The Fat Duck - Bray, England

February 4th, 2008 by Eleise, Itinerant World Traveler

While in England I had the pleasure of being treated to a leisurely, decadent, three-and-a-half-hour lunch in the charming village of Bray, at The Fat Duck — one of three 3-Michelin-star restaurants to be found in England. (The other two are The Waterside Inn and Gordon Ramsay’s eponymous venture.)

My senses are still awhirl. Founder Heston Blumenthal employs psychologists to contribute to his brilliant menus, which are experimental and tasty above all. Since the menu was largely in French, I will do my best to describe the following culinary adventure in English terms.

For starters, we were each served a dollop of hot-mustard ice cream dressed with a red cabbage gazpacho. We’d heard of Blumenthal’s famed bacon ice cream, but this version struck a harmonious note that I never would’ve imagined. Next, on a bed of rock salt, came a halved oyster set into a puddle of horseradish and passion fruit jelly, flagged with a thin piece of lavender crystal.

For our main three courses, we ordered from the à la carte lunch menu (i.e. the cheapest menu). Meanwhile, the sommelier suggested a heady white wine from the Côtes du Rhône region, and we all agreed it was a lovely, fragrant wine that seemed to change flavor as the meal went on. I can hardly remember the details of our individualized meals — they were deliriously complex, and the waiter’s French accent made it doubly hard (for me) to comprehend what we were eating. It’s not often that I don’t know exactly what’s on my plate, but then I couldn’t have cared less, for the kitchen had already won me over and I had total trust in its creations.

My starter, as listed on the menu: velouté of fennel, lemon balm, oyster. In lay terms: a frothy, salty broth swirling with chives, and one fleshy oyster morsel waiting at the bottom of the bowl. This was accompanied by a small cup of sweet and savory custard (the lemon balm), of which my first impression was: “Ew, sour goo.” Two spoonfuls later, I wished the cup was twice as big. I think my first and secondary responses illustrate the kind of sensory exploration Blumenthal’s team is striving for. We asked ourselves: What are our expectations, and how long before these are discarded and replaced with new expectations?

My main course (the protein portion) was made up of a medallion of poached halibut resting on two halves of caramelized chicory, with strings of pickly things piled on top, all swimming in a nage of cockles. [You may be wondering what, on earth, is a nage? I wondered too, and learned that “nage” is a culinary buzzword, basically meaning broth. But I suppose nage sound sounds more . . . visionary, or something.]

Dessert was, for me, the meal’s shining moment. Rhubarb in England is not the pedestrian food it is in the midwestern U.S., and I love the place of honor it assumed on my dessert plate: the thinnest, most translucent strip of rhubarb you can imagine, dried and wedged into an oval scoop of rhubarb sorbet, situated next to a rectangle of rhubarb galette — which translates to pieces of sweet and smooth chunks of rhubarb between two thin cookies and a layer of pastry cream, the latter of which must exist to soften the crunchy blow to your mouth.

Finally, with our coffee came sugared carrot lollipops, and a plate of little basil-milk puddings and beetroot jellies. When one of my dining companions asked for peppermint tea, the waiter looked aghast: “No, sorry! We only have FRESH mint tea.” These are purists, truly.

One reviewer I’ve come across describes The Fat Duck food as “sexy.” I wouldn’t describe all the concepts as sexy — not snail porridge, ravioli made from radish, or mango and Douglas Fir purée. But the tastes, the sensations, the pleasure noises coming from our table? Sexy, very.