I must highly recommend Murano, that's the restaurant and not the small glass blowing island near to Venice although please don't misunderstand me, that's a pretty place to visit too - for glass. The food's better though at London's Murano restaurant.
Yes, it may be part of the ubiquitous Gordon Ramsay group and yes, we'd all love the excellent restaurants that we adore to be small, independent entities but, Murano must take some beating.
My husband is, as those who know him will attest, a generous spirit. He's also ever so slightly barmy and when those two personality traits collide, it can be a very dangerous and hazardous combo. I say that because he invited a group friends to a lavish dinner at this Michelin starred restaurant to celebrate both our birthdays. How often have you had a invitation like that?
We were lucky to get our table for eight at Murano because they don't really do tables for eight. Gordon Ramsay restaurants apparently think that a table for more than six people is horribly vulgar. They don't say that overtly but I'm told it's just that those 'in the know' know.
Our table was a great. A big round one at the rear of the restaurant although we were just opposite the door to the kitchen but, as we were eight and the conversation was flowing, it's didn't disturb us. Anyway, it was nice to glance into the kitchen from time to time. No shouting, no flying saucepans, no Gordon-type theatricals in evidence here. Perhaps it's because the chef is a lady. It's Angela Hartnett's restaurant and she's doing a brilliant job. The menu is fabulous with a great choice and even a full vegetarian menu as an option which was music to our ears as two of our guests were non-meat eaters. With the fish choices on the main menu and the added bonus of the vegetarian menu, they had more choice than they are used to. They actually got a bit over-excited.
I started with Scottish sea scallops served with apple and cucumber salsa, pata negra, pumpkin purée, and candied walnuts which was quite simply drop dead delicious and followed that with a perfectly cooked Gressingham duck breast to die for, served with parsley root purée, creamed Savoy cabbage and confit leg. The portions were small but perfectly formed leaving room for dessert - the best bit. I chose a Plum crémeux and spiced caramel parfait with a feuillantine crunch and roasted plum which was perfect - until I clapped my beady-greedy eyes on the pistachio soufflé with hot chocolate sauce (that another of our party had opted for) which was even more perfect. I've never seen such a quintessentially voluptuous, impeccable soufflé in my entire life and, hovering menacingly with my spoon, I barely waited to be invited before plunging in for a taste. It was utterly spectacular and I wished I ordered it too - along with the Plum crémeux! It was that delicious, I could have eaten both.
Other highlights included well, everything. I could go on in detail about the white onion risotto, Scottish venison loin, Winter vegetable sald or line caught sea bass but suffice it to say, our whole party was agreed that it was some of the best food we'd eaten in London in recent memory.
If I was to be an icky-bicky bit picky, I'd have to say that the wine list is über expensive. My advice, stick to Italian wines as the French wines on their list are second-mortgage worthy. The service was also a tad slow although all of the staff were very friendly without being intrusive or in any way snotty. It didn't matter to us as we were up for a whole evening out but our table was booked for 8pm and we eventually rolled out at just before midnight. At just under four hours, it was a long dinner. In their defence, it was the night before Valentine's day so they were running a special eight course Valentine menu alongside of their à la carte and the restaurant was full to capacity.
It's not cheap and not somewhere to go everyday but for a special occasion and for Mayfair, it's not extortionately, ludicrously expensive either. The dinner menu is priced at £60 per head for three courses, the only supplement being an £8 charge for cheese (which I don't fully understand). We didn't stint ourselves. We started with a bottle of Prosecco and followed that by a bottle or two of white and three or four bottles of red. With all of that, we felt we'd had good value.
Murano offers a set lunch at £27 per head. If you like lunching, that'd be a real bargain. And if you want company, I'm free!
Monday 15 February 2010
Friday 12 February 2010
A giant victory for man, a small victory for mankind
Don't you just love it when something you expect to go wrong, goes right? Allow me to explain. I've just won a HUGE victory against a GIANT medical insurance company, proof positive that sometimes, with a bit of grit and perseverance, the 'little man' can occasionally win against the corporate giant.
What happened is that a couple of years ago, I had surgery on my eyes to cure a problem that was affecting my vision. Well, the surgery cured one problem but created another, worse one. I won't go into the gory details lest to say that I required further surgery to rectify the damaging side effects of the first surgery. The procedure I required was defined by my medical insurers as 'cosmetic' and they refused to cover it. The truth is that under normal circumstances, the procedure I had would have been cosmetic. However, I did not elect to have it and I would not have chosen to have cosmetic eye surgery. After what I'd just been through with the first surgery, I never wanted to see a doctor again. The eye surgeon who performed the second 'cosmetic' surgery was so convinced of my absolute need of it that he had offered to take me onto his NHS patient list. As I had medical insurance and as members of my family were concerned about the MRSA virus and didn't want me treated in a large teaching hospital, I chose to have the surgery privately. I was convinced that the insurer would eventually see sense and cough up.
Prior to the second surgery, my insurance company sent me for various silly tests (all of which were 'rubbished' by my surgeon) and then had an 'independent expert' prepare a report which, they said, proved that the surgery was unnecessary and therefore cosmetic. Their expert was appointed and paid by them. He never examined me nor spoke to either of my two surgeons. To me, that bore none of the hallmarks of independence.
So, after taking legal advice, as the claim was relatively small I elected not to involve lawyers but to put the case in front of the Financial Ombudsman. The Ombudsman required all sorts of forms to be filled and evidence to be submitted. This was a long and drawn out procedure but, after a year or so of consideration, the Ombudsman's adjudicator found in my favour. Great, now (I thought) I'll wait for the cheque.
But no, the insurance company decided to appeal to the highest level at the Ombudsman's service and submitted a further whining letter explaining why they should not have to pay out in this case. At that point, they did not submit any new evidence. We were accordingly able to (metaphorically) tear that letter to bits.
It took a further seven months for the Ombudsman to uphold their own adjudicator's decision and unequivocally find in my favour. The medical insurance company is now obliged to pay me in full plus a whopping 8% interest on the total amount dating back to day I first put the case to the Ombudsman - now just short of two years. I'm currently waiting for the cheque which, if it doesn't arrive, will be generated by means of an enforcement order issued by the Ombudsman against the insurer. You could say that in these straightened times, it's proved to be rather a good investment.
It's a right and fair decision about which I feel wonderfully, happily and gloriously smug. So, don't let the bastards grind you down! There are remdedies. Fight for your rights!
What happened is that a couple of years ago, I had surgery on my eyes to cure a problem that was affecting my vision. Well, the surgery cured one problem but created another, worse one. I won't go into the gory details lest to say that I required further surgery to rectify the damaging side effects of the first surgery. The procedure I required was defined by my medical insurers as 'cosmetic' and they refused to cover it. The truth is that under normal circumstances, the procedure I had would have been cosmetic. However, I did not elect to have it and I would not have chosen to have cosmetic eye surgery. After what I'd just been through with the first surgery, I never wanted to see a doctor again. The eye surgeon who performed the second 'cosmetic' surgery was so convinced of my absolute need of it that he had offered to take me onto his NHS patient list. As I had medical insurance and as members of my family were concerned about the MRSA virus and didn't want me treated in a large teaching hospital, I chose to have the surgery privately. I was convinced that the insurer would eventually see sense and cough up.
Prior to the second surgery, my insurance company sent me for various silly tests (all of which were 'rubbished' by my surgeon) and then had an 'independent expert' prepare a report which, they said, proved that the surgery was unnecessary and therefore cosmetic. Their expert was appointed and paid by them. He never examined me nor spoke to either of my two surgeons. To me, that bore none of the hallmarks of independence.
So, after taking legal advice, as the claim was relatively small I elected not to involve lawyers but to put the case in front of the Financial Ombudsman. The Ombudsman required all sorts of forms to be filled and evidence to be submitted. This was a long and drawn out procedure but, after a year or so of consideration, the Ombudsman's adjudicator found in my favour. Great, now (I thought) I'll wait for the cheque.
But no, the insurance company decided to appeal to the highest level at the Ombudsman's service and submitted a further whining letter explaining why they should not have to pay out in this case. At that point, they did not submit any new evidence. We were accordingly able to (metaphorically) tear that letter to bits.
It took a further seven months for the Ombudsman to uphold their own adjudicator's decision and unequivocally find in my favour. The medical insurance company is now obliged to pay me in full plus a whopping 8% interest on the total amount dating back to day I first put the case to the Ombudsman - now just short of two years. I'm currently waiting for the cheque which, if it doesn't arrive, will be generated by means of an enforcement order issued by the Ombudsman against the insurer. You could say that in these straightened times, it's proved to be rather a good investment.
It's a right and fair decision about which I feel wonderfully, happily and gloriously smug. So, don't let the bastards grind you down! There are remdedies. Fight for your rights!
Wednesday 10 February 2010
I'm cooking on television!
Hold the front page, I'm going to be on the telly. Yes, I really am. It's a bit of a thing in my family, my brother works for the BBC and he's on all the time. I admit it, he makes me jealous. It's like, I mean like, I totally crave celebrity - know what I mean like? - for no other reason than to be invited to onto Strictly Come Dancing. I can see it now - the dancing, the sparkly dresses, the make-up, the exercise, the weight loss, the having a little affair with my dance partner ... Anyway, I digress.
My programme is much less sparkly and is called Instant Restaurant. To be broadcast on the posh channel, BBC2, on Tuesday 16th February at 17.15h, it's part of a 20-part series commencing the day before, on Monday 15th February. I have no idea what it's going to be like.
And so it came to pass that one day back in October, I spent around ten hours cooking in my kitchen, with my husband and a film crew - well, the film crew weren't cooking, they were filming. But my husband was cooking because truth be told, in many ways, he's a better cook than me. But we had to elect one of us to be chief cook. On the day and for one day only, he played sous-chef which makes a change because usually he's a bit of a kitchen bully. Very bossy and strict about whipping, stirring, chopping and keeping the granite worktops shiny and clean, he believes that there's a right way of doing things, that's his way. But for that one glorious day he had to follow my orders or at least, pretend to. I was allowed two 'helpers' and the second chosen one was my stepson, the gorgeous investment banker Joseph who made such a hit as 'maitre d' that he generated a generous 'service charge'.
Anyway, the ten hours that the film crew spent filming us has been edited down to around twenty minutes (or less) for the forty-five minute programme and I have no idea of what it's going to be like as I haven't seen it. No doubt it will include every mistake, every cross word and every mopping of the sweat off our brows. The day was fun but stressful and beyond exhausting. I'm scared, I'm very, very scared.
The premise of Instant Restaurant is that two amateur cooks go head to head to see if they've got what it takes to create a restaurant in their own homes for one night only - and make a profit. The profit came from ten diners who were allowed to pay what they thought the meal was worth plus whatever we didn't spend of the original food budget of £20 per head. We were asked to create a three course menu with two choices per course which meant, when it boils down to it - and you get a 'jus' -cooking six courses. This we did between approximately 10.00h (when the crew showed up) and 18.30h (when we served). Advance preparation was forbidden so it was hard,hard work. The series will be presented by the very charming Nadia Sawalha.
I guess what the edited show may not make clear is that on the day of cooking, I had no idea of whom I was competing with. None of us 'cooks' knew who our competition was. That only came out some weeks later when we were eventually brought together at the unlikely venue of a conference centre in Cheshunt where we were filmed 'chatting' to Nadia and reacting to being told how much profit we had made, ergo whether we had won. I won''t spoil the surprise for you by divulging the winner but my competitor was a Moroccan lady who cooked about 153 great sounding dishes. As I told her, I'm sure my husband would like an invite round her gaff.
Before we agreed to participate, we spent hours carefully questioning the production company about how they would recruit the ten mystery diners. We weren't allowed to invite any of our friends or family or anyone who knew us or who knew anyone who knew us. We were told that the production company would advertise locally, in the local (excellent) paper and by putting up notices in all of Hampstead's lovely little local food-type shops; the delicatessen, the fishmonger and maybe our local Waitrose. We were to expect a posse of Hampstead 'foodies' and perhaps a local chef and/or food critic. We planned our menu accordingly.
Well, none of that happened.
I think what probably happened is that one day in the planning process, whoever was in charge of recruiting diners thought to themselves, "...hang on a frigging minute! There are twenty programmes with two cooks per programme. That equals forty dinners. That means finding 400 diners! Holy Moly, that's a lot of people to find and we haven't got the budget". At that point, they gave up the ghost and bunged a notice up on their website, then taking whoever applied.
We were lucky because the ten who turned up on the night were absolutely charming lovely people but there wasn't a chef, a critic or what I'd call a 'foodie' amongst them and had we known, we'd have planned a totally different menu. (I give you this nugget as background lest you think us completely insane and totally out of touch with reality when you see the show.)
Just before I go, things to look out for on the night are the hollandaise, Jeff's melba toast, my neighbour's beautiful sculptures and proof positive that you just can't run a restaurant from a domestic kitchen with no plate warmer.
My programme is much less sparkly and is called Instant Restaurant. To be broadcast on the posh channel, BBC2, on Tuesday 16th February at 17.15h, it's part of a 20-part series commencing the day before, on Monday 15th February. I have no idea what it's going to be like.
And so it came to pass that one day back in October, I spent around ten hours cooking in my kitchen, with my husband and a film crew - well, the film crew weren't cooking, they were filming. But my husband was cooking because truth be told, in many ways, he's a better cook than me. But we had to elect one of us to be chief cook. On the day and for one day only, he played sous-chef which makes a change because usually he's a bit of a kitchen bully. Very bossy and strict about whipping, stirring, chopping and keeping the granite worktops shiny and clean, he believes that there's a right way of doing things, that's his way. But for that one glorious day he had to follow my orders or at least, pretend to. I was allowed two 'helpers' and the second chosen one was my stepson, the gorgeous investment banker Joseph who made such a hit as 'maitre d' that he generated a generous 'service charge'.
Anyway, the ten hours that the film crew spent filming us has been edited down to around twenty minutes (or less) for the forty-five minute programme and I have no idea of what it's going to be like as I haven't seen it. No doubt it will include every mistake, every cross word and every mopping of the sweat off our brows. The day was fun but stressful and beyond exhausting. I'm scared, I'm very, very scared.
The premise of Instant Restaurant is that two amateur cooks go head to head to see if they've got what it takes to create a restaurant in their own homes for one night only - and make a profit. The profit came from ten diners who were allowed to pay what they thought the meal was worth plus whatever we didn't spend of the original food budget of £20 per head. We were asked to create a three course menu with two choices per course which meant, when it boils down to it - and you get a 'jus' -cooking six courses. This we did between approximately 10.00h (when the crew showed up) and 18.30h (when we served). Advance preparation was forbidden so it was hard,hard work. The series will be presented by the very charming Nadia Sawalha.
I guess what the edited show may not make clear is that on the day of cooking, I had no idea of whom I was competing with. None of us 'cooks' knew who our competition was. That only came out some weeks later when we were eventually brought together at the unlikely venue of a conference centre in Cheshunt where we were filmed 'chatting' to Nadia and reacting to being told how much profit we had made, ergo whether we had won. I won''t spoil the surprise for you by divulging the winner but my competitor was a Moroccan lady who cooked about 153 great sounding dishes. As I told her, I'm sure my husband would like an invite round her gaff.
Before we agreed to participate, we spent hours carefully questioning the production company about how they would recruit the ten mystery diners. We weren't allowed to invite any of our friends or family or anyone who knew us or who knew anyone who knew us. We were told that the production company would advertise locally, in the local (excellent) paper and by putting up notices in all of Hampstead's lovely little local food-type shops; the delicatessen, the fishmonger and maybe our local Waitrose. We were to expect a posse of Hampstead 'foodies' and perhaps a local chef and/or food critic. We planned our menu accordingly.
Well, none of that happened.
I think what probably happened is that one day in the planning process, whoever was in charge of recruiting diners thought to themselves, "...hang on a frigging minute! There are twenty programmes with two cooks per programme. That equals forty dinners. That means finding 400 diners! Holy Moly, that's a lot of people to find and we haven't got the budget". At that point, they gave up the ghost and bunged a notice up on their website, then taking whoever applied.
We were lucky because the ten who turned up on the night were absolutely charming lovely people but there wasn't a chef, a critic or what I'd call a 'foodie' amongst them and had we known, we'd have planned a totally different menu. (I give you this nugget as background lest you think us completely insane and totally out of touch with reality when you see the show.)
Just before I go, things to look out for on the night are the hollandaise, Jeff's melba toast, my neighbour's beautiful sculptures and proof positive that you just can't run a restaurant from a domestic kitchen with no plate warmer.
Sunday 7 February 2010
USA warn the Taliban of forthcoming offensive
I really don't understand politics and I guess I'm horribly naive. I've just been watching the BBC news where they report that the USA has stated its intention to launch a major offensive to clear the Taliban from its remaining strongholds in Helmand province. I think it's planned for next week. Wednesday at around 15.42h I believe. We are being warned of likely UK casualties. Now, if you were the Taliban, what would you be doing? You'd probably be thinking to yourself, "how jolly nice and polite of the USA and its allies to warn us that they're about to try to kill us all. Very gentlemanly of them. Let's have a think ... mmm, now how should we react? Ooohh, we're really scared so let's just all throw down our weapons and come out with the white flags".
Well, I'm no tactician or military strategist but judging on the allies experience to date - somehow, I don't think so.
I make no comment about the rights and wrongs of us being in Afganistan in the first place but I'd always been led to believe that a key element of warfare is that of surprise. With all the intelligence, counter intelligence, spying, hacking and goodness knows what else in these information super-highway days, in modern warfare, the element of surprise seems to have been largely lost. But to a layman like me, it does seem ludicrous in the extreme that we're announcing, big and bold as brass through the BBC, that we're about to try to annihilate the 'enemy'. Our boys on the ground must be busy writing down their last thoughts and wishes and wondering if this time, it's going to be them as their bowels turn to water. I feel quite sick, I really do.
I just give up, I'm ready to throw in my towel. What a bizzare world we're living in. When it's all over, would the last person left please switch off the lights?
Well, I'm no tactician or military strategist but judging on the allies experience to date - somehow, I don't think so.
I make no comment about the rights and wrongs of us being in Afganistan in the first place but I'd always been led to believe that a key element of warfare is that of surprise. With all the intelligence, counter intelligence, spying, hacking and goodness knows what else in these information super-highway days, in modern warfare, the element of surprise seems to have been largely lost. But to a layman like me, it does seem ludicrous in the extreme that we're announcing, big and bold as brass through the BBC, that we're about to try to annihilate the 'enemy'. Our boys on the ground must be busy writing down their last thoughts and wishes and wondering if this time, it's going to be them as their bowels turn to water. I feel quite sick, I really do.
I just give up, I'm ready to throw in my towel. What a bizzare world we're living in. When it's all over, would the last person left please switch off the lights?
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