the duck wasn't the only one

As rich people get richer, so do their tastes. You move from polyester to cotton to silk. From a Civic to an Altima to a BMW. And as their preferences grow, so does their ennui. What was once an achievement, like dating a supermodel for example, becomes a bland fact requiring a bit of variation. A lot of cocaine, say, can keep mundane supermodels interesting. As food boredom goes, you evolve from Cheesecake Factory to Spago to Per Se to The Fat Duck where you are challenged in all your senses by Heston Blumenthal's sensitive and thoughtful madcap experiments. Experiments which he has perfected over the years to yield an amusing and tasty dinner.

Much like many fine dining establishments dangling at the end of dirt roads in nondescript towns, we arrived in Bray around 8:30pm to find the only real source of light to be that of a lonely pub. The restaurant was unmarked except for an official city notice painted above the door which read "H. BLUMENTHAL AUTHORISED TO OPERATE BUSINESS FROM THESE PREMISES." Were there not fellow diners leaving when we walked up, we may not have found it at all.

Inside, it's a small dining room which seats 47 and behind it a small kitchen which fits about 6. It's tiny. The prep kitchen is across the street we were told as we were seated immediately and settled in for what would be over 3 hours of complicated food.

We were poured a splash of Krug and then a palate cleanser of egg white foam with lime, vodka and a dusting of green tea arrived. The foam was sprayed into a pot of liquid nitrogen and rolled around with spoons until it formed a small ping pong ball. The exterior was crisp like meringue and when I bit into it I was informed that liquid nitrogen "steam" flew from my nostrils as I exhaled the delicately tart flavor of lime. How bullish of me.

The bread served was moist and stretchy like an airy rubber. The butter, unpasteurized and enveloping, was fabulous. The flavor emanating a completeness which I've never tasted before. We could have eaten only this for our entire meal. Canapes which arrived included Native oysters in a passion fruit jelly with lavender. The oyster was fresh and pleasantly briny. Pommery grain mustard ice cream was served in a small quenelle over diced cucumber as a red cabbage gazpacho was poured at the table. A beautiful dish with its floating island of flecked yellow in a sea of magenta. The flavor was spicy with a bit of tannin from the cabbage. My nose tingled with a hit of mustard. What followed was mind blowing.

A box topped with wet oak moss was set between Gareth and me as we each then received a small oval bowl tilted towards us on a pedestal. Think 60s pod chair. Inside was a parfait of foie gras in a pool of langoustine cream hiding a quail jelly on top of green pea purée. On an accompanying plate was a slice of toast black with truffle and topped with radish and parsley. The oak moss box was filled with dry ice and as the waiter poured hot water into a small opening, the ripples of white steam flowed over the lush greenery. You smelled the moist darkness of the forest and as you ate all the elements together, you could taste the underbrush of wood and earth.

Next came snail porridge which was escargots on top of a green porridge of oats made with parsley, garlic, butter and chicken bouillon. Strands of Jabugo ham and shaved fennel rested on top. The snails were chewy and soft and the porridge was gentle and creamy. The parsley oil held the garlic at bay keeping our palates neutral. Foie gras which I can only imagine was sous vided came next. The foie was perfectly cooked and decorated with shaved almonds and chives. On the plate were brushstrokes of black cherry coulis and a chamomile emulsion. Tiny cubes of almond extract jelly sat in a row to the side. This was one of my favorite dishes as the acidity and brightness of cherries and almond lifted the heavy foie gras and sent it sliding across the tongue. At moments, I tasted the black duck eggs common in Chinese markets with their hint of ammonia. One of my favorite courses.

Earlier in the evening, I had watched a 6-top of grown men listening to conch shells outfitted with iPod shuffles. Some closed their eyes to concentrate on the sounds I could only imagine. When it was my turn, I was completely bowled over by what happened. Emanating from the iPod earphones snaking from the conch shell was sounds of seagulls and the crush of the ocean along the sand. Somewhat subconsciously, I felt the cool of the sea and the salt in the air. We were served a simple but gorgeous vessel that was a box with sand with a glass plate lofted above. On the plate was a section of the shore. To the left, tapioca flour with tiny, crunchy fried baby eels designed to look and feel a bit like sand. To the right, a shellfish foam that replicated the surf. Along the "coast," a mussel, razor clam slices and another Native oyster were served with four different kinds of seaweed, some dark purple, some green, all gorgeous. This is one of Heston's signature dishes and I was in awe. The foam mixed with the sand was salty and crunchy and made a perfect compliment to the sea creatures on the plate. If you listened carefully over the recorded surf, you could hear my synapses chatting excitedly and my taste buds hugging in celebration.

The act that followed this tough one was poached salmon wrapped in a licorice gelée which I didn't care for. The plating was exact with dots of balsamic reduction and individual pieces of grapefruit pulp creating a colorful pattern. Artichokes and vanilla mayonnaise didn't help the bland salmon which, to be fair, was cooked perfectly. The licorice was too subtle and didn't add anything interesting to the taste. This disappointment was quickly erased by a ballotine of Anjou pigeon (squab) which was soft, bloody and flavorful with a hint of Asian influence. It came with a streak of black pudding and was a grand finale for the savory path of our adventure.

Hot and cold tea? Indeed. A soft jelly was made out of black and somewhat Orange Pekoe tea with a bit of sweetness and a hint of lemon. However, two temperatures were introduced in one small glass. When you drank it, your tongue was bathed in cold and warm sensations which were pleasantly puzzling. Then followed a small sugared tuille cornet with a story about a woman named Mrs. Marshall who may have been the originator of ice cream in the mid-1800s. The cornet, decorated along the rim with alternating white and pink dots of sugar, was filled with orange and ginger granita and then topped with apple cinnamon ice cream. The flavors were light and the cornet was crunchy and crumbly.

Then the silliness began anew as vanilla beans arrived with a small paper pouch filled with a subtle sweet powder infused with Douglas fir. It was like uber-strange Fun Dip. The vanilla bean was hard and texture in what I guessed was to imitate tree bark. It prepared us for the mango and Douglas fir puree which was placed on top of a lychee bavarois with black currant sorbet. A pleasantly fruity plate, you didn't taste a lot of Douglas fir but mainly the tart roundness of mango and black currant.

It was now finally time for breakfast which started with individual boxes of parsnip cereal brought to us in small bowls accompanied with parsnip milk in a creamer. The parsnip chips were crunchy but a little difficult to chew at times and the parsnip milk was a touch overwhelming with its intense parsnip flavor. After a bit of a wait, a copper pot arrived tableside with a burner that seemed to be out of gas. Then a waiter appeared with eggs and utensils and said "It appears that I have no more gas so I will have to make breakfast with liquid nitrogen instead." The eggs were stamped with the Fat Duck setting and cracked into the pot as liquid nitrogen was added. What came out of the shells though was not a white and a yolk but rather an egg yolk and heavy cream mixture which was instantly frozen with the liquid nitrogen to yield ice cream. It was flavored with a hint of bacon and ladled on top of a take on french toast and a slice of streaky pancetta dried and candied to look like bacon. It was a breakfast for sugar fiends. More tea jelly arrived as we cracked into the bruléed slice of toast with eggs and bacon. The ideas were ingenious but I didn't particularly enjoy the flavors, salty bacon, sweet ice cream "eggs" which I found to be too intense.

We neared the goodbye. But not before being presented with a picture frame and in it, a map of Scotland and to the side, one of Tennessee where in each region, 5 different whiskey gums had been affixed. When you peeled each gum off, it revealed the name of the area. The gums were soft and chewy with intensely different whiskey flavors. As a non-alcoholic, they were bitter to me but the idea was creative and I had a blast learning about the drunken fixation of the Scottish on their firewater.

And finally...the mignardises. It was after 1am and Gareth and I were ready to roll out the door and make our way back to London. We nibbled on aerated Mandarin orange chocolates which were small domes with Mandarin orange puree under the top and filled with bubbly chocolate at the base. We crunched into orange infused carrot lollipops and bit into violet tartelets which were dark purple gels in sablé crust shells. We chewed on apple pie caramels which were in edible, clear wrappers. At last, we paid our bill and wandered into the dark street.

It was a fascinating meal. Mostly tasty and wholly intriguing, I was mindful of the care that went into each dish and the ideas had during a flash of inspiration which ultimately found their way to the plates and serving vessels in front of us. It is not a meal for comfort or for practicality. It was a dazzling show which incited evaluation and complimented a marriage proposal (she appeared to say yes as she couldn't stop smiling as she passed our table to go to the ladies' room.) A special night indeed which impressed both Gareth and me.

Up the road we could see the light of the parking lot but mostly, it was black with the faint outline of trees above us illuminated by faint moonlight. Good thing though because black is slimming and that night, the duck wasn't the only one that was fat.