A few weeks ago when I first told Bobby that work was bringing me to London, his eyes lit up and he said, “You must go eat at a Gordon Ramsay restaurant!”. But for the purposes of this post, let’s go a step or two backwards.
Ever since Astro has programmed the Asian Food Channel (or better known as the AFC) into our cable TV, there is not much else that Bobby and I watch. E Channel is skipped. So is AXN. Nowadays we watch Dosanko Cooking. Chef Okigawa is the oldest chef on the longest running cooking show on Japanese TV. She has a sidekick on the show who is a funny looking Japanese man constantly bowing and saying “Haaittt!!” We watch Charlie Trotter, the chef who looks like Superman. And then we burst into silly giggles thinking of him donning his suit and saving the world during the advertisements. Chef Wan is a firm favourite. The same Chef Wan who is so out of the closet that he’s throwing away the closet.
And then there’s Gordon Ramsay, whom we watch more than any other. I bought his new autobiographical book, Playing With Fire. The book tells us how Mr Ramsay hones his celebrity chefdom. I read about his restaurants and how he runs his life and businesses. And because Bobby is a foodie like no other person I know, he read the book first.
So my husband, who is living vicariously through his wife, suggested that I eat at a Ramsay restaurant and he mulled over which one. I planned to bring my dear sister-in-law and her boyfriend to dinner (for I missed her dearly and for moral support perhaps). In the days preceding my departure, Bobby would pore over the reviews online. We decided that eating at Petrus, or Gordon Ramsay at Claridges, or Royal Hospital Road would turn me into a nervous wreck, given the daunting atmosphere of fine dining. So maze was the first choice, but unfortunately it was closed for renovations. Somehow or rather, I quite liked the idea of The Boxwood Café. According to Mr Ramsay’s book, it is the only restaurant of his where he lets his children dine at. So Bobby called and made a reservation for three at 7.30 on a Monday evening. We then spent time looking at the menu online and thought about what he I would eat.
The Boxwood Café is located at The Berkeley Hotel, 2 minutes away from Harvey Nichols in Knightsbridge. London is cold this time of year. After checking in my coat, I found sis-in-law and boyf already in the warmth of the Boxwood mezzanine bar area. The décor was slightly informal, lovely and chic…olive green upholstery and dark wood. We had preprandials and after being suitably limber from drinks (for courage you see), we asked to be shown to our table. The dining area is a level down from the bar area. Our table was the middle banquet seat at the dining area. As far as I know, we weren’t in Siberia.
I had planned to order what I think Bobby would, so for starters I had the fried Irish rock oysters with fennel and lemon, sis-in-law had the potted salt beef brisket with grain mustard, pickled cucumber and buckwheat flour crackers and her darling had the foie gras parfait with smoked duck, tea jelly and brioche. We ordered a bottle of shampoo and the evening was then spent in a daze of good company and equally good food.
So there we were, 2 asians and 1 from up north living it up at The Boxwood Café. We felt quite special. And we talked about how great our banquet table was. It probably wasn’t the best table at the restaurant, but what do I know. The waiters were attentive and perhaps a little bit amused at the behaviour of country bumpkins. For mains, I had what Bobby would have had, the red wine braised shoulder of Dedham Vale beef with curly kale, parmesan mash and black truffle. Sis-in-law had the roasted loin of Scottish venison with creamed sprouts, chestnuts without the smoked bacon and boyfriend had the roasted loin of suckling pig with garlic roasted potatoes and grain mustard sauce.
And for dessert I had the…gosh, by the time desserts came, I probably ate a clown and I wouldn’t have remembered (but don't our desserts look fabulous?) Plus, I think I over tipped.
I must say I enjoyed the food and our evening was pretty swell. I would have liked this post to wax lyrical about the food at a Gordon Ramsay restaurant but honestly, I am no foodie. I can't analyse why celebrity chef Ramsay has 12 michelin stars. I can only say the beef was tender and fell apart into shreds, the oyster inside was moist, and oh, and the truffles? Deeelicious. And if it wasn’t at the behest of Bobby, I’d probably end up unadventurously eating tuna sandwiches in London.
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