First things first, check out the much advertised view from the Four Seasons Hotel restaurant (let’s face it, this is the view that has won it the coveted third star) :

Hong Kong has long been considered the gastronomic jewel of South East Asia. It is as much the home of the well-travelled Cantonese cuisine as it is from its birthplace in nearby Guangdong.

For the latter half of the 20th century, Hong Kong flourished become a powerful economic beacon – and one of the last bastions of British colonial power – in Asia. Perhaps the greatest gift the Brits gave to the lands which surround the fragrant harbour was free trade.

Eventually, Britain’s 99 year lease hold on HK expired in 1997, and as you know China couldn’t wait have custody of their beloved lost port returned to them. Today, Hong Kong still plays the major part of the ‘One Country, Two systems’ structure of governance, which in many respects is in place to preserve HK’s sustained prosperity.

I was about 13 when I was last in Hong Kong (my Cantonese never progressing past that time) but my food memories of the city of islands are as fresh steamed fish. Blue-boned ‘swimming’ garoupa, piping hot egg tarts, chewy-bouncy prawn cheung fun and the ‘dissolve-on-first-bite’ char siu buns. My uncle has been living in Hong Kong for at least 30 years, he had now silvered into a gentle old man. His children teach other children and discipline guilty men.

The standard of food in Hong Kong is very high, food is part of the pride of Chinese culture. Certainly when it comes to Cantonese cuisine, really, you’re not gonna find better Cantonese food in the world.

Ok now for my ill-informed bloggero insights. Here’s how I see it right – Cantonese food in HK is revered because of two very important cultural outlooks on eating:

1. HKers are obsessed with super fresh produce, especially seafood, hence the colloquial to insist on ‘swimming fish’ when ordering at a restaurant. Which is to say that the fish is alive and flopping and not frozen before cooking. This is why you see fish tanks greet diners at the entrance of Chinese restaurants. Plus its good Feng-Shui. So I think.

2. ‘Eat it while it’s hot’. Personally food that is served piping hot burns my cat tongue, but in HK cuisine, it leads on from the fresh produce. Cook it while it still flops, and eat it as soon as it slides off the sizzling wok. When food goes cold, it goes in the bin.

So.. for LKH to beat the standard HK cha chan teng to three stars, Chef Chan must have had to pull off some amazing feats.

Say what you like about hotels in London, but personally I think hotels in London are too old. South East Asia’s hotels are overly luxurious in comparison. These days they aren’t exactly cheap, but still they are more affordable, considering the scale of luxury. I stayed at The Langham in Tsim Sha Tsui (itself hosts T’ang Court, Michelin-starred Canton restaurant) and I was blown away by the luxe, and excellent housekeeping.

Anyway, so we take the lift up to 4th floor to LKH. The restaurant is massive. Low-lit, with low wavy brass ceilings, huge bouquets of flowers. To be honest, this is just another anonymous high budget, high brow, money-money ambiance. It’s old fashion and will probably look good in a movie, but really its devoid of any character whatsoever. This is where the guy who employs your dad’s boss’s boss would take his client to keep his employees employed.

Except for the view of the most famous fragrant harbour in Asia of course. At night with all the Kowloon lights glowing, and high speed vintage junks jetting about the water – I have to say, I was impressed.

The menu – oh man it’s long. Too long, you best read it yourself. It reads like any Chinese banquet menu with ‘big fish and big vegetables’ such as abalone, fish maw and birds nest. However, the old world premium ingredients which get the bib all excited, like foie gras and truffle are also present. To me, that kind of thing is a little unnecessary, from a cynical point of view, it’s just the chef fishing for brownie points. And wasabi. I know its permeated Chinese restaurants, but I still find it weird. Wasabi is Japanese, dare I say, it’s a contaminant.

The chef who has achieved the ‘historic’ 3 star win is Chef Chan Yan Tak.

Amuse bouche : Pickled beef shin with pickled lettuce and oyster sauce.

Served cold, it was perfectly sweet, salty and a little pickled. Sort of like pickled brawn. Amusing.

Stewed Frogs’ Legs and Chicken Casserole with Taro in Coconut Milk HKD200 (£18)

Huh? Coconut milk and Taro in Cantonese food? In a self-styled purveyor of the finest Cantonese food? In what world.

This is skidding into the Pan-Asian curb, maybe even a little Nyonya and I think it so dangerously easy it is for these kind of restaurants to fall into this trap. I mean, stars means continual innovation yes? Or at least a commitment to creativity and an effort to carve signature dishes.

Tradition aside, the first dish showed that this was a capable kitchen. The dish was well cooked, flavours were balanced and it was nice dish of food to eat. The coconut soup was a little like a mushroom soup,a salty coconut elixir. Nice. Umami, calming, hearty, soothing. The little bulbs of frog thigh muscle were incredibly delicious.

They must have selected the athletes amongst edible Chinese frogs. If you’ve never had frog, it tastes like chicken. Serious. We couldn’t tell the chicken from the frog legs apart from that the chicken were so perfected sliced, that these chefs could have careers filleting sashimi as sushi itamaes. I could find little fault with the dish, in fact I quite enjoyed it.

It was definitely seasoned perfectly, and the produce was certainly of a high standard. But was the recipe ground shatteringly memorable? I wouldn’t say that my local Thai restaurant’s green curry is better, but it’s not really that far off. For £18, completely overpriced and in its ***, fine dining hotel setting, and as one of Chef Chan’s specialities – it felt out of place. I can appreciate the creativity but I can’t shake the feeling like it was a borrowed recipe from another Asian cuisine. Having said that, let’s not take away from the fact that it was cooked well, and tasted nice.

Wok-Fried Prawns with Shrimp Roe, Ginger and Spring Onions. HKD360 (£32)

This was definitely wowzers for me. The prawns were really muscular and bouncy, superiorly fresh buggers. There was pleasant ‘wok-hei’ , a gentle caramalised crispness to the exterior, and that texture, it was so good it may as well have been black magic. I thought the roe covering the prawns (now fried and grainy like texture, akin to sand in cockles) made for an interesting texture. The smell of grilled roe. Mmmm. Yeah. Classic Hong Kong cooking here, and perhaps the best stir-fry prawns I’ve yet had.

Braised Australian Wagyu Beef Cheek in Gravy. HKD300 (£27)

Can you see the tendon bits? These melted in the mouth tremendously as beef cheeks should. The melty texture was another sign of a really an extremely able kitchen. The sauce was very sweet and fragrant. Like vanilla ice cream mixed with oyster sauce. But perhaps, a little too sweet, and it exacerbated the already mature flavours of cheek. So it was nice, but the more I ate it, the more I thought it was a little overwhelming. It’s a departure from the concept of ‘purity of original flavour’ as this was quite a heavy dish. Good but no dice.

Wok-Fried Iberico Pork Loin in X.O. Chili Sauce HKD220 (£20)

Our Maitre’d tells us that they usually use Japanese black pigs (Kagoshima’s which in turn are descended from Berkshires – an English rare breed) , but apparently they are a little hard to come by this time of year. So we had to make do with Ibericos.

Pork were expertly filleted, every slice was pillowy tender. A little chilli, a little peppery, a little bit of wok-hei. Yeah this is classic wok-fried pork, dare I say, it’s more Hakka than Cantonese, more Taichung than Hong Kong. It was good but no more.

Wok-fried Kai Lan with garlic HKD120 (£11)

Some vegetables to ease digestion. It was soggy and terrible. It was as if the kitchen thought it was beneath them to stir-fry some vegetables, as opposed to cooking more premium ingredients. Considering having a plate of vegetables are the very heart of any Chinese meal, this was really disappointing.

Lung King Heen Lobster Fried Rice with Seafood HKD260 (£24)

I was looking forward to this, but it was awful. Given there was lobster, the flavour was surprisingly flat, save for the sharp after taste of shellfish. The rice may have been too fresh, that is to say, a little too sticky. Good fried rice is all about the individual grains. You can only achieve that kind of consistency with overnight rice that’s been ‘aging’ in the fridge. In terms of presentation, I was expecting more gold than green and dull yellow. My missus had it and looked up, my dad had it and he put his chopsticks down. We all thought it was a bit of a joke, and an expensive one at £24.

Look, I’m old fashioned and a little romantic. A good Chinese cook is defined by how well he manages the fundamentals. Fried rice is a fundamental. Fried Ho Fun is a fundamental. Stir-fried fish fillet is a fundamental. Char siu rice is fundamental. Stars apart, what separates the true greats from the merely good ones are guys who have the innane knack in measuring the exact amount of sweet versus the salty to achieve a rare clarity of flavour. This holy grail of balance is the essence of Cantonese cooking, if not the crux of cooking in general. This fried rice wasn’t it.

Double-Boiled Egg White Milk Custard with Bird’s Nest HKD130 (£12)

That virgin-like unbroken milk protein texture, somewhere wobbly between tofu and pannacotta was superb. Two huge spoonfuls of birds nest was also a rush of blood. What I didn’t like was how flavourless it was. It was served piping hot when I thought it really needed to be rested before service. Because of the blandness, I kept imagining phantom ginger flavours, or maybe there were faint ginger flavours. I don’t know I couldn’t tell. As far as I was concerned, this was wet tofu with sparrow phlegm. I didn’t like that. It needed at least two rock sugars dissolved into it. It needed to be soaking in a rock sugar broth. God, it was so frustrating to end on such imbalance. £12? Alright, for the amount of bird’s nest in the dessert, the pricing was justifiable.

Petit Fours : Tonic medlar and petal cake.

The medlar jelly cakes were a pleasant finish. It’s also a signature of Tim Ho Wan – the 1 starred dim sum place in Mong Kok, which coincidentally is started up by an ex-LKH dim sum chef. (I’ll write about that following this post)

I made the old man (thanks dad) pay HKD2159.30 (£197) for the meal for three. Two bottles of Perrier and a tea. No wine. That works out to roughly £70 per person. Considering we didn’t have live fish, lobster, abalone or sharks’ fin (hush hush, no I don’t eat that stuff) – it’s very dear.

It didn’t exceed expectations, but it didn’t disappoint either. The cooking was definitely on point, precise even and food was mostly delicious. But it was no better than most Chinese restaurants in Hong Kong. Three stars? An exceptional detour into the very pinnacle of Chinese cooking? That it is not.

It is the world’s first three starred Chinese restaurant, but it is also the world’s emptiest three starred restaurant on a saturday night. Looking around us, I counted maybe ten tables at 1st sitting. The restaurant may as well be empty for 2nd sitting. So much so, chefs were seen wandering around the dining room, perhaps knocking off home for an early night. Considering the strong eating-out culture in Hong Kong, I think an empty dining room is a sign that the michelin love is not shared by the everyman in HK.

I was startled really, and a little saddened. After all, I am Chinese, and I would like to be proud of the ultimate representative of Chinese cuisine. It’s nice that the bib has enhanced Chinese cooking’s international credibility, but I doubt Lung King Heen is the right establishment to carry the torch.

Not to say that it’s terrible, it’s pretty good, just not that much better than most of the restaurants in Hong Kong. The night before, my uncle took me to some Chinese restaurant (whose name I forgot to take down) at Telford Plaza in Kowloon Bay, and it was absolutely rammed, with queues. Where was the bon vivant spirit? It was the quietest Chinese restaurant I’d ever been to, it was so boring I was falling asleep.

How about service I hear you ask ? Well, we were (gently) coerced into ordering bottled water, so we asked for a Perrier. At the end of the bottle, I specifically asked the waiter NOT bring us a second bottle. So we ate, and unsuspectingly, my half empty glass of water was mysteriously topped up a quater of an hour after I said no to the 2nd bottle. Stupidly, I assumed this was the restaurant offering it on the house. When we got the bill, they charged us for 2 bottles of Perrier, at HKD95 each. Of course, how idiotic of me to assume the good samaritan 3 starred restaurants are suppose to be. That’s nearly £9 per 500ml bottle. What a bloody rip-off. Plus service, it works out to £20 for two bottles of water. To me, that’s super fail, irrespective of stars. And here I thought restaurants had gotten over trying to con diners by sneaking in all the ++’s to inflate the bill. It’s a cheap shot if anything.

I did look at the wine list, in case you wondered. It was mostly French, a little Italian, a couple of Rieslings thrown in. For me, I didn’t fly 10,000 miles to swig wine which has travelled the same distance to get here. This could have been an opportunity to feature some Asian brew – how about some of that Chinese grape wine (Ningxia?) or some baijiu (Chinese white wine made from rice or sorghum, but perhaps not for the faint of heart). Maybe some Taiwanese Huatiaw wine? There is a long history of alcohol in Chinese culture going back millennia, and we drink to celebrate. It may not be as tightly classified as the cru system in France, and so procuring good examples may be a little harder than the obvious Châteauneuf-du-Pape, but I would have liked to have seen at least a small selection on the wine list. To have nought at the ultimate Chinese restaurant is a little disappointing.

Of course, it’s difficult not to get caught up in criticising the Michelin selection system. I could dig into the bib like this dude has done in his 2000+ word literal onslaught on how aghast his meal at the recently crowned two starred Hand & Flowers in Marlow was. He does have a point, Kerridge’s pub is lovely, but it’s exactly the kind of place which would invite negative attention because of the expectation that comes with two stars.

The issue here is expectation. If Lung King Heen didn’t carry stars and charged half the money for the food (with the view) – then yes, I’d say it’s pretty good food. Not quite the best Chinese food I’d ever eaten though, but as I said, it was precision work. Just good. 7/10 kind of thing.

To paraphrase my buddy Jackie, the bib anoints tourist attractions. That little red guide is a convenient guide book for people who are either retired, have build up their cake and spending the icing or have access to expense accounts. I definitely felt a little ripped off…for my dad.

Stars effectively grants a restaurant the license to charge high prices. Unless money is not a concern (let’s face it, people who don’t have money problems, don’t need to read food blogs, they’ll just go and try it) , the rest of us are still looking for some hint of value for money. One could argue it is just economics to price out the majority, and to do the business of those who are serious about food or those who can simply afford to do so.

Either way, perceived value is linked to expectation. Making things expensive doesn’t make it taste better, but it certainly increases the pomp factor and this only serves to increase diner scrutiny, and this mutual diner-restaurant pressure makes the meal unbearable torturous to sit through.

This is the intriguing aspect of michelin surfing, and how easily fine dining is becoming a parody of self-important arrogant idiots (such as myself) who think I’ve scaled some sort of mountain simply by paying for the privilege to eat in a place which is highly recommended in a guide book. The joke is ultimately on me (or my dad in this case, as he paid for it.)

Perhaps it is a sign of changing attitudes what with the fall of Wall Street worship. Maybe I’ve lost touch with the romance of eating-out but there seems to be little redeeming about discovering high end dining. Especially in a city like Hong Kong, where the richest eating experiences can be found on the streets. Like a take-away egg tart vendor that’s been doing it for two generations, and still charging 1980 prices for their egg tarts (that’s 20p (HKD2.5) each) or having fried ho fun with swiss sauce at Tsui Wah.

In a way this restaurant is unnatural in its local habitat. This tourist attraction is as alien as I am foreign to this country. It seems like it is designed for foreigners like me to come and gawk at the emperors new clothes, in doing so it has stripped it the local charm that makes Cantonese cuisine so endearing.

Lung King Heen has the view of a dragon yes, but the dragon has his eyes closed. On the surface, this is a luxury restaurant, it’s just a shame the food is so devoid of the rich culture it is suppose to represent.

But the 3 stars still intrigues you doesn’t it? You are still curious because as much as you think you lament the red guide, you still respect the macaroons. You respect what it means for the chef to be blessed with those things. To have three of them, you want to collect the experience of having been there. Look at me, 3000 words in and I still refuse to stop the verbal diarrhoea.

Unfortunately for me, Lung King Heen falls in the stereotypical tragedy of one-shot special occasion dining. I’m glad I’ve been there and done it, but never again. I’d rather stand in the rain and queue for a piping hot egg tart than come here. I wonder if this is the kind of success the chef wants to be known for?

So my apologies oh great Chef Chan, I think you and your team can definitely cook, but I think the holistic experience of Lung King Heen is a burden of its own burgeoning design and a victim of its own success.

To my beloved reader thinking about what to eat during your next HK visit: I would recommend that you go out there and discover Kowloon by visiting all the cha chan tengs you come across and not waste two hours being isolated in the ivory tower eating abalone snarling at HK harbour. But you already know that.

The Gist of It

Lung King Heen
Cantonese, £80pp
Four Seasons Hotel,
8 Finance Street, Hong Kong.
Tel : (852) 3196-8880

Did you enjoy reading this? You can subscribe to the RSS feed.

Note: Before we begin, you have a choice. Either continue reading in the traditional blog format OR choose to view a full width slideshow (49 images). Or both. Enjoy either way.

It doesn’t look like there is much in Bray. A short taxi ride from Maidenhead station and before that, the Fat Duck express from Paddington. The roads barely wide enough to fit two lanes. As we reached the village of Bray, we were welcomed with a view of the Hind’s Head – the pub that shares talent and resources with the kitchen of the Fat Duck, situated just next door. Heston Blumenthal, surely needs no introduction. A self-taught gastronomist. Winner of three michelin stars. Second best restaurant in the world. Co-ambassador for Waitrose…. with Delia. The only pigeonhole his cuisine seems to fit into is that of perfection. We took a stroll around the neighborhood before lunch. It was uneventful. A village of cottages, at least it was peaceful basking in the sunshine. We did not sit outside for long, even though we arrived half an hour early. Once Charmaine recharged her solar batteries, we decided to check into the Fat Duck.

Time to be dazzled.

Once through the front door, we were immediately greeted by Daniel, the restaurant manager. Prior to entering, Euwen and Charmaine were joking that we might bump into Jack Bauer, we didn’t, although Daniel does share a striking resemblance with the TV star.

I hadn’t seen any photographs which showed the restaurant’s interior design. Not knowing what to expect, I was pleasantly surprised with the politely cramped space. It is a tiny restaurant, very low ceilings, well maintained, beautiful wood beams and pristine white walls. For colour, panels of abstract canvases breathe life to the room. As this is a three michelin starred restaurant, tables and its caretakers are draped in perfectly pressed sheets, no expense wasted in the glassware and cutlery department.

As we became acquainted with the quaint ambiance, Daniel landed two handsome leather bound documents in front of me. The first is a little redundant of course, which described the one hundred and fifty pound taster menu – for the record no a la carte at the Fat Duck – as well as the massive tome that is the wine list. Just to digress a little, I love good stationery, my collection boasts a Graf von Faber-Castell classic ballpoint for practicality, the shaft crafted from Pernambuco wood and a Yehudi Menuhin Mont Blanc. I have also been eyeing a bespoke photography porfolio from Plastic Sandwich, whom in my opinion are the finest leather binders in London. I wish I could have taken away both leather books with me as souvenirs – such is the finesse of a Three michelin starred restaurant, every inch of detail is spellbindingly perfect.

Unfortunately, most of the first hour in the Fat Duck was spent studying the intricate twill patterns of the table cloth, I felt we were a little neglected, with nothing but marinated olives to keep my gastric juices flowing. I charged myself with selecting wine for the table. On the whole, I was surprised to see so many double digit prices on the wine list. Let’s see now, in the £35 – £50 range, I spotted Chilean Rieslings, Italian Barolos and Alsatian Gewurztraminers. My initial choice was an Austrian white – 2006 Gruner Veltliner, Alte Reben Oberfeld, Petra Unger for £46. It was sold out, popular choice then. So instead we settled for 2008 Esporão from Alentijo, Portugal, £48. White, a dense vanilla custard and heavily viscous. Going down it was heavily oaky and it sizzled. About an hour in the air, much of the acidity mellowed into a sharp, citrus sweetness. For me personally, I opted for a glass of Burgundy, 2004, Echezeaux Grand Cru, Lucien Le Moine, £52. I figured as it was The Fat Duck, I may as well splurge on my favourite grapes. I asked for my red to accompany the foie gras course, but I present my notes here in any case: Mineral, I detected mud and peat on the nose – something which I associate with good old Burgundies. Charmaine was getting cherries. Ah and of course, it exhibited the loveliest qualities of burgundies – a finish as fine as silk, very comforting. Medium bodied.

Lime Grove. Nitro Poached Green Tea and Lime Mousse.

To wipe our palate clean and clear of all nasties we brought with us – a demonstration. Lime flavoured mousse, blasted in liquid nitrogen, which I believe was ‘boiling off’ at -196 °C.

The Heston theatre has begun in earnest! First a squirt onto the spoon. Then as he poaches the mousse, an exposition of what he was attempting. Most of which I ignored, being that I was engrossed with the boiling nitrogen fumes, which technically speaking, is just very cold air.

Finally, green tea powder to finish, voila – recreating a Lime Grove, for the senses. As we cleansed our palate with the frozen whiff of lime, he squeezed off lime perfume into our atmosphere – sniff. Refreshing. It felt a little bit like shopping in Selfridges – nibbling on free chocolate samples, and having sales assistants squirt perfume at you. Yeah, fun, what’s next. Solid food come on.

From this point on, the pacing really picks up. I think it is about a 5 to 7 minute wait in between courses.

Red Cabbage Gazpacho. Pommery Grain Mustard Ice Cream.

More nitro blasted cold stuff, the effect on my tongue is more fleeting than the constant tingling of ice. The razor cold soup cuts like a knife through my palate, very refreshing. Also micro cubes of what I believe were cucumber and onion. So I am led to believe this is a sort of deconstructed ‘cook in your mouth’ gazpacho. Stylized yes, but also delish. It is a micro portion however. Five spoonfuls at most.

Jelly of Quail, Crayfish Cream. Chicken Liver Parfait, Oak Moss and Truffle Toast (Homage to Alain Chapel)

Yes, it could easily have been cinema. The film in this case, is an edible strip, not dissimilar to listerine strips. Breath fresheners are replaced with oak flavour film, as the waiter explains, is suppose to prepare us for the forest of flavours to come..

… An oak moss is placed in front of us, the reason (if I recall correctly) is to match the smell of truffle, which is usually found at the base of oak trees. Magically, the waiter pours out a clear liquid from a tea pot and it covers our table in a bed of smoke – with fragrances of forest oak.

Now that the scene is set, and our senses are completely engaged, we are allowed to start munching. To start, the tiniest truffle toast. I breathe in as much of the oak aromas as I possibly can as I gobble up the toast. It has wonderful truffle flavours, which I gather has much to do with the smell from the smoke tickling my olfactory receptors. I am uncertain as to which part is a homage to Alain Chapel, perhaps there are elements of his genius in this dish. Chapel was of course, one of the finest French chefs of his time, three michelin stars no less. Amongst his most famous dishes was calves’ ears with fried parsley, truffle-stuffed chicken, in a pork bladder and chicken broth (Source: New York Times). He passed away in 1990.

Generally speaking, I felt that the cooking was on a higher plane altogether when compared to other Michelin starred restaurant, technically faultless. For instance, I get the impression that the kitchen pays particular attention to temperature – an important variable that affects flavour, something that is at times neglected. The crayfish cream was served cold and it had an ethereal consistency. The jelly of quail had an equally consistent texture, as if the chef had managed to untangle the concotion on a molecular level then found a way to align them into a regular repeating pattern. The result was a colorful attack on the senses – a livery jelly with an intense crayfish cream, dare I use the word : Umami.

Snail Porridge. Jabugo Ham, Shaved Fennel.

I’ve read so much about the leaf coloured porridge that I had huge expectations when this arrived. Again, miniscule portions, no more than five spoonfuls. Oh gosh. This dish blew my mind. There were about four whole snails, seemingly poached but which took on this beautiful texture – it melted with the slightest jaw motion, simply amazing, garnished with Jabugo ham shavings, every bite releasing intense seasoning. The porridge itself was masterful, it was the right temperature, warm enough to be wholesome, but not overly so that it was runny – it was the right temperature to maintain the perfect muddiness. I believe the fibrous porridge itself was made with oats. Finished with a zesty shaved fennel. Four courses in, the build up was slow but steely, at this point, I began to understand that this was a show, not just a meal. Theatre not just cinema. And you know what – it was living up to the hype – something which it must be commended for.

Roast Foie gras. Rhubarb, Braised Konbu and Crab Biscuit.

Aside from truffle, foie gras is the only other premium ingredient on the menu – no lobster tail, or beef from the middle-ages. This course felt a little necessary to tick the boxes. It was a well-cooked foie gras, a lively texture with a seeded crust that reminded me of baked cheese corn snacks – Twisties. I actually failed to lap up the pink rhubarb gel, at this level, I thought this dish was forgettable and disconnected from the rest of the choreography.

Mock Turtle Soup (c. 1850) “Mad Hatter Tea”

Oh now I see. The foie gras was intermission. As they cleared our table, a bookmark was placed in front of us, describing the myth of the Mad Hatter…

At first, the dish is served soupless, very beautifully arranged. The ‘mock turtle’ is based on the character of a calf headed turtle in Alice in Wonderland. Anyway, because proper turtle meat was prohibitively pricy back in the day, calves head and feet were used as replacements. I’ve had real turtle soup before, albeit a Chinese double boiled soup as opposed to a British version, complete with jelly-like soft shell and braised turtle flesh. So that is my benchmark. (note: I had three terrapins growing up whom I loved to bits, and believe me, eating turtle soup gave me the creeps when I was a kid. My mum made me do it.)

I find this next bit of show and tell mind numbingly childish. He opens a lacquered chest of gold watches, which are meant to resemble the Mad Hatter’s pocket watch. Roll eyes.

Dip it into the tea – just like the Hatter – and stir and watch the watch dissolve. Quickly now.

Total waste of time. This glorified piece of nonsense is nothing but egg tofu and spam. Its only saving grace are the glittering gold leaves, which I’d much rather have pocketed than eaten. Alright, perhaps I was a little harsh, the broth it swam in was good, the result of the melted watch and all… Full marks for style, zero for substance. I was expecting a replication of an ancient delicacy, in the same vein as the snail porridge, which was a piece of fine cooking; this dish was anything but. Sorry Heston, I was not impressed by this.

Sound of the Sea.

Otherwise known as the ‘Look! It’s an iPod in a shell’. I plugged in straight away, drowning out Euwen’s voice. The girls were amused – I felt like a comic book character for a moment, and I did wear a purple tie with a doggie pattern to this meal, Paul Smith mind you. Anyway, I approached this dish with much apprehension, any chef who makes me listen to the sound of seagulls and breaking waves, surely must be the Mad Hatter himself, in disguise.

Surprise, surprise. I liked this. I suppose this dish is meant to replicate sitting on the sand, and picking up bits of raw fish to eat… or something like that. I’m sure I didn’t do that in my childhood. For a moment, I did reminisce about growing up in Brunei, which is mostly a seaside country. Tapioca and eel were used to make the sand and I have to hand it to Heston – this stank of sandy beaches, it even tasted like salty sand in my mouth. Yummy. Ice lettuce, lily bulb and jelly bean – all of which are sea plants added to the facade. To finish, mackerel, yellowtail and halibut sitting on a bed of seaweed – I hazard a guess that these were either raw or gently smoked. Either way, it was a stupendous sashimi platter. The bubbles of the sea were salty like the real thing, a vegetable and seaweed stock. When I lived by the sea, we barbecued lamb chops and steaks, breathed in the sea salt in the wind, chased miniature crabs with translucent shells and picked sea shells, especially the oddest looking ones to keep as a collectible. The iPod track didn’t remind me of the sea, but the salty sands sure did. Anyway, this dish, I loved.

Salmon poached in Liquorice. Artichokes, Vanilla Mayonnaise, Golden Trout Roe and Manni Olive Oil.

We are into the second arc of the adventure – you still with me? Like a broken record – this dish was characteristically tiny as is the rest of the menu, but boy did it look resplendent. Let’s just take a moment to admire the food styling here. The drops of mayonnaise, with visible vanilla beans. The tightly packed roe sitting on the cute parcel of salmon. And last but not least, the trails of artichokes, as I twist and turn the plate, I noted all the perfectly placed elements, visually it is accomplished.

I dip my nose in first – a bouquet of orange, vanilla and perhaps pink grapefruit. Cutting into it, one can see the evenness in the way it has been poached – the pink was beyond wonderful. I never thought sweet liquorice would ever work with salmon – but this one did. The texture was amazing, it was in between that of being raw and being pink, I think it was close to the consistency of say, tuna belly. On the palate, it was different – sweetness from the liqourice meeting with creaminess of the fish, heightened by vanilla. It was like filling one’s mouth with clotted cream, I don’t know what it was, I am probably failing to describe the seemingly indescribable. As I allowed the fish to sit on my tongue, an exploding bouquet of flavours started to unravel. I really enjoyed this, this is the kind of stuff you pay good money to sample – highly strange, but also strangely satisfying.

Powdered Anjou Pigeon (c 1720) Blood Pudding and Confit of Umbles

I supposed the powdered bit of the bird was in fact the crackers. On the side was a thick blood pudding sauce, which looked abit like curdled blood – not that I know what that is or if that sentence even makes actual sense – and finally the ‘umble’ : my first experience of eating the heart of any animal. It had a hugely smokey taste, a robustly bloody texture of rare meat, and a little reminiscent of very good smoked duck. Interesting and I am glad the offal was not overpoweringly gamey, it was arresting, but restraint. I knew it, I was never a fan of overly gamey dishes which some chefs seem to use as an excuse for being daring.

Hot & Iced Tea

We began the final descent with this lovely palate cleanser, the genius is that there are two distinct liquids which did not mix, in the same glass. The hot layer floated atop an icy and more viscous liquid underneath. One could actually ‘hold’ the two layers in the mouth, yeah happy days, and a very nice trick indeed. Basically, this was hot lemon tea, with ice, but with a very good twist. I liked this.

Taffety Tart (c. 1660) Caramalised Apple, Fennel, Rose and Candied Lemon

A very accomplished piece of pudding. The complex layering of perfumed cream, pureed apple stood next to an cassis sorbet, with what appears to be fennel intricately rolled into the shape of roses. The palate was largely dominated by citrus fruits – an apple tart to be exact, and a deeply concentrated blackcurrant sorbet. Judging this purely as a pudding – it was the best apple tart I’d ever had. Judging this as a piece of art – the most beautiful piece of edible artwork I have ever photographed.

The “BFG” Black Forest Gateau.

When I purchased Heston’s first book – In Search of Perfection – three years ago, I read it cover to cover. I was enamored with his journey to strip joints in New York to find the perfect steak; his meticulous testing of potatoes to discover the best chip and he made me look at roast chicken in a totally different angle and to identify great poultry by the blue feet of a Besse. Most of all, I was gobsmacked with his meticulous instructions of building the individual layers of the perfect black forest gateau. Aerated chocolate, flourless chocolate sponge, chocolate ganache, kirsh cream, madeleine biscuit base and finally vanilla pods as edible cherry stalks.

I remember watching the TV show which the book supplemented, the way he constructed this BFG is simply awe-inspiring. Folks, this is from a few years back but it is definitely worth watching. This is what I came to the Fat Duck for.

Apologies for the uneven mess my fork has caused, but you get what Im trying to do with the cross section. You can almost make out most of the individual layers. Firstly the white kirsch cream, the flourless chocolate sponge, sour cheries & chocolate ganache, the aerated chocolate bubbles and finally the biscuit base. After shedding three tears, I proceeded to finish off what was the best black forest gateau I have ever had the pleasure of eating.

As I finished my meal, feelings of elation, confusion and contemplation crossed my mind, the burning question remained – was this meal worth the price of entry?

As we descended down to planet earth again, shaking loose the trance we were previously engaged in, I looked over my shoulder to glance at the rest of our 38 dining companions. Famously of course, it takes 47 chefs to cook for the 42 covers over a four and a half hour lunch service. The person behind me was a course a head of me, so he was well into his wine gums as I caught this moment from him. His smile pretty much echoed throughout the room, including on our table.

Whisk(e)y Wine Gums

For the sake of completeness I’ll just go through the last two items on the menu, starting with this whiskey map presented as a photo frame. Each whiskey gum is made with a whiskey that varied with strength. Progressively stronger as one went through the regions. I suppose this is cheaper than actually serving five shots of whiskey at the end of the meal? Personally, I would have preferred a traditional whiskey flight, that would have really rounded out what was already an epic meal.

“Like a kid in a sweet shop.”

Edible Queen of Hearts playing card made from white chocolate, with a raspberry centre; aerated chocolate with mandarin jelly; apple pie caramel and coconut baccy – The fantasy does not ever stop, even down to the final course.

So back to the burning question, was it all worth it? The final bill came to £796 for four. My answer is an emphatic and unequivocal yes. It was worth every penny. But never again. This was a gastronomical journey that was unnervingly climatic. This was a story so tightly edited, so painstakingly rehearsed that it brought all manner of closure to match my expectations, satisfyingly so. Returning from the Fat Duck, felt much like boarding the final train back from a short holiday. The memories of those five hours, sat inside a tiny cottage in Bray, equivalent to days spent foraging in a fantasy world, tap tap with the red boots. I have locked away this experience and thrown away the key. The memento we received, a copy of the menu wrapped in a felt-like envelope sealed with a fat duck wax stamp – now a permanent feature on my bookshelf. One simply cannot measure this restaurant on the same scale as other restaurants. In that the experience – holistically – was simply peerless. Nothing in London is like this. It is the only restaurant I have visited which has left me with the annoyance, nay the feeling of unfulfillment, in that I felt as if I hadn’t chewed enough to justify a full meal, but at the same time, feeling utterly satisfied. It is a restaurant I wouldn’t want to go back, a restaurant that I could not go back to, in order to preserve the mystery, the wonder and the excitement of the first and only visit. This is what – in my humble opinion – makes The Fat Duck experience so special.

The staff were of course, hardworking, passionate and charming from start to finish. They even do that thing, where they fold your napkins as you are away to the loo. I have my nagging doubts of course, such as the micro portions, as well as certain overly stylized dishes. Otherwise, cooking was of a high order – flavours were exceptionally well balanced, food impeccably presented and the innovation behind the recipes, suitably modern and complex. Addressing the lack of a three course a la carte, let me put it this way – if Heston decides on one for his Mandarin Oriental project come this summer, it will have the potential of blowing every London based Michelin starred restaurant out of the water. Just think: Proper British portions of snail porridge, followed by the excellent poached salmon. And then, a perfect 8oz rib eye with blue cheese butter and mushroom ketchup (just like in his book); finished off with a BFG, or perhaps even two. Serve it at fifty pounds. I’m dreaming.

In the end, the only thing I regret was not having a photograph taken with Daniel, the restaurant manager and our gracious host. I did bring my copy of ‘In Search of Perfection‘ to get some autographs, hoping to have the entire kitchen sign it for me which of course didn’t happen. In the end, I was perfectly happy to have received two signatures: Daniel’s and Head Chef Jonny Lake’s. I asked him to leave me any message he wanted and Daniel wrote “Dear Kang, hope you had a wonderful afternoon at the Fat Duck.”. Well, I did, Jack. I sure did.

See The Fat Duck Slideshow here.

The Gist of It

The Fat Duck Official Site
One Hundred and Fifty Pounds per person, British.
High Street, Bray SL6 2AQ
Tel: +44 (0) 1628 580 333
Train: Maidenhead

Did you enjoy reading this post? Why not subscribe to my feed updates for free. Alternatively, You can subscribe via email.

[UPDATE: Pierre Koffman is extending its run from 1st Nov to 27th Nov 2009]

I never had the pleasure to dine at La Tante Claire, the Chelsea based establishment which started in ’77 before moving to the Berkerley Hotel in ’98 where it stayed until its swansong in 2002. In that time, Pierre Koffman brought glory to trotters and had captured the highest accolade of the culinary world – the coveted three Michelin stars. Of course much of this is a bedtime story to me, taking place before my gastronomical awakening so to speak. Pierre had left behind a legion of hungry followers, for those who remember their LTC experiences can only heap high praise toward Koffman’s genius. And now Koffman has come out of retirement – albeit temporarily – with a pop-up restaurant on the rooftop of Oxford Street’s most famous department store. Originally a six day event to coincide with London restaurant festival, the response has of course been overwhelming and he is extending the already sold out spectacle till the end of October.

Since popping up, there has been a flood of internet buzz building around it. Those stuffed trotters are no longer just urban legend, for a fleeting moment in time, you could taste the Koffman genius once more. Given the occasion, I’d imagine many of the gastro fanatical would be in attendance. Along with my partners in crime Athos, Porthos & Aramis – we made reservations for a Monday evening.

From a dedicated lift (by Chanel in the perfumery department on the ground floor), I jetted up to meet the musketeers who were already seated at the propped up rooftop. Upon arrival, I noted the makeshift cream coloured tent and scanned the duotone decor: black bowler hats lining the white walls, black chairs on white table cloths, coloured by the antler-like light fittings casting a brown tint on the entire venue. The dapper scenery amusingly brought out the ten year old in me as I gave my dining partners two bigs thumbs up as I arrived. Perhaps it was the exclusivity, but we were delightfully buzzing out of our skin even when we were presented with the set menu with a £75 price tag hung around it. We kicked off by washing down our inevitable financial setback with a round of cocktails.

Amuse bouche was Pig’s head and celeriac remoulade. A mellow truffle infusion. We agreed to try a different dish from the menu in an effort to sample everything. This one was all about rejoicing ‘stead of reprimanding.

My starters was a game pie (I forget the posh name for it), a buttery yet crisp pastry and an almost pate like stuffing. Basic as it was, but very well executed. The rest of the starters all look wonderful to me. We stole small portions from each of our plates and every spoonful brought out ear to ear smiles, especially Euwen’s lobster bisque – it was like slurping on puffy clouds, magically sourced with a special cloud sucking device.

As we finished the starters, we decided on a 06’ Pinot from Pillot which the sommelier described as being feminine, a little tannic at first but slowly became round and soft by the time our mains arrived, which is to say that they took a while.

Ah yes, first things first: the famed sweetbread stuffed trotters.

Pillowy & intense, I was slightly disappointed it didn’t taste more exciting but it did remind me of Chinese style hotpot trotters which exhibit similar qualities with regards to taste & texture.

My selection was roast cod.

Fish was perfectly cooked, intensely salted with a buttery smooth mash –it was damn good fish & mash but not show stopping.

On the other hand, after sampling a forkful of it – I was tempted to reach over to gobble up Euwen’s duck breasts which I thought was really delicious.

Accompanying the set menu were also the specials prepared by whoever the guest chef was on the night. Bruno Loubet was cooking during our service and I chose to finished my meal with his pear and chocolate mille feuille which came with an oozing chocolate centre and a deep dark chocolate ice cream on the side.

But again, I was envious of Euwen’s pistachio laden souffle and ice cream. We looked on as the waiter filled the heart of the souffle with the ice cream. I gave up on my mille feuille as I went all puppy dogs watching Euwen lap up his majestic pudding. Eventually, I tried a spoonful and decided to end my meal with that memory.

I think that there is very little I can add to the plethora of reviews already floating about and which have delivered a positive verdict so far. In the end, my experience was a good one, Claire – Pierre’s partner – and the rest of the staff made us all feel right at home. Food was mostly believable but I hardly think that it was three stars blow-your-mind-up great, nothing made me weep or sing. However to echo Euwen and Silverbrow’s sentiments, I really had fun and the chance to sample a meal by a past master was well worth the entrance fee. I was glad to see Chris again (we bump into each other alot, even though I no longer follow him on Twitter (yes handslap for yours truly) ), and I was also especially glad to see Tim Hayward and Silverbrow among the diners, though I was positively estatic when Jay Rayner sat down behind us. It was nice to see the flesh behind the words (Tim looks exactly like his twitter avatar, very cool beard) and in hindsight I wish I had mustered up the courage to have at least walked across and say hello.

Ah well, I’m a pretty shy guy, but I’m sure there will be a next time.

The Pierre Koffman Pop-up restaurant will be at the Selfridges Rooftop until 31st October 2009, dinner service is all booked up but lunch is probably still available, deets here.

Did you enjoy reading this post? Why not subscribe to my feed updates for free. Alternatively, You can subscribe via email.