St John Bread & Wine. Where the latter is this densely, packed, mushy, full flavoured sexual onslaught on your palatte; the Kopapa version is dry, shy, nerdy and largely uninteresting, in comparison. Poking into the poached egg did not reveal a runny smothery centre. It was half cooked. So on balance it was distinctly average.

Up to this point, we were really enjoying the meal. Tapas were largely and expectedly good. And so we were looking forward to the main part of the meal with great expectations.

The mains.

Unfortunately, we were quite bitterly disappointed. It was as if someone had switched off the lights in the kitchen whilst the chef prepped the mains. Both dishes sounded great on paper, but it was short on delivery. Fusion gone awry we thought.

Kopapa’s hot-smoked salmon on quinoa, avocado & crispy buckwheat salad with passionfruit dressing, £8.30.

We expected hot-smoked salmon to be some kind of wackily delicious to cook salmon. Little did we know that hot-smoked salmon tasted just like smoked salmon, except with the texture of cooked fish. It was abit like chewing on plastic, and a little like having canned salmon with quinoa. I don’t know. Call me a cynic, and I hope this doesn’t come across as being rude; but I found very little differences between this and say canned salmon on quinoa with fresh scoops of avocado, which anyone could easily whip up in their free time. I know, it’s not quite the same, but I failed to see the validity of this recipe.

Pan-fried glazed smoked Dutch eel on ratte potatoes & mizuna with a soft-boiled egg & miso mustard dressing, £8.00.

Same difference with the smoked eel really. I thought the smoked eel just clashed with the potatoes, the egg and miso dressing was just plain weird. On a bed of mizuna – aka like rocket leaves – it gave way to this papery mouth feel. It was grotesque.

I think the experience with the innovation of fusion food, was a case of Russian roulette, when I did get lucky, it was great. £40.50 for two, was exceptional value for money.

I’m not going to moan about the decor, it was effective, in that it was adequate for an all day cafe. While it didn’t quite have the slickness of say Dishoom (another all day diner in Covent Garden) nearby, it didn’t bother us. I think the point of Kopapa is that it does not intimidate, it’s a place where you can really just be yourself.

I am thorougly convinced Kopapa is a great cafe, but I think it fails on many counts as a restaurant. I thought the mains were lazy, almost as if they were aspiring toward a healthy fast food franchise, as opposed to something with a more unique outlook, in terms of USP. Please don’t take this as a terribly negative review. I think if you do end up in Kopapa, you’ll largely enjoy it. However, I feel that you’ll have to be quite careful with picking dishes, whilst they are elaborate in description, the end result might not match expectations. How to sift out the bummers from the winners you might ask? Dunno. Go for the elegant ones? Read other reviews I suppose. In the end, I don’t think this is the alternative Providores in the city. It does not carry the same glamour, but perhaps that was never the point. This is the pragmatic, do-it-all, cousin in the heart of London, and you’re likely to like recharging the batteries in here.

The Gist of It

Kopapa
NZ Fusion, £25pp
32-34 Monmouth Street
Seven Dials WC2H 9HA
tel +44 (0) 20 7240 6076
Tube: Covent Garden

Fused with the internet: London Stuff ; The Catty Life ; Greedy Diva ; Life outside the viewfinder ; AAiL ; Gourmet Chick ; C&B ; The Skinny Bib ; Guy.

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It was probably the most intriguing restaurant opening last year. It generated a polarising reception, ranging from those who hailed Nuno Mendes’ travelling fusion food as groundbreaking to others who thought it a purely self indulgent public experiment, injected with an unhealthy dose of pretense. When I visited last summer, I thought the food was innovative, there were dishes which were memorable for ingenuity and flaccidity, in equal measure. There is no question of Nuno’s talents, his recipes show great potential; at the time, I felt all that was needed was maturation time. A revisit was always on the cards – it was one of my favourite meals in 2010 – and I was keen to see if Viajante had morphed into a well oiled machine, going into the New Year. Especially with the impending release of the revision to the Michelin Guide due next week.

I opted for a late lunch last Sunday. Nuno was not leading the service on the day of rest. In the former Bethnal Green town hall, it exudes a stoic, artist’s loft, air of zen kind of ambiance. The calming surrounding being a large aspect of Viajante’s appeal. It is like theatre in the way the entire mechanics of the kitchen being fully visible to diners. A little surprising how silent the kitchen is… and ironic how little ‘cooking’ seems to be taking place. You would easily mistake the chefs to be an army of uniformed and glorified food stylists.

I’m suppose to be saving up for an impending holiday in a couple of weeks to try some nice restaurants in Singapore, so we opted for the 3 course menu (£28) over the six (£60). I drank a glass of Aligote, a lesser used white grape varietal from Burgundy, £8. While the structure of the menus remain as ‘blind tasters’, they have tweaked its presentation (from my first meal) , with take home menus that describe the dishes.

I’ll keep the commentary to a minimum from this point forward, since I’ve done a review at length before.

A flurry of amuse bouches to start, the now signature ‘thai explosion’, a crispy mini curry chicken sandwich, gets the juices flowing.

Bread and Butter.

They had added a new black pudding flavoured brown butter in added to the chicken skin, iberico ham shavings and purple potato powder. Both are great, I prefer the purple one, it’s salty, as opposed to the black pudding one, which tasted sweeter. Both have an amazingly fluffy texture, close to whipped cream.

Confit Salmon, Miso paste, dashi.

Some dishes are brought to tables personally by the presiding chefs, and at every point in the meal, there is a sense of wonder as you lean in to listen to the exposition, since the menu is a surprise. They usually end their description of the dish by ladling the necessary juices on, making for quite a dramatic introduction.

The dish wouldn’t be out of place in a Japanese restaurant. Confit salmon – perhaps sous-vide – was delicately cooked, the texture of which very raw, not unlike sashimi, or even a cut of tzar-cut fillet. The dashi soup was brimming with bright savoury flavours, piercing and mellow at the same time. It’s a very elegant dish, and very accomplished. Being a fan of raw food in general, I liked this.

Roast Duck, beetroot and pistachio.

Art on a plate? Or just controlled chaos?

The flavour combinations .. like a forest in your mouth .. and the interacting textures of the various vegetables were in its own class. The effervescent beetroot sauce was superb and I thought it matched the duck very well. Duck was cooked on point, pink, with well sealed juices, but perhaps it needed abit of pounding. It was tough and chewy. Aside from that, I liked it.

Sea buckthorn and burnt meringue.

The fruit of sea buckthorn look like satsumas, these particular ones were sourced from France, we were told. Made into a slushy sorbet, it tasted like a shrubby and herby orange, something which cleansed the palate well. The oddly shaped meringue was confusing, and I’m not entirely certain what the chef is trying to say with the styling. Whatever it was, I think it demonstrated that the line between class and rubbish, is thin. Great meringue though. Sticky and syrupy and sugary. This dish really reminded me of those orange-vanilla ice cream popsicles from my childhood. Not sure what you call those things, but I remember sucking on them on hot days. Mmm.

Frozen maple pannacotta and shiso granite with green apple.

I loved the dessert course. The iced pannacotta tasted…as you’d expect frozen pannacotta to taste. The mint-like shiso ice shavings was another nod to Japanese cuisine. Cubes of green apple took away the edge off the pannacotta, bridging the divergent flavours of the shiso and the milk-based ice cream rather nicely.

Petit fours, coffee.

We threw them a curve ball by requesting for soya milk in our flat whites, and they handled that without a hitch. Hats off to the tremendously professional service, from the moment they took my reservation on the phone – you can hear him smiling on the other end – to the non-intrusive and relaxed attitude throughout service.

Petit fours of creme catalan with the fragrance of shaved nutmeg (I think), a white chocolate truffle, with shavings of black truffle and some sort of marshmallow.

We paid £131.63 for 3 , or £44 each. It a tremendously well valued lunch, considering the array of freebies which supplement the 3 standard courses. Oh and water was on the house too, with a choice of still or sparkling. Brilliant no?

About the only thing we regretted was not taking our coffee in the sexy looking Viajante bar, across the hall from the restaurant.

A convincing show, even with this abbreviated menu, I think in the 9 months or so, Viajante has continued to polish its potential as one the exciting new restaurants in London. I think it ticks the right boxes, it is very different in execution; and conceptually I think it breaks new ground when compared to many of the serious restaurants in town. Which tend to be quite disciplined in following traditional European standards.

Anyway, Viajante is on the right track. It might win a star next week, or perhaps it won’t. The bib is ever unpredictable year on year. Whatever the case, I heartily recommend you try Viajante if you haven’t already.

The Gist of It

Viajante
Portuguese Fusion, £28 for 3, £60 for 6
Patriot Square E2 9NF
Tel: 020 7871 0461
Tube: Bethnal Green

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Roka is part of an ever expanding chain of zenith-class restaurants owned by German restaurateur, Rainer Becker. He also happens to own the Zuma line of luxury restaurants. Since he opened Zuma in 2002, and then Roka two years later, his highly acclaimed brand of refined Japanese cuisine has gone strength to strength, now Zuma and Rokas have expanded to Hong Kong, and in 2009, a new Roka in Canary Wharf, right in the heart of fatcatland. I was a little sceptical at first, especially since I had only heard nice things being said about Becker’s restaurants, I do love Japanese food (Sushi Hiro is still the best this side of West London, yo), it’s just that I had to experience it for myself, before I started swooning with the rest of town. And so I did.

I was told that making a reservation at Roka was not an easily accomplished feat – it is one of the few top-end restaurants in town that is constantly packed night in, night out. Sure enough, we arrived to a chatter filled restaurant for the first dinner service, company was in the form of the enigmatic tweatup crew – five of the strangest creatures known to mankind. We were at the Charlotte Street branch and there are reports that the Canary Wharf branch is equal in output to it’s original, so dining at either one is just an arbitrary choice of location. Once inside, I noted how yellow everything was – the hardwood walls, a collab between Japanese interior designers Noriyoshi Muramatsu and Super Potato of Tokyo. Muramatsu himself is a Super Potato alumni and both parties have long track records in crafting high concept restaurant spaces, including an involvement in Blumenthal’s Little Chef project. The interiors of the glass encrusted outfit is lit by a melee of low-level spotlights which bounce golden light against the very same wooden walls. I’m sure some panels are backlit as well, giving rise to this feeling that I was dining in a gold mine, or perhaps a copper mine. The atmosphere is quite abit stripped of elegance, more polished chaos but with a clientele that is no less dressy. People speak about the dining room’s wow factor, but honestly, I’ve been in cosier settings, Roka no more comfortable than Wagamama. Much of the intimidation from an open plan space is largely dispelled with the centre piece (and prime gimmick) of Roka : the Robata. The robata is nothing more than a glorified barbie. The ‘open flame’ allows the chefs to deliver superbly grilled meats with a touch of charcoal.

Speaking of which, the menu is largely organised by the style of cooking (though does not follow strictly) : Sushi & Sashimi harbours it’s selection of traditional raw fish fare; Snacks, soups & salads, for all the side dishes; Roka dishes are a selection of their signature stuff and finally the Robata are where you will find the charcoaled infused grilled food. Personally, I think the menu is best experienced with a semi-large table (of five or six) and then by simply ordering a selection from the different sections of the menu, to share. A restaurant such as this will be at it’s best when the customer is able to spread himself across the range of dishes, rather than to limit oneself to the tried and test three course meal – yep, ground breaking stuff. Basically, that was the crux of the tweatup dinner.

Starters: Butterfish Carpaccio

I’ve had whole grilled butterfish fillets before, but this was the first time I tried it in a more raw format. As the name implies, butterfish is meant to be buttery soft, though I found it to be more chewy soft than otherwise – fatty but not slithery. It is a white fish, did not impart any obvious fishiness and it was different to the melting intensity of otoro, which I would describe as buttery. The sauce laden on top was of a citrus variety, the dish is finished to a very high degree and tastes razor fresh. I’ve decided I’m not the biggest butterfish fan, I find it has flat flavour, and its texture is a little too papery. This rendition almost changed my mind, almost.

Next up, we give the sushi a go. Tuna with pickled daikon and avocado maki with a spicy breadcrumb crust.

The sushi is neat and tidy, top marks for presentation, and clinically sliced. Let’s start with the tuna. The roll is wrapped in what appears to be crispy battered seaweed, and well stuffed with tuna, it tasted of extreme refined elegance. The rice an epitome of balanced umami; crunchy and warm, not too sweet, not too sour, not too mushy and not too glutinous, it was at the crossroads of harmony. Similarly, the avocado maki crusted with a spicy breadcrumb, oozed the same style of slick clinicality. I came to Roka expecting the sushi to be a high standard, as with most of the capital’s steeply priced Japanese restaurants, and honestly from Nobu to Zuma, to even Sake no Hana (though standards have slipped), sushi is usually very accomplished. Roka is no different.

Moving on to the last of the raw stuff : Maguro to caviar no tartar, uzara no tamago zoe (or) Tuna tartar, sevruga caviar and quails’ egg yolk.

Finely chopped raw tuna, to the point where it is minced fish. I was a little surprised with the colour, instead of a deep ruby red, this was pinkish with speckles of white, leading to speculate that perhaps a chu-toro (half fat tuna belly) had been used. Whatever the case, I loved it. Served in its own shot glass on a bed of ice, a half cracked open quail egg shell joined the glass of tuna. Five wooden baby spoons accompanied the dish, presumably for each of the five creatures of the deep (me inclusive) to ferry a small sample of the prized tartar to our plates. A paltry portion of sevruga caviar, those black pearls, nearly countable completed the dish. So abit of everything mixed together, produced a very consistent flavour indeed. A cold, creamy, slimy melange of yolky fishiness filled the mouth, I was detecting fishy oiliness as well, which leads me to wonder if it was lashings of olive oil, or if this was indeed oil from the belly of a tuna. I loved this, I wish we could have had individual glasses.

We are now surfing in the Roka dishes section, just in case you were wondering. Next is a rice hotpot with mushrooms.

Always nice to see the waiting staff get in on a cameo. Here, the tiny hotpot sizzles and steams, as he gives the rice a theatrical stir before serving the mushy risotto-like rice. Yeah it was ok, rich in mushroom flavours, nothing to complain about as this was hearty and cooked well, but nothing particularly exciting either. Mushroom flavoured, creamed rice. Moving on.

Here’s the photogenic one of the bunch : Grilled scallops with ponzu.

I was expecting to be blown away by yet another exercise of refined elegance, but was a little disappointed with the tepid scallops. They weren’t quite a mouthful as I thought, nor did they have a superb undercooked melt in your mouth texture, nor did it gyrate with a heated, charcoaled centre. It was just fairly standard medium sized scallops, seared well enough, but it looked much better than it tasted. Still very good, just not excellent, like the rest of the meal.

We delve further into Roka’s Robata menu with a grilled asparagus and a baby back ribs glazed with their ‘master’ stock.

I was beginning to wonder two things : if their robata had been overworked with it’s popularity and needs maintenance, or that the cook on service, was a novice with the machine. As open-flame specialists, their openly flamed dishes lacked fire in taste. Charred, smoky flavours were on the subtle side, the grilled asparagus in particular was laughable. Served with pitchforks and laid out like vegetable scaffolding, pretty to look at, but that’s about it. Similarly the baby back ribs, while good, was probably no better than say Bodeans, the latter is no fine dining establishment, but the monster portions and slender price package might be the better call than the photogenic, but mostly bland Roka ribs. Style horribly glazed over substance in my opinion.

Finally, the last of the robatas : Smoked duck with candied mandarin, and spiced lamb cutlets.

Up to this point, Roka is about a 3.5 out of 5, if I rated restaurants that is. Good, some dishes verging on excellent, but overall falls short a little as I find the robata horribly gimmicky. But then these two dishes landed and it blew me away. Starting with smoked duck with an interesting sharp and sweet mandarin sauce. A fruity contrast with the salty soya sauce. The meat had a dense livery texture, I was also detecting hints of peanut, and this seemingly asian twist on the classic orange and duck combo was startlingly good. It’s the texture of the meat, chunky soft, intense. I can only think of one other place where I was positively blown away by grilled lamb chops and that’s at Tayyabs. Here, the cook made no errors in delivering the promise of the robata. The lamb cutlets were a godsend. It was juicy, mainting a warm and largely pink centre. The texture was dense, but tore away from the bone very easily. Oh, I felt like such an animal. The spicy hit was spot on, alternating with the smokiness to continually pound your tastebuds to umami heaven. And the heaty, smokey charred centre I was looking for – it was hidden away in these cutlets. This dish alone warrants at least a 4.5 out of 5… but that’s in a parallel universe where I give ratings to restaurants. We are still on Earth 616 last I check, no ratings, but I will say that when you eventually make your way out to Roka, do yourself a favour and order this.

We finished with a raft of desserts, all are good, as one would expect from these establishments, they are inventive, stylish, very sweet and provides a theatrical send off. Myself, I opted for tea flavoured creme brulee which for want of a better expression had smoked flavours mixed with a delicate custard which had a texture close to slow cooked egg. Masterful.

As you can appreciate, Roka comes with a steep price tag. To buy into the Becker’s brand of stripped down elegance in the heart of ‘media town’, you are looking at between £50 to £100 per person, depending on what you order and how much you are willing to share your food. Our meal, including a short carafe of sake came to around £250 for the table – or just about 50 quid each. We were sober enough to avoid any of the wagyu dishes. I was a little cheesed off with the service toward the end, when the waiter chose a grand hissy gesture of wiping our table down to signal that our time was up, when a gentle a verbal reminder would have been more appropriate. If I had not paid my bill yet, I would have most definitely requested my 12.5% reimbursed. It puts a large chip on the largely accomplished service. I am not going to let the lasting impression of highly snobified central London service go so easily – stuffy, regimental service should be abolished outright, we are living in 2010 afterall : Restaurateurs, make note. As we are also living in web 2.0, and possibly web 3.0 soon, I do wonder when people will understand that flash-heavy websites are slow, clunky and dizzy graphics, are just that dizzying. The Roka website is just inoperable and hugely outdated. Again, 2010, not 1999 – do away with the slow moving lava lamp inspired flash animations, you’ll get more covers that way. Examples you say? Take a look at Nuno Mendes’ recently reconstructed website for his supperclub ‘The Loft project‘. That’s refined elegance right there, powerful, bold and effective. Utterly modern no?

Yes, yes, I’m overly critical and overly wordy with Roka because I actually really love this place. I love the concept of it and I think the food is lip smackingly brilliant. Aside from a few duds on the menu, I think Roka is a prime example of an exceptional highly evolved, highly produced and eerily pretentious restaurant that so epitomises modern metropolitan classiness. It is a tad cheaper than the other stripped down elegant Japanese inspired brand with a gimmicky roasting machine – a wood-fire oven at Nobu Berkeley in place of a robata. If I had to choose, I would choose Roka over and over again. I highly recommend it if you have money to throw around.

Goodbye Nobu.

Other considered accounts of Roka : TimeOut London ; The Catty Life ; A girl has to eat ; Cheese and Biscuits ; Gourmet Chick

The Gist of It

Roka official site £50pp
37 Charlotte Street
W1T 1RR
Tel: 020 7580 6464
Tube : Goodge Street

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As you know, I am now half way round the other side of the world basking in the sun. It’s been eight years since I left sunny Brunei, and in that time, friends have moved on to the bigger and better, I somehow feel as if I had only just awoken from a long coma, as the world is not the same as I remembered it. I have been catching up with some old friends from high school and I remember the days when Terry was the bonafide babe magnet at St Johns – I mean, girls used professed their love for him in the playground and all, very public. Good times, that was a long time ago. Today, Terrance is the chef/owner of his cafe in our home town, Kuala Belait, aiming to bring a sense of style to the humble town – coffee, elegant puds and a cosy laid back setting. I have much respect for independent cafes and so I thought I’d ask for the opportunity to gain an insight into what it takes to run a cafe.

The first thing I noticed about Terry was his passion for cooking. He spends fourteen hours a day at his cafe and as the chef proprietor, he not only does all the cooking himself, but also manages the cafes finances as well as the logistics of produce. Save for a couple of waitresses, Tez Amore is pretty much a one man show.

“Gordon Ramsay’s food always looks so nice on TV, what does it tastes like?” His eyes trained on me but I decided to tell him that Ramsay’s cuisine wasn’t as respected as it once was, instead I directed the conversation toward a more contemporary figure of London gastronomy – Bjorn van der Horst. He loves food and I could tell as it beamed out from his decidedly upbeat character. I sat with him for a session on his only day off during the week – Wednesday – to chat about this behind the stove thing I wanted to do with him.

“So you must be busy these days” I said. “Well, I’ve become a blur at home, when you see me, I’ll have gone [to work at the cafe]“. His culinary awakening began while he was pursuing his tertiary education, initially his interests were business and law, but he was lured by the grandeur and spectacle of the illustrious career of a chef, in particular he was enamored with his house-mother’s brother who runs a kitchen in a Hilton in Adelaide. With a clear idea of where he’d like to steer his future, he applied to the Adelaide TAFE commercial cookery courses and then to the Regency cookery school specialising in pastry. The real world then beckoned, and Terry assisted various kitchens with assignments as a pastry guy as well as a baker. As with all independent setups, funding was always going to be a challenge, but with the little he had, he used it to put together an efficient space, simple yet cosy, in his words, almost like a home. In the background, he had a cookery channel on TV and in between our conversation, his attention would suddenly switch to the TV as he sees some new idea he could bring to his cafe. He tells me that his favourite is seafood, though his true passion is in the puddings. An admirer of regimental haute cuisine, refined elegance was something he aspired to in his work, “It has to be beautiful”. In a small town like Kuala Belait, starting up a revolution as it were isn’t exactly simple, the scale of economies are also several magnitudes smaller compared to say, London, afterall the population of KB is only about 40,000. The upshot of a quieter locale is that chef owners are closer, much closer to their customer base – something which is characteristic of eateries in Brunei – the personal touch.

Terry opens shop at 9am everyday, he dons his slick black and red chef gear, and armed with a smile says to me that he was going start his Thursday prepping a few of his favourite desserts for me to photograph.

Here he is holding a huge tub of Monin chocolate syrup – the chocolate he uses in his puds and his hot chocolate, an ingredient in his dark chocolate orange creme brulee.

Here he’s browning the demerara sugar top crust, I come very close to the action, very close because Terry was a little camera shy, so instead of shooting him, I started with the details. As the sugar caramalises, the kitchen starts filling with the aromas of a warm pud….ohh, can’t wait to dig in.

His recipe is quite authentic and the subtle hues of orange flavour stays on the back of my tongue. The custard is cold , while it’s a little grainy, the hallmark eggy sweetness is present making it a pretty juicy spoonful. I prefer his original creme brulee recipe, though his brulees also come in green tea flavours – something which is popular in Asia, but hasn’t quite picked up in the UK as yet…soon I suppose.

Brunei is a really sunny country, like seriously sunny and so the light is perfect for illuminating portraits. No strobes involved, this is all natural light, 100% at-the-edge-of-the-equator sunshine – great for some on location glamour shots. I finally got Terry to pose for me, he was still a little nervy but I think this shot came out rather well. I think he looks abit like a Hong Kong film star, Nicholas Tse… what do you think?

Here’s another of his creations – this is his Oreo cheesecake. It’s one of his ‘remixed’ recipes, the usual biscuit base is broken down and then mixed in with the rest of the cake, served with a dollop of vannila ice cream. He asked me if I thought the decorative chocolate syrup was a little OTT, I said I thought it was pretty cool.

This one I really enjoyed. He was very excited when he told me about his ‘on the spot’ tiramisu, which I would describe as a sort of reverse Tiramisu. On the spot, since he makes it to order. Made in a short glass tumbler, I was surprised to find the thing was warm. The mascapone cheese made with a white chocolate sauce all of which sits on top is cold, the middle has the sponge biscuits absorbing much of the espresso, and the last third of the glass is warm coffee. I think this was his piece de resistance, as the contrast between the cold and the hot gave way to a rather interesting way of having tiramisu, albeit a kind of deconstructed version and in the place of heavy cream, was a light coffee dessert. It felt as if I was having an espresso, and a latte and a pudding all at the same time, quite an interesting experience.

One of the best things about growing up in a small town is that you have friends for life, there is a kind of innocent charm where the neighbours are all friendly. The cafe is quite obviously geared toward fostering this kind of atmosphere.

In a way, I really admired the rather humble setting, furnishings are done on a tight budget, but it lends itself to a personal charm and character – to me, I feel that this was the beauty of the independent sole proprietor. I should say, soul proprietor. There wasn’t anything pretentious about the decor, it was cosy and I could freely let my hair down.

Time to go behind the stove.

I would describe the kitchen as being very homey. It’s not very big and he’s still in the process of acquiring professional ovens, it’s clean and but large enough to have about three people squeeze past.

I told Terry and his staff to pretend I was invisible, blending into the background isn’t always very easy with a camera as large as my D700.

Terry works fast, spirited and he is a jovial chap. If you hadn’t noticed, he works in the kitchen alone and manages all the cooking. Obviously, his two waitresses will pitch in every now and again, but mainly the kitchen is really a one man show. I’ve photographed many kitchens in the last couple of years, and every successfully run kitchen has a sort of heartbeat which jives to the rhythm of the restaurant. The more customers, the lively and more spirited the kitchen becomes. It’s a kind of organised chaos you know, full of life – this is the reason I love doing these behind the stove write-ups, the life and soul of a kitchen is inimitable, and one of the few work places which makes one feel so alive and so human.

Terry is only just putting the finishing touches to his Parmesan Chicken and Chips – its another one of his inventions. Again, like his puddings, his chicken is also ‘on the spot’ and made to order. He starts with pounding his chicken to tenderize it, before laying on his secret seasoning and then pan frying it. He finishes off his parmersan chicken with a creamy garlic gravy.

It’s a seemingly efficient dish as the robust sauce was a punchy knock on my palette. I’m more of a french fries sort of guy, though I can deal with the crinkly too. Mainly though, I really appreciated the hearty rustic sizzle this dish exhibited – simple, tasty, unpretentious and refreshing. I said to Terry that he really should bring abit of Asia influence into the mix, I recounted the story of one of my long time local favourites in the nineties, and my mum and I used to order take out at this place alot – KB restaurant. The food was in a similar vein, a kind of Italian inspired cuisine, but instead of chips, they complimented their meats with butter steamed rice with a hint of garlic. Something which I hope will makes its way into Tez’s menu. Before I forget, he’s a health nut too and so his cafe serves these healthy fruit smoothie drinks. He made me a low fat apple yoghurt smoothie kind of drinks to go with the chicken – refreshing.

As I write this, we are closing in on the 1st day of Chinese New Year. Terry is opening his restaurant for dinner service since it coincides with Valentines Day. He briefly told me about his rosemary roast chicken and heart shaped butter breads which he is planning for, though he hadn’t revealed the specifics as yet. He does have a facebook page to keep his patrons updated with current progress.

As my 48 hours with Terry came to close, I noticed how happy he was to be in the kitchen, for me, it was fulfilling watching a young’un take up the challenge of trying to make it in the world of food. “There is a big difference between $3.80 and $3.50 for a tub of ice cream” he tells me. “That’s 30 cents per tub, or $3 for ten tubs, $30 dollars for a hundred, the different between breaking even and risk running a huge loss”. The restaurant business then is a precarious one to get into – which is why it’s a labour of love. As with most of my kitchen assignments, I came out feeling rewarded and I only have the utter most respect for independent kitchens, this is where the human story really stimulates me and something which I hope you find exciting and entertaining as well.

Finally, Terry’s nickname while he was in Adelaide was Tez. He had wanted his cafe to be named the ‘Chocolatier’ or ‘Amore Cafe’ instead the authorities decided to merge his names when he was registering his business. And so Tez Amore translates to Terry’s Love, or perhaps more accurately, Terry’s passion.

Hope you enjoyed this little photo essay folks, I’m still roaming the lands in South East Asia, I will continue to bring you back stories whenever I come across something interesting. I’ll drop in on you again to say a few words on Chinese New Year… and also for Valentines.

PS: You can see the entire set of photographs on my flickr account.

The Gist of It

Tez Amore Cafe Facebook fanpage BND15 pp
Lot 8501 Unit 20 Wisma Yakin
Kuala Belait, Brunei
Tel: +673 8738583
Email: tezamore@hotmail.com

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