Soul Food

St John and Peter Luger.

All too often, restaurants fall into the dire category of trying to be inventive and then fall flat on their face. Using liquid nitrogen, civet coffee, specially sourced sulphur salts, any gimmick they can get their hands on to capture a part of the growing craze of inventive cooking (sous vide, molecular, or whatever you may decide to brand it). There is clearly a time and place for this (I am a huge fan) but it is far easier to fail at this venture than to be unique, creative and pioneering.

Then there are restaurants that provide classic dishes from a national source. We all have our favourite curry house that we claim to have the best take-out or a pizzeria or a special place that’s formal and French that we go to for special occasions.

St John and Peter Luger fall in a category of their own. Restaurants that serve quintessentially local fare and are damn proud of it.

St John.

People often slate British cuisine. Berlusconi infamously said “After Finland, Britain is the country with the worst food”. Now I am one of the few that will defend the cuisine from our fare isle to my grave. Contrary to popular belief, British food is all about togetherness. From eating in a greasy spoon with friends when hung-over (there’s nothing better than Marmite with eggs and beans to nurse the pain away) to uniting with the family on Sundays for a roast. Sticky toffee pudding, boiled sweets, apple crumble and creamed teas.

This hypothesis doesn’t stop there; the basis ingredients reflect this too. Comforting carbs like potatoes, a variety of rich game meat, earthy root vegetables such as beetroot and parsnips, warm chestnuts and even fresh rhubarb with creamy custard. Spices from India, cocoa from Africa and dates from the Orient. The influence from around the globe is limitless.

This is what St John takes pride in, the catch is that it is head to tail dining so your dandelion salad may be accompanied with ox heart or woodcock brain. The food is divinely flavourful (don’t get me started on the bone marrow) and despite the quirks, incredible accessible.

Economic British cuisine at its best: not fussy just raw and robust. Stripped bare and handed to you on a silver platter with giblets and heaps of salt. If you haven’t been, go in a large group and order the whole roasted pig. Now. And take a box of Madeleines away, they are perfect to nurse your hangover the next morning.

Peter Luger.

Nestled in a corner just across and under the Williamsburg bridge in Brooklyn lies New York City’s best steak joints (in my opinion, at least!).

A true establishment, there is nothing healthy nor new New York about this place. No macrobiotic menus, no raw bar, just grilled prime USDA meat with fries, bacon, the odd salad and an obligatory secret sauce that is a hybrid of ketchup and HP sauce. Bliss.

The restaurant is understated too, a large foyer for walk-ins to enjoy a glass of wine as you wait, a cash-only policy and fixtures that resemble more TGI Fridays than Maze Grill. (Apologies, I cannot help but sink my teeth into Gordon Ramsay when I get the opportunity).

This is New York. Wholesomely nostalgic cuisine at its best. Along with candy canes at Christmas, burgers to nurse another hang over, bagels with cream cheese and lax, pecan pie and everything Americana.

All to often we forget where we come from and what we grew up eating. Emerging countries in the Middle East aspire to be the next destination hot spot and spur a number of outposts from Zuma to Santi Santamaria. Restaurants to be seen at by the elite and jet set. These places are fun but the attention is away from the plate and more about what you wear and Champagne one-upmanship.

Given the recent recognition of St John by the Michelin community with one star (Peter Luger has had it for a while but remains the only steak house with this coveted honour), this may be about to change. I hope.

Alain Ducasse: Around the World.

Alain Ducasse at the Dorchester shot to fame when it opened with two stars, to gain the coveted three stars in a year. I have to admit, having eaten at his flagship restaurant in Paris, I was somewhat frightened at the prospect of visiting.

Let’s begin with Paris.

A friend of mine had just moved to St Germain to take an academic post so I was excited to visit her and continue my tour of the gastronomic capital of the world. Given it was a bank holiday; I took the opportunity to make a reservation for Alain Ducasse at Plaza Athenee on the Friday night upon arrival.

“You require a jacket, sir.” That was my welcome. I was quickly ushered to a room where I was allowed to borrow one of the waiting staff’s. So, an over sized garment later, we were seated in the stunning but very formal dining room. We went for the tasting menu, as most first timers do. It was Autumnal themed with about ten courses.

Now, this was a while ago but I remember three distinct things from my experience: the jacket, the richness of the food and the service.

The food. It was, as our sommelier put it when ordering the wine, “challenging”. The richness was astronomical. We began with langoustine medallions topped with generous quantities of beluga caviar, followed by a seafood bisque that had a deep curried flavour, then the obligatory seared foie gras (accompanied with a pineapple compote which was excellent). Then came the main. We begged for something lighter and fresher and were relieved to be presented with a rather bland looking chicken breast. But the dish wasn’t complete. A rather dull grey liver sauce was generously poured all over it, followed by copious amounts of white truffle. It tasted great but it was an assault. My arteries clogged up at the thought of consuming all of it.

I do not remember what we had for dessert but the tea infusions remain stuck in my head. I’m not one to opt for non-caffeinated drinks. (I find myself consuming espressos like they are going out of fashion.) However, when presented with a mobile greenhouse of herbs and plants of which they prepare fresh teas, one cannot help but indulge. I had Pineapple Sage, something my guest and I had never heard of. It looked like sage but smelt of pineapple, apparently, it’s quintessentially French. We loved it. So much so that our host gave us the whole potted plant to take home as a gift. This brings me to my last point, the service was immaculate. Contrary to the formal atmosphere, they were friendly, relaxed, non-intrusive and bent over backwards to meet our requirements.

When I finally booked for Alain Ducasse in London, I had my doubts. Going through an ordeal in Paris that left me eating dry bread and water for a weak was not something that I wanted to repeat. But I did visit on the opening month and I have been back several times since.

The London venue is completely different. Set in a modern room with fibre optic curtains, modern art and background music (very unusual in high-end dining). The dress code is also relaxed; they encourage men to dress smart but do not require jackets.

The menu is also seasonal but very different to Paris. The ingredients are lighter, fresher and less, well, French. Don’t get me wrong, there are some classic Alain Ducasse dishes in there like the Rhum Baba but unlike L’Atelier de Joe Robuchon, Alain Ducasse firmly establishes himself as a group of restaurants and not a chain. And why? Because the Executive Chefs that run each outpost have almost full control. “A” people hire “A” people and as long as you appreciate your surroundings and what you’re setting yourself up for, you are seldom disappointed.

Paris was for the traditional French, London was for the Cosmopolitan drifters that find themselves living in our great capital at some point in their lives. I have also dined at his places in Mauritius, Monaco and New York and they are all highly in tune with their local knowledge and offer exceptionally well executed food (nothing too adventurous).

If you need my advice though, start with London. “Paris tells us you liked our Pineapple Sage, I am afraid it is not the season for it right now but we can offer a similar blend.” Best. Service. Ever.

Alain Ducasse at the Dorchester (5 out of 5): The Dorchester, Park Lane, London, W1K 1QA, +44 (0)20 7629 8866.

Gordon Ramsay: the Scotch Egg.

The Marmite of the food industry, he's hated or loved, and I fit in the former camp. After terrible experiences at Maze, Boxwood Cafe and Claridges, I dug my hooves deep into the ground and refused to visit his flagship restaurant on Royal Hospital Road. But time's gone by, my to do list has narrowed and I may be leaving the UK. It's now or never, so I booked myself and a friend to visit the acclaimed chef's original three star venue in Chelsea.

Now, to think of Gordon Ramsay is to think about his public rows with his in-laws, his temper, his bankruptcy, his centrally produces "ready-made" meals, his numerous TV appearances (is he ever at this restaurants?) and, to end with a positive note, his marathon running. No wonder many have a negative impression.

So what about our experience? With very low expectations, I was hoping to be proven wrong, to be blown away by excellent British cuisine (I must be the only mediterranean fan out there) and perfect service. That was not the case.

First impressions are important, the restaurant is in a great location and looks clean and welcoming from the outside. On the inside, it's small and cramped. The tables are almost touching each other and certainly on the small end of the scale. Table churn was high and that was very apparent; they need to make money.

The service was also overwhelming. We must have been waited on by at least 20 staff members; the lack of continuity was disconcerting, the ability to develop relationships limited and there was nothing subtle about it. They were always noticeable because of the overwhelming volume of hands and the proximity of tables to tables, tables to walls, tables to pillars and tables to cheese/wine/food/dessert trolleys.

The food was a different matter. Now, it wasn't the best I have had but it certainly was good. Perfectly executed and beautifully presented... French food. So, we are back to NYC. Where the epitome of haute cuisine lies in France. Forget Heston Blumenthal, forget Daniel Clifford and forget Fergus Henderson. In fact, forget The Square, The Ledbury, The Glasshouse and every venue Nigel Platts-Martin is behind. Forget pigs trotters, scallops, chestnuts, potted shrimp, pheasant, venison, eel and the numerous pastries, toffees and creams that are synonymous to British culture. It's all about French food.

"On offer tonight, we have a selection of breads including baguette..." began waiter number four. "Other than the Poilane, which of the breads that you produce do you recommend?" I interrupted. "We don't produce any of our breads, sir."

I won't expand anymore and don't get me wrong because it was a good experience, it just was not great. And that's what you'd expect from a great British chef. My most memorable moment was our amuse bouches, where we were presented with a delicious mini scotch egg made of half a quail's egg. And the night started off filled with promise...

Gordon Ramsay (3 out of 5): 68 Royal Hospital Road, London, SW3 4HP, +44 (0)20 7352 4441

Aqua: German Engineering at its Best.

Wolfsburg, in Lower Saxony, is known for being the headquarters of Volkswagen, the world’s third largest Automobile manufacturer. It is also the home of the less-known three Michelin starred chef Sven Elverfeld’s and his restaurant Aqua.

The adventure began when a dear foodie friend of mine moved back from London to her native Berlin. Being one of my favourite cities, I planned a trip to ease the winter blues. First port of call was a day in Berlin to visit my favourite shops in Mitte; another had to be some sort of culinary experience. But I knew nothing about German cuisine (despite having lived in Dresden for six months) so my hope of suggestions boiled down to Google. The wheel was spun, the seed was planted and we were soon booked to go to dinner at Aqua on the Saturday evening of the weekend trip.

Now, I left it up my hosts to plan the trip to Wolfsburg whilst I handled my flight to Berlin and the hotel/restaurant reservations. Upon arrival, I discovered that my lovely native Berliner had googled flights from Berlin to Wolfsburg; not knowing it was a mere one-hour train journey. Not known to a German and let alone a foodie. What’s your deal Mr Elverfeld?

Arriving to Wolfsburg was an experience in itself. We took a taxi from the station to the hotel which involved driving into the Autostadt along a long cobbled street that was lined with gigantic cylindrical glass towers, housing thousands of VW cars. At the end of the road, we reached our destination, perched on the edge of a lido and across from the original car factory. (Think of an even bigger and more imposing Battersea power station.) We checked into our room, enjoyed some of the spa facilities (including a heated 40m pool that “floated” in the lido) and got ready for dinner.

The restaurant is located in the hotel. There isn’t an anteroom or an area to perch, we were ushered straight to our table and sat by the floor to ceiling window facing the mass of water.

We started off with a trio of miniature cones placed in a bespoke holder; smoked duck, polenta with popcorn and ham with tomato. Each was a divine morsel of freshness, texture and flavour. The next course was just as visually stimulating. Two glass cones filled with soup, one bright red made of beetroot and eel, another a rich brown goulash topped with potato foam. These were accompanied with two spoons filled with mackerel: one prepared as tartare with mango and another with cucumber and cashews topped with roe. The mains were equally wholesome. Sprouts filled with goats’ cheese served with German salami and a shot of local beer. Wagyu beef accompanied with white beetroot, root vegetables and a deep broth. 

To end with, we had a “trail mix” dessert. This was a concoction of nuts and fruit that weren’t what they appeared – the “apple” was really a thin white chocolate skin filled with stewed apple compote, similarly peanuts made of ice cream, walnuts or parfait and an intense hazelnut that tasted like a whole jar of Nutella.

Aqua is the Volkswagen equivalent of food; for the people. There’s nothing complicated about it (majority of its clientele are hard core Germans), the food is perfectly executed and menu is quintessential. Topped with immaculate service (Mr Elverfeld visited each table) and in a location that truly brings out the destination element of any true three-starred restaurant, it really deserves a visit. But hurry, before the rest of the world cottons onto it and reservations become impossible.

Aqua (4 out of 5): The Ritz-Carlton, Wolfsburg, Parkstraße 1, 38440 Wolfsburg, Germany, +49 (5361) 606056.

Sketch: Back to the Noughties.

Sketch is an establishment. Its iconic parlour room with miniature cakes and Blue Mountain coffee is always on the top 10 list of things to do for discerning tourists, alongside attractions like Buckingham Palace and Madame Tussaud’s. My first visit was a pleasant experience. I was blown away by the interiors, enjoyed the lunch experience and loved that they threw us out at 5pm when it became a member’s only place. I wanted to be a member.

Now, almost ten years on, all my other trips to Sketch were initiated by visiting family, friends, friends of friends and distant relatives. Despite this, I failed to dine in their Lecture Room, their flagship culinary section (they have four restaurants on site, as well as three bars). Why would I have? It’s quiet and formal – conceptually different to the other spaces and not the main reason to visit, which was not the best way to show people around. The prices were also rumoured to be astronomical.

A few months ago, I struck a friendship with a work colleague (he’s married to a Ghanaian). We began organising dinners local to our office, a way of consoling ourselves given our long work hours. The couple suggested a visit to Sketch as they had never been due to the user-unfriendly website. It was the perfect excuse to try the Lecture Room.

I’m not going to expand fully on our experience. The tasting menu was phenomenally generous (the Grand Dessert almost tipped us into a sugar-induced food coma); the décor was warm and inviting. Pierre Gagnaire has always been one of my favourite chefs; his Bubble Gum soup at his main restaurant in Paris will never be forgotten. But unlike his flagship, there were several things missing with this Mourad Mazouz joint venture.

The service was poor. Now, it may have been my mock-American accent that caused the French waiting staff to be significantly lacking in skill, but we were either being rushed through the courses or forgotten entirely. Upon arrival, a half an hour early, we asked for a tour and to begin with a cocktail in one of their bars, we were quickly dismissed and whisked to the Lecture Room for dinner. The format of the dining room was awkward, our table was right in the middle of the entrance, as a lectern would be when welcoming new guests (and there were several tours given of the room during the meal, which was particularly awkward).

The dinner service was sub-standard. We waited forever for our sommelier to offer us a glass red with our meat course (this was his original suggestion and we did try and get his attention). Once the meal was over and the cooking staff had left, we struggled to get our bill. Paying is not an experience. Passion is infectious and it felt as though the service had worn thin after several years of glory.

We quickly made our way to the exit, passing several rooms of loud music that were sealed behind high double doors. The place was filled with magic in the past, the sort of feeling that made you feel that there was always a cooler party happening somewhere else in the building that you were not invited to.

Not anymore, the party has crusted and it is time to go home, whatever was behind those double doors no longer hold an appeal.

Sketch (2 out of 5): 9 Conduit St, London, +44 (0) 20 7659 4500

Pierre Gagnaire (5 out of 5): 6, rue Balzac 75008 Paris, +33 01 58 36 12 50

Daniel: Another One Bites the Dust.

Each major culinary hub around the world has its iconic chefs and establishments, these usually constitute something on the avant garde side as well as traditional. Bray has the Fat Duck and Waterside Inn, Paris has Pierre Gagnaire and Alain Ducasse, San Sebastian has Arzak and Martin Berasategui. Last week, whilst visiting New York for work, I continued my search for its gastronomic equivalent.

The Michelin world only recently made it to the US. With only three cities rated, NYC was the first and holds five restaurants with the coveted three star category: Per Se, Masa, Le Bernadin, Jean Georges and Daniel. With the exception of Masa ($600 a head for sushi? No thanks), they all pretty much fit in the traditional bucket. Having been to Per Se once and Jean Georges on several occasions, it was time to test the master, Daniel Boulud’s flagship, creatively named Daniel. So, how do they compare?

Bar Boulud and all of Daniel’s other derivations are fabulous. Quick good quality food at great prices. If this is an affordable dilution of the essence, an eau de toilette to the parfum, my heart skipped a beat at the thought of our meal last Monday.

The grand entrance of Daniel sits on an elegant street in the Upper East side. Compared to Per Se’s odd mall location in Columbus Circle and Jean George’s gaudy Trump Hotel, it certainly makes the right first impression.

We were somewhat early so we took a seat at the bar and ordered their signature cocktails. A white sangria made with a frozen orchid in a circular ice cube, (is it called a cube if it is circular?), a gin cocktail with cucumber and a rum based drink with honey and tarragon. Bliss. Compared to the standard offering of a glass of champagne by its rivals, Daniel was ahead by a mile. Once sufficiently lubricated, we were seated and ordered the tasting menu.

To begin with, we had an amuse bouches selection whose principle ingredients were carrots. Now it might have been the mixologist that obliterated my taste buds but all I encountered were bland variations of the same theme. The play on textures was not strong enough to differentiate them either. Compared to a playful take of an ice cream cone made of smoked salmon at Per Se (it was also flavourless but the thought mattered) or an exquisite scrambled egg topped with vodka foam and caviar at Jean Georges, this was a real disappointment.

Course after course revealed more parcels of disaster with a climatic main course akin to the ending of Lars Von Trier’s Dogville: chicken breast. There was only one other incident where I encountered such an unimaginative main (will blog about this some other time) but nothing comes as close to what we faced here. Luke warm, its cold and rubbery skin still hanging on to the mother ship, it was nothing short of a mistake. So we complained about our entire experience.

Truth be told, the service was spectacular. The staff was attentive, as one would expect, apologetic and accommodating. But the issue I face when dining in New York is the need to replicate what the French have in their mother soil for three times the price and a third the quality of ingredients. NY seems trapped back in the day where foie gras ruled the earth and lobster was what gave you a star. That was certainly the impression I got from Per Se and except for the occasional twist, Jean Georges.

Then there’s the price. With Per Se leading the pack at $295 followed by Daniel at $205, Jean Georges beats the lot with the best food at a relatively affordable $148.

Daniel (1 out of 5): 60 East 65th Street, New York, +1 212 288 0033

Per Se (2 out of 5): 10 Columbus Circle, New York, +1 212 823 9335

Jean Georges (3 out of 5): 1 Central Park West, New York, +1 212 299 3900

Dinings: Eastern Promises.

Sushi in London? Boring. It’s like the same old problem I have when meeting a friend for the first time next to my office. “Starbucks? It’s quick and there’s free Wi-Fi”. But which one? Within a 2 minute walk, there are over four, and two of each are on the same street. Bah! This revolution doesn’t just apply to triple decaf soya lattes.

All over the city, sushi counters/restaurants are popping up. (Even Nobu has two outposts that are within a 5 minute walk from one another). Each of them the same; cold and rubbery California rolls, some saccharine version of black cod and service that aim to get you out as fast as possible. “We will need the table at 11pm sir, you have it for an hour and forty five minutes”. Last Monday, when I had almost given up hope, I visited Dinings with a friend and former colleague.

A pokey entrance on an unassuming residential street in Marylebone revealed a tiny counter with six stools (the main restaurant downstairs offers more familiar western seating but is also relatively small). The menu was chock full of items, to be fair, most of them looked and sounded the same but our host made sure we were explained the full extent of each dish.

The concept was simple: Japanese tapas. OK, so it wasn’t that simple, the menu involved some old familiar dishes (for example, California rolls) but everything was done with a twist. Our California rolls were “open” and grilled with a chili miso paste under a blowtorch. The case for one-upmanship continued. We had tar tar snacks that were very similar to Nobu’s tacos but these were put on a base of U-shapes potato crisps and flavoured with jalapeno mayonnaise and ingredients that were far sexier than tomato salsa. We also had eel nigiri topped with foie gras (the sweetness of the kabayaki sauce was the perfect match for its seared partner) and sea bass sashimi, which arrives soaking in Japanese vinegar and accompanied with ponzu jelly and black truffles. The thought of the latter dish made me somewhat apprehensive but the aroma of the truffles is the first thing that hits you, followed by the sharp hit of the liquid/jelly mixture; a great ouverture to what is often a rubbery and flavourless raw fish.

However, it wasn’t all peaches and cream. We sampled seven dishes in total and four hit the ball out of the park. The others were the sad clichés of must-have sushi menus, deep-fried soft shell crab, something with wagyu beef that was unnecessary and one other I have already forgotten.

Dinings reminds me of NYC, where Sushi chefs are famous and sitting opposite them on the counter is where it’s at (Sushi Yasuda anyone?). If this is where we are headed, viva la revolution!

Dinings (4 out of 5): 22 Harcourt Street, London, W1H 4HH, +44 (0) 20 7723 0666

Hibiscus: Escape from the Country.

First, a lesson in economics: what does it take to meet the standards of a three star venue?

1. A maximum of 40 seats.
2. A table turn of one.
3. Closed for most lunch days and at least one evening.
4. A four to one ratio of diners to waiting staff.
5. A three to one ratio of diners to chefs.
6. A recognised wine steward and support staff.
7. A size-able front and back of house.

In short, a low revenue and high cost model. No wonder most establishments are loss making and depend on merchandise revenue as well a lecturing career or TV shows. Right? Not quite. Exist stage left, enter stage right.

If I were told that a one Michelin starred restaurant in Ludlow were moving to London to make it big, I’d have been skeptical. Isn’t the reverse normally true? Move out to the middle of nowhere to reduce rental costs and position yourself as a destination venue (or as the Michelin Guide puts it “exceptional cuisine, worth a special journey”)? Well, no. At the moment, la mode in cuisine is to break the mould, why not the economics too?

Last Friday, I visited Hibiscus for about the 30^th time. I cannot speak more highly of the place. A fizzy cucumber and pineapple pearl amuse bouche, toasted rice and mushroom soup, scallops with grapefruit jelly, an asparagus tart for dessert. Exquisite. At what price? Their set lunch menu at £29.50.

A higher table turn at lunch as they target business clients (this does not affect the service as a three course meal and staggered reservations provides the perfect balance). An extensive half bottle wine list to tempt clients to have just one during their lunch break. Open only for lunch during the weak to maximize the benefits of their prime location and just evenings at the weekend for a real destination experience (tasting menu now between £75-100). Cook books? Famous TV personality? No. Just two Michelin stars and totally deserving three for fantastic cuisine, service and guts.

Hibiscus (5 out of 5): 29 Maddox Street, London, W1S 2PA, +44 (0)20 7629 2999.

Koffman's: the Meaty Vegetarian.

So I had this romantic notion when I came back from Ghana that I would be a vegetarian for the rest of the month. New year's resolutions? Screw that, a month is enough. And why meat? Well, let's just say that I must have eaten at least a herd of cows whilst away. (Bear in mind that my version of vegetarianism involves eating fish). So far, it had been great, but along came this blog...

Where do I begin? I have already been to almost all the top 50 restaurants in the world and 90% of three Michelin starred restaurants. "Revisit my favourites" I told myself, and so I did tonight, beginning with Koffman's.

Pierre Koffman was known for La Tante Claire, back in the day, one of the few chefs in the UK to be awarded three Michelin stars. Sadly, this was before my time so when I discovered he had a pop-up restaurant on top of Selfridges a year ago, I did everything I could to get a table. And I did. For two months only, he fed the elite of London. Bone marrow, foie gras poelee, hare and partridge. The menu was rich in game and in cholesterol. Heaven on a plate. There was one noticeable thing, I must have been the only person in the restaurant that was under 50.

"Pierre would feel proud to know he's got a young following" exclaimed his partner after I introduced myself before leaving.

A year later, Koffman's was open in a spot in Knightsbridge that was surely cursed (prior to that Gordon Ramsay had an establishment there and before that Vong was open). Why there and what now? I made it a point to find out so I had dinner with a kleptomaniac (will embellish on this in some other blog post). Heaven in a glass. Two bottles of champagne later, the scallops in squid ink and cote de boeuf tasted like the divine heavens opened up to spill their sacred morsels onto us.

Tonight was my third time dining under the great chef and I felt like enjoying a glass of red whilst waiting for my guest. A bottle of Margaux later, we were sat at the dinner table and ready to order. "What's the meatiest non-meat dish you have on the menu?" I asked our dear Swiss who recognised me from my previous visits. "Well, we have an off-the-menu vegetarian tarte we can offer you", to which my friend stared at me and commanded I ordered the pig's trotters or some other form of sin on the menu.

Smoked eel with leeks and a chicory and roquefort salad to begin, finishing with a venison in dark chocolate and a cod in tomato sauce. I broke my resolution, and only halfway through the month.

The first course arrived and were gobbled up in seconds, then came the mains. I had the venison and the chocolate sauce was sublime, the meat was placed on a bed of braised cabbage that tasted like creamed spinach. "They are cooked in goose fat" remarked the waiter. And then it hit me, we were being taken back to the 80s, where health did not matter, a main always had meat and a prawn cocktail in a Marie Rose sauce would not be missed. Would they have crepe Suzettes on the dessert list?

I know I do things to the extreme so after my meal tonight, I was left with three options - complete my decadence with a cigarette, run around Richmond Park a couple of times or blog about it (as my friends so often threat when they are faced with rude waiting staff). I'm glad I had the latter option. A guilt free way to begin the new year it may not be, but what it is is a reminder that "I can't believe it's not butter" deserves to remain on the shelf once in a while.

Koffman's (3 out of 5): The Berkeley Hotel, Wilton Place, Knightsbridge, SW1X 7RL, +44 (0)20 7235 1010.

Speak to us of Eating and Drinking.

My fascination with food started when I was a kid. Growing up in rural Ghana, my mom had to create everything from scratch so she would spend countless hours in the kitchen making pasta, cheese, yoghurt, ice cream and numerous Lebanese, continental and Ghanaian dishes. She'd often invite me into the kitchen with her, hand me a bowl and a whisk to get involved or distract me with flour and water. I loved it.

For a while, I was obsessed with desserts. Every year, I'd look forward to my birthday only because my mom would bring out her big old book of kids novelty cakes and have me pick one; I'd always go for the most complicated. (Once, I picked a cake that was in the shape of a circus tent and filled with animals, she had to actually MAKE marzipan and mould them into a number of performing animals). This obsession didn't last too long for I soon discovered that I don't have a sweet tooth, I just loved making things.

And it didn't stop there. For a while I thought I was a wizard. I made potions and magical concoctions from countless bottles of shampoos, liquid soaps, conditioners and anything I could get my hands on. This soon became and expensive habit so for Christmas, my parents bought me a chemistry set.

I loved my chemistry set but I never followed the instructions. I could be frequently found mixing the brightest colours and powders with the strongest aromas together. Sometimes nothing would happen, sometime a loud pop followed by some violent frothing and pungent odours would follow. (Once the mixture my brother and I created became so hot that we dropped it on the floor and the stain still exists to this very day). A mad inventor, that's what I wanted to be when I grew up.

A decade later, I found myself graduating with a degree in engineering from Imperial College in London. It was a moment that made my parents proud but left me with one thought. The 100+ students in my year know exactly what I do. I needed more.

It was during my summer in Ghana that year that I decided to take a position as a PhD candidate in Cambridge. I got told by now former-supervisor that a PhD is designed so that you end up knowing the most about a narrow field. That sold it to me. So I moved to Cambridge, in what was an act of endurance (not academically, socially). But what surprised me is that I ended up in a lab, with fancy test tubes and blue superconducting liquids flowing through weird and whacky apparatuses. I was a mad scientist and all I could think about was my childhood years.

Three years on and Graduation day was (finally) upon me. I felt fulfilled from an academic perspective as I was no longer a sausage produced in a factory, but I made the decision to leave and work in finance for financial reasons. (I also discovered that I was a bit too commercial for academia in the UK and I was not willing to move my life to California).

Now I'm not going to lie to you, finance has it perks but it ranks zero on the creativity and "get your juices going" scale. One of the things that it did open me up to is the world of Michelin stars.

My true first memory of haute cuisine was in a restaurant in Sweden. What looked like a marshmallow stunk like a bishop, a bell jar filled with raw lobster, mussels and oysters presented on salty seaweed froth. I hated every minute of it.

So for a while I declined invitations to join clients at Chez Fancy because I loved home cooking and given I had been away from my family since I was 12, being alone eating what I ate back home or with friends eating somewhere wholesome was my priority. Then came my umpteenth invitation.

How can you turn it down? They asked and rescheduled a number of times, so I had to accept. What awaited me was an experience like no other.

Explosive olives, mimetic peanuts, salmon covered in liquorice, lamb served on a pillow of rosemary, bubble gum soup and oysters and pearls. Heaven. Concoctions that would be at home in a kitchen or a lab but dishes that conjured up childhood memories from the peanuts I bought off the side of the road to the smell of freshly grilled lamb on the barbecue every Sunday. I guess I just needed to find something to relate to and that's when I began to appreciate the various idiosyncrasies worldwide, understand the base culture/tradition and relate to the methodology.

So this spurred a fetish for dining in fun restaurants worldwide. Having done three years of traveling so far, a friend recommended I put this together, a way to share my experiences. Hope you enjoy it and suggestions are always welcome!