Things certainly started well, with probably the best weather of the week. While we all patiently put up with the grey skies, all those show gardens inevitably look their best under a blanket of blue. I was delighted to find that the crowds, though abundant, weren't as bad as they'd seemed in the past. Given that the show was sold out, I have to assume that means the organisers have combined keeping it open for two more days (it now stretches into the weekend) with letting fewer people in at a time.
If you like gardens, of course, it's hard to have a bad time at Chelsea. This year had the usual mix of show gardens, dazzling displays by various nurseries and vast, garden-related shopping opportunities. (While I lusted after a towering bronze and blown-glass agapanthus sculpture and a full outdoor kitchen with wood-fired pizza oven, both of which would have cost me something in the 10s of thousands, the only thing I actually purchased was a round of very large cups of Pimms.) But the main gardens didn't impress me.
Everyone seemed to be doing dry, southern-inspired gardens this year. Too much gravel, too many cacti and succulents, far too much yellow and orange. I'll give the designers points for creating gardens that took us away (another, filled with tropical greenery, reminded me of a the lobby of a Hawaiian hotel), but I missed the classic English touch. Of the major gardens only Bunny Guinness' herb garden, a detailed parterre of raised beds hemmed with willow hurdle, and the Leeds Council garden dominated by a water mill and its pond, did much to celebrate the great British Gardening tradition.
I like a balance at Chelsea of things I could try in my own garden, and crazy things that are just for this display. This year veered wildly in the latter direction. There was the Monaco garden, filled with Provencal plants, an infinity pool and a dining pavilion with a roof of lavender plants all in glorious bloom. Prince Albert was knocking about somewhere. Global warming is going to have to progress a long way before I put that behind my house. Same for the Australian garden, filled with a swathe of orange gravel to evoke thoughts of boomerangs and plants more a
ppropriate for the outback than the Kentish Weald. The best-in-show winning garden was supposed to spark images of a sunken garden in Roman ruins in Libya, but a woman behind me commented that the water feature of a row of pipes sticking out of an orange wall reminded her of the open sewers of Delhi.Then there was Diarmuid Gavin's "Flying Garden" dominated by an eye-shaped structure of stainless steel girders planted out with greenery, the whole thing hoisted regularly 82 feet off the ground by a construction crane. Yea, sure. Next to that was B&Q's equally improbable greenhouse in a glass stairwell, which was inspirational if you considered the gardening potential of high rise residential towers, but didn't really give me a sense of calm beauty. (Though the garden dining table that doubled as a giant goldfish bowl had potential.)
Each y
ear the smaller gardens seem to get ever more popular, and sure enough this is where we met the biggest crowds. It's also where I felt the most inspiration. Whether it was the simple, moss-covered stone sink used as a water feature in the Korean garden, the use of carved phrases in another, or the special attention to planting combinations in all, it was here that I ... and a few thousand others ... chose to linger.In the grand marquee (that's a giant tent for you Americans) I pursued my usual pattern of wandering. Stop near sweet pea stand, close eyes, breathe deeply. Move on to delphinium display, marvel at the wonderful range of blues. Visit Jekka's herbs, dream about ideal herb garden. Linger at one of the numerous displays from the Caribbean islands, talking to cheerful native women about past visits. Pause at David Austen roses, breathe deep again and get a bit teary-eyed at the romantic beauty of it all.
The big problem with Chelsea at the moment, of course, is that I am living in rental accommodation. There is no point getting enthusiastic about improving someone else's beds. What this year really did was sharpen my taste for getting that marital home, and making sure it's one with a great garden. Or, at least, potential to build one. I see no crane-hoisted garden rooms in my future, but some hurdle-bounded raised beds for herbs and
vegetables ... Perfect.The lunch before the show was almost as traditional a venue as the show itself. We met at Bibendum, which I have somehow managed to avoid despite it being a consistently dependable offering from the Conran stable, located in one of West London's most architecturally significant buildings, for the entirety of my life in the UK. I am really not sure how I missed it, because this is a lovely lunchtime choice. Elegant and upscale with a sense of occasion, yet with a set price menu (£30 for three courses on weekdays, £32.50 on weekends) that makes the luxury affordable. Pleasingly, the set menu has a wide range of choices, with at least six for each course. I wasn't even tempted to look at the a la carte.
The setting is magnificent, with towering ceilings, giant windows (two filled with cheerful stained glass depictions of the Michelin man and his wife) and plenty of art deco features. Its the kind of stage set restaurant that makes you expect Hercule Poirot to be at the next table. If he were, however, you wouldn't be able to eavesdrop on his latest investigation because tables are far enough apart to offer a sense of privacy. And while there's a pleasant hubbub, its all laid back enough to allow for proper conversation. Service is excellent; attentive when you need them, but happy to stand back and allow business conversation until you cast your eye to invite an invitation.
And the food? Up to expectations, though not perfect. I started with the seasonal, local asparagus with a scoop of some of the finest Hollandaise I've ever tasted. Although it hardly needed it. A serried row of perfectly matched spears, at least 8 inches long and the thic
kness of a pinkie, with a taste so pure and perfect you have to believe that the greatest chef, ultimately, may be the farmer who creates the raw materials. My main course was equally beautiful, though not so well balanced. A whole, roasted sea bass topped with grilled artichoke hearts and tomatoes was destroyed by too much butter. It was swimming in it. All that delicate, healthy fish and vegetable was destroyed by an imbalance of fat. I'm inspired to try it on my own at home, with a much lighter touch, and olive oil rather than butter, to get those artichokes working properly.I should have followed my instinct and ordered the pistachio bavarois, which I was promised was light yet pungent, thus would have cut through the richness of the main. Foolishly, I let my inner choco-holic take over and went for the gateau opera. This generously sized layer cake with alternating stripes of vanilla sponge, chocolate mousse and chocolate fudge was delicious, but so heavy on the fudge to be more like a piece of candy than a well balanced pudding. It's rare that I leave any pudding on the plate, but this could easily have been 30 per cent smaller and still a crowd pleaser.
Given the great impression the venue made on me, and the value and variety of the set menu, I'd be happy to get back soon to see if I could order a more balanced set of choices. In this case, fortunately, a long walk through the flower show settled all those flavors.
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