Plus ça Change..

Several rituals have become the bedstead of life, be it personal obsessive idiosyncrasies throughout the day, or shared general progressions for a typical evening out. They can occasionally draw ruing for their predictability, or comfort through their familiarity. Following a meal in Jeddah, typically the evening is capped with a saunter over to a shisha cafe' to help "digestion". As evidenced by the plethora of outings to cigar lounges of late, it would seem they have become the new shisha. Albeit on a far more wallet debilitating scale.

As such, being Huzaifah's last evening in London since a while, and for a while, he was rather intent on following up dinner with another cigar experience. Where at?

Rather obviously. He seems to be quite taken with the place - this is the third time in two weeks we will have come here - I don't blame him. This will be my sixth or so appearance in as many weeks. Not that it has to be said, but I have already stated the rightness of the serenity, the calm, the excellency of service and advice. All I need is to be paid to experience this delight and it would be perfect, but that would be greedy. Awesome, but greedy. Yet again, I let the choice befall on the Barman, this time suggesting to me a Bourbon to go with my cigar, a Bourbon which I had actually got my first sampling of the week prior at the Harrod's tasting.

Montecristo No. 4

Makers Mark Bourbon on Ice

The terrace was empty - after ousting a couple, how dare they impinge - which boded well. Seated and served of our tipple, ambience calm, temperature almost perfect, just approaching a bit chilly, though I revelled in the new purchase of my fabulous sweater, keeping me warmth, if only on the upper half of my body. The cigar was pleasant, light and with a reasonable drag for its size, and the usual tones of slight chocolate and coffee seemingly the only ones I can sense in a cigar. The Bourbon on first thoughts, was disappointing, mainly as it seemed to contain the iceberg that sank the Titanic. However, despite being slightly watered down by this glacial body, it soothed with its mild sweetness, and slight almond notes (?). It also helped that it paired particularly well with the cigar, the sweetness coming alive and supplementing the cigars' lightness of body. 

The evening ensued, with some mint tea and espresso coming our way, primarily as I would still have a lot of travelling for the night, taking on chauffeur duties for Huzaifah, both of which were as well, rather boringly, pleasant. Especially of note were the "petite fours" served, a chocolate/almond brownie square and the shortbread biscuit, which were delicately sweet, and in the case of the brownie, deliciously nutty, and somehow worked with the mint tea as well as the clean and elegant espresso. As such, putting a pleasant cap on the evening, an enjoyable and serene smoke amidst contemplation and good company, following our thrifty dinner of Kings, much as with every outing in Jeddah. The more things change..

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[Restaurant - Russian] Honest to Goodness, and Kvass!; Samovar Cafe of Bayswater

Location - Queensway, London [UK]

Why end a good thing? Despite the exorbitance of the preceding days, the slight exuberant alcohol consumption of the evening before, and the absolutely decadent breakfast in the morning, I figured there was still scope for a little exploration for lunch. After all, I had regained some sanity with a healthy helping of saurkraut and octopus salad for my mid-morning snack, so, permission granted. 

As luck would have it, strolling around the hotel area in the morning to locate a cash point for breakfast, I came across a sign pertaining to a restaurant that I had recently been made aware of reading an article on The Guardian's food section. Being of a type of cuisine that I had almost no experience of, thus required to try, and of being so opportunely local, I immediately started hatching plans of fitting in lunch. The only issue being that it was currently 7:30AM, and lunch was but a while away. That and I also had a friend to have to consider for. Hmph. Fortunately though, with his predictable hibernation-esque sleeping pattern, and finding some time to burn away in the meantime, it was established to entertain a Russian lunch.

Arriving at the shop, we were indicated that the cafe' was actually down a gallery in an indoor market, which  soon brought about the annoying predilection for prejudice - this place was a ghetto. Undeterred, and offering vain notions that we would not get shot, I persisted, and once seated, a quick glance at the menu was all that was needed to immediately feel comforted. Despite the best efforts of the torturous devices masquerading as table chairs.

~ Starters ~

- Shuba

Not quite sure what I was ordering, though knowing it consisted of herring was rather hoping it was the pickled herring I wanted to try, I was presented with this rather fabulously coloured dish. On seeing it, I did recognise the dish, and promptly commenced with the beetroot drenched fish. First bite revealed quite a heavy, creamy base with just a light sweetness of the beetroot permeating through, with its slight acidity picking its way through. Digging deeper revealed yet another level of vegetables, with some hearty carbohydrates from the shredded potato mixing with some slight vinegary notes of some pickled vegetables, not that I could distinguish them within this slab. After a few bites I finally came to the herring, which made itself rather known with its strong aroma, which was very well balanced out by the heaviness of the cream enriched potatoes, and the pickled vegetables serving to perk up this rather heavy of dishes. 

Heavy, but delightful. Despite the omnipresence of the cream/mayonnaise, it did not phase or render the dish overly rich in the slightest, especially with the presence of the herring. The gentle sweetness of the beetroot as well complimented the abundance of vegetables, serving to make the dish rather moreish. 

~ Main Course ~

- Fried Grundinka Pork with Kasha

Choices for the main course were rather limited unfortunately, and the Fried Pork dish was the only one that had a Russian titling in its name, and despite being asked if I were sure I wanted this dish, being told that it was "fat", I persisted. And it had to come with kasha, to further delve into this most Russian sounding of dishes. And then a plate came with fried pork belly, some microwaved baked beans, a heaping of the kasha and some pickled cabbage. Glamour had left the building. Not that I was concerned, as it certainly looked honest. Working myself around, I started with the cabbage, which was much like saurkraut both in appearance, and in taste, though a bit milder. A bit of the kasha revealed a mild tasting yet substantial grain, with no real pertinent flavour, not that I was expecting much. The Grudinka next, which was essentially, belly pork. Being just pan-fried, it tasted as it looked, a bit like gammon, which can never be a negative, ever. The beans do not require their separate tasting. 

In separation, everything was distinctly honest, not that the cafe's aesthetics would lend to think otherwise. Combining the components just introduced comforting elements to one another. The cabbage would add a welcome acidity to cut through the greasiness of the pork, whilst the kasha would serve to add a hearty substance to each bite. The beans were also pleasant, adding their element of breakfast for lunch when combined with the pork in particular. Not a spectacularly different sort of dish, but pleasing in its simplicity nevertheless.  

~ Dessert ~

- Syrniki

 

Its cheese, and its a dessert. Two v's for victory. A dish I have been meaning to try for as long as I yearned for Russian food, which is not terribly long. And a perfect basing as a Russian friend has exclaimed that I must try his Grandmothers' versions, all the more reason to try some more. Though presented with just three roundels of cheese may seem disappointing, at this point I had welcomed the slightly diminutive portion, not that blocks of fried cheese are generally served at many restaurants. Composed of fried quark cheese, covered in smetana [sour cream] and I think a plum compote, I started firstly with a piece of just the cheese. It has dense in texture yet lightly flavoured, slightly greasy from the frying obviously, with a light milky essence. A bit staid on its own but pleasant enough, so now with some of the smetana, which rather predictably added its sharp tang and softened the greasiness of the cheese. Again however, the flavours were mellow. Which would change entirely with the addition of the compote. 

The slight sweetness of the fruit combined perfectly. Its sweetness perked up the relative heaviness of the cream and cheese, its own sharpness balancing well with that of the smetana. The compote was devastatingly effective, transforming the separate components into a delicious combination of sweet, sharpness, a slight sourness and plenty of milky, creamy decadence. Devoured so quickly I only managed to remember to take a picture when indicated by my friend. Now. I need to try the Russians' Grandmothers' syrniki, for research sake obviously. 

~ Drinks ~

- Kvass!

Actually, it was more of a lower key Kvass, without an exclamation mark, my hopes and dreams instantly destroyed when the soft drinks bottle was presented, dashing my hopes of a mug of liquid rye bread, complete with crust. Regardless, it was kvass, and at last I would get a sampling of a drink that has been a torment of obsession for as long as syrniki have been. And, remembering it was a soft drink, it was ok. Not particularly distinctive, though there was a curious highlight which my friend remarked seemed like root beer, which I would be inclined to agree with. A slight "spice" really. Otherwise it was thoroughly neutered, sugared, and absolutely bad for being a soft drink and all its inherent healthy nullity. Not that its sampling has given me much hope in trying to base a comparison with, though I will probably find it difficult to find many "authentic" variants within London. Bah.

~~~~

Emerging from the cafe with nary a gun-wound, and completely satisfied, I came away if slightly less than enlightened, at least quietly content. With the complete dearth of actual experience of the foods, I can only surmise in my ignorance just how close to authenticity I was getting. Suffice it to say, being in the location that it is, the prevalence, or rather, fact that all other diners were Russian [speaking at least], I would think it is rather a locale for the locals rather than some yappy eat-all like myself. As much as told from the surprise on the face of the waitress as I ordered all the traditional dishes I could, kind of endearing. The experience was very much one of honesty; whilst the food in its essence was basic, there was no superficiality or extraneous distractions from the dishes. It was honesty in simplicity, in appearance and flavour. Big flavours, hearty natures, it was all feel-good food. Possibly the last thing needed after my own personal excesses of late, but, I am not phased.

A sign of the honesty was also a cause of amusement, I had never seen bread offered at a restaurant, for 7p. Yes, Seven Pence. Maybe in Soviet Russia bread, is just bread, and not a gift sent from a divinity and priced as such. Mind you, by the time the bill arrived, the amounted cost of the rather delectable rye bread, had quadrupled. To 28p. How they very dared contradict their honesty in food was a transgression forgiven however. Whilst it would be hopeful at best to attempt to bring my Russian friend here, for fear of getting his Louis Vuitton shoes dirty - not that I can talk - I feel what experience we did get here was at least indicative of some staple Russian food. Not that I would know. Though I am more than intent on finding out through more experiences. Especially with real Kvass!

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[Restaurant - Portuguese] Port & Camel's Drool - O'Fado of Knightsbridge

Location - Knightsbridge, London [UK]

Choices. Coming from living in Saudi Arabia, the oasis of "no rush" lifestyle that it is, choices are a relaxed affair - ignoring the suicidal transportation systems - you decide, make your choice, then mosey on up. In London, the opposite is very much the truth. Perhaps a bit dramatic of an opening statement, but when faced  with an oversight or twelve that led to a rapidly building hunger, it became a figurative issue. In a centre where bookings are seemingly requisite regardless of how thin the attendance, choices are vast, all coupled to my useless decision-making ability, slight annoyance was building at the prospect of having to make tactical off-the-cuff choices. It did not help that a box of Laduree Macaroons in hand were deviously vying for my attention. 

I was originally due to lunch at a Korean Demonstration being held at Harrods, and was ready and eager to experience this seldom and sparsely entertained cuisine. I was swiftly dealt a palm to the face when I appeared at the demonstration, and observed the thimbles of Korean food being handed out to the surrounding few. Granted, I would have attended regardless, as the demonstration introduced the "twist of fate" of being located in the same establishment of a certain divinity of pastries, and hence ample opportunity to seize it, however, I was not amused. Unperturbed, I figured however, that with the Columbian Food Festival taking place at the Intercontinental Hotel nearby at Park Lane, a buffet lunch could be a relatively fail safe choice. Except I safely failed, turning up a day early when only organisers, associates and trade were allowed in. I drowned my anguish with a couple of the delectable little macaroons. With the sugar serving to not lead me into disheartening dramatic nullities, I figured I would be dropped off at Beauchamp Place, as choices are not short there, and it was within reasonable distance of my required bus stop. With the Russian restaurant being one of short listed establishments I had wanted to try, in lieu of it being a relatively unknown entity to me, I thus ventured towards what would be a shut door and empty restaurants. BAH!

What now?! I had eaten at one place here already and everything else was thoroughly generic. I take the matter of food very seriously, in the end, I had gone through the Herculean effort of getting into a car and driving a whole twenty miles or so for lunch [/sarcastic drama]! At that point, I decided to stop ignoring the presence of the Portuguese restaurant, whose menu I had perused months ago online did not particularly move me, scaling down my preconceptions of Bacalhau-monopoly. I had little other choice, I was hungry, and it was diverse. Not sure what I was hesitant about as it was already on my short list. I think I was suffering a deficiency of the fiendish Laduree macaroons, having not eaten one for five whole minutes..

~ Starters ~ 
- Sardinhas Assadas


Perusing through the menu, I was met with relatively little of interest, so I chose what most stimulated me. Grilled sardines. Obviously. Perhaps I was slightly obscured by the notion I was having lunch a whole half hour later than usual, as a later viewing of the menu would reveal far more interesting starters but I figured sardines were an item I had never really eaten before. They took a while to arrive, though their aroma certainly filled the air long before they arrived infront of me. Then the gargantuan trio was served. Where I was expecting a mound of plentiful miniature fish, I received just three, thoroughly imposing creatures. Served with what was a hopeful notion of a salad, I devoured it before attacking the sardine, not quite knowing how to start.

Rather tellingly, it was a basic dish - it looked, smelled, and also now tasted, quite like grilled fish. A light sardine aroma was infused, quite delicate and not at all overpowering, an oddity to me having only ever had sardines in their preserved variant and thus tasting of the Dead Sea. It was pleasingly not too greasy, the flesh dense but falling apart with a light steam permeating through, though regardless of these faint praises, it was, and still remained, grilled fish. Thus it was slightly monochromatic, though appetising. I should have gone for something containing Bacalhau, as despite this dish being listed as "traditional", I'm sure there are hundreds of other countries willing to claim the same. Despite this, I left the third sardine behind, mostly for the sake of conscience. And my thighs.




~ Main Course ~
- Açorda de Marisco



When I spotted the incoming monstrosity, I instantly wondered if in the midst of my greed I had ordered a dish for two yet again. It was oceanic - fitting as it seemed to contain an entire school of sea life as well. I was also rather taken by surprise by the composition of the casserole; despite being described as a "Bread-based casserole", I did not figure it would be such a literal description. It was literally, made of bread. Bread, egg, and seafood, and larger than my gluttony, it was almost like a contorted breakfast. Considering the base of the casserole, I first tasted the casserole itself. A thick, dense and hearty mush of bread, it was a bit like a savoury porridge. A slight richness was imparted by the sautéing with onions, which added a little sweetness as well, the chopped coriander adding a few notes of freshness in between. Unleashing the yolk from the poached egg, a plain but welcome richness suffused into the casserole dish, not adding much else though. The seafood itself was inoffensive, it was rather simple I guess, and clean tasting, but otherwise rather boring. The chopped coriander did perk up the seafood a bit though, if only to balance with the omnipresent satisfyingly rich bread.

This perpetual sea of bread however soon became a bit monotone after the initial novelty wore-off. It was certainly delicious, but somewhat lacking in character, more appealing in its heartiness rather than intricate flavourings. I could have finished this whole, but yet again in the sake of my conscience and for the wish of dessert [I'm not kidding myself, there will ALWAYS be dessert, even after consuming an entire pachyderm], I left just under a half over. Though some serious restraint was required to do that, it was just so deviously easy to eat. Again, the lonely voice in my cranium quipped that perhaps I should have had some Bacalhau based dish, though the staid descriptions and predominance of starchy [Unlike Bread-stew..] potatoes dissuaded. The thought of not eating all the potatoes not being immediately apparent to me..




~ Dessert ~
- Baba de Camelo

Finally, after all the allowances I made for desserts' sake [thank you conscience], it was time to satisfy the perpetual sweet tooth. And I was stuck. Usually I just have all of them Whilst initially I was enamoured by the Arroz de Leche, I was undecided, as a Rice Pudding it still remained, and being as ubiquitous as it was, I could have it elsewhere, whilst other items were also tempting in their traditional background though not particularly interesting descriptions. In the end, I caved in on the waiters' suggestion and went for the above, or "Camel's Drool". Endearing images of what it would resemble were dashed when a breadcrumb topped pudding arrived. I was hoping for something more vile, not that I've ever seen a camel's spittoon to verify. First spoonful, and.

Awesome.

Described as a condensed milk souffle', a light toffee caramel infusion was dominant, an intensely glorious creaminess from the condensed milk. The diverse textures were also interesting, with the breadcrumb topping just adding some variety to the soft pudding. Digging down to the bottom of the plate, a clear yellow syrup lay underneath the pudding, very viscous, which when spooned up rather made it clear where the name came from. I was sipping slobber. It was delicious. Perhaps a bit too sweet but I did not care, the condensed milks' all-conquering smooth, creamy deluge conquered the show, and it was rather quickly inhaled. This intense nature of the dessert though did somewhat overpower the dessert wine I had chosen, smothering its initial taste, only revealing a bit of a finish at the tail. Something had to take the centre stage.




~ Drinks ~
- White Port



Ordered as an aperitif, as if my hunger ever needed further stoking, it was a peculiar drink I had always wanted to try, but never had done in my novice former- "snobbery" of Port, so it would essentially be a new discovery to me. Intrigued at the colour, a deep golden, hay colour, the aroma was interesting - it had a slight red wine quality to the nose, which confused my lacking mind with the colour it showed. On the palate it was not even very port-like, it was very delicate and soft on impact. Quite similar to a Sauternes infact, though with less of a honeyed note. Maybe there was some toffee laying there too? It was interesting.

Any attempts at pretending to describe of were hampered by my lack of having a clue, and the fact that I struggled to make it last. At least it distracted me from the no doubt chargeable olives and bread.




- Setúbal Moscatel



As a dessert is as expected in my dining repertoire as it is to not find flower-covered pictures of George Bush and Barack Obama in cave hideouts in Afghanistan, a suitable sweet wine was also requisite for this rather substantial lunch. Not wishing to default on the natural, easy, and just plain predictable choice of Port, considering the cuisine on offer, I had decided on the aforementioned Moscatel. Arriving in a rather intriguing hue of raspberry-tinged amber, it certainly looked promising. Somehow. The aroma was certainly hard to define, there was a definite hint of oak on the nose. Then I think my distinct lack of knowing what I am talking about resumed, as I'm sure I could perceive a hint of celery. CELERY?! I don't know.

Fortunately it did not taste of celery, rather, on the palate there was a lot of oak permeating from the aroma. As a result, some parallels could be drown from a whisky, subtle notes of oak entwined with a slight silken hay note. I am pretty sure I could sense some red berry fruit as well, perhaps raspberry or cranberry. Or maybe I was tasting with my eyes again. Certainly the solitary brain cell was over-tasked with all these subtle nuances. One certainty however, is that the Camel's drool had rather overpowered the wine, despite its generous body. The fore-taste was washed out by the decadent creaminess of the dessert, only to have some fruity notes permeate on the tail. Very much enjoyable glass of wine.

~~~~

The perpetual lunch had finally culminated, and rather contrary to belief, I had not turned into a bacalhau. Not terribly convinced - at least at the point in time - as a first choice, but if anything, very much satisfied on the conclusion. My fear perhaps was grounded in not knowing just how representative the restaurant would be of its namesake cuisine, not that I would know any different for either case, and not that I am elitist to the point of not entertaining any establishment other than those that are genuine. Though it would be nice for the food to be sincere, and certainly the food at O'Fado was just that. Honest fare, a bit lacking perhaps in flair, but all the more sincere for it, combining hearty, simple ingredients in seemingly industrial proportions to provide straightforward food. The menu, whilst oceanic [though I was maybe a bit disappointed not to find the purported 365 Bacalhau dishes], did not overly inspire, with most dishes seemingly variations on a theme or not particularly interesting. This is however one restaurant, in Knightsbridge as well, were clients may have a certain discerning quality for their food, and where restaurants perhaps cannot afford to stray into overtly country-style or eccentric dishes. Even of the fifteen or so Bacalhau dishes, most just included potatoes, which were just cooked in a different manner between the dishes.

Satisfied, not enlightened, though delighted by the discoveries in the wine. It had only taken me five years to brave the frontier of the White port since being introduced to the drink, and whilst not blowing me away, it had its appeal in its slight deceit. Not only deceitful, but also , the bill proving rather substantial. Considering the feast bestowed onto me however, and the resultant Knightsbridge tax of the area, perhaps it was not overly exaggerated. Whilst this choice has not led me to a thoroughly reaffirming experience, it did leave me satisfied. Even more so as I consumed three more of the fiendish Laduree Macaroons. I also scored +1 for another diverse cuisine sampled. I can only look forward to going to Portugal now and being spoilt by hundreds of choices of Bacalhau. 

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"You will Experience a Pleasure Coma for the Duration of this Call"

Twitter. To a pessimist, anti-social traditionalist like myself, is just another of the infernal devices taking over the minds of people worldwide, destroying the concept of natural and formal society, turning everyone into a "look at me" socialite with their newfound ability to have their opinions plastered on the internet. Much like a blog. I have also just joined Twitter. It has already motivated me, physically, to attend an event. Hypocrisy? Maybe. I chose to see it as keeping "current". Yes, I am ashamed..

In hindsight, it had to happen, as the world, seemingly like the lemmings it contains as a population, has embraced this "thing" and run away with it, to the point that corporations, governments and figureheads rely on it as a central communication resource. If it has one solace, its that it is pared back and straightforward of mission, and you won't find yourself being "Poked" like on a similar odious medium. No sooner that I joined Twitter, a move I only performed in order to remain updated with the sporadic happenings of the British Sake Association - through the gritted teeth of my conscience - and its influence has already lifted me off my desk chair and to Central London. That is an inhuman amount of motivating force. Having joined as a "follower", I quickly found several users of interest, including a Japanese/Korean Online Community that advertises events and the like, some of which I had attended, and thus something that would take my interest. With everyone seemingly forming a molecular bond with their phones, updates are frequent, with event postings coming up with regularity. This is dangerous. All the previous events I had attended required research or hearsay. This is making it far too easy to indulge.

My delightfully absent willpower was thus stoked by the "Twit" of a "Taste of Korea" exhibition at Harrods. Seeing as my repertoire of Korean cuisine experiences were based in a dank Hotel Restaurant in Jeddah, where I usually had the Shredded Chilli Beef [I know..], I thought it was an excellent opportunity to partake in. Especially as I could "fall" upon Laduree later on..Oh heavens, I am capitalising on gluttony. I promptly arrived, and through the maze of bumbling tourists and designer distractions, I searched high and low for demonstration, or any evidence of such. Not actually knowing where it was supposed to be. Neither did the staff it would seem. Eventually I was led into a possible direction, were an aroma suddenly became apparent, querying an idle member of staff who rather sarcastically asked if I couldn't smell it - I could, but my sense of smell is not GPS-guided - I was eventually led to the demonstration. Ah.

I had once again, in my boundless greed, severely overestimated the scale of this event - what I figured would possibly be a meal event, with a chef churning out full dishes for a generous exploration of the Korean Cuisine, turned out to be four offerings of canape'-sized thimbles from a counter in the middle of the Kitchen Ware department. This transgression, would not suffice for lunch. Regardless, they can subsist as canapes. 

Pajeon 

Domi-jim

Bulgogi

Galbijim

Kimchi

They were ok:

- The Pajeon was essentially just a thoroughly onion-rich pancake with a slight "seafood" taste at the tail, rather nondescript.
- The Domi-jim combined a rather unexciting mix of steamed fish with a mix of vegetables which did not really taste of much.
- The Bulgogi, the one of the only items I had had experience with previously, was slightly sweet, and enjoyable but certainly not mind blowing.
- The Galbijim was very similar to the Bulgogi
- The Kimchi was merely ok, not terribly pickled or interesting.


Distraught by this catatonic upheaval of a disappointment and on the verge of being disinterested into a coma, I ventured downstairs to drown my sorrows in what I would presume to be the divine Diabetic aids at Laduree'. It also has a restaurant. An ominously decadent prospect. Eventually stumbling upon the hidden trove I stood in line awaiting my turn at the pastries counter. The sight alone of the hoards of immaculately presented macaroons and other assorted pastries had my arms tingling with tentative Diabetic-motivated separation. This would require restraint. Though shedding an arm would negate the wait gain from a lack thereof. Win win. Then the counter assistant spoke to me, and I snapped out of my fantasy haze, faced with the impossible prospect of having to decide between the awesome and the more awesome. Having settled on the idea of purchasing a gift box of 8, to spread the guilt, I initially asked the assistant to choose. In the end I chose most of the eight, of varying degrees of decadence and mellifluous descriptives, and I moseyed out. It was decided that having lunch in such an environment, would only serve to further the temptation of these devilish mini-hamburgers on my lack of willpower. I had all but also forgotten about the Traiteurs Hall which had initially sparked my interest.
Clambering into a taxi and heading towards what I hoped would be lunch, I took the opportunity to take a picture of my beautiful passenger.

Bag of Destiny

An act, that revealed an ethereal glow, as if a higher power were motioning me towards this exquisite  rainbow of sin. The complete line-up lasted no more than five minutes, and one was devoured instantly.

Laduree Macaroons in Ethereal Glow

Oh. My. Buddha. Beyond the fact I was alone in the taxi, and that my mouth was currently being overwhelmed by a flash of intense pleasure, I was at a loss for words. Just what is this exquisitely complex and multi-faceted orgy of flavours going on in my mouth?! Why is every little bite drawing out such intricate details amongst this immoral richness. Argh. Refined and absolutely unsubtle in equality, how can it be?! The Rose Blossom macaroon I had just climaxed to, was an actual revelation. Never have I sensed such a dense creaminess, to the point that a slight greasiness could be detected, such a fresh, richness. A richness lightened with the delicate yet prominent floral note of the Rose. Each bite created a dance of this decadence uplifted by the perfume aroma, revealing in the final stages just the slightest bite of tiny fragments of almond. This is surely an exaggerated amount of decadence, it looks like toy food for Jeebus sake. Arriving at the lunch venue, I was cruelly denied my entrance to the Columbian Food Festival, having in my vagrant-mindedness not realised that I was indeed, a day early.


Returning towards Knightsbridge, I once again consoled myself in the back of the taxi, with the second of the quickly disappearing macaroons. This time it was turn of the Madagascar Chocolate variant to disappear. Not as intensely exotic as the one that had just transpired, but rather a smooth and gentle pleasure. A prolonged chocolate aroma persisted with each bite, seemingly refusing to leave the recesses of my taste buds. A slightly dark chocolate, just slightly beyond a milk chocolate in flavour, dominated the experience. I quickly taped the box back up. A quarter had gone, and lunch was still the priority.


Perhaps deciding on returning to Knightsbridge for lunch was not the most formidably astute of decisions, as whilst choices abound, variety does not, its proximity to my required bus stop perhaps swaying the decision. Now I have yet another reason to despise Public Transport, it affected my lunch decision, a heresy unbound.  I eventually settled for a rather complete meal at a Portuguese Restaurant, the meal including a rather deliciously rich dessert, full of condensed milk and other unmentionables. It would not halt my perpetual sweet tooth - how it has not dissolved into oblivious by now, I do not know. At once the salted caramel morsel succumbed, exploding in a deep onslaught of a sticky, thick caramel/toffee suffusion. The texture was intense, the caramel not hardened but certainly thick enough to chew. It was divine. The next one had no time to itself and it was just as quickly dispatched - getting rather confounded at this point for not paying attention to exactly what I had ordered, and the colours of the remaining not giving much evidence, I was hoping the next one would not be vanilla. Though, I equally did not wish to have the melon one, the choices mainly being the unexciting ones left for the "guilt sharing" gifts. It was vanilla. Quite literally. Stubbornly so. It was delicious though, it was delightfully spicy, and evidently from a freshly ground pod, the clarity of the vanilla notes hinting at such.


This now left the choice at Orange Blossom, Lemon & Thyme, Melon and another I forget. I was hoping I would have selected the Lemon & Thyme, as I already had my savouring of Middle Eastern influence with the epic Rose macaroon that destroyed my macaroon innocence with its sinful levels of pleasure, but it was not to be, I picked the Orange Blossom. I think. It was intensely creamy, very much like the Rose one, bringing a slight greasiness to the lips and tip of the tongue, but I could not quite discern the flavour. It was subtle, and not quite orange blossom-y, but certainly not Melon, Lemon & Thyme or the other one. Which may have been raspberry. Regardless. It rocked. And I now imposed a sanction on the remaining three macaroons; they will no longer assault my weak will and overstimulated taste buds. No more. With that embargo stipulated, I ventured back towards my transportation, though certainly at this pace it will not be too long till the point when my means of movement will be dictated by how far I can roll, or the effect of gravity.


Where to now? To On Cafe. To purchase some more macaroons. Start this vicious circle again. All in the sake of comparison naturally. This is the issue with coincidences. They are easily exploited. Though, stick On Cafe in Iceland, or Brixton, and I'd still find reason to indulge.

On Cafe. Not actually a Cafe.

Arriving at the scene however, and peering in through the opened door, I feared my expectations - I should really learn to dial down this hopeless optimism - would be shattered yet again. The "Cafe'" was not a retail outlet, not by any stretch of the imagination, a small kitchen fronting a rather large storage area in the back. The smell of freshly baked brownies however was filling the air, and stirring my overinflated digestive system. It obviously upholds the bliss through ignorance ethos. Querying with the first person encountered, I asked, with perhaps a slight desperation in my voice, if any of the wares were available to purchase. Allowed.


WOOT.


Shutting away the voices in my head that were exclaiming "BUY IT ALL, NAO!", I observed, chose, and made my selections. Despite the fact I was not even interested in the brownies, I also expressed intent on purchasing some of those as well. The effect of just cooked baked items have that sort of power. Though at this point it would be remiss to say that any semblance of their existence is enough motivation for purchase to me. Further comfort was had in the pleasingly "home-cooked" ambience of the kitchen - the trays were decidedly homely, and not industrial "just add water and MSG" monsters of volume. I'm sure if I were a bit earlier I would have seen the bowls and kitchen spoons of a hyper productive mother figure in the sink as well. Again, that aroma further motioned this belief. Amidst the overtly-kind [and perhaps foolish] offer to allow me to buy now and purchase later, I declined and went in search for more monies to pay for new frontiers of my greed. Such an offer would open floodgates. Though in retrospect, those gates would close rather shortly once I inevitably cease to Catastrophic Diabetes.


I returned, I paid, I departed, amongst shared thanks and in recognition of their newest fan. A little tidbit, they obviously are confident enough to shortly  starting up a retail outlet in Harrods, contesting with the almighty Laduree. That will become interesting.

On Cafe Macaroons & Brownies

I exercised restraint somewhat, and allowed for the previous geographic mass of food to have some hope of initiating digestion before commencing on the Oriental treats. Once at home, a picture was taken before the On Cafe buddies would irrevocably be parted ways, and I picked off my kill, the most intriguing of flavours present. Not entirely sure what I was expecting in terms of flavour from the Jasmine and Charcoal - yes, rly - macaroon, though perhaps some expectation of barbecue infusions moronically persisted. What it was however, was delightfully soft, especially so compared to the Laduree pockets of joy, that provided a subtle crunch. They were not either as intensely creamy, being perhaps sweeter. A jasmine flavour was not really apparent either, but instead, a rather intriguing texture was evident, right at the finish of the macaroon - a slight chalkiness of the charcoal on the teeth, interesting. Pleasing, and at once not quite as serious in its mission to reduce you to a quivering mess of over-stimulation, the macaroon was light hearted and subtle in its pleasuring in comparison to the Laduree. 


And now I'm in a coma thankyouplease. 


The morning after would also bring about the breakfast composed of one of the brownie squares, sesame and ginger. It was exceedingly light, delightfully fragrant, and overwrought with guilty pleasure. I may just have to blame Twitter for this transgression. A useful blame-bearer.

[Restaurant - European] Short Take - Kaiserholycrappen; The Wolseley of Piccadilly

Location - Piccadilly, London [UK]

Obligations come in all sorts of forms, be they motivated by necessity, marital commitments, situational factors and so on ad infinitum. Some however are complete fantasy-derived tricks of the conscience, mere weak convictions to ease the guilt of a weak will. And as ever, I contest myself guilty. Though this time, with added scope! This time, a this late night dessert, was almost a requisite, as I wisely figured that a dinner consisting primarily of sake, would not suffice. Guilt, overruled! 

More self-deprecation, more self-ruing from a rather mindless self-indulgence, though this time largely influenced by an elevated blood alcohol level, wreaking havoc on my already weak power of will as of late. Before rambling on into obscure infinity, an explanation is due for the series of events leading to this latest of gorgings. Having scheduled my attendance at a Sake Tasting event at the Embassy of Japan, I was at once eased by the notion that unlike the previous tasting, there would be food provided, and thus energy would need not be expended to find provisions for stabilising the situation of empty stomach meets plenty of nutritious alcohol. I completely misjudged the notion of food being provided. Or rather, the voracity of the hunger of the people attending. How very dare they. For at once, as soon as the over-dramatic/intensely mind-numbing flower re-arranging [yes, really] ceremony had culminated, the sparse smattering of dishes meant to cater - in vain - to 200 odd people, were mobbed. Utterly so. Almost leaving the sake tables barren, leaving one with little choice.

When I did manage to arrive at some food, I was limited to a few measly skewers of breaded and grilled meat, a wagyu beef roll, a block of tofu and some sashimi. Which offered only false hopes to the couple of glasses of sake or so limbering in my stomach. Having not particularly planned for this oversight, I figured I would check out a cigar lounge in the vicinity, the prospect of a dessert over cigars painting a lovely picture of serene enjoyment. Serene enjoyment was to be had, with a delightful melding of a beautiful cigar and rum combination, in a quaint and serene setting. I had however misjudged food again, no food being served in the garden, and what little was available made the flower arranging ceremony seem an extreme sport. I did not fool myself that the olives and assorted bar nibbles I devoured would suffice. Obviously what a stomach full of sake needed at this point was further reinforcement of rum and displacing of oxygen in my blood with Partagas air. Fortunately, I was guided to a nearby establishment that just may answer my incessant call to eat, and being on my shortlist, I duly obliged. Not that I had much of a "choice". 
~ Dessert ~
- Kaiserschmarrn


As ever in my quest to broaden gastronomic horizons, or in less overwrought terms, get myself a culinary education, I always aim to try the more eclectic, left-field, or eccentric choices on a menu. Not knowing what sort of cuisine the Wolseley provided, I instantly chose the aforementioned. It sounded the most foreign. From memory, I knew it to be a sort of souffle'. It was also written in red ink, which a message stating the dessert was fit for two patrons, which caused a momentary inkling of doubt. Not that eating for two is much of a diversion from the norm, I have been eating for whole villages seemingly at some of the food fairs I have been going to, but really I should not be encouraging this sort of behaviour. Informed of such, the waiter egged - pun not intended, but welcomed - me on, stating that despite its planetary size, the dessert being composed of egg, was rather light. Not sure why I gave heed to his word [oh right, sake and rum!], I pined for the Emperor's Mishmash. 

It's arrival also coincided with the figurative dropping of my jaw. I had thoroughly underestimated its size. It would seem to be a running theme of the evening. Served with a side of plum compote, dilly dallying would serve to nothing, so I commenced, sectioning off the gargantuan dessert off into quarters, in a vague attempt of controlling portions. Spoon off a deceptively soft piece and consume. Damn that waiter. It is light. Exceedingly so, providing all the density of a piece of cotton wool, it was a gigantic pocket of air with a gentle, very lightly sweetened essence of egg. This, for all intents and purposes, was essentially a gigantic souffled omelette, in taste, texture, and appearance. Not for the worse mind you. It was very delicate, being extremely pillow-soft in texture, with an ever so light sweetness lingering on. The egg-flavour was not pronounced, but evident, with the inclusion of a few raisins adding some mild interesting diversity. It was however, mild. Very mild. Beyond looking, tasting, and feeling like an omelette souffle, there was not much else to it. Trying out the plum compote, I had perhaps been made acquainted with end of season produce, finding it rather sour amongst little else. It did add variety however when combined with the Kaiserschmarrn, the egg suffusing the sourness and adding a bit of richness to the compote - it was too light to be the compote do the supplementing. 

Restraint was hard however, and despite the attempts at sectioning off to create scale, half was gone in no time at all. Feeling like I had eaten eggy air, bites flew through, and the entirety of this monster was consumed. I have solace only, in the sparsity of carbs. Bah. At least it garnered a subtle applause from the devious waiter. 

~ Drinks ~
- Calvados Alexander


Acknowledging the predicted wait for my dessert for two for one [pig], I figured the best solution for combating a slight inebriation was to douse it with more alcoholic persuasion, obviously. Not finding anything of interest in the menu, I opted for a classic and a bit of a favourite, forfeiting the brandy for Calvados. Looking as delightful as ever in its caffe' latte hue with a generous sprinkling of nutmeg in a sturdy martini glass, I duly sipped the concoction. Which did not provide the decadent creaminess I was hoping for, the cream quotient either being fat-free or diluted down, too healthy either way. It was however generously infused with the scent of nutmeg, the Calvados not overpowering the drink. It was generally rather diluted, but otherwise acceptable.

- Coteaux du Layon St. Aubain: Domaine des Forges [2009]


On the suggestion of the nefarious waiter who had convinced me to eat a pachyderm-sized dessert, I opted for the following dessert wine. It was suggested its light aroma and body would suit the equally delicate dessert. Such was very much the case - whilst not writing down anything more than "subdued", that was the immediate impact I received from this mind. A soft one. It was very restrained, not presenting much in its aroma, which carried on to a light bodied palate. Not that I could distinguish much, and whilst this does not sound like the most enticing of drinks, it did however suit the dessert rather well. In being similarly light-hearted, and only lightly sweet, it did not overwhelm the omelette pizza, providing in its stead some subtle fruit aromas over the subtle eggy richness of the Kaiserschmarrn. Subtle, but pleasant.

~~~~

I came, I saw, I conquered, and I also finally accomplished what I sought. In what amounted to a proliferate number of oversights, I had finally achieved the act of supplementing the burning fire of inebriation in my stomach, with a meal of substance. More physically than figuratively, as would be the case of eating a portion meant for two. A benevolent atmosphere in the separate dining room, away from the hustle and bustle of the main foyer, I was affronted with amicable and efficient service, helpful suggestions, and even some comradery. My main prerogative was to devour a dessert, perhaps one of substance, but very much one of thorough enjoyment. What I met was a series of subtleties, if not physically. The initial shock of the Kaiserschmarrn's size gave way to a delightfully light dessert, which softened the guilt of having consumed it in its entirety. The dessert was matched by an equally subtle wine, which was preceded by another delicate cocktail.

These nuances all contrasted rather well with the former events of the evening, the chaos and franticness of the sake tasting being calmed by the intensely pleasurable experience in the serene setting of the cigar garden, giving lieu to a gently enjoyable experience when I managed to sink my teeth into the long awaited dessert. All too soon, my mission was thus complete, and I left, in a hurry. This time very much by obligation, as having rushed quite frantically to add more alcohol to my veritable meal repertoire of that evening, I had almost forgotten that I had enlisted the services of Public vaguelyTransportation for the day, and with my strategic planning of events, time was certainly of the issue. Time well spent however. 

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[Lounge - Cigar Lounge] Short Take - The Finer Things: Cognac & Cigar Garden of Dukes Hotel, St. James' Street

Location - Pall Mall, London [UK]

Stumbling along Regent Street, having just concluded a Sake Tasting at the Embassy of Japan on a completely empty stomach, and having comprehensively misjudged the situation of food at the event, I had decided perhaps it would be a good time to dabble in a touch of an elegant cigar and drink, as obviously what my blood content needed right now was even more alcohol and less oxygen. There was method in my apparent madness however, as I was also hopeful that there would be dessert. 

The main prerogative was predominantly on supplanting the Basmati Water annihilation wreaking havoc on my ability for cohesive thought by way of some solid morsel to absorb some fluid, as well as no doubt the inherent joys of losing a foot to Diabetes, however, being in the area and having time to burn aplenty I figured as well to seize the opportunity to scout out one of several Cigar Lounges I was researching on. Seeing as Dukes Hotel was located but a mere paces away, I took the lethargy option, though I decided to walk so I counter that notion to some degree. 

Arriving at the hotel, eventually, as it being placed down a dark, dank alleyway did not strike me as the most obvious place to search, replete with a complete lack of signage, whose situation was only made worse by my prehistoric appliance of a phone that had no internet access [Yes, I'm so 2010], I asked my way to the Cigar Lounge, and immediately asked the question of my utmost importance. Dessert. Do you have it?! To my utter, knee-crippling disappointment however, I was issued with a solemn no, my hopes and dreams dashed, and my levels of bothered waning. Something happened however, and somehow I managed to order a cigar, and an adjoining rum choice to match. Surely not the most intelligent of choices, not now, not when my thinking was being done by Rice water. I was unable however, to say no, and figured, having come thus far, I may as well enjoy the cigar, hope the rum does not finish me off, then take a slightly delayed dessert thereafter. Hope being the imperative word here.

Led through, I was guided into a small clearing of a garden, simple rattan furniture and elegant awnings making the most of the diminutive space. Sat down, comfortable, especially so in temperature considering my apparent reptilian blood temperature of late, I confirmed the order and awaited the fate of this call. There was some company in the garden, engrossed in their quiet conversation, but at once I did not feel at all estranged, gentle music and the rather enveloping set out of the garden imparting a quiet serenity. I was then brought the cigar and copious glass of dark caramel-coloured rum, and an especially welcome sight - an enormous platter of bar nibbles, with some positively huge olives therein. My prayers at least have been partly answered, and I should at least be able to fight off a coma for a while.

Angostura 1824 Rum & Partagas No.4 Serie D

Failing rather dramatically to light the cigar to any meaningful degree, I ventured onto the rum, which presented me a rather delightful set of aromas, more so than I ever remember having sensed from a rum. A bouquet, yes, a fully bouquet, of floral notes combined with plenty [punnets?] of fruit, which all found themselves delicately balanced in the rum itself. This was quite a revelatory drink, and always makes it hard for me to convince myself why I dislike rums, cognacs and other distillates. Though I knew if I kept sipping I would shortly find out, and with the cigar salvaged by one of the Italian clan of waiters, I proceeded. A nice light body of cigar, despite apparently being a full-bodied cigar, showing just what little I know in my fledgling experience. Despite the other immediate priorities, I had merely been sat for a few minutes and already the minutes seemed to have whiled away, time seemed to have slowed down, a genteel pleasure being experienced. 

Out of the blue one of the other company starts questioning me on my apparent eclectic mix of superficial contradictions, asking what a young man, speaking in Italian, smoking a cigar, having come from a sake tasting [after having told him obviously, no shamans here], specifically was. Odd I thought, as I figured a sort of my calibre would have been rued for being, young and, something. A travesty, and such. But the conversation progressed, despite my less than freshness of mind, and my usual lack of social motivations. And this conversation carried on, seemingly at odds that two well to-be gents should feel bothered to entertain a bum in a jacket and terrible hair. It did not seem to matter, feeling incredibly at ease, and especially encouraged by the atmosphere. 

In the midst of this I did not forget my true scope, beyond the exploration of a potential social setting, having promptly devoured the gigantic olives and far too many delectable roasted nuts, hoping I would not be required for a mortgage in order to afford them, considering the affluence of the others present. And on it continued, the conversation oddly bringing several commonalities out, which entertained, despite the worsening state of my mental obfuscation. The pairing of the rum and cigar were absolutely divine, the intense aroma of the rum melding perfectly with cigar, almost working in sync to supplement each other, something I had never particular experienced with cigars before. Before I knew it however, quite a bit of time had whiled away, and having to rely on dreaded Public means of, well, what vaguely constitutes as transport, I had little time to count on if I were to quell my mental, if not physical need for a dessert. Stepping out of the serene and hurrying for a menu, I was met with a rather mundane discovery of rather atrociously boring desserts. These would not do. Salvation however came with the indication of a suggested eatery in the vicinity, The Wolseley, which should hopefully aid in quelling my perpetual hunger, which promptly ensued in...NOW. 

And so it was, that in the midst of a hurried mission for sustenance - more mental than physical - I had happened upon a place where time slowed down, where things of priority mattered little, where finer things were enjoyed amongst the urgency I had entered. Part of the seldom, simpler joys. .

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[Restaurant/Event - Cheese Tasting] Death by Chocolate. And Dessert. And More Desserts; Cheese & Dessert Tasting at La Fromagerie of Marylebone

Location - Marylebone, London [UK]

Culture be damned, this was not about culture, this transcends that. It's motive was indulgence. Pure, delicious indulgence. With a thinly veiled excuse of garnering knowledge and the aforementioned culture fooling nobody. Beyond myself perhaps. What am I half-heartedly huffing and puffing about this time? The reasoning behind the nth tasting event I voraciously seized opportunity of. In a bid for the continuation of recent bouts of deeply-seated guilt ridden gorgings before the lull of a couple weeks, which will then lead into further bouts of...deeply-seated guilt ridden gorgings, I attended my first Cheese Tasting event. I don't need any formative reason - there's cheese, and more cheese. There is also dessert. Multiple desserts. If there is a detractor to be found, it is not here.

And what an apt establishment for my first cheese tasting, its name generally consolidating its speciality. I had actually been meaning to go to a La Fromagerie event for a while now, and to a cheese tasting far before that, and whilst the timing and occasion was essentially on an impulse basis rather than any specific reason, the attendance was by no means a random quest. I shall explain. I have in all my life, always been an avid appreciator of the cheese in many of its forms, guises and quirks. Perhaps it is because I am part Italian, and thus part made of cheese, but suffice it to say, I have been imbued with a passion for cheese since birth. As I grew up, so did further experiences comes with cheese, with the ubiquitous selections sampled in Italy as part of meals, and even visits to artisanal producers serving to stoke an ever broadening repertoire. In Italy, as well as several other countries, cheese is almost a defining identity of its culture, much like its wines, its rich history and such, and no more is this clearer in the pride taken in the producing, and enjoyment of its crafts. Progressing in the years, so did my preferences, and receptiveness to cheeses, diverging into stronger flavours, and understanding a bit more. 

A crux was reached however in 2008, a particularly event in which dining at a Wine Bar in Sorrento for a family friends' casual pre-wedding dine-out, where a cheese platter was sampled. Now, I've had sample plates many times, i.e. with any meal in Italy, however this was immediately different in its scope by providing a grand selection. None of which I knew. Going through them though I was simply romanced by the delectable samples, and the sheer variety - goat, sheep, blues and so on. This experience was perhaps one of the few that started on my more receptive approach to much in life, though predominantly in food, and as such, has created appreciation where there was once hate. For example, only in the last few months, whereas I used to vehemently despise even the notion of blue cheese, I am now a lovestruck fool for them. What I have never done however is attempt to find depth behind what I was tasting, what varieties there were, just what was possible. An important by-product of this want to explore, was to also help clarify selections for the weekly indulgences of cheese I entertain with a friend, leaving us always slightly guilty, as I pick up crumbs of cheese from the floor, but ever satisfied. Know thy enemy, and also help to select new ones. So that is where La Fromagerie came in. Essentially, looking for "Cheese tasting", chord struck, event booked. 

This first of events was slightly different in scope in that it celebrated the release of David Lebovitz' book, and hence concentrated on several of his dessert dishes. I'm not complaining. 

Thus I arrived, made a bee-line for a room known as "heaven", shortly after which the event began.

~ Starters - Canapes ~

- Radishes with Seasalt & Anchoiade

The evening started out with a series of Canapes, the first of which comprised of this rather too healthy looking mound of radishes with a dip of anchoiade and sea salt. I did not quite see the purpose of the sea salt as the anchoiade was certainly salty enough, but as David Lebovitz would mention later, apparently salt is "in vogue" now. Right. So, firstly trying a radish on its own just to set a base, I was met with..not much, rather devoid of any taste. Dipping into the anchoiade however, and thankfully, that was rather quite pleasant. A deeply savoury, delicate dip, exquisitely creamy yet somehow was not obvious in its being made of ground anchovies. If anything it had a faint hint of oil-jarred mushrooms. Really was delectable, if a bit salty, though the relative blandness of the radish helped to offset that to an extent. Was rather annoying however as a collection of radish sprout "hats" had accumulated in my back pocket.

- Gougeres

Trying to stave off of the gougeres in all of my lacking-manhood in an attempt to not "overdo" the pastries before the main meals, these were rather special. I am surprised they were not floating off of the plate, as they almost tasted of air - they were exceedingly light. Really such a delicate little pastry, with a faint hint of cheese permeating through, which tied in rather nicely with the rather more prominent egg taste. Infact, the gougeres essentially tasted like miniature omelette pockets. This is not to discredit them, as omelette is awesome, and the flavour just contradicted what I thought they would taste like, and what they were composed of. 

- Aubergine Caviar

A particular morsel I have been meaning to sample for a while now, having seen it explode onto menus everywhere, and not quite comprehending the reasoning of it earning the "caviar" title to its name. Google did not help either, as last I remember, caviar was not a mush. Served on a petite rush slice, and overhearing a waitress stating its close relationship to Baba Ghanoush, the connection was made. Not to the naming, that still perplexes me, but now I know that it is just a less foreign entitling of a Baba Ghanoush, or Moutabbal. At once, Saudi Arabia was brought up to mind - a rather delightful, yet not overpowering hint of smokiness combined with the sweetness of the aubergine, in a creamy paste. Not overly salty, a slight pleasing tartness and the hint of bread of the aubergine were very subtle, the crunch of the rusk slice adding some satisfying crunch. 

- Pissaladiere

Pilfering a bite before the tray was brought out to the masses, the Pissaladiere is usually described as a sort of French "pizza" -style pastry in its nature. I don't see it, being that it was based on a flaky pastry, but it was absolutely exquisite. Despite the rather generous amount of sardine or anchovy fillets on display on each square, the result was anything but salty. The predominance was of a warm buttery infusion, the soft pastry really being quite decadently so. This worked in harmony with the profound sweetness of the tomatoes, with the herbs serving to make the little bites slightly reminiscent of pizza, if only in the similarity of the herb and tomato amalgamation, with the buttery notes of the pastry throwing that notion slightly off. It was particularly delectable, the anchovy/sardine did not even figure, perhaps adding a slight salty hint, but generally the sweetness drew up comparison to a quiche or a tart. I had to walk away several times. 

~ Main Course ~

- Salad Lyonnaise

Sitting down for the main part of the tasting event, I was rather startled/endeared by the seeming complete lack of savoury dishes, the salad seemingly the only token example of such. I cannot complain really, other than hoping it would be substantial enough. I need not have worried, as the veritable mountain in the picture ably demonstrates. A generous serving of green beans and and frisee on top of several new potatoes and a scattering of lardons and what I initially thought was smoked salmon, culminating with a rather larger boiled egg on top. As far as salads go, this was rather subtly amazing. Avoiding the potatoes, naturally, in all their loathsome starchiness [the hips, jeebus], the beans were quite nicely sweet, being afforded a richness and some body when combined with the boiled egg. The lardons worked particularly well, not being overtly salty, and when combined with the egg, served to remind of breakfast. And breakfast is awesome any time of the day. The highlight though was the "smoked salmon". Or Foie Gras. The slithers of slightly salty, greasiness just dragged the salad up from the ordinary, imbuing further substance into the salad, with what I presumed as well, a slight smoky hint to add interest.

With the token amount of health out of the way, made all the more decadent by generous helpings of grilled pig belly bits and fattened goose liver, I was thus prepared for the main meals. Which is to say a course of desserts. Followed by dessert. After which, coffee. With some dessert ^_^

~ Desserts ~

- Ossau and Zelu Koloria Cheeses with Fig Jam & Oat Crackers

Finally, I would arrive to the crux of the location, the zenith of its purpose, its namesake, and I rather emphatically wanted to be floored. Then two tiny fingers of cheese and a couple of measly squares of rye biscuits and a dot of jam arrived.

Bah.

Nevertheless, I would have to content myself with the diabetes fix I would receive with the remaining dishes. The cheese however, was divine. This despite not being in the barrel-sized quantities I had desired. The Zelu Koloria was the first one I tried, naturally, as it was a blue cheese. At once, I was disarmed by its creamy texture and relative sweetness, with none of the overpowering saltiness of some blue cheeses. The blue veins were particular in that they were not "spicy" at all, rather they added some savouriness to the palate - it was all rather delicate, especially so for a blue cheese. There was almost a herb quality, like a faint parsley note, it was addictive. The Ossau was rather enticing as well - it was reminiscent of a parmesan, but with a softer texture, and a soft buttery hint throughout. Not as interesting as the blue cheese but still moreish. Both cheeses worked quite well with the rye cakes, and the Zelu Koloria especially so with the fig jam, which served to highlight the savoury notes of the blue.

However, the matching of the wine was, heck, fabulous. Again, especially so with the blue cheese - its slight sweetness not overwhelming the cheeses, but rather softly cutting through with its acidity, leaving the gently savoury notes of the blue cheese to shine through, whilst highlighting the subtle nuttiness of the Ossau.

- Ricotta Cheesecake made with Orange & Aniseed
- Champagne Gelee with Summer Fruits

- Peach Amaretti Crisp

- Chocolate Orbit Cake

Listed clockwise, obviously, a small plate of David Lebovitz' wares - or rather what was made by La Fromagerie according to his recipes, were demonstrated, observed, and looking frankly delicious. I started with the champagne gelee, as I figured it being a jelly and of a champagne persuasion, I would thus like it the least. It was however, surprising. It did not pummel my face with a champagne blow, but rather suffused it delicately in a rather elegant gelatine. The two fruits included were more decorative than anything, as summer does not exist in this country, and were rather sour, their tartness not adding much other than, tartness. Moving on, the ricotta cheesecake differed rightly so to the typical style of cheesecake in using ricotta cheese, which lends a grainier, crumblier type of texture, much as by dint of the cake being baked as well. Not unpleasant but I was perhaps hoping to experience the delightful milky notes of the ricotta, but what was experienced was orange. A lot of orange. Almost overwhelmingly so, but not displeasing, adding as such a freshness and lightness to the cheesecake. I did not sense any aniseed however, perhaps a blessing as I loathe it and its mother, but perhaps a shame as it may have broken up the citrus narrow-mindedness of the cake.

The chocolate cake was sampled next, and, Jeebus. This was absolutely divine. Every spoonful brought on deception - a decadently rich chocolate, not overtly sweet, dark but not bitter, with just a hint of a burnt note, which just lingered on. And on. And further more. It was the taste that would never end, and frankly, I did not want it too. Despite a rather generous slice of the cake, this did not get tiring at all, as somehow its restrained yet gloriously rich character just created a yearning for more. One diner quipped that it was too "chocolately", though, I presume they were British and would complain about water being too "wet". Almost heartbroken at the demise of the cake, I finished off with the Peach Amaretti crisp, which in essence was a crispier Peach crumble, and did not offer any more surprises than such. A light peach note perhaps, with not much of the almond flavouring of the amaretti permeating through, but, pleasant nonetheless. The sugar influx was obviously doing my talking at this point.

The supplied Moscato wine also worked rather well with the variety of desserts, especially with the orbit cake strangely, not being drowned out by the tsunami of creamy chocolate, and suffusing its light yet distinct flavour through. This however, was not yet the end the end of desserts. Word.

- Blackberry Brown Butter Financiers

- Almond Ding

Despite having just essentially turned myself into a Gingerbread man with the glucose infusion of this particular dinner, there was still more. I am never going to say no to more dessert, nevar! These were to be served with Coffee & Tea, so, a Obese Fours then, as they were certainly not petite. The Almond Ding [che?] were made by David himself in a "demonstration" at the beginning of the evening - it was in essence an almond brittle. It was also rather fabulous, being rather buttery yet not too richly so, and oddly, having more than a hint of popcorn. Alas, I could not further savour the Ding as they were rather abhorrently devoured by a Canadian man, but I took solace in the Financiers.

Completely misguided by my notion of what a financier was, these cupcakes, were, amazing. It would seem that butter was a running theme of the evening, as yet again, it also defined this cupcake. A buttery note was supported by a nicely moist cake, and rather dry-breeze blackberries, with a gentle sweetness that managed to preserve the attachment of my limbs. Despite the rich note, it was not cloying or heavy handed, with the crumbliness of the cupcake lightening up the texture. It also did its job for adding sweetness and excitement to the blasphemy that was the coffee. The less said about the filter coffee, the better. The heathens. 

~ Drinks ~

- Vin d'Orange

Starting the evening with this rather peculiar cocktail it was composed, amongst other things, of wine, orange, and..vinegar?! Yes, vinegar. It was also, delightful. Not really tasting of any of the mentioned proponents, it was a mildly sweet and very orange-laden drink, with a slight bitter note. Despite the inclusion of vodka, I also found it to be rather light, though the quickly warming body signified otherwise. It was not unlike a slightly sweeter and  less bold Campari, being effortlessly and tireless to drink. So I had two. 

- Prosecco

Breaking up the two first drinks on an empty stomach, I was offered this prosecco. No idea what it was, but it was rather delicate and light-hearted about it. Ever so slightly sweet, with a light effervescence, it was rather demure but in such rather quietly pleasing. So I then returned to the Vin d'Orange after this quiet delight with its more outlandish levels of awesome. 

- Chateau le Roc: Cotes de Frontonnais Red Wine

A moderate glass of wine, chosen primarily on the basis that the stronger acidity of a red wine would perhaps work better with the foie gras and lardons of the salad. Yes, the wine was chosen for a salad, as this dinner would not compose of the de rigeur savoury courses, not that you will hear me complaining. Well, until I shed a leg or some other limb. From what I remember, it was a medium bodied wine, not overtly dry or astringent, and a slight spicy note. It was not terribly bold, yet not bland either, but rather it was very much gentle natured. It did break up the saltiness of the salad to a nice degree as well. 

- Jurancon Costat Darrer': Camin Larredya Dessert Wine

Cannot recall too much about this wine, other than it was lightly sweet, delicately so, and rather light in body. It was slightly fruity, but not exceedingly so, and it worked amazingly with the provided cheeses. Especially with the Zelu Koloria, the moderate sweetness tied in with the cheese's creamy texture and slight sweetness, with the blue veins being highlighted with the wine. 

- Solatio: Moscato D'Asti Dessert wine

A rather splendid Moscato, noticeable mostly for its lightness of character. Not overly sweet like some moscato wines can be, and not too aggressively effervescent either. The distinct muscat note was present, but it was fresh, and light, with a slight floral note as well. The moscato worked well with the desserts, in particular with the Chocolate cake of destiny, freshening the everlasting torrent of chocolate with the delicate muscat infusion. 

- Le Piantagioni Filter Coffee

The title says more than I need to. Coffee-ish flavoured water.

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In an effort to break out of the grasp of the moreish Financiers left on the table, and not wishing to engage in small talk with strangers, the event had thus culminated. With disappointingly little cheese, but in retribution, a monumental number of delectable treats. This was in general a delightful experience, if not one wrought in enlightenment. This could be most probably attenuated to the fact that the scope of the evening had diversified slightly from the usual Cheese Tasting in the promotion of David Lebovitz' new book, who I had only vaguely heard about, likewise his Chez Panisse employment. Not to rue this though, as despite only the salads' presence being the only moderately health-oriented dish to the remaining coronary attacks in waiting, particular as this dinner was, it was also all rather elegantly prepared, flavoured, and devoured. Starting with the delightfully light and endearing apertif drinks to the..delightfully light and endearing canapes and on to the remaining dishes. Which were also rather subtly pleasing in their own right. If anything, that was the recurrent theme of the evening - most facets in execution were endearing and delightful in their light-heartedness.

The tasting was far from a formal event, taking in more of a social aura, with people of all sorts of backgrounds and motives attending - my table for example comprising half of media stooges involved in this David Lebovitz' book release, and the others just casually there. Then me, the cheesephile. From the intriguing Vin d'Orange to the light yet exquisite canapes, from the slightly decadent salad to the plethora of sublime desserts, and the supporting act of the well chosen drinks. Not to forget the delicate yet exquisite cheeses as well. No attention to be brought to the coffee. The event as a result, was more of a taster of a tasting evening, with not much in general much being learnt, not that much rigour was expected of the experience anyway. This can only mean that further events will serve to continue my desire to explore this world of cheese, amongst the many others. Starting from the end of this month.