I’d picked up my results in the morning, and been as quick as possible at school so as to get home and get ready to leave. I also had to take dad to Saltley first which took a while. I then got home, had lunch and Michael and I left the house just after 3pm. I drove the way down while Michael used the video camera. The weather was bright and warm when we left (and when we arrived in Bray), but we drove through two bouts of heavy downpour bringing our speed down to 50 and taking away visibility.
We stopped at the Oxford Services where Michael bought a bacon XL double cheeseburger meal from Burger King (with a chocolate milkshake of course), we took a piss, and wandered through the arcade and shop. After setting up the sat-nav, we continued onto Bray. After turning off the M40 we were on an A-road for 10/15 minutes which we also turned left off onto a thin road which, after a lane-thinning, suddenly became
We first walked to the corner on which both restaurants sat and took photos of both, then wandered through the village, Michael still clinging to his idea (which came from…somewhere) that Michaels Palin, Parkinson and/or Winner have houses in Bray. A look at people’s scalp inside the experimental kitchen (seen above the frosted glass) and signs pointing towards Monkey Island were a highlight, although the walk to the latter was too long for us to bother, so we went back to the Hinds Head for a couple of drinks. I got the pad and pen which was in my bag out and we filled up the time we had to wait playing Hill’s Word Game, Hangman, and drawing a series of pictures.
When it was past
![38 Other diners and Laurent [possibly].jpg](http://s3.photobucket.com/albums/y53/snowplowsteve/?action=view¤t=38OtherdinersandLaurentpossibly.jpg)
At five-to-nine we got out, had a piss in the bushes and headed over to the restaurant, again stopping momentarily outside out of excitement before going in. The simple disclaimer above the door is oddly reassuring, it suddenly makes the place seem so humble, and like the traditional country pub it once was. On entering, we were greeted virtually immediately by one of the waiters who took our name, and led us to our seats while warning us to mind our heads on a ceiling beam and asking if we wanted anything taken to the cloakroom. I handed in my bag but kept my coat since it had the camera and my phone and wallet in the pockets. Later on when we needed new batteries for the camera the waiter was more than happy to fetch the bag and remembered which was ours; always a professional touch. We were sat down in what was virtually the centre of the restaurant and handed our menus; huge, thick leather portfolios with the a la carte menu on three printed sides and the tasting menu on another (I’m not sure I saw anyone eating from anything but the tasting menu). Unfortunately I didn’t get any photos of the menu as I only asked if photos/video was acceptable when a suited woman came to take our order (two tasting menus without the accompanying wine). We were told that that for the comfort of the other diners, we could take as many photos as we wanted without flash. She also told us to feel free to ask as many questions as we wanted (and looking back, I wish I’d asked some).
Knowing we were both having the tasting menus, we spent our time just admiring the menus themselves and getting used to the idea of where we were. The chairs were leather and wood and perfectly comfortable; the room, despite being physically quite small with low ceilings was incredibly open and spacious; the walls held pieces of artwork to add some colour; the tables were round with white tablecloths, there was a flower and small block of wood in the centre, and our napkins were rolled up in front of us by our bread plates and knives. Even they were good-looking; they had sunken bars and ‘The Fat Duck Heston Blumenthal’ on them. A champagne trailer was wheeled over but we declined, primarily because we were driving later. We were given a small basket of olives and offered still or sparkling water; we opted for still and were brought a bottle.
The olives I had to try regardless of having disliked them in the past, and the odd thing was that I liked them much more than normal; they weren’t as strong as I’d eaten before.
A woman came along with a basket of sliced bread, and we were offered white or brown, and salted or unsalted unpasteurised butter. We had salted and throughout the night had both types of bread (it was brought along promptly when we’d an empty side plate). I’m told the bread is fresh from The Bread Factory in
While we waited for the menu to start Michael and I both read the “Nostalgia Foods” card standing on the table by the flower. Eagerness grew and grew.
1. NITRO-GREEN TEA AND LIME MOUSSE (2001)
A rectangular wooden stand was brought out and set by our table, opposite me, and a blonde, French-sounding waiter, who may be the ‘Laurent’ on the receipt, approached. There were some French-sounding, one sounded Germanic to me, the sommelier (with a red tie instead of lilac) looked Hispanic and one waiter was British. We were served by different waiters/waitresses for different courses, God knows why.
The waiter told us that he was to prepare a palate cleanser with the liquid nitrogen (which was 196 degrees Celsius below zero), and that we would have to put it on our tongues and eat it as soon as it was set in front of us. He picked up a canister, explaining it contained an egg-white meringue infused with green tea, lime and a dash of vodka, some of which he squirted onto a spoon and poached in the nitrogen, softly spooning the liquid over the meringue as it bobbed about on the surface. He picked up a plate, sat the meringue in the centre, then picked up a muslin filled with green tea and dusted it. Michael got his first, then me. I’d heard lots about this; that it felt like it was barely in your mouth and simply dissolved, sending fresh air through the mouth and causing puffs of white air to come out of your nose. It wasn’t quite that light, but broke immediately, filling my mouth with an air tasting of lime and vodka (but without the alcohol kick). It felt like it had a drop of liquid in the centre as well. The green tea was more of an aftertaste, and it was superb as a palate cleanser.
It was after this course I think that someone first came along to lift up our bread plates and clear the tablecloth before us of any crumbs with a one-piece knife-scoop. This repeated in the short gap between each course.
2. BEETROOT AND 
We were then brought a square plate each with the postage-stamp sized jellies on them, and a spoon. The entire cutlery had small indentations in it similar to those on the cufflinks I have which are gold (I assume this means it’s solid silver).
We were told these were beetroot and orange jellies, and the kitchen recommends we “have the orange first”. Even though Michael and I both knew the trick of them, it was still an interesting course and a way to ease us into the abnormal combinations of flavour and texture coming up. The savoury nature of beetroot with the normally sweet jelly texture was something to adapt to, and the orange-flavour jelly was the total opposite, being as sweet as it was.
The odd thing was that these aren’t listed on the menu, so I wondered how come we were served them. Not that I’m complaining.
3. OYSTER AND PASSION FRUIT JELLY, LAVENDER
This was the dish I was slightly anxious about, having never had an oyster and not being sure if this was meant to be shot back or eaten with cutlery. Luckily it was explained without me asking; this was our oyster with passion fruit jelly and lavender, and horseradish cream. We were also told that the salt underneath it wasn’t for us to eat; just for the joke or because someone’s tried?
It was served with a spoon so we knew it was to be eaten accordingly. It was really well balanced; the salt of the oyster, the sweetness of the fruit with the very delicate floral flavour (added to with a sugar shard) and the heat from the horseradish, which due to being a cream didn’t have the bitterness and volatility of horseradish as it’s normally prepared. I had this in two spoonfuls. I should’ve asked to keep the shell.
4. POMMERY GRAIN MUSTARD ICE CREAM, RED CABBAGE GAZPACHO
The biggest surprise of this dish was the size of it, as in pictures I’d seen the enormous dish and the quenelle of ice cream looked like the size of a normal dessert spoon. Instead, it was the size of the almost teaspoon-sized spoon we were given to eat it with. We were served the dish with the ice cream in, on top of what we thought was very finely diced onion. The waitress explained what it was as she poured some of the gazpacho around it, just enough to equal the ice cream. Visually it was so enticing, the yellow quenelle with darker spots, and the bright red cabbage poured around it.
Again this was balanced well, which I noticed when trying the two elements separately; the mustard ice cream (in which the grains added bursts of flavour and crunch, as did the onion) was clean, smooth and had a ‘calm’ mustard taste, not as fiery as English mustard but it still had some heat in the throat. The gazpacho alone (before the ice cream started to melt and mix in with it) was tangy and tart as red cabbage is. When together, they balanced one another out very well, and the dish tasted great.
5. QUAIL JELLY, CREAM OF LANGOUSTINE, PARFAIT OF FOIE GRAS, OAK MOSS AND TRUFFLE TOAST (Homage to Alain Chapel)
The waiter next came up and, placing a rectangular box with moss on top on the table, told us that this was to be an experience of oak for three of our senses; we’d see it, smell it, and taste it. He then told us to pick up the little Fat Duck Film packs, gently take the film (which was just like those old mint-strips) and place it on our tongues where it would melt, tasting of oak. (Incidentally, we were asked if we wanted to keep the cases, which of course we did). The waiter then poured what I think was warm water over the box, through a hole in it, and dry ice inside (presumably) gave off a thick smoke. It looked like a mist which would hang on a forest-bed and smelled the same. Michael’s nose was blocked and he said he didn’t smell anything, and I did for only a few moments until the smoke dissipated, but the thing which struck me was that it was just potent enough for the two of us to be able to smell it, and not another other diners (which I noticed when the next table was served), therefore not altering their experience at all.
He then explained our foods, recommending that we take a spoonful of all of the layers of the parfait dish to get the full flavour. I think he explained something about eating the truffle toast with it, but we weren’t sure and didn’t think to ask; we just ate them whole afterwards as they were that tiny.
The food in the oddly shaped bowl was stunning, particularly in relation the courses before it. Whereas they’d been clean and tasted very simple, in comparison this was extraordinarily rich and deep, full of flavour, all of which registered on the tongue in one spoonful.
The foie gras was creamy and lighter in taste than terrines I’ve had (presumably to not be overpowering), the langoustine cream was cool and smooth, the pea puree underneath was crisp and clean, but the quail jelly was the biggest eye-opener for me. I’d never had quail before so the taste was firstly a new sensation, but with the jelly mouthfeel it kind of coated the palate and was so rich and tasty. It was meaty, slightly gamey, and I immediately fell in love with eating birds. The pigeon course later only further added to this. This dish also looked superb.
The truffle toast was about as long as my thumb, served on top of a wooden block (made from oak?) with three ridiculously thin slices of radish on top of the black truffle. As I say, we ate these in one go. The closest I’d had to truffles before was truffle oil so this was again, a new taste experience. It was slightly sweet, not as rich as the accompanying course, and the toast it was on, which was made of I’ve-no-idea-what was thinner than bread, and had a buttery taste, which reminded me of hot, buttered wholemeal toast, the way the butter melts into it and makes the dry bread into something smoother, but still with a crunch. After the deep, flavoursome jelly/cream/parfait, it was a good way to calm the palate down before what came next.
The first of the mains I think; this was placed before us and explained in no more than the words “gentlemen, this is your snail porridge”, next to our fork and a flattened spoon (I don’t know if there’s a name for it) which made it possible to scoop up the porridge from so flat a dish. I liked how the dish was designed as well, having a very small ‘wall’ around the porridge, much like the ice cream/gazpacho, which was served in a tiny bowl in the centre of a relatively massive dish. Maybe making it seem even smaller than it was helps in causing a subconscious reaction, making us know that we won’t feel full this early on and can eat the rest of the meal. Or maybe it’s just indulgence.
Michael had slight reservations about this much like with the oyster, as he’d never had snail and wouldn’t choose to order it. He also thought the striking green porridge looked “toxic”. I love the colour scheme of the green oats, black snails, red ham and white fennel and dived straight it (post-photo). I really enjoyed it, the first thing I noticed being that the oats were just as warm as I’d have for breakfast, not to mention the fact that oats in my experience are so rarely part of a savoury course. The snails were meaty and very well-cooked, the ham savoury and not very strong, and the fennel had bite and an ever-so-slight bitterness, maybe from the speckled pepper which I think was on it. The porridge itself had a saltiness as well which I put down to parsley which must have also given it colour, and Michael thought I was right on the money, as we both realised it reminded us of the parsley dipped in saltwater eaten at the Seder table.
I was looking forward to this, having read in some reviews that it was one of the best dishes the writer had ever eaten, and it was certainly flawless from my point of view. The dish again looked appetising, having a small piece of foie sprinkled with chives and shaved almond (?), a cream-coloured almond fluid gel, cherry sauce streaked (and a whole cherry), and three golden jellies, which I think the waiter said were amaretto.
I’d never had foie gras cooked before, just entier or terrine, so this was to be a new experience. It was cooked perfectly as far as I could tell, as it was delicately caramelised on the outside and soft, but not oozing in the centre. It was also sliced twice through. The shavings on top added texture as well as flavour, the almond complimented it, the taste coming in after the foie richness, and sweet cherry finishing each mouthful. The cherry itself was beautiful, with a little burst of sweet cherry juice coating my tongue. It wasn’t as memorable as the snail porridge, (only because that was the infamous ‘snail porridge’), but it was just as good to taste. Any meal with two foie gras dishes is fine by me if it’s treated as respectfully as this. How it was cooked to still maintain structure and good texture is beyond me, as it seems such a delicate ingredient to work with.
One of the best parts of the meal was the fact that despite me having looked repeatedly at the menu in anticipation of going, when we were there I had no memory of the order in which the dishes were served. When our waiter approached and gave us each a conch shell with earphones rolled up inside I knew what was coming and was very, very eager. He explained that we listened to this while eating the next dish, which was “Sound of the Sea” (he explained no more about it, saying he would after we’d eaten it, which was an interesting point). I asked if we should start listening already, and he was cool with that, so Michael and I unrolled the earphones and put them in to hear typical seaside sounds; gulls crying, waves crashing and the like. A minute later we were presented with the food.
There was a rectangular wooden box filled with sand. On top of that, a sheet of glass. Sitting on that was the food, plated to resemble the seaside, and that it did, somewhat spectacularly; the sand on the life, some seaweed in the centre, and the lapping surf on the right. We tucked in. I recognised that the centre was seaweed, I knew that the sand was made with a type of tapioca, and I also noticed I think scallop, baby eel, and an oyster at the top. Apart from that, I had little to no idea what I was eating. The foam was like seawater in its saltiness (not that this was bad, it was a good reminder of it), the oyster was meaty and tasted good, the seaweed (or seaweeds as we later found out) adding texture as well as flavour, and the sand was intriguing. Some had said that it looked better than it tasted. It wasn’t that it tasted bad, but alone it didn’t have the impact it had when taken with some of the seaweed, fish and sea (which was what’s intended). I only tried it alone to see, and it had a good combination of melting on the tongue, and having crunch.
Michael not being such a seafood fan wasn’t overjoyed at the dish but admired it, I enjoyed the taste as well. As to whether the sounds altered our perceptions, who knows?
When the dishes/blocks/sandboxes/displays (?) were taken, the waiter told us what was what. I’ll do my best to remember it; the sand was tapioca with fried baby eel for crunch, there were three or four different seaweeds, razor shell clams, scallop, oyster…I can’t remember. Another review, admittedly from a while ago so the dish may have changed, it mentions abalone, cockles and sea beans, and the seaweeds being dulse, hijiki, wakame, and sapphire. Some were leafier, others thinner and stringier, but they shared a commonly rich green colour.
It wasn’t my favourite of the mains taste-wise, but still such a remarkable dish for the eyes and the mouth (and ears I guess).
Yet another beguiling plate, this time rectangular and with a dip towards the centre, was put before us. Two waiters approached and put our dishes down, one drizzling an oval of oil on my dish while the other grated liquorice over Michael’s salmon, then vice versa. The British waiter pronounced the title of the dish with real swagger in his voice, and then left us to it. This was a dish which people had said they admired more than enjoyed, mostly because of the combination of liquorice and salmon, and the first thing I noticed was how translucent the liquorice was in comparison to photos I’d seen, in which it was much thicker. Maybe a redesign came after acknowledging people’s tastes. On top of the salmon were I think three peppercorns, the vanilla mayonnaise had the speckles I love which beans give it, the green artichokes were lightly charred, and the platter was sprinkled with pink grapefruit and mysterious dots of… something. It balanced out the grapefruit, and I’m told it was balsamic reduction.
I cut into the salmon parcel and the colours were just as good as I’d seen before. The fish was smooth and well-cooked, and I actually wanted to taste a little more liquorice because I really love it. The bite and taste of the artichokes was good, the pink grapefruit added tang but the vanilla mayonnaise was incredible; it went superbly with the fish, was my favourite component of this dish, and was another thoroughly memorable part of the night.
Michael’s gripe that there should’ve been more meat to balance the number of fish courses came up next, from the last of the mains. I liked it. Clearly.
10. BALLOTINE OF 
Never having eaten pigeon (or black pudding), this was exciting for me, as was the idea of a black pudding cream/emulsion, the colour of which was so rich. There were two or three baby turnips covered with a foam, spiced juices (of what I don’t know), slices of incredibly rare-looking pigeon breast and its leg (I put this down to Heston Blumenthal’s uber-slow cooking process), and a crisp which may or may not have been pigeon ‘crackling’. It had the texture of a Quaver in retrospect, and the crunch was good for textural range.
I first tried the black pudding and it was so rich, and slightly fruity. The pigeon was so tender and melted on the tongue, and I liked the fact that I’d eaten it for the first time cooked so ‘blue’. The vegetables added texture in being more al dente, and the smooth, rich cream added even more depth to this intense, rich course.
It reminded me undeniably of the parfait of foie gras course, and whether this was intentional I don’t know. The black pudding (and slight gaminess of the bird) harkened back to the rich quail jelly, the pigeon also bringing back taste memories of the foie gras. It was also the riches tasting, and last, of the mains as was the foie gras for the starters; a wonderful end to the main courses.
The plate this was served on also piqued my interest, as it had a dark border around the food, whereas everything else was pristine and white (or a wooden block). Since Heston Blumenthal’s dining experience is about all of the senses, I wondered what impact this was intended to have on the dish, as to whether eating it from a plate similar to that hosting the salmon would change much.
This, like the palate cleanser, was one the more memorable moments of the evening, because of the sheer simplicity of it. Michael and I were both given a square saucer with a cup holding black tea, which was, in equal measure, both hot and cold. It was the course which after sipping it once we both said “wow” and laughed, completely taken aback by it. The hot tea felt more viscous in the mouth so must have been a gel, and the cold was just iced tea. The sensation in the mouth was absurd, particularly because in my first sip I felt cold on the left side of my mouth, warm on the right. I tried mixing them but to no avail.
The second mouthful was just as surprising as the first, and it left such an odd feeling on my tongue; it was unforgettable.
This next course began by Michael and I being given four-sided pamphlets detailing a brief history of Mrs Agnes B. Marshall (1855-1905), “The Queen of Ice Cream”. It explained her developments in the production of ice cream and how revolutionary she was, being able to produce a litre of it in three minutes, a time unmatched by modern machines.
We both finished reading and put the cards down, and shortly after a hand popped into view to my right holding a wooden block (like that underneath the glass the Sound Of The Sea was served on. It was filled with small, silver balls and held two tiny, thumb-sized ice cream cones; sweet…in both senses. Michael thought that the idea of the booklet was not only to describe this woman’s work, but big up her majesty so that the actual size of the cornet we were given prompted a laugh, which is as good an idea as any why we were urged to read it.
The cone had sugar sprinkled on the outside, and was filled with apple ice-cream and an orange granita. The ice cream was bursting with apple taste, far more flavoursome than normal ice creams, and reminded me more of a tangy green apple like a Granny Smith, than a red variety. The granita (hidden in the cone underneath the ice cream) had the slight piquancy of a ripe orange, which contrasted with the calm apple, and the crunch was good against the smooth ice cream. The cornet was sturdy enough to hold but not overly thick. Overall it was a lovely little treat; which is probably the best, most grandmother-y way to describe it.
The last of the pre-desserts was another tree-flavoured dish, which anywhere else would’ve seemed peculiar by this stage. It was (more obviously than some other dishes) one of the “nostalgia foods” Heston Blumenthal talked about in the card, as it was essentially a childhood sherbert fountain. The difference was the size (it was much smaller than those you buy in shops) and the straw was a dried, hollow vanilla pod. We were instructed to dip the straw in and suck the sherbert through, which we did, as well as taking it out and sucking the powder from the end. It picked up a vanilla taste through the straw and did make me think of the pine tree; the air the sherbert filled my mouth with giving me that sense of woodland.
When the waiter approached again we were asked if we wanted to keep the fountains, which again, like the Fat Duck Films, we did. Incidentally, we weren’t asked about keeping the Mrs Marshall cards, but the fact that they were left with us obviously meant they were for keeps.
This was the first of the desserts, and ended the series of tree-loving tastes. The titular puree (I wondered why it was named first in the dish’s title) was in a small, bright yellow dollop and in a straight line down the left of the plate; the bavarois was a very light mousse-like cuboid topped with pine nuts, blackcurrant jellies and greenery which I assume was from a Douglas Fir; and at the top was a blackcurrant sorbet sat on more of the puree, and small shards of sugar, topped with a thin crisp. It was usual looking, and a very eye-catching plate.
The puree had the distinct mango taste and again did remind me of woodland, the bavarois was beautifully light and the jellies and pine nuts formed a series of textures, and while the mousse coated the palate they added bursts of flavour. The sorbet was deep and flavoursome with the blackcurrant taste and the sugar shards added crunch. With all the components taken in one mouthful, they all registered, the sorbet firstly hitting with its chill, then the lychee, mango and jelly/pine nut textures, and the sweetness from the sugar and the sorbet lasted at the finish. I was particularly struck by the use of the pine nuts, again because of their more common use in savoury foods. It was those moments during the night, when elements usually opposed in cuisine (such as jelly and a savoury quail, liquorice with fish. or cream and langoustine) were moulded together that lingered long in my mind, especially since they all worked so well in my opinion.
15. PARSNIP CEREAL
It was 11:37pm and as Michael and I had discussed, the meal had been perfectly paced, with somewhere between 8 and 15 minutes between each course, the dining crew clearly keeping their eye on us and serving us each course at the perfect moment…and now the tall, blonde, French waiter we’d seen working with the liquid nitrogen (Laurent?) wished us “Good morning” and announced it was time for breakfast. That was why I checked my watch thinking it to be past
We were brought dishes like that which the mustard/red cabbage gazpacho was plated in, and these held small boxes – smaller than those from multipacks bough in shops - of Fat Duck Cereal. This was our Parsnip Cereal, provided with a jug of parsnip milk. This was apparently a dish formed when Blumenthal had been cooking parsnips in milk, and noticed that the taste of the milk brought back memories of the sweet milk at the bottom of a bowl of finished Frosties, and it not only visually resembled Frosties/Corn Flakes, but brought back the same memory.
Having the diners themselves pour the cereal and milk must be part of the preconception ideas of the restaurant, the actions putting us subconsciously in the mindset of eating breakfast cereal, but jarring (not uncomfortably, brilliantly) with the savoury/sweetness typical of parsnips.
I thought it was funny that after having eaten all of the flakes there was that childhood memory of milk left in the bowl, but with these dishes it was more difficult to get at without looking like a four-year-old; and we couldn’t tip the bowl into our mouths as the border was so thick, and flat. Had the chefs or Blumenthal seen that though, you get the feeling they’d have embraced it. Maybe a new dish allowing this action needs adding in future. I know I’m not the only one who did this as a kid.
Blumenthal’s also managed to make the impossible; a cereal of thin flakes (these were even thinner than corn flakes) which doesn’t become soggy in the milk. This is a revolutionary if anything is, and I’d be more than happy to have parsnip cereal as a normal breakfast. But not really; it should be a treat had only during this menu.
For once we knew for sure what was next, and I for one was incredibly excited. The cameras were ready as the wooden table was brought around once again topped with a hob ring, a copper pan, two spoons, a napkin and a plate. Next came the blonde waiter holding a carton of Fat Duck eggs, one of which he held up while we took a photo; it had the Fat Duck’s logo stamped on it in red, and was full of the bacon & egg custard ready to be frozen into the ice cream (I’d done my reading). The waiter cracked and emptied an egg into the copper pan, and told us that unfortunately the hob had no gas, so he’d be using the liquid nitrogen instead to prepare our eggs. He poured in some of the liquid which again made its smoke display before us while he used a wooden spatula to stir the custard as it froze, using the same movements one would in scrambling eggs in a pan. A waitress came up with a tray with our plated breakfast/desserts and two broken eggshell shaped cups. They wished each other good morning, and when the eggs were ready – after maybe 25 seconds – he lifted the ice cream up and showed it to us, announcing “your eggs are ready!” The fact that it resembled scrambled eggs too was quite something. He spooned some onto each of our plates and put them on the table; this was our smoked bacon and egg ice cream, tomato ‘jam’ and crispy bacon on caramelised brioche (our ‘toast’). My ice cream fell off so he put it back for the photo.
I normally start a dish by trying a mouthful with all the different components, but I had to try the ice cream alone, and it was nothing short of phenomenal; one of the most astonishing, staggering foods I’ve tasted. Firstly, the speed at which it’s frozen makes it the creamiest ice cream I’ll ever taste, and it started to melt immediately on the warm brioche. Secondly…it tastes of smoked bacon and egg; it has the smokiness that fills your mouth and the flavour of bacon and egg…but it’s a sweet ice cream. It had a depth of flavour which no ice cream I’ve never tried before had. Not only did it have that egg and bacon flavour, but it filled my nose with the smokiness and smell of the frying pan. Food in my experience hasn’t come better than this. I was blown away, and I plan to attempt to make my own at some stage. It won’t be the same, but if it can bring up the memory of that dish, I’ll be a happy guy.
The rest of the dish was equally wonderful to taste; the brioche had a crisp caramelised exterior and was soft and moist inside, the tomato jam had the mouthfeel of good jam (not smooth, it had that slight chunkiness), and the wafer-thin bacon was crisp and sweet.
The tea jelly (which I had after finishing the plate) was cool and clean, with a light but distinct flavour of good tea. I think it was Earl Grey, and served in a broken eggshell-shaped cup. The restaurant has some impressive crockery.
The dish was spectacular; the theatricality and innovation of its inspiration and preparation, the look of it, the flavours, and even now, the memories I have of it. The best part could have been the fact that it didn’t make me think “that was the ‘best part’ of the night, what can follow that?” because the whole experience was superb. It didn’t ‘overshadow’ anything else, but it’s clear that it had quite an impact on me.
The lady in the suit gave us these on a square plate (the tartlet and caramel), a wooden block (the aerated chocolates) and in a spherical ‘vase’ (the lollies). We started with the lollies, and were expecting (as you would with something called a ‘lolly’) to have to suck them, but they were again something wafer-thin, and they shattered on our tongues. Like with the parsnip cereal, the kitchen had again taken a root vegetable with an inherent sweetness and formed a great-tasting sweet food, and the orange worked well with the carrot flavour. It also melted on the tongue and coated it briefly, a mouthfeel I enjoyed.
The mandarin aerated chocolates were next I think, and I explained to Michael how I’d seen aerated chocolate made on In Search Of Perfection, using a lunchbox, soda siphon, and vacuum bag. I couldn’t wait to see how airy this was, in comparison to say, a standard Aero bar. Looking at the underside, the bubbles looked larger than in the chocolate bar, and Michael and I both tried to bite it down the centre to get two bites out of it. However, immediately, the very thin exterior shattered and we were forced to put the whole thing in our mouths. It melted luxuriously and was light as a feather, and in the centre there was what seemed to be literally a pea-sized filling of strong mandarin compote. It reminded me of the chocolate coated orange-peel we’d buy at Passover time in the past; the chocolate holding a sharp orange core, not a filler like that for example in orange Quality Street; the smoother, sickly-sweet cream.
I think we next tried the apple pie caramel “edible wrapper”, which is pretty self-explanatory – eat the whole thing. Why they chose to make an edible wrapper, whether or not Heston Blumenthal ate plastic wrappers as a child or whether it was made just for the hell of it and because it could be done, I don’t care. It was fun; and like the Nostalgia Foods card explained, food “should be about having fun”, a motto I can fully subscribe to. This had a perfect, creamy caramel texture and tasted as it was intended, of good apple pie, something I’m a big fan of, in either its American or traditional British incarnation.
Finally, we had the violet tartlet (topped with violet), which divided Michael and I slightly. I bit half of it off and really loved the crunch of the crust and deep floral flavour of the filling, which was like a creamy jelly; a little like when you can bite a bit of a Drumstick off, and it stretches. It was vaguely like that. This could’ve been my favourite of the petit fours, perhaps because it was the newest flavour for me.
And so ended the tasting menu. We were given the tea and coffee menu with the petit fours, and Michael had a cappuccino (which was served with warm milk and sugar separately) and I chose a jasmine green tea; it was a blend of three different leaves I think, and was another piece of edible theatre, I wish I’d filmed it. I remember something like the following happening:
A wooden box with a grate on top was put in front of me, and two hands (it was like a faceless magician) poured water into a teapot in the centre. This was tipped over a teapot holding tea leaves (it had a hole in the lid) so filled the pot and heated the outside, then this was poured into my cup, which was a dual-layer piece like that used for the Hot and Iced Tea. When I’d finished one pot, a waiter approached and refilled the pot with the tea leaves in.
While we had our drinks Michael and I filled in the Nostalgia Foods questionnaire, filling up one side, going onto another, then writing on the back. There were only us and the table being served their tasting menu minutes after us left, so after a few minutes and some more photos, at 
The night came in at just over £304, which was very much worth it. When the blonde waiter came so I could pay he asked us what our favourite parts were and I think we mentioned some thoughts on the ice cream, the palate cleanser, and the Hot and Iced Tea, and we thanked him profusely for a terrific night. As we got up to leave we thanked two of the waiters standing to see us out, we were warned again to mind our heads, and a waiter held the door open as we left.
We phoned our parents just to say we were leaving and briefly explain how great the night had been, and left Bray, having an altercation with a policeman on the way out, not to mention spending half an hour trying to get someone to turn off their fog lights and full-beam off on the motorway, which led in turn to us stopping at Warwick services and getting a puncture, which we suspected for several reasons that the full-beam driver had given us. Still, the RAC man came and we were back home by around
In any case, I must go again.
(All the little bits and pieces y'get to keep, as well as the Mrs Marshall booklet)
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