Kitchen W8

Isn't it nice to make the most of something? New Year's Eve started early for us with a bacon sandwich (true celebration food!) then a shopping trip for the gent, to include some 78's for the 'grandmaphone' and a serendipitous suit from Hornets.

To end such a satisfactory morning in Kitchen W8 was truly fitting, and frankly if all lunches were like this I would be a whole lot more enthusiastic about shopping.

A mere moment of white table-clothed tranquility was enough to restore our senses, jangled as they were by the Portobello hoardes. And then the feasting began. My starter satiated the senses with rich, extravagant flavours: fried egg with truffle soldiers felt terribly sophisticated and was accompanied by baked squash, chanterelle mushrooms and hazelnut gnocchi. Indeed, gnocchi so full of flavour that we almost mistook them for morsels of something meaty! The gent enjoyed an elegant marriage of beetroot, mackerel rillettes, smoked eel and ham.

Let us pause between courses to note that the Qupe 2009 Chardonnay / Viognier from the new world was a beautiful choice, and entirely worth the gamble. The gent's notes: "powerful full-bodied Chardonnay with the floral qualities of Viognier". But much, much nicer.

We continued with halibut, which came with pumpkin purée, Jerusalem artichoke, fricassee of winter veg (spinach and roast shallots, in this instance). If we were being po-faced and picky we might mention that the fish was just a tiny smidge more cooked then we personally would have chosen... but it was still a beautiful dish which we really enjoyed.

The deserts almost defeated us, despite their wondrousness, and we limped through the finish line, the last to leave the restaurant. If the staff minded they hid it well. To cement my budding love for this restaurant, the maitre d' dropped the espressi from our bill, to compensate for any disappointment for not being able to serve my first-choice of dessert. It is that level of charm that really hits my weak spot: people who understand what a blow it can be to miss out on a poached pear! Happily the desert menu was rare in having several puds I would say yes to, and I was most content with my passion fruit posset. And some of the gent's melting chocolate pudding.

Given that 'Kitchen W8' earned a Michelin star in 2011 I am perhaps being too easily impressed. But I care not: I had a super experience and would visit again at the drop of a hat. I would even contemplate Portobello road again, if this is the treasure at the foot of the rainbow!

Happy new year, I hope it brings you delicious food!

food the enemy

The first meal after 3 days of (literally) bread and water, is most certainly the silver lining to food poisoning.

I have rarely seen food as the enemy: always it is the stuff of celebrations, feast-days and a way to everyday happiness. To look at it with suspicion and associate it with making you feel terrible is an awful way to live. It was a stern prompt to value my health much more: I really do appreciate that for some people food is a daily battle.

But, to my point: ham. Roast ham, to be specific. After 3 days with a spoon of porridge here, some dry spaghetti there, marmite toast was my gateway substance back into experiencing taste. What a world of colour after so much bland! And then on Christmas Eve I had a couple of slices of roast ham, pushed into unbuttered bread. An explosion of savoury taste sensations! Never has a slice of ham tasted so strong, so salty, so powerful. It was like tasting anew - I felt like Frankenstein's created man experiencing sensations for the first time.

My relief was great: not only did the sandwich avoid disagreeing with my stomach, but it meant I could, after all, have Christmas lunch the next day. What an alarming prospect to have been facing!

What caused the illness? I have no idea, thank goodness: as I don't know, I can't have bad associations with anything I ate the previous day. I would be loathe to make an enemy of any foodstuff for longer than 3 days. I do so hate to feud.

the walrus and the carpenter

Well I think those are the fellows I mean: they who wept over the fate of the oysters until they were all eaten. Well I wept only with pleasure, this evening at Les Deux Salons. These three were sublime and my only regret was not eating six. Or a dozen.