The new Cafe Murano lets down the Hartnett brand

I desperately wanted to like Cafe Murano.  I'm a huge fan of chef patron Angela Hartnett.  Her original, Michelin-starred restaurant Murano has given me some wonderfully memorable meals (story here). I was excited and honoured to be on the invitation list for the soft launch week of this new, more casual venue in Covent Garden, and had been boasting to friends all week that we were going to be amongst the first to sample Hartnett's latest.

Sadly, reality fell far short of expectations.

The Tavistock street location (there's another branch in St. James) doesn't officially open until Monday, so we knew they'd still be working through details.  And, indeed, on the service side there's still a lot to do.  We waited ages to order, even though our 6:45 booking made us one of the first tables seated.  By the end of the meal, we figured this was actually a "small plates" restaurant, like a tapas place or Maze, where we were supposed to order four or five options per person, share and nibble.  But nobody explained that, leaving us to figure it out when much smaller-than-expected dishes hit the table.  Dishes came randomly: one first course ages before the other two; the missing two arriving almost at the same time as the second course; one of us getting her second course well after the other three; wine glasses and cutlery cleared at points when we weren't finished with them.

All of this is excusable for a soft launch week, and practice will no doubt get things running smoothly soon.  We were ready to ignore such hiccoughs.  But we expected the food itself to be much better.

Regular readers of this blog will know that as a descendant of food-obsessed Italian immigrants and a serious cook myself, my evaluation of any Italian restaurant is quite simple.  If I'm paying for it, it should be better than I could produce at home.  Hartnett's flagship Murano delivers food that leaves mine ... and pretty much everyone else's ... in the dust.  In inspiration, technique and presentation, she starts with Italian classics and takes them to a whole new level.  Cafe Murano is supposed to be a more casual, everyday restaurant, so we didn't think we'd be getting exactly the same here.  But I still thought the food would be something special.  With the exception of two dishes, it was basic stuff I'd expect at any mid-market Italian, or produced without much difficulty in my own kitchen.

Let's start with the exceptions.  There's a crab salad, its salty/savoury tang cut with tiny diced bits of sweet/tart apple, lightly dressed to add just a bit of additional flavour, that we all agreed was the dish of the evening.  At the other end of the night, they delivered one of the best tiramisus I've ever had.  Though the dish seems to be on most Italian menus, it's rarely done properly, often lacking balance and going too heavy on the cream.  This was a dish of subtle elegance, with the cream, cake, coffee and chocolate all weaving in a graceful culinary minuet.

Everything else, sadly, was just average. Grilled baby artichokes were pleasant, but that's more down to sourcing the veg than any great skill.  Octopus salad tasted little different from the version I can buy at my local Italian deli.  Ditto the bresaola.  Having been treated to some exceptional gnocchi the day before at The Vineyard, I thought I'd have another go; these suffered in comparison, having less taste and none of the lightness of the earlier offering.  Farfalle with giroles and peas and rabbit leg were pleasant enough, but nothing memorable.  Pigeon came to the table charred almost black, with little attempt at presentation and no sauce.  The hungriest amongst us ordered the lamb shoulder, expecting a manly, substantial dish, and got a few strands of meat atop a plate of beans.  After three courses, he admitted he was still hungry enough to pick up a snack on the way home.

In exchange for being guinea pigs during soft launch week, we got to try the food for half price.  That made the experience palatable.  But don't make the mistake of thinking this simple food is going to come at a simple price.  Checking out the existing Cafe Murano's menu, and assuming you're going to order four small plates per person to make a full meal (and you might need a side vegetable as well, since the main courses come with little accompaniment) you'll easily be at £50 per person before you start into drinks.  And there are few bargains on the wine list.  It's an intriguing one, with many tempting Italian varieties rarely seen in London, but the cheapest bottles were in the £30s and the average price looked at least a tenner higher.

Murano St. James gets consistently good reviews.  It may be that we just suffered a series of mishaps, or that we ordered badly at this new sister.  All I know is that I went in needing to book a spot for dinner with two friends next week, and thought I might try to nab a table for a quick return.  By dessert, I'd dismissed the possibility.  The quality of the food just doesn't justify the cost.  If I wanted Italian small plates, I'd return to Ciccheti on Piccadilly (review here), where we had similar food with better presentation and more reasonable prices last December.  Ultimately, I'd rather save up my money and return to the Murano mothership.  Its magic simply didn't translate into its more casual spin-off.

Newbury's Vineyard is a food and wine revelation

Given the passion I share with my husband and friends for combining fine food with just the right wine, it's amazing that it's taken me this long to discover The Vineyard. This is, no doubt, because it's on the outskirts of Newbury, well out of any of our regular routes and a town not really known as either a cultural or dining destination.

"Discover" isn't quite the right word.  I encountered The Vineyard by association five years ago when I was treated to dinner at Coworth Park created by chef John Campbell, who'd just been lured from The Vineyard ... where he'd gained two Michelin stars ... to run the kitchens at the new Dorchester property (story here).  The Vineyard's loss of its two stars after he left was big news on the foodie scene. And current head chef Daniel Galmiche turns up occasionally on Saturday Kitchen.  So I knew about it, but had never made the effort to get there.

It's a worthy destination.  The food is classic, elegant Continental cuisine.  Exquisite tastes, delicate portions, artful presentation. This is, admittedly, like many fine dining establishments.  The differentiator is the wine ... and the puzzle that they haven't re-gained at least one Michelin star.

Proprietors the Michael family also own the Peter Michael Winery in Sonoma, and there's no doubt they're serious about their craft.  The 30,000 bottles in their cellar here are used as a design element, with long walls of wine tempting you to exploration.  Their award-winning wine list looks more like a soft-bound version of Larousse's wine encyclopaedia, with comprehensive global coverage and choices from classic to quirky. They offer an unparalleled (in my experience) 100 wines by the glass.  A large mural of The Judgement of Paris ... that famous blind tasting that saw California beat France and inspired the film Bottle Shock ... is the first thing your eye sees when you enter the lobby.  The interiors have a Californian vineyard feel about them, all stone-washed elegance, big windows, tasteful modern art and exquisite wrought iron grape vines providing balustrades, balconies and handrails.

As this was a serious business lunch, we had a glass of wine each, with pre-printed discs placed beneath each glass to tell us what we were drinking.  I immediately wanted to collect a set.  The menu was full of enticing wine flights and special offers for tastings and classes.

The classic chablis chosen by our host was a multi-functional crowd pleaser well suited to stretching across the variety of two courses.  But the menu's tempting variety offered a range to spur the imagination.  How would they pair with the ever-tricky artichoke?  How to counter the bitterness of that endive?  Would you honestly put that upstate New York wine with anything?

Having just had a rotten weigh-in at Weight Watchers, I attempted to go light on my choices.  I avoided the bread-crumbed ball of foie gras on pickled red onions in a pond of creamy sweet onion volute, though the look of satisfaction on my colleagues faces told me I would have loved it.  My more virtuous pressed rabbit terrine with confit and pickled heritage carrots was delicious, though I could have used a bit more savoury balance to the very sweet veg.  The presentation, however, was perfect.  Thanks to our ridiculously cold spring, I could still indulge in seasonal asparagus for the main; thin, grilled shoots served here with some light-as-air parmesan gnocchi and morels.  My only complaint? More morels, please.  But who wouldn't say that?  Virtue, however, collapsed in the face of dark chocolate and salted caramel.  This combo has been overdone of late and can easily fail if you don't get the ingredients in balance.  Here, the dark chocolate was both bitter and sweet, the caramel layered more sweetness with just a hint of salt, biscuit bits gave texture.  A masterful marriage, and a small enough portion that I like to think I didn't do too much damage.

The dining experience closest to The Vineyard?  Le Manoir au Quat'Saisons.  (My review here.) The same elegance, the same quality of food.  Similarly assured staff, assuming that you share their passion for food and wine and guiding you through the experience with insight.  Both attached to luxurious Relais & Chateaux hotels (though The Vineyard has a far more modern vibe and a big spa).  Both surrounded by lovely gardens allowing for pre- and post-prandial al-fresco drinking (though the Manoir's gardens are far more extensive).  The Vineyard has earned plenty of accolades, but at this point it has still failed to re-gain any Michelin stars.  Which, especially given the similarity to the Manoir, I find deeply puzzling.

The advantage to that lack, however, may be price.  The luncheon menu is £29 for three dishes, £39 for four. Dinner is £65 for four, £75 for five, and the pull-out-all-the-stops eight-course tasting menu is £99.  All significantly less than the Oxfordshire venue. Gardens aside, I confess I'm far more intrigued by the possibility of a return to The Vineyard.  With wine flight, of course.

Longborough's magical Tristan shows me that Wagner CAN write a love story

We've become Wagner Patrons at the Longborough Festival Opera.

We decided to make the Cotswolds-based country house opera the main focus for our family philanthropy because we believe in their model of intimate, high-quality performances put on for a community of people who care passionately about it.  No bored corporate hospitality guests only along for the posh picnic here.  We believe opera needs to be performed and celebrated outside of the big cities if it's to survive.  Longborough played a big role in our courtship.  And, truth be told, it's also because the higher membership levels are the only way to guarantee getting weekend tickets for their widely acclaimed Wagner performances.

The company repaid us in full this past weekend with a gorgeously sung, heart-wrenching version of Tristan und Isolde.

Since meeting my Wagner-loving husband I've seen most of the repertoire.  Most of The Ring at Longborough, Dutchman at the Royal Opera House and others on live broadcast or television.  Somehow I'd missed Tristan und Isolde.  Ironic, since it's become my favourite in Wagner's repertoire, refuting my earlier opinion that the man couldn't write a credible love story.  Longborough's production was a passionate roller coaster, delivering ... with complete credibility ... the story of lovers driven to disaster by a relationship they know is wrong, but can't resist.

Much of this credibility is due to Peter Wedd and Rachel Nicholls in the titular roles, who gave us acting as superior as their masterful voices.  In Act 1, they managed to subtly convey that their rigid indifference to each other hid a real passion. The act-ending love potion didn't create it, but rather revealed the truth of it.  From then on, the relationship is a glorious train wreck.  Wedd's Tristan is, quite literally, writhing with passion, lost to the world and to himself.  Nicholls sends Isolde careering back and forth between joyful ecstasy, fear and heartbreak.  We've seen her at Longborough before: she was the Brunnhilde who convinced me Wagner could create women as compelling as Tosca (story here).  I thought she was even better this time.

With its small stage and tight funding, Longborough can't afford lavish production values.  Presumably most of their money goes on the voices and the musicians, which are uniformly excellent. Thus they make a virtue of stripped back, sparse staging, and I've come to rely on them to deliver modern interpretations that are visually stimulating ... and that generally work.  Here, the visual interest was in the costumes: medieval meets Paris catwalk. Lighting effects set the scene: a horizontal line, gently moving with the "navigation" to create the ship crossing the Irish Sea; the projected shadow of a henge to denote Tristan's castle in Brittany; a single guttering torch to embody the lovers' duet about day and night.

The most striking feast for the eyes, and the most controversial, came from ballet dancers choreographed to embody Tristan and Isolde's inner emotions.  It was a Marmite move: people either seemed to love it or hate it.  I was in the former camp.  I thought it added depth to the plot and the characterisation, from the very beginning showing us that these two people ... while outwardly trying to do the right thing ... were crazy about each other.  Literally.  It even enhanced the main love scene, showing that their passion exceeded what they were able to express.

And, let's be honest, it gave me something to focus on during some very, very long scenes.  Even my new-found appreciation for Tristan und Isolde doesn't change my heretical opinion that Wagner would be much improved if edited by 30% and sung in Italian.  Something, of course, I will never say out loud in the grounds of Longborough, which has clearly become the English Bayreuth. (The German theatre built by the composer himself and now dedicated to performing his oeuvre.)  The German-speaking ladies at the table next to us in the patron's tent had flown in from Switzerland; the others at our B&B (as ever, the wonderful Windy Ridge) could compare and contrast with other productions they'd seen around the world.

I may now be a patron, but I know I'm a neophyte in Wagnerland.  As long as Longborough continues to put on productions of this quality, I'm happy to be a student as well.  Next year, Tannhauser.  Or, as I heretically call it, Night on Love Mountain.  Bring it on.

But not just yet.  Next month, we're back for Xerxes.

London rolls out the bicentennial celebrations; Refreshed Apsley stars

Next Thursday marks the bicentennial of one of the most significant events in modern history.  An epoch-making battle that ended tyranny, established peace for more than a generation and laid the foundations for the prosperity and expansion of the British Empire.

Scratching your head in puzzlement?  We're talking about Waterloo.

Though it hasn't dominated headlines, there's been a slow bubble of news stories and television programmes, several museums have scheduled related exhibits and the Duke of Wellington's London home, Apsley House, has just re-opened after a major renovation.  The Bencards think there should be more of a fuss made, but then we're rather partial to this topic.  My husband is fascinated by the battle (read about our battlefield visit here), we're locals to the Wellington's country estate (covered here) and we even have a portrait miniature of the first duke in our sitting room.

Not surprising, then, that we found ourselves at the Battle of Waterloo memorial concert at the Royal Albert Hall last Friday night.

It was a professionally organised, light, fun collection of classical hits ... a trademark Raymond Gubbay production.  We didn't mind the froth, though we do wish it would have gone on a bit longer.  Paying £55 for a concert that zips you along and gets you out at the two hour mark, including interval, pushed a bit past my value for money mark.  I would have been happier if some of those musical extracts were a bit longer.

They were certainly well-selected extracts, artfully woven together in a script presented by Tony Robinson.  He recounted the tale of Waterloo and the events around it, from Napoleon's escape from Elba, through the personalities and details of the day's events, ending with the peace the allied victory brought to Europe.  The music, mostly contemporary with the events described, helped build the narrative.  Handel's See The Conquering Hero Comes, as played at the party Napoleon's surprise advance broke up.  French and British military marching tunes.  Suppe's Light Cavalry Overture to capture the rhythm of the battle charges.  A blockbuster ending with Beethoven's Ode to Joy.  (Here's where I think they gave too small of an excerpt.  If you're assembling a choir that big, why not give us the whole movement?)  Soldiers in Regency uniform popped in and out to add visual interest to several numbers, making an impressive contribution to Beethoven's Wellington's Victory ... a piece we should hear more ... by occupying the top level of the Albert Hall and accompanying the orchestra with musket fire.

It was an enjoyable evening, and a fitting salute to a momentous occasion too many people only remember tangentially, as a train station or a bridge.  This was a one-off performance, but here are other options for commemorating the bicentennial right now.

Apsley House, Hyde Park Corner 
This grand, Robert Adam-designed Palladian mansion is also known as "Number One, London", as it was the first great building Georgian travellers encountered when they arrived in London from the west.  Now it's a bit marooned in a sea of traffic and buildings at Hyde Park Corner, just another piece of monumental neo-classical architecture.  Millions pass daily without giving it a thought, and few people I know ... local or tourist ... have ever been inside.  Which is a shame, because this English Heritage property is a star sight on multiple levels.

If you're interested in Wellington and Waterloo, there's nothing like it.  This was Wellington's town
house.  (His descendants still have apartments here.)  He used it to entertain visiting statesmen ... most notably at the annual Waterloo commemorative banquet ... and here's where he displayed most of the treasure trove of gifts and war memorabilia he accumulated as the conquering hero.  The porcelain room and the massive, multi-part silver table service created as a thank you give from the Portuguese are both jaw dropping.  All the key players are commemorated in portraiture and also, in Napoleon's case, by a giant Canova statue that captures the man's dangerously overdeveloped ego in a glance.

Architecture fans can enjoy the interplay of one of London's finest Georgian interiors with some wildly over-the-top Regency additions.  I don't care much for the garish banqueting hall, but it is a sight to see.  Visitors who know the place from before the renovation will be delighted to see the Wellington banquet table and Portuguese service now set up here.  It transforms the room, making it and the art hung there much more impressive.  And speaking of art:  art lovers will find a worthy Old Masters collection with a great story.  Wellington captured the baggage train of the escaping Joseph Bonaparte, including multiple cart loads of loot from Madrid's royal collection.  After the war, the Spanish royals were so indebted to Wellington for saving them, they let him keep the paintings.

Everything's explained in a particularly good audio guide that comes with your admission fee.  It's a hand-held computer, about the size of a jumbo smart phone, that gives you multiple touring options and lets you drive your own visit.  Speed through, or dive into multiple levels of detail.  And everything is sparkling after a long closure for refurbishment.  Paintwork bright, gold gilt renewed, pictures cleaned.  English Heritage may not have as many great houses as the National Trust, but what they've done with this one is far more impressive than the experience most NT places.

Wellington:  Triumphs, Politics and Passions at the National Portrait Gallery

This small (three galleries) exhibit tells the story of Arthur Wellesley, first Duke of Wellington, through portraits, art and artefacts.  The portraits dominate, as you'd expect, and it's fascinating to see the man evolve from the romantic, slightly uncertain youth through the commanding general to the hard line politician and, finally, doting grandfather and pensive old man.  Little touches delight the most here:  a sketch book by a soldier from the Peninsular Campaign, open to one beautifully detailed page but with a video beside it showing more; a bombastic, laughably ridiculous allegory of Wellington in triumph that gives you a sense of just how extreme adulation of him was; the portraits and mementos of both his wife and his many female friends, illustrating the extreme charisma he was said to exert on the opposite sex.

Sadly ... and amazingly, given we haven't even gotten to the anniversary yet ... I've just discovered that this exhibit closed on Sunday.  But you could still pop in to the Regency galleries at the NPG to get a sense of Wellington and his times.

Bonaparte and the British: Prints and Propaganda in the Age of Napoleon at the British Museum
The British Museum, thankfully, is more generous with its time for the anniversary, with this show
open until 16 August.  And it's free.  It's low profile, however, getting little advertising and tucked away in the rear wing, so you do need to seek it out.  Anyone who is a fan of satire, PR or political cartooning should do so.

It's an excellent collection that plunges you straight into the contemporary realities of the time.  Then as now, political humour could put a finger on the pulse.  How the great men are presented ... by both friend and enemy ... tells tales of fear, respect and drama.  And senses of humour haven't changed that much in two centuries.  Many of the prints are still very, very funny.  This exhibit goes far beyond Waterloo, starting with the rise of the dashing young Corsican soldier to his inglorious exile on St. Helena.  As the show's title suggests, Napoleon is the driving force here.  It's almost the perfect companion to Apsley House; this exhibit delving into the French protagonist, the great house laying bare the English.

The 18th is coming.  How will you celebrate?  We'll no doubt be eating beef Wellington at the Bencard household.  Washed down with some Spanish or Portuguese wine.

ENO, Leigh deliver joyous Pirates reboot

What a fabulous idea.

Take a famous film director who's made a clever, funny, visually rich and critically acclaimed film about an opera writing duo ... and get him to create your latest production of one of their best-known operas.  Which is the simple brilliance of how we got to Mike Leigh's glorious Pirates of Penzance at the English National Opera.

It's funny, beautiful and artfully performed.  It will send you home humming, and thinking "I really must get to more Gilbert and Sullivan."  Which is precisely how I felt after seeing The Mikado here two years ago.  And, like that 39-year-old production, the new Pirates from the director of Topsy-Turvy, this show looks set to run and run.

He mixes a visually arresting set of bold, primary colours and stark geometric shapes with traditional Victorian costume.  It shouldn't work, but it does.  The plain sets accentuate the beautiful costumes, and the contrast between the two gives the production the feel of a children's picture book.  Which is particularly appropriate, since this show is filled with a simple, childish joy.

Pirate stories had gone from fashionable to hackneyed by the late Victorian period.  By creating their laughable, loveable and outrageous pirate gang, Gilbert and Sullivan were doing the same piss-taking genre re-boot as Johnny Depp's Captain Jack Sparrow, but nearly a century sooner.  The plot is foolishly ridiculous.  A pirate apprentice who wants to leave his life of crime, unable to do so because of a silly technicality, in love with one of an impossible number of daughters belonging to a pompous but loveable major general.  There are implausible twists and turns, humour full of political swipes and double entendre, rousing group numbers and heart-stirring love songs.  Few modern musicals can match the delight it delivers.  And it's all delivered by top voices who are strong actors and have perfect comic timing.

Try to get tickets if you can.  It's on 'til 4 July.  (Though will no doubt be back.)

 I have only one complaint.  Even the seats in the lower balcony at the ENO are brutally uncomfortable.  There's no legroom at all, and the steep angle of seats means you can't even slip your feet beneath the seat in front of you.  My delight at the show was countered by severe leg spasms 2/3rds through each act.  Had I spotted the cinema broadcast option before I'd booked the tickets, that would have been a better option.  But the pain was worth it.  For this glorious show, I might even do it again.  I'd certainly spend the extra cash to get on the main floor.