That's How It Happened

Snail Porridge, with Joselito Ham and Shaved Fennel was conceived as a sort of congee. The recipe is here, and it's obvious that despite the name it is actually a quite conventional dish. The snails are just regular perfect buttery snails, served in a rich green fennel sauce. The ham just adds a little extra porkiness, something akin to scallops in pancetta.

The GF complained that the Roast Foie Gras was spoiled by its accompanying Almond Fluid Gel, Cherry and Chamomile. In this context it did seem extra fatty. The cherry sauce train tracks are a really sweet maraschino jam, and the three tiny cubes are Amaretto jelly. Served with a little square of sweet brioche it all made perfect culinary sense to me.

Actually, forget what I said before, there was another savoury ice: Sardine on Toast Sorbet served with Ballotine of Mackerel Invertebrate. I'd been dying to taste this first, before trying the recipe. The "invertebrate" ballotine is genius. An axial section of sardine has been neatly and invisibly deboned, to make a perfect sashimi slice. The sorbet is completely unnecessarily garnished with salmon roe. It tastes impossibly like still warm toast and sardines fresh off the grill.

Salmon Poached With Liquorice, served with pink grapefruit and olive oil, is another technical marvel. A square of salmon comes wrapped in an exact layer of delicate liquorice, like a mini-Baby Bel. It actually has only the faintest hint of liquorice in the aftertaste. Masterful.
I was quite giddy with excitement by this stage in the meal, and somehow forgot to photograph the Poached Breast of Pigeon and Pancetta, served with a pastilla of its own leg. I thought it was the most disappointing, very conventional dish, but then I rate Moroccan food as my least favourite world cuisine.
At this stage we we given small pamphlets, detailing the culinary life of Mrs Agnes Marshall, who invented the ice cream cone in 1888 (excerpted from this essay). This of course was followed up with a tiny gaudy cornet, that seemed to be made from crisp rolled sugar. I've forgotten, but I think the flavour was something normal like mandarin.
Next up were tiny "Fat Duck Fountains" of pine flavoured sherbet eaten with a vanilla pod. Heston decribes it as a pre-hit to Mango and Douglas Fir Puree, trying to make you forget that pine is the smell of magic trees and furniture polish, not pudding.

The first proper pudding is a giant explosion of fruit flavours, the mango and douglas fir, but also lychee bavarois, blackcurrent sorbet, and a beetroot sail. The tiny jelly cubes were something alcoholic again, possibly Cherry Heering. The world's most famous patissier Pierre Herme, was sitting just across the dining room from us, and I think he was impressed. As an aside Pierre's wife looks like a fat Nancy Dell'Olio, but then if I was married to an haute couture cake maker, I'd probably pile on the pounds too.
This was followed by Carrot and Orange Tuile, which looks like an El Bulli lollipop, and a Beetroot Jelly, which was not dissimilar to a purple Starburst.

The waiter then popped up to say "Good morning, your breakfast is served", and present us with little "cereal" boxes of parsnip crisps, with parsnip milk to pour over them. This was goofy, but still quite delicious, and put us in the mood for the real "breakfast" dish.

The best was saved for (almost) last: Smoked Bacon and Egg Ice Cream, Pain Perdu, Tea Jelly, and something that seemed to be dulce d'leche topped with black truffles. Orgy is an overused word, but this was a complete shagfest of competing intense sweet and savoury flavours. The bacon ice cream smells like a charcuterie counter, the pain perdu is perfect, and you get to smash it all together with truffles and caramel. It goes on to my list of possible last meals as a totally wonderful creation.

The absolute final flourish in a really magic meal is "Hot and Cold Tea". It's Earl Grey somehow turned into a semi liquid gel, served in an insulated glass, with half the tea being stone cold, and half hot. It feels cold to the touch, but as you sip you feel the warmth on your face, and then a rush of cold and hot tea on your tongue.
Despite a couple of slightly weak dishes, and perhaps one ice cream too many, the tasting menu is just ridiculously much the most fun I've ever had in a restaurant. It isn't the most sumptuous meal ever, but it is the best bit of culinary theatre. I think there are problems with such novel food, even for very adventurous eaters. The dishes are all quite famous, at least among foodies, so the element of surprise is missing; on the other had though there's no easy way of judging a sardine sorbet, because there aren't any other restaurants doing fish ice cream. The more conventional elements of a dish end up seeming unexciting no matter how perfectly executed, while the crazy parts are literally incomparable.
I'm going to be trying lots of these dishes at home, and I'm itching already for an opportunity to go back and explore the A La Carte. If you want to book, ring up at precisely 10am GMT, exactly two months in advance of the day you want to eat.

Tags: fatduck, moleculargastronomy,