I adore the Ashmolean. Located in the heart of Oxford, it's essentially the university museum, stuffed with goodies donated by centuries of affluent graduates and friends. Like the University of Chicago's Oriental Institute, which we visited this summer, its delight lies in the fact it's small enough to be manageable, but filled with items of exceptional quality. There's a complete shrine with life-sized relief sculpture erected at the heart of the impressive Egyptian rooms; the world famous Albert Jewel to show off the skill of Anglo-Saxon craftsmen; a gallery of antique instruments including a Stradivarius violin; a fascinating collection of Japanese netsuke; and room after room of European decorative arts one suspects accumulated as heirs cleaned out their estates. "It's too nice to flog, but I don't really like it. Let's donate it in Pappa's name..."
The expansion deepens the back of what was originally a "c" shaped building, adding a light-filled,
Dinner Saturday night was at Brasserie Blanc in Oxford, the first of the small chain of informal restaurants the famous chef now offers as a more casual and affordable entry into his cuisine. We've dined at branches in London and Cheltenham, and this one is much the same in menu, quality and service. Though its decor feels a bit more intimate and less chain-like than the others. The food is the best of traditional French, the kind of bistro I always fantasise about finding in France but almost never do. Certainly not with this kind of reliability. There's an unbeatable steak tartare, magical sauces and desserts that include the expected (tartes tatin and citron) yet also show off Raymond's love of chocolate and pistachio. Possibly a reason why the man is my favourite Frenchman in the world behind the single exception of my dear friend Didier Demeneix.
And that was only the brasserie. The Manoir up the road was, as expected, the highlight of the weekend. Perfect in every way. From the architecture ... classic Cotswolds manor, elegantly appointed, traditional and comfortable but with modern touches. To the garden .... vegetables as art, oriental water gardens, formal parterres, witty integration of modern art with traditional plantings (I particularly loved the giant snail statue), roses rambling through pilasters screening the formal lawn from the wider gardens. To the service ... Piers' allergy noted, discussed and worked around, cocktails and canapes in comfortable armchairs before ordering, informative descriptions of each plate set before us, a copy of the wine list procured for us to take home in a jute Manoir bag when we expressed serious interest in their range. To the food. Of course, the food.
The seven-course tasting menu was titled "les saveurs de septembre" and, let's face it, there's hardly a better month to work from nature's larder. We started with goat's cheese agnolotti with olive and basil, showing off another reason I love Raymond. He's never been shy about mixing French and Italian. On to confit of salmon with apple and lemon verbena. So good it made me seriously think we should get a sous vide machine for a home attempt. And the apple and lemon verbena combo? Clearly my garden is missing an essential herb. On to a soft fried hen's egg with watercress, Jabugo ham and hazelnut. I'm not generally a fan of fried eggs but you could put Jabugo on cardboard and make it taste good. It is the queen of hams. And the Manoir's fried eggs are most certainly a step far beyond the
And then, at the heart of this exquisite menu, sat the two words I perhaps dislike the most in the world of main courses: roast lamb. I don't mind the heavily spiced lambs of Middle or Far Eastern cuisines, and I'll go for a nice rare chop. But there's something about roasting that brings out a flavour I loathe. The Manoir's was good. Perfectly palatable. And for me to say that about roast lamb? Well, that's a big deal. We were quickly back on the delicious track with a little cheese course of Somerset goat's milk Cardo with peach, cumin and celery, an unexpected combo that worked beautifully. Dessert No. 1 was apricot almondine with a caramel croustillant and almond milk creme glacee. So good I could have been satisfied with just one dessert. But a girl needs chocolate to end a celebratory meal, and Raymond obliged. With a chocolate and raspberry crumble. Heaven.
The only discordant note in this whole experience was the occasional shrill blip of a childish voice. I was stunned to see at least five families with children under ten at a two Michelin starred restaurant. An adult shouldn't expect to get out of here for any less than £130 per person with a bit of wine and some coffee. They have a children's menu (beautifully illustrated with Asterix cartoons) but it still can't be cheap. Are there that many people here with so much money they'll spend £60 on a kid's meal? Wouldn't the cash have been better spent on a babysitter and peace and quiet for yourself?
I find my feelings divided here. Selfishly, there is nothing in the world more able to quickly destroy a relaxing meal than the caterwaul of little people. Even when they're trying to be quiet, they somehow manage to operate on a special frequency that makes their voices cut through everything else in the room. Especially little girls. And yet ... Raymond Blanc (like my other culinary hero, Giorgio Locatelli) believes that it's critical for children to experience fine dining from a young age. How else, he argues, are they going to learn to behave themselves, much less develop past the pizza and mac and cheese stage? Ultimately, Blanc and Locatelli are right. And the fact that continental children so often dine out, while their British cousins do not, is precisely why you want to avoid the little Anglo beasties on holiday. They are inevitably the worst-behaved children in the room. So, well done mes enfants. All the ones in our dining room that day were actually very good. But do keep in mind, if you're going for a magnificent meal at the Manoir on a Sunday, you might be sharing it with some unexpected company.
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