To deconstruct or not? That is the culinary question.

Fine dining has trends, just like any other industry. A couple of years ago it seemed like everything was coming out of the best kitchens in carefully stacked towers, every element of your meal improbably layered to tipsy heights. At the moment, it seems to be all about deconstruction.

Plates are coming out of the kitchen highlighting their component parts, often separating them out and then laying them on the plate as a carefully arranged work of art. This was most obvious when dining earlier in the month at Pearl, where even the menu makes the point about the basics, with bold typography offering you just one thing ... tomato. salmon. chocolate. ... with the details in the fine print.

My main course of salmon was desconstruction writ large, with even the piece of fish being pulled apart and cooked in individual, bite sized pieces. The gorgeous plate that landed before me looked like a festive explosion of confetti, with pink bits of fish, green vegetables, red lettuce, all artfully arranged so that there was actually a symmetry to the mess. (I would have taken a photo but I was at a proper business meeting and couldn't be too frivolous.) The starter was similar, in that it delivered a range of individual items that came together pleasantly: chilled heritage tomatoes in jelly, fromage frais, confit datterini tomatoes and basil sorbet. Gorgeous, but a bit odd, and I wonder if I would have been more satisfied if I'd had fewer ingredients in larger portions. Instead it was a bite of each thing, leaving your taste buds to assimilate.

I confess to being happiest at the dessert, which approached the traditional in being just one thing ... a peanut and caramel chocolate dome ... with a side of hazelnut ice cream, decorated with a basket of spun sugar. This was a magnificent contradiction of flavours and textures. Sweet and salty, sharp and rich, smooth and crunchy. This was a pudding worth crossing London for and, frankly, I'd happily return to Pearl just for this course.

A better reason to return, however, is probably that they have an excellent value for money set menu for lunch and it's a big place with very high ceilings that's not too crowded. It's rare to find a great lunch spot in London where you can actually have a decent conversation; Pearl is a fantastic option.

It being a particularly profligate day, I ate Arbutus on the same day for supper (see 30.5.09 for an earlier review) and assembling my own food again. When I ordered the warm sweet onion tart with organic salmon creme fresh and herbs, I was expecting a hearty slice of something traditional. Instead it was a wafer thin piece of pastry spread with the cream and the herbs, salmon and salad on the side. (See photo at right and tell me if you'd ever call that a tart.) Interesting. Tasted good. But not what I'd envisioned.

Continuing in my traditional mood ... and trying to go a bit light after the excessive lunch ... I went with the bouillabaisse, and was served a variety of dishes from which to build my own meal. In one pan, the fish, in another, the broth, here the croutons, there the rouille. In this case, rather fun, as you could control your own proportions and feel quite healthy if you avoided going too mad with the rouille coating on the croutons. Arbutus maintained the standards I have come to expect from past visits and, quite remarkably for a Michelin starred place, a three-course a la carte meal with shared wine came in at £50.

Clearly my drift towards tradition on the menu, and my irritation with deconstruction, was sending me a message. Which I seem to have received a few days later at The Ivy. Never one of my favourite venues (see 9.6.07), this month the old-style grandfather of London dining really hit the spot. I was at a Business Week-sponsored lunch in the private dining room, greeted with a glass of champagne and passed appetisers, perfectly bite sized and classicly English. Fish cakes and thin slivers of roast beef on miniature Yorkshire puddings, with the requisite dab of horseradish, could have been a meal in themselves. But it was on to tomato and goat cheese tart (a proper one, as expected, resting atop its bed of lettuce), and a beautifully grilled piece of cod on spring peas with mint. Replete, I just wanted to wrap myself in the flag of St. George and take a nap.

I ended that particular week at a restaurant that is perhaps the perfect blend of towers and deconstruction, tradition and modern, English and continental. Chez Bruce, on Clapham Common, is a sister restaurant to La Trompette in Chiswick (see 15.9.09) and The Glasshouse in Kew. I've had excellent outings at both of the sisters (I somehow neglected to write a review of The Glasshouse, a fault which will be addressed as we walked out of Chez Bruce with a deep discount offer to return to the Kew location), so was curious to complete the trio. A brilliant evening with excellent service and an inventive menu, beautifully prepared and with a variety of distinct and fresh flavours.

I started with salt cod tortellini nero with grilled squid, peppers, chorizo and parsley (an artfully deconstructed plate highlighting the various ingredients), followed by roast cod with olive oil mash, grilled courgette and gremolata (traditionally served atop a mound of some of the creamiest, most delectable mash to ever pass my lips). I ended with dark chocolate tart with salted caramel sauce, clotted cream and honeycomb ... very similar to the extremely memorable dessert I'd had at La Trompette on my last birthday. Now also fixed in this chocoholic's brain.

As was the view of the lingering twilight over leafy Clapham Common, and the genial company. Because, let's face it, long after the memory of what you ate fades, you can recall the atmosphere and who you were with. The company is the best part of dining out, and what makes every meal a celebration. The chocolate just enhances it all.

Sunny skies, cruise ship, charming island views ... and lots of meetings

Every event organiser wants a captive audience. Spend all that time and money planning a meeting, and you want to make sure people stay in their seats. But book a boring location that offers no distractions ... and there's less lure to attend. That's the enduring challenge of conference management: offer a venue that's sexy enough to get people out of the office, but without the temptations to drift away from business.

On this front, Richmond Events scores as perhaps the perfect event organiser. For years now they've been partnering with P&O to hold various corporate directors' forums on cruise ships. The model is simple. Two days and an evening, a handful of high profile keynote speakers, presentations on best practice and career development, networking with an impressive peer group. Plus great meals, free flowing alcohol and suites with balconies overlooking the sun-kissed Channel Islands. All free. But there are no free lunches, or free cruises. Attendees spend about half their meeting time, and all of their meal breaks, with agencies trying to sell them services. The agencies pay for the cruise, all for the opportunity to get in front of budget holders from large corporations who wouldn't, under normal circumstances, accept their calls. And because the meeting is on a cruise ship ... which stays at sea for the entirety of the meeting ... there's the appeal of an unusual venue combined with a complete inability to escape.

I hadn't been on the Communications Directors' Forum for four years. Times have changed. The meeting is smaller, by far, with only about 100 attendees to the approximately 250 of my last outing. Thus there are more forums on the same ship; we shared our cruise with HR, IT and finance directors. Past cruises featured a mix of big and small agencies; now it seems to be the exclusive domain of boutique shops. Four years ago the emphasis was on PR and brand management; now internal communications (or "employee engagement" in the latest parlance) is the dominant discipline. Whether it's the fear of strike action, the need to motivate recession-damaged employees or a desire to keep people from jumping companies when the economy gets better, the big corporates are clearly turning their focus inwards, and the agencies are following.

A couple of memorable presentations stuck with me. Former professional poker player Caspar Berry ran a great workshop on gambling versus calculated risk, and how you need to manage the latter to be great at your job. Hamish Taylor had an impressive career before going on the speakers' circuit, running brand management at British Airways before becoming CEO of Eurostar and Sainsbury's Bank. He argues that incremental change never delivers massive benefit, you need revolution. And revolution most often comes from outside your day-to-day life. Indeed, from outside of your industry. He told a great story about BA transforming their check in experience by calling in colleagues at Disney to give them ideas on managing queues.

A colleague from Electronic Arts gave a fascinating presentation on social media, and how the company has justified the communications costs of managing it by looking at the cost reductions on the recruitment front. A refreshing example of disciplines working together for the overall benefit of the company.

As ever, these kinds of meetings have their greatest benefit in reminding you that you are not alone. Most of my colleagues are experiencing at least 80 per cent of the problems I deal with every day. Nothing is unique. And a problem shared is a problem halved. I came away from the boat with some good ideas, some interesting new contacts and with pride that some of the work I've done in the past year is well ahead of the average. Despite small budgets and cut teams. That's the benefit of getting out of the office for a while. Even if they do hold you captive.

Life in Chesterfield getting ever more sophisticated; but don't plan on enjoying it on a limited income

My family moved to Chesterfield, Missouri, in the mid-'70s. While it wasn't exactly the country, it was a stretch from the bright lights. Shopping malls, culture, parks, school ... everything was at least half an hour away. We had farm fields, cheap houses and a good highway to get us to the action.

How things have changed. "Society" moved to Chesterfield behind us, and all the trappings followed. What strikes me most these days is that, short of attending a Cardinals' game or seeing the art museum or botanical gardens, there's almost nothing I want to do on a visit that can't be accomplished within the Chesterfield city limits, or slightly west (away from the city).

There's even ethnic diversity. I was delighted to discover Thai Sawadee in Hilltown Village shopping centre, an elegantly decorated restaurant with a diverse menu. No bland concessions to old Midwestern tastes here; we sampled a variety of dishes characterised by distinctive combinations of spices and a tongue-pricking amount of heat. As good as any Thai I've had in the more ethnically diverse neighbourhoods of Chicago or London.

Across the parking lot in the same centre, Gianfabio's is still going strong. This high end Italian place launched in the late '80s and is still delivering the style of southern Italian/American fare that makes up part of St. Louis' soul. Meatball sandwiches and chicken parmagiana graced the table and were so abundant that half came home with us. Just up the road, Charlie Gitto's ... a long-established giant on "the Hill", St. Louis' Italian district ... is refurbishing a defunct Pizzeria Uno and preparing to move in. Even the oldest names, it seems, are heading west.

West of Chesterfield, where it still feels like countryside, is the Missouri River wine region. But even that's going upscale and sophisticated. It's great to see Chandler Hill Winery doing so well. I discovered this place soon after its opening (see 16.8.08), and was delighted to see someone taking the Missouri wine country experience upscale. Almost two years later, the building has settled into the landscape, the vines are bedding down, the landscape has softened and a regular crowd has developed. In addition to selling wine (their house varieties are still made from grapes from other vineyards, until their vines mature), they're obviously doing a bustling business as a restaurant and meeting place, with lots of regularly scheduled private parties.

We joined them for a special, by-reservation-only steak dinner night. The view over the Missouri valley was exquisite and the evening's weather clement, lacking the heavy humidity that so often mars Midwestern summer evenings. Two musicians moved back and forth between a variety of stringed instruments, giving us lots of acoustic favourites while setting a mellow, sophisticated scene. (Note to the Bruneels: I now understand the appeal of Dave Mathews' stuff in a live setting.) The food was a picture of middle-American simplicity. First, a basic salad. Main course, a huge steak with a baked potato on the side. No more vegetables ... you already had a salad, didn't you? Not gourmet by any means, but comforting in its homely simplicity and redolent of childhood with its smokey barbecue flavours. And the wine? A local vidal blanc, crisp and slightly sweet, certainly held its own against the German whites I was drinking in early May.

No doubt about it, west St. Louis county has arrived. The drawback? You'd better have a lot of money to live there. As fashionable people have moved to the area, and the shops and restaurants have followed, the price of everything has gone up. It's getting ever more expensive to live in America, even in a leafy provincial backwater; a fact felt acutely by those on a limited income.

An observation driven home this visit because, you see, I was in St. Louis trying to get a grip on my mother's finances and what benefits and services were available to a woman with no family in town, living on limited means. The answer? Almost nothing. Medicines, transport, nursing care, the occasional helper ... it's all up to you to fund, and even if you're insured you're not fully covered. Medicines have co-pays, home help isn't a justifiable expense. Everything comes with a price tag. From the "bargain" $20 an hour for basic home help to the more than $200 a day for a basic nursing home. (At that price, frankly, wouldn't a nice hotel be an option?) Is there a safety net? Sure. Medicaid will provide some help, and may fund a nursing home, if your total net worth is no more than $1,000. No house, no car, no savings. Basically, that means you have to be destitute.

I am, as I have been since my political awakening, a Reagan-style, small "c" conservative who believes in the merits of as small a government as possible and free market economics. The natural ebb and flow of the market will, in time, right most wrongs. But the fact is, we live in a welfare state. A small one in America, compared for example to Northern Europe, but a welfare state nonetheless, where people pay taxes all their lives in expectation of services. Yet they get to the end of their lives, and the message is clear: you're on your own.

Forget retirement dreams of around-the-world sailing and cozy farmhouses in Tuscany. In America, at least, you'd better be socking away those retirement funds to pay for health care and the spiraling costs of life when it requires more assistance. I returned to the UK much more appreciative of the NHS. The care may be as basic as Chandler Hill's steak and potato, but it doesn't abandon old people to their fate with such callousness. And I returned much more aware that without children to lend a hand in my "golden years", I'd better up those pension contributions. Or the yacht might have to be sacrificed for the nursing home.

Cheltenham restaurants add to getaway weekend appeal of the place

After being delighted by the architecture, the B&B and the shopping, I suppose it was no surprise that Cheltenham's restaurants delivered some joy as well. A gaze through the local tourist guide shows a wide variety, from the big national chains to independent spots, traditional European to quirky ethnic choices.

Our top find was the Royal Well Tavern, a small former pub a short walk from the main tourist street, now operating as a buzzing and sophisticated bistro. It holds a Bib Gourmand from the Michelin folks; as opposed to the lofty prices generally associated with Michelin stars, at the Bibs you're supposed to be able to get a full meal with wine for 28 pounds per person or less. While our choices on the a la carte menu, and our wine consumption, took us a bit above this mark, the Well was without doubt excellent value for money.
A mix of French classics with best-of-British ingredient sourcing, the menu offered a wide range of tempting choices. The 21 pound set price menu, available up until 6pm, would have made for a lavish lunch. Given our sightseeing schedule, however, we turned up for a late dinner.

I started with a ham hock and foie gras terrine; hearty, chewy chunks of pork surrounding a core of melt-in-the-mouth liver, accompanied by pieces of warm brioche toast. The man was so delighted with his pear and blue cheese salad that he was trying to diagnose the recipe in order to re-create it at home. (The waitress was very helpful, providing details of the dressing components.) We both opted for the turbot. It's a fish not seen that often on menus and one I'd never had, but it features frequently at special events in some of my favourite novels about ancient Rome (the Didius Falco series) so I wanted to try it. A bit of a cross between swordfish and sole, it was tasty, but its slightly chewy texture left me less satisfied than I would have been with those other fish. The salad it lay atop, however, made the whole dish. A warm mix of plump, fresh peas, herbs, languostine tails and butter definitely stole the show from the turbot. Clearly, they have a way with vegetables here, as our side of creamed spinach was fantastic. Portion sizes are generous as well ... we couldn't possibly manage dessert that night.
For a great lunch option we discovered John Gordons wine bar in the heart of the Montpelier district. It's really a wine shop, with floor to ceiling shelves packed with interesting, unusual choices from wineries you've probably never heard of. But they have a few tables in the middle of the shop, and a few out in the Regency arcade at the shop's back, to which they serve a basic menu of sandwiches, wraps and salads. Accompanied, of course, but a good selection of wines by the glass.

It turned out to be a French bistro kind of weekend, as our other two evenings were both spent at the Brasserie Blanc. This is a chain, now eight locations strong, founded by star chef and proprietor of the famous Manoir aux Quatre Saisons, Raymond Blanc. Where the Manoir does the upscale and elegant, the Brasseries are supposed to give you more of a sense of the wholesome, French country cooking that came out of Maman Blanc's kitchen. I had eaten at the original in Oxford years ago, finding it pleasant but nothing to go out of the way for. The Cheltenham branch was a very different experience.

There's a great vibe about the place. It's clearly popular with the locals, staffed by brisk and efficient team and located in a big, bright space at the back of the landmark Queen's hotel. The regular menu is filled with standard French favourites and there's a rotating board of daily specials. On our first visit we started with the cheese fondue, which was velvety, rich and laced with just enough kirsch to give the pot a good, authentic kick without being overpowering. My grilled squid on a large rocket salad was an excellent contrast to that high-fat starter, the squid prepared perfectly and the whole thing brought together with a balsamic dressing and these magnificent little oven roasted tomatoes bursting with sweetness. The man was less enthusiastic about his fillet steak, which had gone past the mostly-raw-with-a-bit-of-char-on-the-outside state he'd specified. We were both impressed when the manager took it off the bill, wanting everything to be perfect.

That was certainly a factor in our return visit, as was the fact that both of the independent restaurants we wanted to try on our third night in town were closed. (Cheltenham, it seems, is provincial enough to shut down on Sundays.) After walking through a ghost town of shuttered streets we headed back to the Montpelier district around the Queen's Hotel, the one place we could be sure was still open. Indeed, M. Blanc had a table waiting. This time the man started with pork rillets, which were very pleasant, and I went for the asparagus risotto. I can only give that one an average. I'm pretty picky here, being generally considered a mean risotto chef myself. I thought they'd brought the rice past al dente and had put the asparagus in too early, so it lost some of its bite.

Better luck with my main of baked chicken and ratatouille, the latter notable for the exceptionally fine dice on the vegetables that made this a much more delicate version, while preserving all the traditional flavours. The beef stroganoff across the table was excellent as well. And as it was the last night of the holiday weekend we splashed out on the baked Alaska, velvety ice cream surrounded by meringue and flamed, as it should be, at the table. (The second fire at the table that night, as the slightly-distracted manager had laid my menu down on top of the tea light and the corner was flaming away before we noticed. Fortunately, there's no more to that story.) Alaska accompanied, in another splurge, by a glass of sweet dessert wine. Excellent, though we both admitted that we'd drunk and eaten far more than was good for us that evening. Probably a good thing that there's not a Brasserie Blanc near us.

Hereford Cathedral a gem amongst wide sightseeing options

I hadn't set foot in Hereford since my first trip to England at the impressionable age of 16 (so impressed, indeed, that I set off on a life-long ambition to move here and fall in love with an Englishman...), so returning decades later provided a bit of time travel.

We stood in front of the main doors to the Cathedral and I could feel the chill of that March morning so long ago, see the school mates who accompanied me, remember the keen excitement of foreign places. Down the street we spied the Green Dragon. I couldn't have pulled that name out of my head had I tried, but seeing it there I suddenly remembered breaking our journey to Scotland here, and celebrating my mother's birthday at breakfast in its dark, traditional restaurant. Particularly poignant to realise that the birthday we marked then is the age I am now.

Time flies. And even Hereford, constant in its red stone cathedral for 1200 years, changes a bit. There's a new library here beside the church to hold its greatest treasures (we were torn on its architecture, with me rather liking the modern take on Gothic and my partner thinking it was a hideous addition), and a modern riverside bistro from which to eat and take in the view.

The Cathedral itself is not one of the English greats, but is certainly worth a wander and is interesting in its demonstration of the evolution from Romanesque (round arches on the ground floor) to Gothic (pointed arches above). There's a reconstruction of the tomb of St. Ethelbert, for whom the church is named and whose cult once drew pilgrimages here. The biggest sights aren't in the church, however, but through the cloister, where you'll find the chained library and the Mappa Mundi.

This famous world map dates from the 13th century and provides a fascinating insight into the Medieval mind. Jerusalem is at the centre, the rest of the world radiates outwards, Africa is filled with mythological beasts and monsters circle the waters at the edge of the world. This is one of the oldest and most complete maps of the Western World, and Hereford quite rightly builds a whole little museum around it. Beyond the map itself you see the chained library, now in that debatable modern Gothic building, but with Medieval shelves, benches and books intact.

Chained libraries were a feature of a world in which information was so rare, and so prized, it had to be locked up. In each row you see a pew facing a desk, and rising above it four shelves loaded with books, each with a chain through its spine and locked onto a bar that ran along the bottom of the shelf. At the end of each row was an index card indicating what lay on the shelf; an expected mixture of classical history, science and philosophy, complemented by some big names from the Christian era. Rather humbling to think that today, all these books could probably be downloaded onto my iPhone in a few hours and carried away with me. Now there's a revolution.

Leaving the cathedral we stopped for lunch at the Left Bank Restaurant, a modern place with multiple balconies hanging over the Wye river just beside the Medieval bridge. A basic bistro menu, competent food, average service, magnificent view. (For the real dining stars of the holiday, stay tuned for tomorrow's review.) On a fine day, as this was, stopping here for a couple of hours to watch the river drift past and the cathedral rise from the cluster of venerable buildings behind you is a worthy occupation.

We'd languished too much of the day to get in much more sightseeing, though we did stop for a quick look at the outside of Eastnor Castle, a fine example of the 19th century Gothic revival now used regularly for films and special events. (I've toured it in the past; it's worth a few hours if you have the time.) We also didn't have time for more than a glance in the direction of Tewksbury Abbey, another major sight on our way back to the B&B in Cheltenham. But the drive back was almost as beautiful as the drive out, needing no official sightseeing to crown the beauty of the day.

The bank holiday Monday dawned with variable weather, spots of sunshine between drifts of brooding rain clouds. Thus we had no motivation to make a quick exit from the lovely Hanover House, lingering over our full English breakfast and relaxing in the lounge before finally taking off around noon.

We took a meandering route home through the Cotswolds, where we could have started at Sudeley Castle (delightful Tudor manor house with mostly Victorian interiors, still privately owned and, like Eastnor, much used for private events) but figured we didn't have the time. I wanted to get closer to home before we stopped, given typical bank holiday traffic. Thus I headed for Chastleton House, a Jacobean jewel near Oxford now owned by the National Trust. I had forgotten, however, that they limit the number of visitors here, using a timed ticket entry system, and by the time we arrived in the early afternoon they were sold out for the day.

Beaten on the cultural front, we opted for a bit of shopping instead. Nearby was Daylesford Organic Farm Shop, a place I'd read about in food magazines but never visited. I have to admit, they've worked wonders with this collection of old farm buildings, turning them into a complex dripping with good taste, elegance and refinement. There's a spa, a restaurant, one building selling clothing and spa goods, another selling gardening items and finally the farm shop itself. Here there's beautiful produce, a glass cheese room selling the best local varieties, a high-end butcher, tempting bakery goods, a wine shop and selections of all the luxury condiments, jams and specialty food items you usually find at places like this.

It's differentiating factor? I've never seen prices like this in my life. I live near the Queen's farm shop and drop in there regularly for a treat. It's expensive, but value for money. This place has moved the pricing into pure extortion. A simple sundress in the clothing shop was 530 pounds. Leather gardening gloves of the precise make I'd purchased on special at the Hampton Court Flower Show for 20 pounds were 70 here. Spa prices were the same, if not higher, than the poshest hotels in London. And the food? Prices made Waitrose look like Asda. I don't mind paying extra for good quality. I don't even mind paying an appropriate premium for nice surroundings (as will be obvious to readers of this blog!). But I don't like getting ripped off. And this place defined highway robbery. I find it difficult to believe they can sell enough at these prices to keep the place going.

We certainly left empty-handed, and reverted to the simpler pleasures of a picturesque drive home, arriving early enough to forage in the freezer for the elements of a home-cooked dinner. Not organic, not posh pricing ... but a delightful end to the day.