It’s not dishes served in sheep skulls or any manufactured ‘wow factor’. It’s much more subtle and emotional than that
From Observer Food Monthly, free this Sunday with the Observer. Click here for £1 off
Recently I went out for dinner. And that’s all I can tell you. Except that the restaurant was in Hoxton. Or Peckham. Though it may have been in Carlisle. Anyway, there was short rib. Definitely short rib. Or perhaps hanger steak. Or chicken. Nah, I’ve got nothing for you. The whole meal is a black hole. My time went in and absolutely nothing came out.
Some eating experiences are like that. When I started as a restaurant critic I used to take notes. The fish was soft. The chips were crisp. The raspberries were sweet. I would write these words down studiously, page after page, with a plan to come up with better ones when I wrote the review. Until one day I forgot my notebook and realised I hadn’t ever needed one. Either a dish was memorable and therefore I could write about it, or my mind was a complete blank, and I could write about that instead.
Continue reading...