alain ducasse at the dorchester

There is, perhaps, no right way for me to go about reviewing Ducasse’s latest gastronomic offering. Save for the fact that I do like my food a little bit more than the average person, there’s nothing about my repertoire that says I can write a worthy play-by-play of a meal that probably cost more than all my meals in the past month. But then again, why not? Does one have to be brought up on caviar and truffles to tell what is good and what is not? I guess there will be some people who will disagree with me, but ultimately I was just slightly underwhelmed by the food today, though there were some brilliant instances of some serious culinary know-how.

I know this is going to be long, so here’s a short version for those too lazy to read on further:

1. Staff were wonderful. Charming, and incredibly unpretentious.
2. The cheese profiteroles were life-changing.
3. Squid bonbons – not quite dumplings, not quite dim sum. Yummy, but I can’t quite remember how they tasted now. Coco chutney was not there (Chutneygate will be explained further down).
4. Seared scallops with white and green swiss chard and ponzu dressing – signature dish and what should have been my dream dish, was surprisingly underwhelming. One-dimensional in its flavours, though the bonito flakes were a cute and unexpected touch.
5. Chocolate and raspberry ’star’ – another signature Ducasse dish, a little monstrosity of a dessert that unfortunately looked better than it tasted. Unbalanced in its flavours, and just a little bit too cloying.
6. The rum baba, on the other hand, was inspirational. Accompanying vanilla cream was whipped to cloudy perfection, a celestial dessert if there ever was one.
7. I love surprises and Ducasse does it well – first the aforementioned profiteroles, and then chocolates, a bowl of macarons, and a small pot of fruits in grenadine topped with Devon cream sorbet.
8. Was left wondering why we were not offered to choose sweets from the ‘mignardise’ trolley, and why the parting gift of Chamonix (classical French cake, like a marmalade bun) never turned up. Sadness.

And now the long version. With the obligatory ‘I must ramble on about myself to give this review a context’ starting paragraph.

I’m Chinese. And, unlike my prim-and-proper Japanese boyfriend, I probably don’t have the best table manners in the world. At home, I’ll stick one foot up on the chair while balancing my arm on my knee, rice bowl and chopsticks aloft while I shovel morsels of food into my salivating mouth. I don’t, and still can’t, hold my chopsticks properly. Sometimes I’ll forget to put my napkin in my lap. The most advanced form of etiquette training I’d ever learnt, and probably ever will, was gleaned from a paragraph in a Sweet Valley Twins book where Elizabeth Wakefield was taught to never move her soup spoon towards herself – always scoop outwards.

After I finish eating, most times the tablecloth will probably need a lot more than 30 degrees in the washer. So you might understand that the perfectly-posh-and-proper world that not only Ducasse, but The Dorchester, perpetuates was absolutely terrifying for an unkempt, unmannered bumpkin such as myself. Oh well, at least I had smart trousers and a silk shirt (though could have done without hideous -realisation not made until self had made it back home – sparkly office lady jumper).

Macarons to go

However, if the staff were unamused with me, they did not show it. Crumbs on the tablecloth (I blame the rather stiff bread, which was a pain to break open) were discreetly swept away and a crisp white napkin was placed over the Albufera sauce stain. Pandering to the greedy gourmand in me, they dutifully packed up a fresh batch of chocolates and macarons into small, embossed Ducasse boxes when we could not finish the ones on the table. Unfortunately because they were this attentive, I did not dare whip out my camera as I usually do, fearing that their saccharine smiles and gentle lilting French-accented voices would vanish and they would swoop down on me like vultures (or better yet, some form of bird that is extremely protective of their spawn) and whisper the words no self-respecting food blogger would ever want to befall their ears – “You cannot take photographs in here” (though I’m sure it would have sounded very pleasant with a French accent, and they’d definitely call me ‘madam’).

So, you will have to imagine the setting and most of the food, save for my main course and dessert – I decided that I’d rather have the picture then be told off, rather than not have the photo and not knowing if I would have been told off. We were sat in one of the tables dotted in the centre of the room, a few tables away from the incredible curtained-off ‘table lumière’, cut off from the rest of the room by way of floor-to-ceiling fibre-optic light strands that pretty much intrigued me for most of the time I was there (I do like shiny things). I imagine whoever dining in there would be pretty darn smug – not only are you shrouded from view from the mere mortals in the common dining room, you get to use unique tableware and China designed specifically, and exclusively, by Hermès, for those who sit at this ‘luminiscent table’.

Rather amusingly, each table is atopped with a different China vegetable; that day we were graced by a bunch of pert asparagus, which I took to be a good sign as I do quite like it, unlike the repulsive looking chicory on a neighbouring table. My instincts were right as a glass of champagne was soon offered (though not complimentary, as we later discovered, as my pink bubbly cost a hefty £24), followed by a flowering napkin holding delicate little golden globes of cheese profiteroles, still warm, with just a slight bit of crunch on the outside, yielding to wonderful profiteroliness – sometimes, normal adjectives just won’t do. They were divine, and easily one of my favourite parts of the entire meal.

We ordered three courses from the a la carte menu (£75), which was considerably more exciting than the drab selection offered in the set lunch. The latter was priced at nearly half the cost (£35/3 courses), I suspect for good reason, too – dishes such as seared tuna, Scottish salmon with béarnaise sauce, and cheesecake cup lacked creativity and finesse.

After orders were placed, next came a dish of vegetable crudités, which were entirely bland and forgettable; not to mention, baby vegetables in November? Really, Ducasse, think of the food miles! They were joined by a dipping sauce of olive oil and olive purée which was almost like a watery tapenade. Did not like. Next, a waiter wielding a massive woven basket of various kinds of bread approached, offering his wares like a Thai fisherman. Sourdough, Scottish buns, baguettes and more were on show, but I’m easily bored by bread (plus, they fill me up too much before the actual meal) so only took a small loaf that was topped with what looked to be various kinds of nuts and seeds. And surprise surprise – salted English butter was the accompaniment! Outrageous.

And then the meal finally began.

Ah, Chutneygate. I had ordered Squid bonbons, crunchy green vegetables, coco chutney, except that there was no chutney – the waiter artistically drizzled a rather delicious looking sauce around the plate in front of our eyes, but there was no chutney (unless, of course, Ducasse was going for some newfangled form of liquidised, chunk-free chutney). I enquired about the chutney no-show and instead got a reply somewhere along the lines of “You’re wrong, we’re right/Is this what you really ordered?” (of course, in the very nice way that waiters do at posh restaurants, of course) Haayyyl no – I saw chutney on the menu, and it did not come with the foie gras. It was meant to be with my squid bonbons, and they weren’t. It was no big deal, since I was just wondering why – I understand that many chefs will often make small alterations to the menu. And it’s just as well, too. I don’t like chutney.

The soft ’silver egg’ with truffled leeks was incredibly rich. The ’silver’ in silver egg actually came in the form of silver leaf decorating the egg in a somewhat haphazard manner, though the entire effect was rather charming. Lovely crunchy baguette slices with truffle butter were laid on top of a fluff of alfalfa sprouts. Generally a good starter, but not for those with tiny stomachs (I feel bad for you), because the egg, butter, truffle and all is very very rich indeed.

Main course was seared scallops with green and white swiss chard and ponzu dressing.

I was really looking forward to this dish – I adore scallops, and I have a strange infatuation with ponzu, and it all seemed to work perfectly together. When the dish came, I was delighted to see little bronze bonito flakes squirming around on top (there really is not other word to describe the movement – writhing, perhaps? Shimmy-ing?) like beautiful coral in the sea.

The taste? One-dimensional. The ponzu dressing was completely overpowering, and combined with the bits of grapefruit and orange on the plate, the entire dish lost its direction and ultimately became the ‘Citrus show’. The scallops were gorgeously cooked and were mouth-wateringly fat, but not seasoned well enough. The swiss chard was lovely, though, and the bonito flakes offered the little punches of flavour that was desperately needed. But it wasn’t enough.

My companion’s dish, another Ducasse signature, was poached breast of Landes chicken with Albufera sauce and seasonal vegetables ‘au pot’. This dish had a £10 supplement slapped on, and with it being a supposed Ducasse classic, we went against the usual, natural instinct to avoid ordering chicken in restaurants and gave it the go-ahead. The result? The Albufera sauce was decadent and divine – a melange of rich flavours that included foie gras, Madeira wine and truffle. It was something of a saving grace, because the chicken breast was of the same taste and texture of a slab of chicken breast from Sainsbury’s that I’m often used to eating. Methinks this particular Landes bird was a bit of an athlete. Unimpressive, but then how many chefs can make something exciting out of rough, drab, chicken breast? Well, actually, I beg to differ – the chicken breasts I eat back home in Hong Kong are absolutely delectable, juicy and definitely not forgettable. Hmm.

My companion commented that the dish resembled hospital food, and I had to agree – presentation definitely lacked on this one, and as good as the Albufera sauce was, it was just slopped on the plate (and then more was drizzled on by the waiter at the table. They love pouring sauces on the plate in front of you, as if it were proof that the dishes are really made-to-order).

Just before desserts, a plate of chocolates (two dark, two plain) and a bowl of macarons arrived at the table – I may or may not have emitted a little shriek of delight at the macarons, which are truly one of my favourite things in the world.

Ah, the chocolate and raspberry ’star’

I’m often not a fan of fruit in any other way except in its natural form, so the raspberry coulis didn’t bode well with me – too sweet and sickly in my opinion. The chocolate ’spikes’ were so perfectly done, glossy and uniform in every way. The thin chocolate biscuit base was good, but overpowered by the sweetness of the whole dessert. The rum baba (or, ‘Baba, like in Monte Carlo’) was a pleasant surprise though – yummy soft sponge drenched in the rum of your choice (a choice between two, but a choice nonetheless, and the options are perfectly described by the waitress/waiter at hand) and topped with a fluffy vanilla cream, which in my eyes, was the culinary equivalent of a celestial cloud. In the end though, how much kudos can you give to a chef for whipping together double cream and vanilla seeds?

Another lovely surprise was a dessert cup of citrus fruits in grenadine and topped with a Devon cream sorbet, which was refreshing and embarassingly, one of the best elements of the entire meal. Or maybe that’s because I’ve figured out that I really, really like grenadine, and the sorbet tasted like Yakult/Calpico.

During dessert, the three businessmen in the adjoining table were having a great guffaw over the ‘mignardise’ trolley, looming candy-shop-like jars filled with confectionary and biscuits. “Do you have shortbread?” one of them bellowed. I never heard the answer as I was too absorbed in my sorbet, but it wasn’t until after we’d paid and left that I realised we never got a shot at picking-and-choosing from the sweets trolley. Very disappointed. Utterly. The macarons I took home were of some consolation, but then I realised there was no complimentary Chamonix at the end of the meal, either. Le sighe.

Reading other reviews of Ducasse, it seems like the popular opinion is that this old legend has lost the mark this time, where the food fails to reach the heights of his other restaurants. I perhaps don’t know as much as the critics on major broadsheets and magazines, but even I could sense a slight departure from his famed repertoire. I didn’t come away feeling like I’d had the greatest meal of my life (Christ, it was certainly the most expensive one, so far). But I had a fantastic time. Ducasse’s team on the floor do their job and they do it well; let’s hope the kitchen learns to follow suit.

Alain Ducasse at The Dorchester
The Dorchester Hotel, Park Lane, W1K 1QA
020 7629 8866
www.alainducasse-dorchester.com
Nearest tube: Hyde Park Corner/Green Park/Marble Arch