sandyvickyJunior Member  Sex: Unspecified Posts: 1 Joined: Status: Offline | | Re: Surrey Life restaurant reviews (28th Oct 09 at 2:22pm UTC) | | "It's as if someone decided to turn their boxroom into a restaurant," my wife said. Here there was no dispute: it's a horrid little space, done out cheaply with framed squiggles on the walls, ugly repro light fittings, a melancholy colour scheme of cream and deep brown, and the tables crammed close together. As for the service, from a lone Frenchman, his gigglesome familiarity achieved something startling: it had us yearning for traditional Gallic aloofness.
To the kitchen's credit, the first and last things we tasted - impossibly fine and delicate foie gras "snow" that literally melted on the tongue, served with brioche, and a marvellous violet ice-cream with great Louis XV chocolate cake - were properly memorable. As, alas, was much that came in between, though for different reasons. The best to be said for lunch is thank God it wasn't dinner, when the tasting menu (there is, as the name of the place so wittily implies, no other) runs to 16 dishes rather than just the six.
Seared scallops were overcooked and desperately salty, and for some reason a Surreality Champ thought it a wizard wheeze to pair them with deep-fried pear tatin. Quail breast stuffed with foie gras - I genuinely commend the all-in price of £18 with such quality ingredients, not to mention lavish truffles and chocolates - tasted of nothing but salt. Next up came what the menu calls "Gazpachio", which deserved not only a sic but a sick: the combination of desperate oversalting (anyone sense a culinary theme developing?) and a curious, vinegary flavour, vaguely suggestive of one of those labradors in the terminal stage of renal disease, was best suited for use as a makeshift emetic.
"Why is it you take your friends to lovely places," the missus menacingly inquired over some not notably undersalted John Dory with sauce vierge, "and me here?" There was no good answer to that, so as John Lennon's most celebrated solo track began to play, I changed the subject by inviting her to imagine no Maldon salt. She couldn't, because there then arrived saddle of lamb, cunningly wrapped in pancetta for that extra salty buzz.
Finally, came the ice-cream and chocolate Louis Quinze, sparking a debate as to which Bourbon Louis's wet dream left the "carte du France" on his bedsheet. Which seamlessly brings us, just because we want to depart A Taste of McClements on a high, to history's finest name-job interface: the PR executive for Durex in France is Mlle Cecile Hardon. | |
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I had it planned to go to Jamie's italian in Kingston but I haven't yet had time to do so. Hopefuly going this weekend though, perhaps friday night with some friends of mine. 
I'm looking forward to it even more now I've read the review!
maybe thats because i love italian tho!! hehe