Assisi has held its charm for both of us. It is small, full of allure, but most importantly a spiritual destination for pilgrims since the 1200’s when St. Francis was alive until the present.

Anne Robichaud is the only guide to move you through the life, meaning and mission of St. Francis. She is so passionate and knowledgeable that she takes you “there” with her. She deeply touched me through her recollections and though I have been through three other tours at various times here, hers is the one I will never forget.  The stories she shared about the life of this Saint were reinforced later as we toured the ancient village and she retold events in the space where they actually happened. Anne is brilliant.

Our tour was October 1; the death of St. Francis of Assisi has been celebrated yearly since he died on October 3 1226. The big trucks are in the area setting up for the celebration. Italians from all over Italy had begun to arrive as had various diocese of monks and nuns. Below is a Franciscan monk (as brown is the colour of the order) using a cel phone. The paradox was too extreme. I had to capture it!

For only 10 days at this time each year, little shops and bakeries around town sell Mostaccioli. This is said to be the favourite treat of St. Francis and one last request of Jacopa dei Settesoli upon his deathbed. The cookies were simply made with eggs, almonds, flour and sweetened with grape must, or mosto (grape juice), left over from wine making. Unfortunately, he was too sick to eat the treat when she arrived. (The incident is recorded in the “Legend of Perugia” page 101.) I was tickled to learn about this precious food tradition and to be there during the ten day period I could buy and try them! They are not overly special by today’s hedonistic standards; however, I really enjoyed them with my morning coffee and have included what is thought to be “the” original recipe, below.

It is difficult to ask Anne a question. It was clear that she believed that if you listened to all she had to say she would eventually answer everything you may ask. Below is one of the many profound and intricate frescos on the interior wall of the upper church of St. Francis that Anne breathed to life through her storytelling.

On this day, as we toured through Assisi after an indepth tour of the monestary, we happened upon Graziella Viterbi who was a young Jewish girl hidden in Assisi during the German occupation in the second world war. One of our fellow participants was Jewish, yet this happen-chance was extremely engaging for all. Below is the book at the local bookstore that Graziella’s story is in.

Imagining Assisi with St. Francis walking through it and touring through quaint little nooks, crannies and shops was possible in this setting.

The world famous Majolica pottery is made in this area and factories are very nearby: great for a little side tour!

This is the fountain in the beautiful main square of Assisi that should be teeming with townspeople on a Saturday night as most European town squares are. (We went later and were there with only three other locals, clearly permanent fixtures on their shared bench!) To one side of the square, you fill find an arch, below, with frescos painted on the roof. The famous, reasonably priced, Slow Food restaurant “Trattoria Pallotta” is at the end of the hall and down the steps.

I couldn’t avoid capturing a little Italian fashion; a wedding was happening. Bows are in and I love this ensemble! Ravishing!

The only negative thing about touring is being whisked past stores you have no time to poke into. This would take me a good while to snoop through! And, Terry, below, was ecstatic that one could just buy a beer and drink it on the street! A little “getting ready for lunch” refresher!

And we were off to Spello for lunch!

It may be a good idea to write your questions down as you think of them, and ask her them at lunch. Her agenda is engaging enough!

I was not prepared for this lunch. Somehow I thought I had booked the tour and the lunch at a farmhouse in the afternoon which was actually happening the following day.  No matter. I know that would have been incredible, but so was our tasting, lunch and tour of Spello ten minutes down the road from Assisi. Outstanding.

Roberto Angelini was the star of this show at his restaurant and wine cellar, Enoteca Properzio. What a charismatic personality; he was the quintessential host. We felt honoured having him all to ourselves. (I only read the incredible reviews after we came home!) Below, his son presents the Umbrian DOP olive oil specifically from Spello and explains the qualities of it to us. My recollection of his explanation? It tasted really, really good! Yes, I brought some home! We were surprised to see the gal literally drench the warm toast with the oil and then add salt: truly delicious. We came to know this as a traditional plain bruschetta which I love when rubbed with fresh garlic.

Roberto’s turn to perform… and he held us all in the palm of his hand. All wines tasted are listed under the recipe at the bottom of the post with their pricing information. This first white Renaro was really lovely: light, crisp and refreshing. Perfect for the moment.

A second olive oil was then presented in the same manner as the first, but with more flair! This oil is from Alberto Cipollini and has recently become well known due to Alain Ducasse’s stamp of approval. He uses this oil exclusively at all his restaurants and claims it to be the best in Italy. (Yes, I bought this one, too.)

When the tomato bruschetta appeared, I thought I would be all “breaded out”, but one is transformed when in Italy and I found this taste to be deep, light, bright and another slice of toasted bread went down without any trouble.

Time for some red: a young cabernet merlot aptly titled, Young. The taste was so light for a red, yet there was a depth and a resounding orchestra of flavours, apparently. Roberto explained the notes with such finesse, that even though he was speaking Italian, I somehow understood. (Though cannot repeat any of it back to you now!)

More bread! A tasting of each of Alberto Cipollini’s special olive spreads made with nothing but his farmed olives and his own olive oil: except the one mixed with artichokes and the one with sun-dried tomato. I found it the best. They were all very tasty. The lightest one was my least favourite, and that was Vanja’s favoured one. We do make such a great pair! Of course, he got mine! Each of these spreads is for sale here, and prices listed at the end of the post are for some of them.

Ah! More wine. With each dish, new wine and another lesson of how to hold the glass, breath, smell, and taste… and so many nuances within the precious harvest that I just enjoyed the way the flavour paired with the robust flavours in the food. This was the Sagrantino selected to go with the hearty yet not at all robust bean soup. Everyone enjoyed the “legs” and peering at one another through our glasses!

We all got a lot of personal attention. Let me retract that: we three woman visitors got a lot of personal attention! Oh, the Italian man definitely knows how to tickle a woman’s fancy. Tee-hee. The kissing and touching and winking, all in good fun, added a level of carelessness to the afternoon that found us all loosening our ties… even those of us without one.

Everyone enjoyed the wine so much that Roberto brought out another Sagrantino at 98 Euro a bottle for us to try. It was far more subtle and sophisticated than the first. Kind of like the older Italian man compared to his son. (Tee-hee!) At this point, most people were getting rather sloshed. A little sloshed, at least. We were not, as we are not wine drinkers. As the temperature around the table rose, the conversation became more colourful and enlivened and no one was too sure what language was being spoken at some points!

The salad was divine. I am a fan in long standing of boconccini and any fresh young cheese; this one was almost burrata-like in the centre. Maché is a tender subtle green that I adore and the tomatoes were studded with salty capers. YUM!. The tuna I could take or leave. It was, well, canned tuna. Apparently, this was a DOP balsamic. I wish I had spent more time looking at the label. Somehow, I missed a photograph of it as it was not left on the table, but seeing the price of it below fills me with regret as it was at least 500ml.

Incredibly, a friend of the owner was also a friend of one of the participants of our tour and happened to be lunching at the same time, completely unexpectedly, from the US.

The meat and cheese dish surprised me. Really. I had eaten enough. Past enough. But the men were definitely looking for the traditional secondo: the meat! This kind of platter is also a secondo on menus, and was really a lovely variety of tastings, again. However, I do think that a meat should have been served as I know my husband would have appreciated it and heard the same from the other couples after leaving.

We tasted Prosciutto di Norcia, then what they call “coppa” and I know as capicola. Following that was a ham made from buck thighs, Prosciutto di Daino, then the traditional wild boar salami, Salame di Cinghiale, and an Umbrian salami, Corallina di Norcia. We bought some coppa to take to Vanja’s family. There is nothing like it that I have tasted before: neck meat that is addictive! Anne told us not to eat the meats with the cheeses, “Well, you can, but we don’t. The Italians don’t.” The cheeses were all varying kinds of pecorinos: aged, young, peppered, truffled, wrapped in fig leaves, etc. Each was delicious and vastly different from the other.

Another wine: the Kurni. I cannot recall anything about it. I don’t even recall tasting this one. I definitely remember the sweet red at the end of the meal: the Rubacuori. I could not get enough of it. I drank mine. I drank Vanja’s. I had a third. It was my first experience with a deep red sweet wine that was not a heavy port… a new taste experience for me, and I truly enjoyed it. But, no. I could not justify paying 58 Euro for such a small bottle. OK. I didn’t need to justify it. I loved it. I wanted to buy it. I could not buy it and expect my dear husband to respect me in the morning.

I appreciate the opportunity to buy what I taste after participating in a tasting. I do not appreciate an entire lunch prepared with prepackaged regional foods for sale. The offering of the list after the meal was somewhat off putting because I wasn’t expecting it. To be offered a list of the wines and olive oils to purchase would have been appreciated and appropriate. Or, the opportunity to tour through the shop and buy after.

Then grappa! The men were happy! They had completely forgotten that there wasn’t really a meat course. I was (sadly) looking for a creamy bite of Italian luxury. Where was the dessert? Ah… out came the cookies. Darn. But, how can I complain? The dessert wine was extraordinary and the entire meal an afternoon triumph.

Absolutely no doubt about it! Chin! Chin!

Spello was an unexpected delight for me. Another quaint ancient city with a considerable amount of character and a really good naive artist.

Below, home of a local violin maker….

Anne knew exactly what I was looking for when I asked if there were any naïve artists in the area and even has one of his pieces herself: Paolo Proietti is his name. His uncle’s work is absolutely stunning and expensive (Luigi Proietti), but this artist is affordable and the perfect addition to our collection. I deeply appreciate local art that is representative of life in the area and it will continue to provide me a portal back to this place in time from a wall in our home. I am very grateful to Anne for so carefully listening and making the time to get to this artist during our tour.

Time to thank Anne and bid farewell to her and our new friends, Terry and Sandy.

The day was full and tomorrow we will be meeting Constanza in front of the clock tower in old town Siena.

Visions of pecorino and honey, medieval architecture and art, blue skies and rolling hills played hide-n-seek in my head through the warm quiet stillness of this dark Umbrian night.

What to buy in Assisi?

• olive wood objects: I bought a great serving board
• olive oil: I bought both we had for lunch (rely on DOP or your personal palette)
• chestnut honey and a huge variety of local honeys
• majolica
• walnut liqueur: We bought some to bring home
• grappa (everywhere)
• it used to be famous for lace, but most is machine done now

I like to start every post with a picture of food, but this time, the location seemed most appropriate. I had reserved a month or so before we left and we had to re-confirm the day before. Reservations are only accepted for the 6:30 seating which is when the restaurant opens. The night we were there was a Saturday; there was a line up of people with reservations waiting for the opening, but when we left, there was no one waiting to come in.

We actually walked right by it the night before walking back to our hotel from the Musée d’Orsay which made finding it this evening easy. I had wanted to eat one night in an exceptional Parisian restaurant. I knew of Jöel Robuchon and of Alain Ducasse and did as much research as I had time for to find out about other great places. I was looking for Michelin Star Chefs. In the end, Alain Ducasse at the Dorchester closed for the summer and the Thursday we were there would be their last night open for a month. I booked us in. It looked spectacular. Then thought about it. I really wanted to have dinner out on the last night, so it was L’Atelier that got out business. It is a unique project of Robichon’s where he wanted to restaurant built around the kitchen so the diners could enjoy a personal interaction with the chef and the experience would be a much more intimate one for the diners. I love visiting the kitchens of incredible restaurants. I always ask and they do expect that, and have always welcomed taking us back to thank the chef for our meal. At least, that has been my experience. The opportunity to dine while watching the chef cook was a tremendous appeal to me.

There is a prix fix tasting menu here as well as other menus to order from. Most reviewers have said that this is a place for tasting and not for eating. I just loved that Vanja didn’t have to have the prix fix menu. He could order whatever he wanted and not worry about having to eat something that didn’t appeal to him. However, because they have such an extensive menu (and it is extensive for this kind of restaurant), they are very happy to replace any part of the prix fix menu with an alternate option. All places are, but it is actually advertised here.

Before we entered, while standing in line, I was disillusioned. I cannot help but compare this experience (the one waiting for me) to ours at Thomas Keller’s The French Laundry and Heston Blumenthal’s The Fat Duck. We waited for quite some time in the garden at The French Laundry for the restaurant to open and were so impressed by the respectful formality and attention to detail we observed through the windows of every staff member preparing for opening. I am sure most were completely unaware we were there. At The Fat Duck we were greeted like family.

Yet, here, the staff was clearly aware of the crowd gathering outside. The hostess sat (in a rather revealing pose) and chatted and laughed on her cell phone through the glass for all to see. The cleaning lady was still scrubbing the floors with the blinds open and it was not a pretty sight. At all. She was not careful about where she put her dirty rags. I was truly surprised that there was not any attention paid to us and the impression that this kind of work might make upon us: right in front of us, the casual and unappealing, almost disrespectful manner the workers carried out their opening tasks in. It was clear they were being watched and they were completely irreverent.

And, yes, once again, we were first in line. We had only been 20 minutes early. The restaurant opened 10 minutes late. We were greeted by that same young woman who had been on the phone without her even looking at us. A young man checked off our name, and she guided us to the very back corner to the last two chairs (above right). It was far too dark there for any good photos of food, so I asked if we could please sit here (at the corner of the bar, by the front). Hmmm… Well, she would have to rearrange her seating plan. The man behind the bar told her it would be fine and to do it. She was very flustered and did allow us to sit where I wanted, but was not happy about it. Too bad. We were the first ones in and everyone was to sit around the kitchen. Someone else could have that dark back corner.

We were sitting in high bar stools. I was excited as I perched on my stool and peered into the darker room looking for the kitchen. Where was it? There was a man instantly in front of us asking us what we wanted to eat. I said I would have the prix fix menu and then Vanja decided to, as well. He had had quite some time to think about it outside. He asked for options for the caviar course. The young man suggested the langoustine, and so that was it. And to drink? Water, please. We had decided after out experience at The French Laundry when three glasses of wine totalled 150 US dollars to just enjoy the food at these kind of restaurants and drink at others. The bread appeared on the upper bar counter immediately, sans butter.

And where is the kitchen. We were clearly sitting at the bar. Everyone was. I got up, and walked to the other side of the restaurant. When you come in, there is an opening into the kitchen that you can stand at and watch the kitchen from, though it is still a bit away, and the hostess is right there with her table. There are then two doors: one to the right and one to the left and each side of the restaurant is exactly the same. There is an L- shaped bar on the left side, and the reverse L-shaped bar on the right side. Both sides surround the bar. The kitchen is at the back and very difficult to see much from any position.That was really disappointing.

The restaurant website even explains the concept as a kitchen opened on a circular bar with 36 seats that allows clients to follow the service, to watch the succession of dishes, and to compose their own meal according to their appetite, as the menu offers all the great classics to taste in small, tapas-style portions. A large choice of carefully selected wines is available by the glass. Attentive service, warm and casual ambience and impeccable cuisine directed by Joël Robuchon.

Below, I am taking the photo from our set at the corner of the bar. If you look carefully, you can see the 5 legs of ham hanging from the ceiling inside of the open walls of the kitchen. It is lined with the jars of vegetables . Can you see it there? In the middle, at the bottom, is a leg of prosciutto in a cutter and a blurry man moving behind it. That is one of the cooks. But, most of them are down where the photo ends. That is where they are working. And, if you are looking from the other side, it is the same. So, during the dinner, you cannot see anyone preparing your meal, at all. Vanja, and some of the dinners, could see the Chef de Cuisine  standing directly behind the opening by the front door expediting all of the food in the kitchen. He was the only one talking. I could not even see him. The other chefs and cooks were behind the open dividers filled with objects that made it very difficult for anyone to see them.

To say the service was fast would be an understatement. Honestly, we hadn’t even sipped our water or said anything to one another before the amuse bouche appeared. It was presented to us at the top of the bar and we were told it was the amuse bouche. When I asked what it was, I was told, “Cold Soup.”  I think it was a butternut squash soup. It was a tasty non-descript, non-memorable taste. I really wanted to know what was in it. Our waited spoke English very well, but there was very little desire to ensure he had answered my question as he turned to chat with another guest in the middle of answering me. This was basically how the entire meal went, but, I will go on.

First, before the young man turned away, I did ask for butter with our bread. His helper heard me. That is always a treat for Vanja and I and we very much enjoy butter with our bread when we are out for a nice meal. We never have it at home and it is just such a pleasure. The butter was placed on a piece of slate and also served on the high bar in front of us where the bread was sitting. Our water was just behind that bar within the reach of who I supposed was our waiter. The butter was also non-descript. The I still recall the two butters served at The French Laundry: the salted one, and the none salted one with the detailed description of where each was from which I really did appreciate. And the butter at The Fat Duck was equally as memorable. This butter was not. But, it was only butter. The amuse bouche was beautiful. Both Vanja and I admired the presentation and the delicate tuille standing in it. I was still aglow with anticipation!

The couple next to me, around the corner of the bar, were exceedingly friendly: on vacation from Australia and had a wealth of information for us from their Paris experiences. Alas, it was out last night, but I was still listening intently. Isn’t the paprika sprinkled on the plate an artistic touch (below, left)? You can get an idea of how high the serving bar was on the photo below. It was very similar to a kitchen where there is the high bar and the eating bar in front of it.

I am not kidding you when I say as I put the spoon into my empty cup from the last bite that one waiter was whisking it away while his helped was standing behind him with our first course when was in front of me within 15 seconds of my spoon hitting the bottom of the cup. It looks so gorgeous. I am crazy over caviar! I have had some really good caviar in my life. Never eaten Beluga caviar yet, but it is on “the list”! What kind of caviar is this? I ask. “It is from China.” I do not lie. That is what he said. What kind of caviar from China? I question further. “From a fish from China.” I just looked at him, in shock, actually. At that point, he turned and said something to another fellow behind him and the answer came back: “Osetra: a kind of Sturgeon.” I didn’t dare ask what kind of Osetra caviar at that point. The dish was called simply: Le Caviar. The first part of the menu, describing th ecomponents of this dish and the first half of the menu, is below. You will notice we didn’t get what we were supposed to, and I only noticed that after, as I was looking so forward to the soft shelled crab that never arrived!

But, at this moment, the caviar had no flavour. I know that is hard to believe, and I am now sounding like a pouting child, but it is true. There was no flavour in it. Nothing fishy. Nothing salty. It was like eating water bubbles. The texture was nice. I was very confused as I would have thought it would be impossible for caviar to have such indiscernible flavour.

It looked lovely. Below is the first half of our prix fix menu which was very loosely followed throughout the evening.

Vanja got his langoustine and both were succulent and buttery and wonderful. I had a very small taste and the plump and succulent texture played an important role in the pleasure. What was the green leaf salad accompanying it? We asked, but there never was an answer. The waiter got interrupted by his helper and we did not find out. It was tasty and something like a Brussels sprout.

Next, we were both served the most gorgeous and flavourful heirloom tomato salad either of us has ever eaten. The glass dish does not do the presentation justice on the wooden counter. This dish was a work of art both in presentation and in the powerful simplicity of the flavours the dish delivered. Incredible tomatoes. Fruity and full bodied olive oil. A drizzle of the most lovely Balsamic and seasoned to perfection. We would have both licked our plates, but the food was coming at us so fast we almost felt we should duck! We had decided to leave enough food on our plate to play with for a few minutes. It was hard. This was the star of the evening for Vanja and a scintillating highlight for me.

I still get so much pleasure from just looking at it. This is when flavour and taste and texture are so important in a dish. When I study this dish, my taste memory instantly recalls the fleshy sparkle of the tomato oozing with its thick tangy gelée swirling into the savoury fruitiness of the rich olive oil lifted with the depth of the Balsamic. The herby leaves and peppery flowers added such an unforgettable mouth feel and fresh flavour explosion that I am enjoying it again, almost as much, right now.

Next came the foie gras. I have wanted to try foie gras with cherries as it is accompanied with them so much. What a gorgeous dish. Crisp tart sticks of crunchy green apple perfectly complimented the unctuous flawlessly caramelized foie. The deep and earthy sweet firm cherries and the fresh young toothsome almond was another thrill and the foie became a completely different dish when eaten with this accompaniment. I could not get enough. It was oh, so lush and flavourful and sumptuous. My feet were swinging under my bar chair as I celebrated this moment quietly in my chair. Mmmm! The leaf garnish was very beautiful, but not flavourful. Does anyone know what it is? This dish was my favourite. The cherry glaze was light, but bright, and perfect with the foie. My only complaint is that I had a lot of veins in my piece. This was not pleasing. It was actually disturbing.

Isn’t it gorgeous? I knew by now not to ask what kind of cherries they were. Out waiter was spending endless time laughing and visiting with a couple a few chairs down (the woman was very loud and very drunk) and we had to wave a helper down for some water. Below is the remainder of our menu.

Interestingly, we did not get the soft shelled crab, or the egg on the posted menu (and the menu above was presented to us and the one we chose to have); there was no mention of any replacement or any apology or conversation about allergy or preference when the alternate dishes were presented. This was just sat in front of us without any explanation. What is this, please? I knew I wasn’t expecting anything like this, though I couldn’t recall what I was expecting. “An espuma of mushroom: layered with a mixture of parsley on the bottom, followed by a light cream, a layer of sautéed mushrooms, topped with the mushroom espuma [mushroom foam]. We suggest you spoon to the bottom and eat a little of each layer together.”

Isn’t it a pretty dish? I love layered food. I was enamoured with the idea of this one. I dug to the bottom with delight and eagerly put the spoon in my mouth when I heard Vanja’s “Mmmm!” The mushrooms were really delicious butter sautéed mushrooms suspended in a light liquid that looked like cream but didn’t taste like cream. It tasted like a very light warm milk. The mushrooms were a really scrumptious bit of butter ssautéed mushrooms in an unexpected presentation. There was no additional texture sensation as could have happened with a thick cream at the bottom. Even if the warm milk had a thicker texture over the soupy parsley, it would have added interest to the dish. Vanja (bless his silly palate) hates parsley, and ate his layer without a problem. It was a vibrant green, but had no other flavour than mushrooms.  A beautiful dish of light and tasty fried mushroom soup. I was disappointed as it had so much more potential. I am not being spoiled here. I am really very easy to please. This is a two Michelin Star restaurant, and Jöel Robichon is the chef that currently holds the most stars of any chef. As I am writing, I am pouting. I have never had a soft shelled crab. It is on my list and I am really disappointed that it was substituted without any explanation. The staff here could really learn a lot from the staff at The Fat Duck or at The French Laundry, and many other places I have been that are not three star restaurants. Truly. I have learned to expect respect (a demonstration of value) and information from my servers when eating at such acclaimed places.

However, I am also a very positive person. We are in Paris, for goodness sake! We are out eating at a lovely restaurant and have some very interesting company. I find a big smile crawling back across my face!

Below, you will see how we were all seated. There were 18 seats on each L shape: 10 on our side, 5 across the front, and 2 just across from us. (…an L-shape with room for 3 on one end.)

You can see the space across from us, below, and the preparation space on the bar. Notice the smoked salmon on the white platter just waiting to be served? The gal from Australia beside me ordered that for her appetizer, earlier, and was raving about it. It was served with an herbed créme fraiche and a triangular waffle-iron shaped potato galette. She insisted I taste it. I said “No, thank you.” three times. Then, I succumbed. (Vanja was embarrasses!) It was absolute heaven! Now, that was a dish to write home about. Simple. Unexpected (the galette shape and flavour) and a deadly combination. Also, very simple. I can do this! And, I will!

I loved that little sharing. She also had the Special of that night which was poached Blue Lobster (presented live on a large platter for each guest not ordering the prix fix to see) and though it was extremely small when prepared (quite surprising considering the one on the tray appeared to be almost two kilo), she was very satisfied with it, as well. I was so entertained seeing their plates come to them and talking about their choices. She was clearly a foodie. They were very kind regarding me photographing my food. They didn’t laugh, but were clearly amused. And who wouldn’t be. I was amused, myself!

I keep trying to check out the action in the kitchen. Now you can see, above the jamon leg (left centre, below), one of the Chefs working, again. There were about 9 cooking when I went into the kitchen at the end of the evening. I asked who the Chef de Cuisine was this evening and was told something I couldn’t understand. I asked if the name could please be written it down. I was told I could check the website: the names are all there.

I found the following video on YouTube that really represents our experience well. Our food was different, but the presentations were similar and it is an excellent depiction of the setting.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RjL5goLzgs8

Honestly, it may sound like I am a demanding and high maintenance guest, but truly, I am not. We took very little of our server’s time compared to other guests. I had our waiter’s assistant write the name of the Chef de Cuisine down for me. It reads: Axel Manes (not noted on the website but a lot of information can be found about him through a basic Google search), and Pastry Chef (also different than the one on the website): Olivier Bagnolt. I tried to find such a person. None exists. François Benot is the only name anywhere similar that I found as a pastry chef, and the one listed on their website. (There was no Olivier as a pastry chef, though there certainly is an Olivier Limousin as an important right hand to Chef Robichon. I was told there are three Chef de Cuisines and that they alternate shifts, but that one is not “above” the others.

See the massive magnum of wine, above, right? I thought it was a decoration. But, it is not. Several glasses of red were poured from it throughout the evening. It did not seem to fit.

Another dish appeared in front of us. I was very full by this time. Vanja wasn’t. It looked superb. The plating is another work of art. I couldn’t eat it at all. Don’t even ask what it was. I tried. I know I should have known better by now but my desire to know what I was eating and to learn about the food here exceedingly surpassed the possible (probably?) embarrassment of asking what I was eating every time I was served something. It was a kind of white fish. Maybe halibut. Maybe sea bass. I know they are very different in texture and flavour. This was more like sea bass, but it was still really hard to tell. The fish tailed tuille of parmesan was stunning though it is said one is never to serve cheese with fish. It was a lovely touch to me. The olives were a bright compliment, too. I was ready for their briny goodness and really enjoyed nibbling them with the crunchy stalks on the green garnish.When I didn’t finish, the assistant was clearly concerned. I was in the washroom and Vanja told me that he didn’t want to take my plate. He was then worried I didn’t like it and wanted to get the waiter to solve the problem. This was nice to hear.

I was frustrated with the culture in this restaurant. I sat in my chair starving for the answers to my questions. What was I eating?

There was a choice of three items for what we were told was the main course. I wondered how I could manage. I chose the quail with truffled potatoes and was so happy to see how small the serving was. The potatoes were divine. I have never had a shaved slice of truffle before. This was my first one. It was a summer truffle and I would guess one similar to what MoNa foods had on display at Indulgence, 2010. It was a very mild truffle. Nothing like the fragrance of the ones shaved into the soup of our neighbouring table at The French Laundry. I could smell the aroma across the room that evening. This dish was light and lovely. I have cooked quail before. It is a rich and full bodied lovely little bird with succulent dark meat. These bites were lovely. I had tastes and gave it to Vanja. I ate all of the potatoes. Somehow, they fit. Yum.

Vanja chose the veal sweetbreads. I had adored the sweetbreads we ate at The French Laundry with the rabbit. I have enjoyed them other places, as well. These looked sumptuous. Vanja said they were really delicious. Remember, he loves liver and kidneys, so this was really no surprise. I could no longer taste anything. I was just too full. I love how flavourful these appear with their tasty jus artfully strewn on the plate. It looked like it was served with cooked Romaine which Vanja said was “tasty”. I love deep fried sage leaves. I did eat those!

We had really slowed down our plate cleaning by now. But, the staff was not pushing us, or frustrated by this. There was no one waiting for a chair. It was comfortable to take our time. Without realizing it, I was ready for dessert. When these wild strawberries appeared, I sat up straight in my chair. I am crazy about them. The Limoncello gelée was really fun. It was bouncy and chewy and powerfully citrusy! Perfect with the sweet forest morsels in their edible wrapping. The quenelle of Fromage Blanc ice cream was heavenly with these berries and the bouncy citrus fun.

Vanja wasn’t impressed. He thought it was an easy gimmick.

The Australian gal next to us had been moaning throughout her chocolate dessert. It was about two times bigger than the one below, but I knew we were getting a tasting of the same and I was really looking forward to it. I would like to have all of the information of the layers involved in this pot of complex chocolate perfection. I can only tell you what I tasted and that will be difficult. You can see there is something in the bottom that I was really unaware of. That would be a rich chocolate sauce. Maybe two. Then, there was a huge dollop of ganache with a molton bowl of thick pudding-like chocolate decadence sitting inside the ganache. There were Valrhona chocolate pearls with crispy centres floating inside of this. This was all topped with a crunchy mound of goey chocolate crumble and surrounded by a flat two toned donut disc of dark chocolate. Oh, my. What a finalé!

I almost always want a coffee in a place like this as it is such a pleasure to savour the evening we have just participated in and linger a bit more before departing. I did not even think of a coffee after eating this. Did you notice I suddenly had room for dessert? Two desserts? Somehow, the sugary goodness of these desserts had no problem finding a place in my tummy.

I wanted another Le Chocolat Tendence. But, we got up to leave, and as we did, I took pause at the window into the kitchen at the doorway and asked the hostess if I could take a photo of the kitchen. At that very moment, Chef Axel Manes turned and saw me with my camera. “May I take a picture of you?” I asked. “Yes, but come around to the kitchen, and we will have one together! I really did not want a photo with him. I wanted one of him. For some reason, every time I get a photo with a Chef, I hate it. I have one with Todd English of Olives when we were there, in Boston, and I have others. I don’t want me in the photo. But, I can never decline such a kind offer, so there we were, being led back to where we had sat and completely around the bar to the very end to enter into the kitchen area.

Below are the photos I took from the window before Chef Manes turned around. I didn’t have my camera set for movement, but you get the idea.

And here we are. I cut myself out of the photo. Chef Manes was gregarious and warm and confident and welcoming. And has a great pose, don’t you think? It is similar in other photos I have seen of him. He was so young and so capable. I asked him where he was from and found out that he hails from Brussels. English came easily to him. He asked where we were from, and then said that one of his Chefs was also from Canada: from Montreal. All were working intently with their heads down, but the restaurant was definitely no longer at peak flow. Most diners were on dessert and a couple of seats only were on second seating. (It was 9: 20.) The Chef from Montreal raised his head and looked at us and smiled, then continued what he was doing. It was all a bit of a blur.

Chef Manes then insisted that Vanja also get in the photo and had a staff member take the photo. When we got home, there wasn’t one there.

I was actually happy to meet the Chef and get a closer look at the kitchen, though it was quite a blur. We didn’t expect to be there. We had our photo. I hadn’t asked for a tour and it didn’t seem appropriate to go back to the door and watch some more. Though. I did want to.

We stepped out into the fresh evening air, sun setting and looked at one another. Vanja was still hungry. He was disgusted by the bread crumbs all over his eating space throughout the entire meal and by the clearly awkward serving arrangement. I could not disagree.

What was your favourite dish? he asked. I had to think, and I remembered the flavourless caviar, first. “I don’t know? What was yours?” The tomato salad. And I think its sad when the tomato salad is the highlight of the evening at a restaurant like this, he added. Again, I could not disagree. “The foie gras!” I loved it. “And the chocolate dessert!” Ok. He said. The dessert should definitely be that high on your list with this kind of tasting menu. Again, he was right. Sadly, some of the dishes were completely forgettable.

We looked at each other again. “It was disappointing, wasn’t it?” I said. No doubt about it was his matter-of-fact response.  I know there were bright moments in the evening. But, overall, it was very disappointing. I felt very sad. It was a very strange feeling. I wanted so much to celebrate the triumphs of this restaurant and our experience here. But, it just was not possible.

We were up early, as we always are on a travelling holiday. Neither of us can stand the thought of missing a precious thing! In the breakfast room daily at 7 am just as the night clerk was just lifting his head off of the desk awakened by the aroma of the strong and fragrant French coffee. There is nothing like it! “Café? Orange? Chocolat?” Yes, please. All.

Seriously, I adore French coffee with a little milk and a little sugar. Once I have had a cup, I am transformed into my “French” mode: à la élégant! And not the croissant, but the baguette with butter. Yes. The butter is important on a holiday.

This is the first breakfast in all of my travels in France that I have been served Orange water instead of Orange juice. Everything else was great, but I really missed a good glass of orange juice in the morning!

And, by 7:20 we had departed numéro 11 and walked over to the Seine, about 2 minutes away. Voilà: Notre Dame! Vanja has never been inside, so this will be something we accomplish sometime today (or tomorrow).

This grand structure is truly breathtaking and worthy of many touristy photos!

It is 7:30 (see the clock, above, right) and we are waiting for the bus (instead of the metro (stop apparent by the stand, below, right). We bought a 7 day transportation card for 30 Euro that was perfect. It covered all 5 zones (all the way to Euro Disney, should we have been so inclined) and all modes of transportation. The bus would be a nice change to see where we are going this morning. Yes, the distance is definitely withing walking distance, but we will be walking a lot through the day, and I have an appointment waiting for me at Lenôtre: a French Macaron Making Class!

The little locked up green boxes (above, left) line the Seine around Notre Dame and are filled with art work and old books to buy during peek hours of the day, or year.

We are already off of the bus just past the Tuelieries Garden at Place de la Concord. You can see the gold-leaf covered Egyptian obelesque in the centre of the Place de la Concord to the left, above in the photo. To the right, is the Eiffel Tower and to our immediate right is the little garden (below) that will take us to the Champs Elysée.

Even the signs in the garden are charming!

After the Macaron Class at Lenôtre in the morning (from 9 to 1), Vanja met me at Lenôtre, as planned, and we continued with a stroll half way up the Champs Elysée toward the Arc de Triomphe. I am usually surprised at how it is so much the same, but this time, I was shocked at how much had changed in such a little time.

Usually, there is one strolling side, and one business side on the Champs Elysée. The last time I was here was in 2007 and Lacoste and Louis Vitton had massive store fronts on the banking side, but that was all. This time, there are restaurants (including Ladurée) and stores much of the way up what I have always called the banking side of the street. Everything on the Champs Elysée was all decked out for Bastille Day which was the day following.

I had to stop at my favourite little candy store, Glups, and was devastated to see how empty it was of confectionery delights. Is it going out of business?  I tried to ask, but the clerks were so busy giggling with one another they did not even look up when I passed my money to them. Yes, lucky me, what I came for was there: little hard candied violets. Oh, how I love them! (I did find some prettier ones in a little shop window in Venice and have never seen anything similar, since.) It has become a little ritual of mine to buy a bag of these little sweets every time in Paris. YUM! I save them. Now I can eat the bag I bought last time! (I am so excited because I found the most incredible violette essence at G. Datou to use for baking. But, that will have to wait for another post.)

Amazingly, look what is across the street! Wouldn’t lunch there be lovely, Vanja? (I don’t look at him as I know his version of lovely is a grilled steak and there won’t be one of those at The Laduree Tearoom.)

We cross the street. Perfect photo opportunity! Everyone does it.

We actually stood and laughed at a few doing exactly the same thing before we did it. I forgot to look to see those laughing at us! I try to do every touristy thing at least once!

The menu was definitely priced on the high side for a lunch menu. I had forgotten to look at the menu at their tearoom at Harrods’ in London. I would say that the prices would be the same as a British High Tea menu.

This could have been a bank. I wonder what it was? There is a gorgeous and very modern bar at the back of the patisserie service bar. You can also access it from a discreet door outside on the east of the building. The menu is exactly the same. The decor is phenomenal and there are fresh roses on every bar table and around the bar. I could not take a photo inside of it. I did somehow find a rather dark image of the long and incredibly gorgeous (in person as the colouring is not even close to true form in the blurry, but better-than-none photo below) pâtisserie bar that one faced immediately upon entering. The line up was equally as long, and never ending, as well.

We sat in the sunroom and it was really beautiful. Photos are not allowed, so I asked for a brochure. There was none. I was allowed to take photos of my food and of each other. Vanja moved out of the photo quickly a time or two so I could catch a little of the surrounding. I did want to be respectful, so I hope there is enough here to fill your imagination. The first image is the outside of the sunroom.

I was not at all hungry after baking all morning, but I was very hot and very thirsty. I hadn’t eaten anything (except one macaron), but that is always how I feel after making food. Full.

I ordered the Cold Tomato and Pistachio Soufflé. I was thrilled to have my first ever cold soufflé – and, in Paris! Vanja ordered an omelet as he hadn’t had any breakfast, so it was a perfect spot after all! Why is it that something so simple can look so completely lovely? Bread and Butter. And it was more lovely than it looked. Beautiful cold, sweet and creamy unsalted butter shaped in an unexpected baton. And the bread? Well, I think this is why I keep taking courses in bread making. I make my own all of the time, but always marvel at the variety of bread that can be made with flour, water, yeast and salt. Incredible!

The waiter was charming and I was definitely charmed!

There were little rooms everywhere. Outside of the sunroom was a dark, very rustic bar area quite unlike one would expect to find at Laduree. Upstairs (on the way to the bathroom to wash my hands), there was room after room after room of small rooms to choose to eat in. And most had a table or two filled with people eating. Each had a little different décor. All were in 19^th Century French style.

The lady was waiting for me at the bathroom! “Bonjour, Madame!” And she waived me royally in. I definitely flowed in royally. The first room was a washing hand room with a lovely grand pedestal sink. Around the corner were some huge beautifully dressed windows open to let in the breeze. A massive fresh and formal bouquet adorned the counter beside the mirror dressing mirror. Each toilet space was very ample. I later learned that this was for both men and women. I am accustomed to “keepers of the toilet” in certain countries, but did not expect this, so was very grateful for the rare loose change in my pocket.

Oh, my goodness gracious! Look at this work of art! The colour of the cold tomato purée is brilliant and the egg-white soufflé wrapped perfectly with the tongue of peeled tomato flesh is stunning. And look, a little crispy fish on top made with roasted tomato!

I was fed, completely, without taking one bite. Truly.

There was a leaf of parsley on top, and some crumbles of pistachio. Inside, there was a layer of delicately cubed tomato flesh and a scant brushing of finely ground pistachios. It was light and like a giant savoury marshmallow. The impact of this dish was in the texture, the mouth feel and the delicately flavoured tomato. On this very hot day, this was the perfect afternoon delight.

And Vanja? He was very satisfied, as well! He doesn’t like surprises in his food and nothing could be more straight forward than this!

Look at the thickness of the lush egg wrap around the mushrooms and cheese and vegetables! This is definitely one way to get Vanja to eat his veggies.

I have definitely noticed that the French use eggs everywhere in everything, far more than at home. They honor the egg. They revere the egg. It is the perfect food. It is beautiful and delicately flavoured, yet can develop a depth of flavour possible no other way, produce a variety of amazing textures as well as create volume and gloss. Culinary art is most definitely apparent everywhere regarding the acquisition of mastering the power of the egg: French Magic!

After I ate, while Vanja finished his coffee, I stood in the big and long line at the Patisserie Bar to buy a dessert (or two) to take back to our room and enjoy. We were too full to enjoy one now, and truly, most were three Euro cheaper to buy and take with you than to eat in the restaurant. This was similar to what I started to see in London UK in March, and is still shocking me. How can all of the beautiful packaging the sweets are wrapped in be cheaper than a plate to wash?

Anyway, I wanted to take it with us. So hard to choose. I had read recommendations from Paris Patisseries and had made very specific and special notes that I brought with me on the trip, but did not have on hand this day. All I could do was recognize what I had read about, but not whether it was good, or bad. So, I bought three: one that I was pretty sure got a bad review, but had raspberries with roses, both which I love; another with pistachios and strawberries that I was sure had a good review, or I would have never picked it; the last definitely did not get any review and I bought it because it was clearly a traditional French pastry called a Réglisse I had never eaten and it was violette in flavour! (it took quite a little tumble, though I thought I was careful, in the box on the way home!)

(Definitely, take a look at his site. It is incredible! Subscribe! He writes about every pastry imaginable, in detail: macarons, and he did write about the raspberry and rose pastry I bought, as well as the pistachio and strawberry one. I wanted to link you to his posts here, but just searched his site, and the posts are no longer accessible!)

Oh, I also got four macarons and a canelé and a financier because I do recall Heavenly Housewife recommending one to me as “they were “heavenly”, and often overlooked. (Was this the right one, HH?)

Back to the hotel we went for a short nap before going out for the evening. I woke up earlier than Vanja, so sampled my half of the sweets! To be honest, only the macaron half on this evening, and the others, the next late afternoon.

All I can tell you, is I can never get enough. Well, I can. They are very filling, actually: after, about 8! The cassis one was really delicious. The white one was to have a violette flavour, and it was a disappointment. Can one say that about a Ladurèe sweet, or is that just too self indulgent? The pistachio was incredible, as always; the mandarin was really lovely and fresh. MMMMmmm. I can still recall the sensation of pleasure that tickled through me. Yummy!

I thought I had a canelé before. I have a memory of the shape and texture being delicious, but maybe it was not a canelé as this one tasted really terrible. I know that beeswax is used to coat the pan and that they are crusty and crunchy and dark on the outside and soft and beautiful and light on the inside: exactly like this one. And, this was a canelé at Ladurée. Yikes. I just bought all three sizes of the molds and they were very expensive (but cheaper than at home). I did not like the taste at all and have no frame of reference from which to describe it: not appealing? It was not repugnant, but it was surprisingly awful, to me. The financier was chewy and delicate all at once as it was packed with almond flour. Not sweet at all. Really a lovely bite.

I was counting on the post from Paris Patisserie to remind me of the name of this pastry. There absolutely is one. I did not write them down. This was lovely, and light and Vanja’s favourite. I missed the pistachio flavour. I could hardly taste it. But, how can I really complain? It was delicious. And, the raspberry and rose concoction? Well, with the macaron base and the rose butter cream with fresh berries, I was happy. Very, very happy. YUM!

I love playing with my cookies. I enjoy seeing how they were made and investigating each part, then tasting each bit as much as eating it. Do you have to do anything to fresh raspberries? They are perfect from the bush, so sitting them on a macaron shell was putting two perfect creations together. The rose? You have to like it, and I do.  I do because it is French and I first had it in France and it reminds me of that moment and of my grandmother and of her garden. Perfect.

Did I save the best for last? No. The violette flavour was perfect, but I will never indulge in a Réglisse again. I am glad I did. I now know what they are: flavoured cream filled choux (heavily filled) with very sweet flavoured icing on top. This is a pastry that is not for me. There was no crunch or interesting texture except a wallow of cream. Deliciously flavoured with violette essence, but too much of everything, I think.

Just around the corner, as we were leaving Paris on Sunday morning, look what I spotted?

Believe me, it took a lot of self talk to not buy more macarons! I just told myself , “No more!” And, that was that. But, I truly did regret not buying the cookbook I had seen. Should I take one more little look? “I’ll just take a little peek!”

It made great reading all the way to Beograd: en Français, of course! Anyone want to come over and make French Macarons when I get home? I would love a cooking partner!

So, the moral of this story is: when one goes to The Ladurée Tearoom for lunch, that will just be the beginning of a life long love affair.

We took the underground to Paddington Station from our hotel  in London and transferred to the train for Maidenhead which was a short 25 minutes away. Come with me from the train to The Fat Duck! Our taxi took us down the hill around the corner and through a lovely green residential area to a very quiet road, then stopped in front of a plain white building with a simple brown door and said, “This is it”. We looked at each other and I stepped out of the car looking for evidence while Vanja paid. Then I looked up, and smiled.

The sun was setting. It was 7:40 on a gorgeous Spring evening and the street was eerily silent.

We were greeted the moment we walked through the heavy oak door by a man in a suit and two happy cheery gals that immediately dropped what they were doing and came to the door beaming the sweetest smiles up at us. I was enchanted. Though we were twenty minutes early, we were seated at a lovely round table with ample room and both chairs fairly close together facing an interesting portion of the restaurant. Detail.

The simplicity of the room was stunning. Heavy beams lined the rustic white walls and ceiling. Modern art lined all walls in horizontal form. All staff were in their formal service while the guest were clearly dressed for a special evening, though most men were not in jackets as required when dining at The French Laundry. We were definitely in casual attire as our travels would take us nowhere needing anything formal, except here. Black is a wonderful colour when casual. It worked.

The simple white napkin: detail.

We had just oriented ourselves in our seats when out of nowhere appeared this ultra modern over-sized champagne cart in front of us. “No, thank you.” Were words I did not want to utter as the young man formally offered us incredible celebratory choices. Yet, Vanja doesn’t care for champagne, and I can no longer tolerate it. So, sadly, “No, thank you.” it was. I appreciated the beauty of the cart, the choices and the lovely young man with his formal, yet warm manner.

Olives and a bottle of still water were placed on our table seconds after we sat. Vanja even nibbled an olive, though he detests them: a testament to how hungry he was.

The finely leather bound wine list appeared; it is the most lengthy list I have laid my eyes upon. I love a taste of wine with my meal, but no one serves “tastes”, and I can no longer tolerate any alcohol.

Vanja considered his beer selection.

We were expecting an amuse bouche, but a gentleman in a formal jacket appeared with a tray to place on the table that had been moved into position moments before. Now this looks interesting. When we arrived, the restaurant was almost empty. The first sitting had been cleared and a few tables for the second sitting were seated so we had no idea what was in store for us.

We hadn’t time to see anything served to another table and the anticipation mounted as he told us that he was about to prepare a bite for each of us with liquid nitrogen in the open pot that was -198ºF that would cleanse our palates and prepare us to dine .

LIME GROVE
Nitro Poached Green Tea and Lime Mousse

One delicate bite to be placed in the mouth all at once evaporates immediately leaving a lime citrus breath of air freshener. Mmmm…. Magic.

And the bread and butter were second to none, but it was curious to both of us that it was served immediately after the palate cleanser. I commented that it was a shame, in a way, to cleanse our palates for bread and butter. Though, I must take a moment to sing my praises to the butter.

As a server placed it on the black slate on our table, we were told it was unpasteurized salted butter. This seemed to be a recurring theme. Again, I could not get enough of it. It was only butter, but nothing at The Fat Duck is usual. This butter was clean and salty and creamy. I could have taken a spoon to it. Instead, the bread was perfect. They should sell it to take home.

Before we got very far into our tasty whole grain bread, a canelle of mustard ice cream was served with a red cabbage soup. The intensity of the soup was unexpected and exceedingly pleasing. Chef Blumenthal, how do you come up with such ideas? It was refreshing, savoury, sharp, and completely unexpected. The flavours paired perfectly. Who would have thought? Heston Blumenthal. Simply perfect.

RED CABBAGE GAZPACHO
Pommery Grain Mustard Ice Cream

What is this? A miniature package awaiting your pleasure, madam. Place it on your tongue to prepare your palate for the tastes of the forest floor…. and the forest floor appeared before us covered with moss, fragrant vapours rising as the steamy pot of water poured into it….

…bubbling over the table to greet us as we partake of the mossy oak jelly and cream. It cannot be explained, but it was exceptionally delicious. This was one of my favourite taste and texture experiences of the evening. The chicken liver was silky and thick and unctuous and the lighter layers inside of the bowl rounded that richness into such a pleasurable delight. I almost forgot I had a truffled cracker. Who could forget that? And it was earthy and chewy and crunchy and the perfect textural compliment to the bowl of velvet silky jellied perfection. Simply perfect.

JELLY OF QUAIL, CRAYFISH CREAM
Chicken Liver Parfait, Oak Moss and Truffle Toast

SNAIL PORRIDGE
with Joselito ham and shaved fennel

I love bright green everything. This was a vibrant dish. The freshness of the parsley was perfect. The porridge was really satisfying. The textured creamy bowl of luscious goodness was just what I needed. It wasn’t rich, but clean and thick and chewy and the fennel shavings add an exotic aromatic hit. The snails gave an earthy depth of flavour and a warmth to the bowl through the unexpected je ne sais quoi that motivated my spoon to scrape the bottom of the bowl.

As we were seated directly in front of the service preparation table, it was interesting to watch perfect synchronicity of the service staff. Someone from the kitchen would bring out a tray of food for service and place it on the table. Whoever was closest and available would immediately come to the tray, read the little note under it (still on the photo to the left, above) and then take it to the correct table. Depending upon which course it was, and how many people were at the expecting table, others may join in the service. It happened as perfectly as a well practised dance and was definitely enjoyable to watch.

ROAST FOIE GRAS
Rhubarb, Braised Konbu and Crab Biscuit

But usually we were too engrossed in our own plates. Look at this beautiful foie gras! It was just a little bit on the plate, yet it was plenty to eat and perfectly cooked. Look at the creaminess of the bite in the bottom left photo. The crab crackers were toasty and salty and crisp while the foie gras was, well, just about the most perfect food ever created on this planet. I knew by now that the garnish was not just to be looked at. Each little whisp or drop would burst with flavour and always elevate the feature. The rhubarb gel, balsamic dots and paper thin konbu were no exception to this. The acid from the gel and the vinegar lifted up the heaviness of the foie and it danced in my mouth. The seaweed added an exotic saltiness that transported the entire experience to an unknown realm. Who would have thought to add braised seaweed to this dish? Simply perfect.

A bookmark arrived in the middle of our place setting. Not just any bookmark. A bookmark made with exceptional cardstock, letters embossed in silver and with The Fat Duck’s signature knife, fork and spoon raised proudly at the bottom in sparkling splendour. Anticipation. An invitation.

The March hare took the watch and looked at it gloomily; then he dipped it into his cup of tea… “Have you seen the Mock Turtle yet?” “No”, said Alice. “I don’t even know what a Mock Turtle is.” “It’s the thing Mock Turtle Soup is made from,” said the Queen.

And there was a bowl with a little Wonderland inside of it: a small hill with toadstools growing out of it, some puddles and bridges and logs and blocks and greenery to explore.

Then the waiter arrived with our Mad Hatter Tea. The 24k golden watch was slipped inside of our cup, and before I could even hold it for a moment inside of my hand, the hot water was poured over the carefully created and hard pressed bouillon and it immediately began to dissolve into a gorgeous golden tea…

…which the server then instructed each of us to pour over the bowl to create our Mock Turtle Soup. The cliché a feast for the eyes evolved because of moments like these. The golden broth sparkled with golden bits of the dissolved pocket watch did actually make time stand still for a few seconds as I breathed in the fantasy. I now recalled seeing Anthony Bourdain speak about this dish once upon a time. He held the watch in his hand and Heston Blumenthal talked to him about how he created the dish. I held my spoon and dipped into the golden broth expecting the unusual, yet not the intensity of delicious flavour that was there. Still, and again. surprised by the ability of our master chef to create a broth with such a delicious intensity. Yum. And the mock turtle egg was a creamy, rich and decadent pleasure. The miniature terrine was flavourful and tender and the chewy texture was a welcome bite. This soup was extraordinarily scrumptious and probably the most beautiful savoury plate I have every laid my eyes upon. Perfection.

MOCK TURTLE SOUP (c.1850)
“Mad Hatter Tea”

Mad Hatter’s Tea with Heston Blumenthal

…and Vanja and I experienced this pleasure. Simply perfect.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gghb4vaQVvo

The serving staff was exceedingly sensitive to the needs of each of us in the room and had an inherent manner of just knowing what you needed next without any feeling that you were being watched or over attended to. Vanja loves his bread, and each time his plate was empty, the basket would reappear. Butter was replenished. Water glasses were filled. All of these details were done in a whisper of time without a sound.

At this point, listen to Heston Blumenthal himself explain his philosophy and this dish. We were prepared for this as we had seen it arrive at the tables before us. Two of Nature’s most magnificent  gastropod shells arrived on a tray with earphones neatly protruding from their inner depths. When inserted, the sounds of the sea was overwhelming and immediately transported me to my childhood frame of reference of waves and water and seagulls: Sylvan Lake. I closed my eyes. It was a dark and stormy day on the water and the water was warm and perfect for rolling with the waves.

Our beach then arrived. The iridescence of the seafood morsels on the plate reminded me of abalone and the sand and seaweed were hiding a little snail or slug escaping the waters washing onto the beach. My first impression was awe. The artful plating of the food was perfect. Simple. Yet, not at all simple. We had agreed to go inside of ourselves during this course, and not speak while listening to the sounds of the sea. My first bite was of the foam and the sand and the reality of the flavour experience was so powerful I was jolted through my past to a memory at the lake where I was swallowing water. I laughed out loud. I had tasted these tastes of the sea. The textures and flavours immersed inside of the sound was an intensely personal eating experience. I would not say that it was delicious. But, it was an incredibly powerful and personal trip inside of myself through a kaleidoscope of memories that warmed my spirit and awakened all of my senses. And I laughed more that a few times through this trip. Biting into the squishy snail-slug and chewing it with relish to determine what it really was, chewing the salty seaweed, inhaling the foam, having the fishy sand explode with flavour and and then dissolve inside of my mouth each elicited a humorous response. I was so inside of the moment I almost stood up and clapped as I giggled with glee.

“SOUND OF THE SEA”

Vanja and I looked at one another with disbelief as each of us wiped the last traces of the beach from our lips and took off the headset. Nothing was said. Thank goodness this was an experience shared as it could never be explained. Brilliant.

The art work left a space for my eyes to rest and at times was a backdrop for my imagination to play our taste memories across it as each plating was significantly different from the other and the personal connection from within was overtly apparent upon experiencing each dish.

The salmon poached in licorice was wrapped in a licorice gel, and poached. It was topped with trout roe and was very clean and clear in flavour. The trout roe burst little sparkles of salty sea fireworks over the salmon. Here, the grapefruit tendrils really elevated the taste experience as the citrus notes cleansed my palate. At the same time, the decadence of the seemingly decorative vanilla mayonnaise played a very important role in this dish as it brought the artichoke and the salmon together as the perfect pair. Vanilla mayonnaise is scrumptious! I loved this succulent dish. Not so simply perfect.

SALMON POACHED IN LIQUORICE
Artichokes, Vanilla Mayonnaise, Golden Trout Roe and Manni Olive Oil

Hmm… the preparation table had a misting bottle on it. I wonder what course that is for? And, as the evening is wearing on, the wines are disappearing from the side shelf. There is no bar in the room, and I am amazed at how the serving staff is able to do all that they do as quickly and quietly as they do it without any defined space to do it in.

The last savoury dish appears. The pièce de résistance: pigeon.

POWDERED ANJOU PIGEON (c.1720)
Blood Pudding and Confit of Umbles

I had heard “humbles”, and asked, “What are humbles?” The young man blushed just a bit and said, “Offals?” I nodded and then said, “Which?” “The heart.” I was looking forward to tasting that. I was always the one at our family dinners that would scramble for the turkey or chicken heart as a child. I believe that love was instilled by my grandma Maude who would whisper to me, “Make sure you’re the one to get the heart when the plate comes around. It is always the best part of the bird.” I would chew on the rubbery bits proudly, and learned to love them. This heart was so tender. How tender it was actually surprised me. Is that the pigeon, or the chef? It is the heart shaped bit in the above photo. It was very delicious.

The texture of the blood pudding was unbelievably silky; the flavour surprisingly mild and lush savoury richness. Exactly the texture of a perfect chocolate pudding, and the flavour of a savoury gamy pudding. Really delicious . Yet, I couldn’t eat more than that. I could not shut my mind off of the fact that I was eating blood pudding though my logic had already told me that it was delectable. The incredible silkiness beckoned me. Yet, I could not.  The golden warm jus was inviting and flavourful and somehow beefy. The flesh was tender and gamy and wildly delicious. Yet, I was too full. I loved this dish. It really was the crowning glory of this feast as it celebrated British tradition and the wild game I had seen in every butcher shop passed by in London. I was thrilled to have tasted pigeon and to have had this completely British plate: heart, blood pudding, and pigeon. Quintessential British cuisine to the nth level.

Two and a half hours had passed at the blink of an eye. We could not believe that we needed to catch our train back to London and that we still had the dessert courses before us. I have never spent that amount of time sitting at a table without being painfully aware of the time. This really was a Wonderland. Time stands still and flies at the very same time at The Fat Duck.

Our hot and cold tea arrived next. Heston Blumenthal, how do you do what you do? This was pure magic in a see-through glass. Magic. One sip was hot, the next, cold. One sip cold, the next hot. The latent scientist in me kicked into action. Hmmm… density of solutes… gelatin… emulsion… how did he do this? It has to be something to do with gelatin and ice and hot water. The flavour, I should add, was a refreshing mild honey tea and the texture was unusual… or was it just the temperature change playing games with my palate? This really was a Wonderland. Magical.

This little glass cup was simple perfection. The perfect tea cup for a hot and cold tea. Simply perfect.

TAFFETY TART (c.1660)
Caramelized Apple, Fennel, Rose and Candied Lemon with Cassis Sorbet

There was a lot going on in this dessert. I was sure I tasted violet. The server assured me it was rose, but I tasted violet. I wonder why? What was it, Chef Blumenthal, that brought that taste memory forward for me? The crunchy pastry and rose scented cream with the lemon bits and the cassis sorbet… all heaven. And I was really ready for a sweet treat by this time. The rose petals must have been made in house as they are just like the ones I make and nothing like the commercial ones in the South of France. There was a gelatin layer in the tart that created yet another layer of texture. Gorgeous, and yummy. No so simple. At all. But, perfect.

Now, what is happening. A dark, earthy musky whisper of a scent is settling over us. And, we have now been served the “BFG”.

The “BFG”
Kirsch Ice Cream and the smell of the Black Forest

Simply perfect. Simple perfection.

I cannot imagine how Chef Blumenthal creates such complex and intense delights to appear so simple. Certainly, many of his dishes are not, but all possess a clarity that is compelling. Here, our gateau, stately erect in all its decadent splendour. The ice cream was my first bite and almost brought me to my knees. There is no photo of the interior of this cake as I was not thinking about anything else during this eating, tasting, smelling, and self indulgent experience. The cake was more cream filled that cakey. It was layered with three other cherry-crowned layers hiding within cream and chocolate and cakey goodness that cannot be described as most of us have no frame of reference for the quality of food that this Chef and his staff create. Unforgettable. Brilliant.

The tea and coffee menu was offered after we let the staff know that we regrettably had to rush the remainder of our service as it was after 11 and our train was leaving before 11:30. They assured us that it wouldn’t be a problem, and kindly called a taxi for us, but I was quite sad to not be  able to linger and savour the wonderful experience we had just partaken of. To rush off was disconcerting… but there was no choice. The time had passed so quickly as we were both fully immersed in each moment.

WHISK(E)Y WINE GUMS

And then… more. Wine gums representing all of the whiskies from Scotland. Each with a completely different flavour and each completely intense and wonderful. The Oban was my favourite. Sadly, they had one American Jack Daniels instead of a Canadian Crown Royal.

I had requested a trip to the kitchen and was told that would be welcome and probably best at the end of our meal. A server brought us these tablets and said, “A little something for your hands before you visit the kitchen.” Everything was scripted. Comfortably scripted, but purposefully so. Tablets? I was confused. Startled, momentarily. What was I to do with this? Then the water was poured over each and they magically grew just like Alice in Wonderland.

And the warm, steamy cloth was the perfect hug caress to end this magical evening. Refreshed, warmed, and clean, we rose to visit the kitchen.

Johnny Lake was the Chef de Cuisine for the evening in charge of expediting the food. We were taken down a preparation hall, or aisle, similar to the one in the French Laundry, but shorter and smaller and then positioned in front of a service window from the kitchen. The young man who guided us here asked that no photos be taken in this area or of the kitchen staff. The kitchen was shockingly small. All I saw through the window was about 5 male heads working and they looked up as we appeared. I thanked them all for the wonderful meal and told them how much we enjoyed the experience. I am sure it showed on our faces. The server then pointed out Johnny Lake, and we thanked him again, personally. At that point, our guide explained the workings of the kitchen and that we could not possibly enter, as we could see how small it was. He opened the door to the kitchen to let us peak inside. And, seconds later, much to our surprise, and that of our server, Johnny Lake came out to speak to us and thank us for coming. We shook his hand and he asked where we came from. He is from Montreal, so I was proud to have shaken the hand of such a successful young fellow Canadian. I am also disappointed that there is no reference to him, or any staff member of The Fat Duck anywhere to be found on the website.

I was told that it is Johnny Lake that is there every evening and that Chef Blumenthal has not been in the restaurant for quite some time. Clearly, the dishes were all created by Chef Blumenthal, but it takes a very special Chef to be able to expedite the food to the perfect quality it reaches each table at. I am disappointed that there is not any evidence to be found about who those people are. I did find one little bit to validate that Johnny Lake is there. There is a test kitchen apparently very nearby that Chef Blumenthal uses to continue to create food and where staff prepares many of the parts of the meal that we enjoyed.

“LIKE A KID IN A SWEET SHOP”

So, back from the kitchen, and a goodie bag was waiting for each of us at the table. I was bubbling with delight, overflowing with gratefulness. And, as we rushed into the cool night air and into our cab to race through the small town and climb into the empty train heading back to London, I had a glazed smile pasted on the side of my face the entire route.

It is still there. It will always be there. You cannot go to The Fat Duck and return unchanged. That is impossible. You were there. You now know that anything and everything really is possible. You know that magic is real. That there is a Wonderland. You were there, and you can go back, or create your own. I have a new frame of reference for taste and food and experiential eating that was gifted to me there. And. now, impossible possibilities have reared their heads within.

Thank you, Chef Blumenthal, Johnny Lake, and Staff at The Fat Duck.

Standing Ovation.

Brilliant.

When home in Canada, I opened our gift bags. Here is what we found. Such fun! And, I ate mine ALL up! The Queen of Tarts was my favourite. I did not expect there to be anything inside. Silly me. Of course, she was filled with TARTness. Beautiful berry tartness that was perfect with her white chocolate cloak. The caramel melted, paper and all, in my mouth, slowly and creamily. The chocolate fragrance was as powerful as its taste, and the chewing tobaccy… well, it tasted like coconut to me when I really chewed. And I did. If it had any tobacco scent, I would not have gone near it.

All gone! I wiped my mouth with my sticky fingers, folded the bag up neatly and tucked it away so that one day I will come across it again, and smile even wider than I am right now.

Try Chef Blumenthal’s  Cinnamon and Vanilla Experiment to learn about odour adaptation and how our senses are far more selective and subjective than we think, and then have fun thinking like he does to create a Wonderland on your plate! Just the thinking alone will bring about a change in perception regarding food and tasting and flavours and one’s palate. This was not just dinner. This was a performance of excellence, or brilliance, and it motivated a level of personal response and involvement that has nestled a new awareness within. Heston Blumenthal, you are the Mad Hatter: the consummate (power) pourer of the Tea of Possibilities that will be forever brewing.

Can you see the elation in my smile? We have arrived! We are in London and at St. John Restaurant for our first meal after a very long day and a sleepless night on the plane, but, energized and filled with anticipation. What is this restaurant all about? I cannot wait to taste the quintessential British cuisine. This is a very unassuming spot, as noted on the website, though the area is alive with night life. We wind our way through the overhang and into the bar and bakery. Brilliant use of the old warehouse space. Tonight, it has been rented for a private party.

The large space has the bar to the left and the Bakery immediately in front and clearly is the perfect place for a stand up evening. The rustic table across the room from the bar was laid out with feasting foods starring a whole roasted pig which the chef is carving above. The fare appeared to be basic. The pig, buns, sauces, cheeses, and raw vegetables. The room was packed within the hour of our arrival, yet the restaurant appeared completely unaffected by the affair.

I asked if I may take photos and if it would be possible to visit the kitchen at some point throughout the evening. I have never heard a “no” and tonight the gentlemen at the door was extremely gracious. Actually, a highlight of the evening for both Vanja and me.

Our reservation was at 7:15 and we were seated against the wall at a table to ourselves. When going, you are told to be prepared to sit with others as the restaurant is organized in long farmstyle tables.

Vanja has a tradition of ordering the local beer wherever we travel and St. John has a lengthy wine and beer selection. He chose Meantime, a locally brewed lighter ale, and enjoyed it a great deal. I loved the novelty of the champagne shaped bottle.

The gentleman at the door suggested I take as many photos as I could before the restaurant got too full. This was a kind invitation which I appreciated, and took advantage of.

The window is directly into the kitchen with posted notes above it. The meals are placed on that counter for service.

Our waitress appeared with the menu and announced the specials for the evening: rabbit saddle and goat tongue. I have had some really delicious tongue, so did not shy away from it for that reason. I cannot eat much meat and so after a brief discussion about what this is and that, and what would be tender enough for me, we ordered our starters: the Marrow Salad for me, and the Jellied Ham for Vanja. Then, the Devilled Kidneys for Vanja and The Old Spot Ham for me. I was absolutely planning on having the Eccles Pie with Cheese as recommended by Brûlée Blog while she was away after she ate here earlier in the month.

The wait staff was dressed completely in white with a full jacket overtop of a floor length front apron. It was a very formal medieval look. We noted that this was a look found in other restaurants of like kind throughout the city. Customer dress was absolutely casual. There were children at more than one table dining throughout the evening.

The bread and butter arrived. This is a part of the meal ritual that Vanja and I really appreciate and most good restaurants do pay attention to ensuring they have really great bread and a special butter. This one was an unpasteurized salted Jersey butter and so delicious I could not get enough of it. The more we travel, the more we have noticed an onset of artisan butter making. Why not at home? Even the Wildflower Grill in Edmonton serves a lovely goat milk butter, but it is made in Ontario.

I plan on making my own butter very soon as part of my cheese making initiative, and April’s Tasting will be a Butter Tasting later in the month. Watch for that!

Our waitress then invited us to tour the kitchen before it got busy. We followed her to it and then she walked past it to her station. I followed her there, and she motioned to the kitchen and said to “go on ahead”. That was really an uncomfortable moment. To ask if a tour was possible and for that request to be so warmly received, then to be invited to take the tour “now”, and be left outside of the kitchen and told to “go on ahead” was really inappropriate.

I am far from shy, but I am also very aware of each individual’s differences. I did not feel at all comfortable entering a chef’s kitchen or “going on in” without being taken there… yet, here we were, at the door of the kitchen, being uncomfortably nudged in. “Excuse me? Our waitress said that now would be a good time to visit the kitchen? Is that all right?” The kitchen is extremely small, and we could not actually go into it. I didn’t realize this, but one can basically see the entire kitchen from the window where the food is set for service to the tables.

I stood at the end of the island against the wall of the kitchen to take this photo. This is it. The Chef had seen the waitress motion us in and glanced our way as I spoke to him. He was busy and nodded saying “of course” and continued to work for a moment. The food went out and he was standing against the window facing us. I asked if it was all right to take photos and he nodded. I had to do a double take. I was not expecting Fergus Henderson here, but this chef was wearing Fergus Henderson’s large oversized thickly set glasses. Truly. But, I could tell it was not Fergus Henderson.

I then asked how long he had been the chef here, and he answered “four years”. I then asked if I could take his photo as he worked and he said that he would rather I didn’t. At that moment, he turned his back to us to look out at the customers through the service window. I was very uncomfortable. He was icy cold and it was painfully obvious that he did not want to answer any questions. I was very unimpressed.

I am certain that the gentleman at the door would have been advised to tell us that a kitchen tour was not possible due to the small size of the kitchen if we were not to have been there, and we would not have been in this position. But to have my request so warmly received and then “invited to visit our kitchen” to find this kind of reception left my palate cold and with a bad taste in my mouth before the meal even began. Arrogant would be an understatement for this Chef. He said he had been the head Chef for four years, but his photo looks nothing like that of Chris Gillard so we have no idea who he was.

I saw the bone marrow salads set to go out and the wet grey salts that they are served with. Anticipation!

Vanja’s Jellied Ham arrived and it was succulent and delicious. I was surprised at the generous serving and way it was accompanied as it appeared to be a complete meal, to me. It reminded me of the canned Jellied Chickens my Grandma Maude and mom would make when I was a child. The taste was actually very similar. I loved that jellied chicken until I was at a slaughter one day. The chicken never tasted the same after that. I could always taste the smell of the kill.

My Marrow Salad arrived with more bread, lightly toasted and a parsley leaf salad with capers and gently pickled onions. I was given a lobster pick to scoop the roasted marrow out of the bones with and our now new best friend, the lovely gentleman at the door (our guide) advised me to “scoop it all out, slather it all over the toast, smother it with the salad, sprinkle over all with grey salt and enjoy”! It was really scrumptious, but surprisingly familiar.

I suddenly realized that I had eaten this many times in my life . Not like this, but the marrow from bones in soup is the same. Roasted, on toast with this particular salad and the salt, it is truly a succulent treat. Very rich. I could only manage to get through two of my four bones. This would be the perfect dish to share. Vanja wasn’t interested, but our guide said that it was the perfect sharing dish and far too rich to expect one to eat in entirety.

I had a lot of fun eating it and soaking in this long anticipated tasting. The spread was meaty and lush and unctuous, though not greasy at all; it was full of beefiness without the texture of meat. Really, really tasty.

I was expecting real marrow scoops and had hoped to buy some here. I had come across a set earlier in the day at the Portobello Market: a set of 6 silver plated for 70 pounds. I was silly to not buy them. Of course, I would have been silly to buy them, too! In any case, the lobster picks worked just fine, but I wanted to use the real thing.

My fussy husband really surprises me, at times! Devilled Kidneys was his first choice. He does love liver, yet is turned off by most other offal’s that I have enjoyed through my life (heart, tripe). Again, his came served on bread. It seems that a lot of the food is served on a really great bread, but it is too much when we just nibbled through a couple of substantial slices waiting for the meal. His dish was outstanding. The sauce was really tasty. I did have the end of one, and it tasted “ok” to me. I didn’t care for the texture. He enthusiastically lapped up every morsel.

We were almost finished eating when the Welsh Rarebit appeared. I forgot that I had ordered it. I had always wanted to try one as I have seen recipes of it forever, yet never made it as it looked like a glorified mixture of cheese on toast. Well, guess what? That is just what it is. Really tasty, again, but more toast. Just too much bread. We both ate a little off of the top.

Vanja ordered potatoes to go with his meal. I had a beautiful vegetable mash with mine. The name of the root vegetable was Swede, or, in Canada, rutabaga. This is much more orange than any rhutabaga I have had, and I would venture to guess it is mixed with yam as there was a definite sweet that balanced the bitter. Scrumptious.

I couldn’t believe the anemic look of my plate. The mash was really good and the braised cabbage really tasty. Exactly how I would make both at home. Homefood. Straightforward and simple. The Old Spot ham was horrid. First of all, it looked like pork belly. It tasted like someone’s dirty armpits. Well, how I would imagine them to taste! I am not hard to please. I have a very open palate and this was really terrible ham. I left it on my plate and was never asked why. We were never asked how our meal was or attended to by our waiter at all after the initial order. Our wonderful guide became very busy as the restaurant filled, and we certainly didn’t expect as much attention and information as we had been treated with from him during our starter. I would have appreciated being asked about my ham. I would never complain, even with an invitation. I believe it would be important for the restaurant to know why I didn’t eat it. Or, for me to know that it was supposed to taste like that. That would be hard to believe.

In any case, I found myself too full for the dessert and really disappointed as I was very sure it would have been a highlight of the evening.  I enjoyed my Bone Marrow Salad and will probably make it myself for guests sometime. But, I am truly surprised that this is on Anthony Bourdain’s list of the Top 13 Places to Eat Before You Die. I think that it was the chef that was the problem. He certainly is not Fergus Henderson. There was no passion there. There was no light in his eyes and certainly no effort to connect with his customers. No joy apparent in his work. Maybe I would have agreed with Anthony had I eaten this food made by Fergus Henderson. But, for now… the appeal is no longer there. I would not recommend this restaurant.

The evening was one I had to have. And, we were out into the fresh evening air before we knew it.

And here is the simplest pizza with the cheese under the sauce. It was a great note to end this feast on. Tony came over for introductions and a brief visit as he was very busy. He was extremely warm and gracious and very personal. When he found out we were from Canada, he told me that one of his Champion Pizza Dough Throwing team members was from Saskatchewan and that she puts Moosehead Beer into her pizza dough. Love that idea. Thank you, Tony, for taking a moment to share with us. Isn’t he adorable?

We were one very satisfied group!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=he-V1J86REA

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HWL__9yDu8I