There is making an effort to cook something delicious, and there is tearing the arse out of things. I couldn’t stomach eating in a restaurant with such incomprehensible menus and outlandish prices
It is lovely to feed a dog. You give it a bit of chicken and rice, or a tin of tripe and biscuits, and it’s in heaven. It takes very little effort or time, and no skill at all. Cooking for humans is much harder. Which is fair enough. There’s nothing wrong with making a huge effort to cook something delicious for people you care about. But there is making an effort, and there is tearing the arse out of things, which is what Heston Blumenthal seems to be about to do in his restaurant, the Fat Duck, which is re-opening this Autumn.
His menus will not just list options. They will “tell a story”. And a doll’s house-shaped automaton will puff smoke as you choose your pudding. Whatever for? Aren’t puddings thrilling enough anyway? How jaded are the clientele expected to be? Can’t they get excited about scrumptious mixtures of toffee, chocolate, meringues, fruits, compotes, caramels, syrups, creams, custards and pastries unless there’s a puffing trolley alongside? Meanwhile, over at René Redzepi’s pop-up Noma at Claridges, they had foraged live ants in creme fraiche and eating with your fingers.
Related: Wash, clean, scrub: Can Jay Rayner hack life as a kitchen porter?
Continue reading...