“GASTROSCOPY”, LONDON CHAPTER 5: POLLEN STREET SOCIAL, ‘All the worlds a stage, both Dish & Drink Merely Players’… alas, what a cruel game they play! They postured, they pouted and they failed to perform…but I have previously dined on the delicacies discharged by Chef Jason Atherton, the proprietor of Pollen Street Social, at his Shanghai restaurant, Table No. 1 – his talent is incontestable, his culinary imagination akin to a flawless diamond, and at Table No. 1, he is represented by Chefs who have been trained with military precision, and taught perfectionism …or perhaps it’s just that the Chinese always do it better! On a busy and buzzing Friday night at Pollen Street Social, London W1S, Chef Atherton was gravely misquoted and grossly misrepresented: I walked away with indifference to my meal - equal to no less than a gastronomic tragedy! We were received with the kind of pomp and glory that promised a memorable culinary experience, all the more poignant when the outcome was an entirely forgettable one… just as we finished delighting in, and vicariously devouring the menu placed before us, we were presented with a virtual ‘book shelf’ of snacks and a basket of oven fresh bread to choose from…the latter showcased the best in baking, albeit a common feature of London restaurants; the former, however, made a veritable exhibition of poor carpentry and culinary duplicity! The bookshelf was sparsely laden, as no bookshelf should ever be, and worse still, it was adorned with ineloquent ‘tid-bits’ that were obnoxious in texture, temperature & flavor: a sinfully soggy Goats Cheese churros, stale croquettes of pork and black pudding, in which the pudding was present in description alone, and moldy olive oil biscuits crowned with a taramasalata that generated immediate water-retention! Fortunately, a mini cupful of artfully executed consommé renewed our spirits with an injection of wild mushrooms and a parmesan foam - our palates were further placated by the presentation of an amuse bouche that reminded us why Atherton is considered to be a culinary magician: Green pea sorbet, Sicilian red prunes & citrus crème fraiche bathed in a chilled pea veloute…a vision to behold and a medley of flavors and textures that only AA Gill might be able to dexterously describe! Next up, two starters, each one unsteady in its rendition, but neither unquestionably bad in interpretation: ‘line caught Devon squid cooked in cauliflower, roasted squid juices, ink rice and sea herbs’ & ‘Orkney sea scallop carpaccio, kohlrabi, pomelo, yuzu jam, black olive & samphire’…I returned the squid; the chef of the day was clearly a chain smoker – it was ferociously over salted - but when it came back, it was an unctuous version of a risotto, the squid, at first, skillfully highlighted by the juice, then sensually subdued by a cauliflower cream…it is a good dish, but I have eaten as good, if not better, many a time in many another place…the scallop carpaccio arrived warm, its natural sweetness subjugated by a cornucopia of other ingredients that were indecipherable - in short, a waste of gluttony & of the Great British Pound! Alas, the real catastrophe lay in the next course, which comprised four mains: ‘ Cornish Turbot roasted with capers & brown butter, samphire almonds, white strawberries, caper gnocchi’ – ‘John Dory seared with variations of garlic & English Crayfish’ – ‘Roasted duck breast, honey spiced beetroots, date & black tea puree, pickled pears’ & ‘ Stuffed loin of young rabbit, cassoulet of white beans, salt lemon, tomato & fresh herbs’…only one dish showed us a teaspoonful of respect and a pinch of mercy: the rabbit, expertly cooked to yield medallions of butter soft meat, its cassoulet accompaniment efficiently assembled and finely flavored! The duck was ‘chewy’; the dish of John Dory one with a desperately diffused identity and the turbot was collateral damage, once again, of a chain-smoking chef!!! Lo & behold, the desserts that followed posed stiff competition for the prize of worst dish of the day: even if the ‘Chocolate Marquise, praline, milk mousse, honey ice cream’ was inoffensive, it was objectionably ordinary – BUT, the ‘English strawberries, elderflower, matcha tea, white chocolate sorbet’ is a dessert that may be described as a dark comedy! Fortunately, Pollen Street Social cannot be accused of being ungracious…they did not allow us to leave on the nasty note of negligence and the bitter taste of indisputable disappointment: suddenly we were presented with a duo of petit fours, constructed by molecular cooking, which were not only captivating, but served complimentary… …And so I teetered out of Pollen Street Social on the taste of a miniature white chocolate ice cream cone bursting with a coulis of guava and passion fruit, and on the texture of liquid nitrogen frozen banana & chocolate rocks…but I will not be tottering back in again! This is anything but a poor review; it is a veritable plea to Chef Atherton, to restore his potent perfectionism and protect his robust reputation……………THE END P.S. Next up, Sunday Lunch at ‘Chiltern Firehouse’, the one that every gourmet, both real & pretended, is talking about from London to New Delhi…
Posted on: Mon, 28 Jul 2014 07:01:16 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015