YORK AND ALBANY: STAND AND DELIVER

After we’d finished our meal at the new Gordon Ramsay/Angela Hartnett gaff York and Albany, a box of popcorn appeared with the bill. We tried a few found, they were pretty good and hungrily burrowed down into the box. All of a sudden, HS gave a Richard Pryoresque start (Heeeyyy…)*. They’d padded the box out – what a swizz. Just like our meal HS harrumphed.

Apart from Plane Food we’ve been to all the London restaurants in the Gordon Ramsay empire and this was our most disappointing experience to date (although a very bad one at GR@Claridges when it opened still makes us shiver with dread) . Even more so when we found out Ms Hartnett was in the kitchen: she’d made a table-side appearance to apologise for some chips we sent back. We weren’t expecting the quality of ingredients and level of refinement that we’d found with our recent meal at Murano but we were expecting something more than the average, expensive gastropub experience we got.

An amuse of a quite liquid Chicken Liver mousse served with some melba toast was a decent start, although, as we found with a few dishes at Murano it was salted a bit too enthusiastically.

I thougt my Deep Fried Lambs Tongues ok – better at least than HS liked his grilled Mackerel. He thought the fish overcooked and a bit mushy. My lamb had been deep fried then sliced so you got a bit of the crunch of the breadcrumbs without too much oiliness and the salad worked quite well with it. Lamb Tongues seem quite expensive these days though.

We’d added in an extra starter (naturally) of Pumpkin Risotto which they’d kindly split for us. Coming after a textbook example at Murano what we got was a very poor facsimile. The texture was way too thick and stodgy and while the gorgonzola was good it dominated the other flavours in the dish. Even worse, there were unshelled pumpkin seeds scattered over the dish. They had been roasted, but were not edible – believe me I tried – an odd way to get texture into the dish.

Moving on to the main courses felt more akin to doing something out of duty rather than any sense of pleasure or anticipation.

I loathe it when a piece of steak is mucked about with. There isn’t anything you should do to it other than cook it and leave it. My rib-eye had been cooked slightly over the requested rare but then had been sliced into quarters then doused in an over-reduced jus which just obliterated what little taste the steak had. The roasted onion and little mushroom and marrow toast weren’t bad but the wilted watercress tasted as if it had been dressed in seawater.

HS’s underhung partridge just elicited a shrug from the great man of letters. The chips showed scant signs or taste of truffle and were undercooked so they went back.

We battled on for a rather prosaic Manzanilla trifle which HS, after a few bites, gave up on and wondered why they would use such a sherry for a trifle. A mystery we were totally unconcerned about solving. A bigger mystery, though, is how someone so obviously talented (in our view) as Angela Harnett could be associated with somewhere so totally underwhelming.

*See Richard Pryor - Live in Concert

MURANO

Good, fresh things
Every day of the year

It was about an hour into our meal at Murano, the new restaurant from the Gordon Ramsay stable and headed up by Angela Hartnett, and things weren’t looking too good. We’d got our wine, we’d got our water and we’d got a nice little amuse of warm Arancini. But that was all about an hour ago and now we were just sitting there twiddling our thumbs, remarking on the rather restrained, even dull, décor and the leaden atmosphere. I’d had some good news that day but this didn’t feel much like a celebration. Then the ham arrived and the evening just got better.

The plate of ham, which came with a selection of bread (but oddly no grissini) and a peppery olive oil was terrific stuff: dense, silky smooth and meaty. Served in a generous pile more akin to a large starter, we fought as only two Hermanos can over every last shred.

Although this only showcased the skill of astute shopping, the first courses that followed proved that the kitchen could cook as well as source. A risotto made with Carnaroli rice was creamy and rich with the grains retaining a good bite. The richness nicely cut by a small blob of pesto, it was declared by HS to be ‘up there’ (young whippersnappers do use some odd phraseology these days and shit).

Vitello Tonnato was wafer thin slices of pink Veal lightly dressed with a sparky combination of pickled baby fennel and capers. On top there were a couple of anchovies encased in a crisp batter. Elegant and delicious.

I’m sure some clever clogs will tell me that they’re all dishes with their roots firmly in Italy (though remember no one likes a smart arse) but with the main courses HS and I seemed to have strayed away from Italy into France and beyond.

HS liked his Halibut which had been confited in Olive Oil but remained firm and flaked attractively. There were some herbs scatter on the fish (dill ?) which he thought over-dominated. There was a good apple and onion puree on the side and a nice red wine sauce brought it all together.

Similarly, there was little to complain about with my Turbot. The fish was good and was cooked accurately. There was a medley (sorry) of good baby vegetables underneath and a light, hammy though slightly over-salted broth with fragments of ham dotted about.

Both were tasty, technically well executed dishes with the sole failing that maybe, just maybe, they should have shown a bit more, as an Italian might say, brio.

Service, which had been a little stiff to start with, warmed up nicely over the course of our meal. Of particular note was the sommelier, who when we expressed disappointment with his choice of wine to match our food, insisted on giving us a couple of glasses of a more suitable wine to finish our main courses with.

As is the norm with high-end dining we got both pre and post-dessert freebies. First, and to my mind, best of all was a selection of sorbets and ice creams. All different flavours and all tasting of their source ingredient.
For pud proper I got a Chocolately thing and HS got a Figgy thing. Actually his Figs infused in red wine with Zabaglione tasted a lot better than it looked and I’m sure my semifreddo was as fine an example of semifreddo as you can get this side of the Mont Blanc tunnel. I could have done with another selection of those ices, though.

HS couldn’t eat his (good) post-dessert Tiramisu owing to a coffee allergy but the kitchen sent him out a little fruit based mouthful. Which was nice.

We probably should have finished there but ploughed on through the fine although ever-so-slightly extraneous mignardises that were on offer. Large pours of expensive grappa were as inappropriate as DH on the pull at the Candy Bar.

As we wobbled into the night we pondered upon our evening and decided that we had enjoyed the experience and that Murano (presumably named after the island next to Venice) had won us round after a hesitant start. But we also wondered how many of the dishes would remain if AH was running her own gaff. We’ll probably never find out and Murano will probably get a Michelin star in the new year.

Oh, and for those who wondered what happened to the Napkin and Mint Tea tests – they never went away and Murano aced them both.