Anne, the closest thing I have to a sister, returned to London after the whirlwind tour of serving as my matron of honour for the wedding. This time, it was to be all about R&R, and her birthday. She wanted to look after me and have a quiet life, reading, watching TV and generally relaxing. A very far cry from the action-packed, pressure-driven life driven heavily by a 3-year-old back in St. Louis. Toddlers, I have been told, aren't really conducive to relaxation. Much less to high-end restaurants. So I thought we'd lay it on thick.
For Anne's birthday, we started at Nirvana Spa, which I've joined since that great outing with my bridesmaids in September. (See 14.9.11) We soaked in the hot jet pool, napped on the heated ceramic lo
ungers in the twilight-lit, Morroccan inspired fountain court and had a dainty ladies' lunch. The virtue of which was undermined by a shared bottle of Pinot G
rigio. Then it was off to the nearby one-starred L'Ortolan, which had sent a five-course for £45 invitation out to all spa members. How could one say no?
L'Ortolan occupies a charming old vicarage house in a village on the outskirts of Reading. It's not the kind of place you'd expect to find such high end cooking. (Reading would never make the "exclusive" list and the village of Shinfield is isolated and otherwise entirely residential.) The restaurant has maintained the feel of a private house; you enter into the staircase hall, turn right for the bar which extends into the conservatory, left for the restaurant that occupies the rest of what were once the lounges. Upstairs are three private dining rooms and I sense from the website that they do a roaring trade in small special events.
The food is solidly in the modern, French-inspired gourmet range, with innovative pairings, exquisite presentation and all the latest cooking trends. We went for matching wine flight, which of course blows the value-for-money curve, but is always my preferred way to do a chef's menu. Especially when you have a good sommelier, as this one was, who's ready to chat about the pairings.
We started with confit salmon (cooked "souvide", of course. Can any chef resist the slow water bath at the moment?) with olive oil jelly, beetroot, pink grapefruit and liquorice oil. I know, it sounds like a bizarre combo, but it worked well. Brought together by an Austrian Grüner Veltliner. Yes, I know this variety. But only as the fruity, somewhat raw stuff you drink in tankards during new wine celebrations in the taverns of Grinzing. Usually at some stage before climbing on top of the table and pretending to be able to sing in German. This one was sophisticated and well balanced, making the grape worthy of further exploration.
Next, the foie gras course, with white wine jelly, raisin puree and smoked duck. Could have had seconds. Served with a gewürztraminer that was drier that the usual foie gras pairing, but held up ... perhaps
because the jelly and the raisins were bringing in the sugar from elsewhere. Next onto skate for a main course, layered with chicken mousse and watercress panna cotta, dressed with samphire, brown shrimp and cockles in their exquisite little shells. An elegant dish, made more so by the white Burgundy from Saint-Veran that gave off a wonderful little hit of peach on the first nose.
Then came a cheese course. Not the traditional cheese trolley wheeling up for your choice (though they have one of those as well), but the chef's selection of a blue cheese and a small goat's cheese parcel rolled in hazelnuts. Served with a very agreeable port that made Piers, the evening's designated driver, quite glum he couldn't indulge. Finally a plate of rhubarb multiple ways for dessert: as compote, ice cream, crisp and poached. Served with an Asti moscato, the first sparking dessert wine I've ever had, but it won't be the last.
At just a 25-minute drive from the house, L'Ortolan is worthy of note as a local "special event" restaurant. The problem, of course, is that it is a drive, meaning one person will always have to forgo the wine. But, unlike its London fellows, they do seem to do more deals to bring in the diners. One to keep an eye on.
That was meant to be the big treat of the visit. But with my chest cold refusing to clear, my oncologist had set up a day of tests, culminating with a visit to a chest specialist, the afternoon of Anne's arrival. The plan was to pick her up at Heathrow, drive into town, do the medical stuff, meet up with
Piers for dinner and drive home. Giorgio Locatelli's new cookbook and series inspired me to call the restaurant, which isn't too far from the medical crowd on Harley Street. He's always booked months in advance, but there might be a cancellation... And sure enough, there was my sign from God that he wanted me to give Giorgio another try: a table available at 6:30.
I'm delighted to report that Locatelli's is back on form, after the disappointment there last year that saw it slip from my No. 1 slot. (See 21.5.11) Anne and I started with the papardelle with wild boar sauce, which really is one of the supreme winter comfort foods of the Italian kitchen and exquisitely done here. Piers went with an equally satisfying pasta with wild mushrooms. It was definitely a winter menu and we all opted for comforting, warming main courses: rabbit, veal, venison. All beautifully cooked, with highly flavoured sauces served atop decorative yet delicious sides. And, unlike most French-based Michelin starred places, these are plates substantial enough that you're challenged to finish them. The sommelier was on hand to recommend an interesting and moderately-priced (for this wine list) Puglian red that had all the deep fruit we needed for our respective meats.
There were no cannoli to tempt me to disappointment on the dessert menu. I went surprisingly simple (and at £5,50, the bargain of Giorgio's menu) and went for the ice cream. The pistachio here is a real standout, made, so I read in the new cookbook, from nuts from Bronte that are considered the best in
the world. If the gelato was anything to go by, it must be true. Anne was duly impressed by the Locatelli classic cheese plate with the matching honey pots. Piers, however, was let down by the tiramisu, which was beautifully served in an oversized martini class but not enough of anything besides delicately flavoured whipped cream to make much of an impact.
Overall, a delicious and deeply satisfying meal. But does it put Giorgio back in my No. 1 spot? Probably not, I must admit. Not because of quality of food or service, but on the value for money scale. Regular readers will know I've increasingly become a fan of the tasting menu. Let the chef direct you, and graze over a variety of five or six smaller courses to experience a complete culinary picture. Locatelli's does not do, and has never done, tasting menus. You are on your own for three courses. Or, if you really wanted to push the boat out, you could do the traditional Italian four, with antipasti, pasta, main and sweet. But the servings here are large enough to make that rather excessive. And expensive. Three courses and with generous wine at Locanda Locatelli will cost you about the same as a tasting menu and wine flight at other places, and while Locatelli's place scores high on the satisfaction and comfort index, it's not the rounded experience that a chef's menu might give you.
I still have to ask myself ... if London had better Italian restaurants overall, would Locatelli's be so exceptional? And able to charge such a premium? While I have not had any better Italian in England, I've had plenty of equivalent meals, for much less, in the Italian countryside. Given the cost and time of travel, however, I suppose Giorgio nets out OK if you consider him not just a meal, but a quick trip to Italy. He's still in my top five.
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