ease your feast into the sea

Where were we? Oh yes, we'd reached the Roast Foie Gras with Almond Fluid Gel, Cherry and Chamomile. This was an amazingly complex dish, rich and full of flavour. Even the delicate wafers garnishing the top packed a knockout punch of flavour into a tiny space, but none of the flavours overwhelmed the others, they only offered a perfect complement to each other. The brilliant red of the gooseberry sauce was beautiful to look at, and also had the added fun of trying to discern what flavours we could recognise. As it was red, we were all suggesting things like cranberry and raspberry; gooseberries didn't occur to us at first because they are green. I don't know what was in the sauce to make it red though. This was one dish where we were glad to have bread to wipe up every last morsel; in fact it was all I could do to stop myself from just licking the plate when I'd finished.

And still the delights kept coming. The next dish was The Sound of The Sea, one of the more famously gimmicky ones, coming complete with iPods tucked into huge conch shells. It was the only dish where were weren't told what was in it until after we'd experienced it — and "experience" is the only word that can describe it. Yes, the iPod aspect is gimmicky, but it enhanced the overall experience of the dish. It made me realise how things have changed, though, as I sat listening to the mp3 of seagulls calling to each other over the waves. A few years ago, that would have been a naggingly romantic sound to me, reminding me of all those happy days I've spent visiting the seaside. These days, though, there are gulls nesting in my street, in the middle of London, and hearing their calls is no longer quite so evocative of the seaside so much as it reminds me of sleepless nights when the seagulls and the foxes vie for attention. The other problem is that with earphones in, conversation at our table died, leaving me a bit frustrated when I wanted to talk about the food, because all I got in response was the other three pointing at their ears and shrugging, to tell me that they couldn't hear me.

So for the half the duration of this dish, I sat with only one earphone in. This still managed to be reminscent of seaside holidays because, as the chatter in the rest of the restaurant mingled with the waves and the gulls, it reminded me of passersby in places like Brighton and Seaton and St. Ives. Even though it might not have been quite what was intended, I liked the way it encouraged use of other senses, and the way it made me wonder about other aural and oral pairings of sounds and food.

But never mind all that, what about the food? Well, it was rather remarkable, and rather beautiful. It was presented to look exactly like a tiny piece of coastline, with sea foam curling onto white sand, scattered with some sea plants. It was elegantly sculptural and almost seemed a shame to eat, but at the same time it was incredibly enticing and I couldn't wait to get my fork stuck in. Nikki started with the sea foam, which made her pull a face as she said, "it tastes just like the North Sea!" To which Billy replied, half in jest, "I think you'll find it's the Sussex coastline, actually."

The combination of flavours in the foam — seaweed stock, clam broth and salt — really did make an incredibly convincing recreation of the sea. It was a bit off-putting because it reminded me of swallowing too much sea water, but it was actually really delicious as well. The sand was grainy with a slightly biscuitty taste, and scattered with a few things to add flavour — samphire, grilled eels, Japanese seaweed. Combined with the foam it very powerfully evoked days of sitting on quiet beaches, watching the waves and doodling in the sand. Absolutely remarkable.

Perhaps it was inevitable that anything after that would seem like a bit of a let down, but I must confess I was disappointed by the following dish; Salmon Poached in Liquorice Gel, with artichokes, golden trout roe, vanilla mayonnaise and olive oil. It looked very pretty, somewhat resembling a corset, as Chris pointed out, but I found the overall eating experience disappointing.

I love salmon, and unlike many people I actually really like liquorice, so I was hoping to love this one, but I didn't. I couldn't even discern the licorice, and although the salmon was cooked well and tasty enough, that was all it was, as it was nothing remarkable or memorable, like any of the other things we'd tried. At another, lesser restaurant that would have been perfectly okay, but in an exciting meal like this, I found myself wanting something else instead. (If I ever go again, maybe I'll try a substitution.) There was too much mayonnaise, which was on the sweet side and ended up overpowering the flavour of the whole dish, and I really would have preferred more artichoke than the two small pieces that were there. Up until then, the small size of any dish's element hadn't mattered, but in this dish it felt like a distinct disadvantage, because I found myself chasing the one flavour in the dish that I really liked, and being unable to capture it as I'd already finished it off. This was some sort of citrus seasoning on the artichoke, which kept wafting a tantalising scent under my nose, but I'd already eaten the two small pieces of artichoke by the time Chris had tracked down where it was coming from, and it was too late for me to savour the flavour anymore. Instead, I just had the frustrating and tantalising experience of trying to capture a memory of something I'd not even properly experienced.

The next dish after that one was a little disappointing, too, especially after the way it was presented on beautifully elegant silver-glazed plates that reflected any surrounding colour, making each one look unique (I really wanted to take mine home), and the pretty meat knives with bee handles (I wanted to take those home, too). I think at that point, after the slight over-sweetness of the mayonnaise, what I really needed was a good palate cleanser, one that was more effective than my wine, which had already subtly changed flavour due to all the other flavours I'd ingested (deliciously, mind you). Instead of a cleanser, what I got was an even richer dish to enjoy, a Ballottine of Anjou Pigeon with Black Pudding and a rich sauce. This was all delicious but overwhelming, as it had a particularly strong umami flavour that was very reminiscent of Marmite and, same as with Marmite itself, a little goes a long way. I'm one of those odd people who can take or leave Marmite — I like it but I can easily live without it — but this was too much, and I had a bit of a struggle to finish it off. Thankfully I kept a piece of shallot to the end, and its sharp sweet flavour managed to cut some of the overpowering richness of this dish a little. I think if I hadn't had the previous dish, I would have been fine, but after the richness of the mayonnaise in the salmon dish, it was too much richness for me.

As a result, I was quite glad for the Pine Sherbet¹ Fountain, although it didn't taste especially pine-like to me. Actually, it tasted just like the sherbet dip-dabs of my youth, which was quite fun. I was a bit disappointed not to get a more sophisticated, not to mention unusual, flavour though.

And that's where I'm going to leave part three. Join me for dessert in part four!

¹Note for Americans, when we say sherbet we mean sherbet. When you say sherbet, you're talking about sorbet (Well, kind of. And it's not sherbert, either.

This is pt.3 of my Fat Duck restaurant review.
Read all the parts here: part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5