Marcus Wareing's Blog!

Look what I found! I had no idea Mr. Wareing was a blogging chef. Wheeeeee! Those of you who read my posts know what an uber-fan I am of this guy. I heart him so vurrah much. Now quick, right now, go read it, read it all. Then add comments all over the place. Tag it, add it, Delicious it, Stumble it, Twitter it, follow it through Blogger (evidently I'm his first stalker, er, follower) or whatever you need to do to keep up to date with this guy. And maybe, just maybe, he'll update his blog more often (purdy please?) Yeah, like he has nothing to do these days with the new restaurant and all, but Marcus. Your fans want to know. Tell us what's on your mind. At least once a month (hint, hint).

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Marcus Wareing at the Berkeley.

I was thrilled to read my email today. This doesn't happen often, let me tell you. Instead of hundreds of requests for my address so certain people in Nigeria can send my lottery check, or Cash-4-Gold adverts, or offers for free Snuggies, I got the following thank you. Jane Wareing actually took the time to say thank you. It made me beam. It made me glad I reviewed their restaurant. And it verified what I already knew - the Wareings are going to do quite well. Quite well indeed.

Dear Libby,
I apologize for the long delay in replying to you! I am not sure if I have already replied or not but I found your message and just wanted to say thank you for your support!

With very kind regards,
Jane Wareing
Reservations
marcus wareing at the berkeley
The Berkeley
Wilton Place
Knightsbridge
SW1X 7RL
T 0207 235 1200

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Petrus. Desserts.

My last entry, for now, on what was the best meal of my life - created by Marcus Wareing, shortly before he called it quits with Gordon Ramsay and struck out on his own - to succeed valiantly in my opinion. The dinner was June 23, 2008, at Petrus (then and now a Gordon Ramsay holding) now called Marcus Wareing at the Berkeley. I dined with my soulmate and fellow foodie, my husband. For those who are interested, I hear Petrus is going to reopen at a different location sometime in early 2009, but for my money, Marcus has surpassed his mentor.

At this point in the meal, I have enjoyed sweetbreads, suckling pig, numerous amuse bouche, and the best wine I've ever had. All the numerous tastes and smells and sensations have washed over me to the point that everything is a blur. And here comes the cheese course and desserts. Jeez Louise.

Now mind you, I'm writing this, what, six months later, attempting to describe adquately the entire meal, but truthfully, while the remaining courses were delicious they were overshadowed by the mains. It's all a blur. All I can clearly remember is, "Man, that pig was good." But I will do my best.....Marcus deserve all the praise I can give him. He rocks!

The cheese course arrived next. I do remember a delicious walnut and raisin bread was served with it. And I do remember the "Cheese Guy" (is there a title like sommolier?) asking us what kinds we'd like. I think we were so overwhelmed at that point we just shrugged. My notes say, "Goat, hard, soft, blue, stinky." Real descriptive, right? It's just that we were in such a stupor from so much food, and probably drunk, that Velveeta might've tasted great at that point. He was throwing all these French names and regions at us, and here we are the dumb American tourists going, "Uh huh, that sounds good," shaking our heads, zombie-fide from so much deliciousness. I do love cheese though, and felt silly that I didn't know more about what I was eating. To his credit, the Cheese Guy didn't make us feel stupid, but placed one of each on a plate. They were all scrumptious.

The next offering was a pre-dessert amuse bouche: apple jelly, topped with apple granita and vanilla foam in a shot glass. And we have a winner. Favorite dessert of all time. As I get older, I find I can't eat a whole slice of pie, but just a forkful - my tummy can't handle it. This was the perfect forkful of apple pie a la mode, served in a shotglass. The icy-applyness of the granita paired perfectly with the soft airy creaminess of the foam. And the jelly was like the pie filling. It was so damn good I licked the inside of my glass, then upended it and tapped on the bottom to get out every bit. Oh yes, I'm the epitome of decorum, me.

Here's where the problems begin. I kinda remember the cheese, I CLEARLY remember the apple shot glass, but I don't remember the actual desserts that well. It's not that I didn't enjoy them immensely, I did. I remember them being very rich, very tasty. Sadly, I can't even go back to the website (which used to have the menu posted) to look. So sorry. Again, at that point it was like I was drunk on food. And yeah, maybe a little bit on wine too (sheepish grin). I did write down the following notes:

Lime, pineapple on lime biscuit (mine)
Cake with cognac, macerated blueberries & white chocolate (husband's)

Something I won't soon forget - as we were enjoying the desserts, there was a loud CRASH coming from the kitchen. It sounded as if someone dropped a huge stack of metal pans on the floor. Either that or Marcus was supremely pissed off and threw something at the wall. We started, and then the funniest thing happened. Every single person dining turned at the exact same time and looked directly at Jean Phillipe - head waiter extraordinaire on Hell's Kitchen and our maitre d' for this evening. It was hysterical. He looked at us like, "Well, what do you want ME to do about it?" (in a French accent of course) before shrugging his shoulders and walking off into the kitchen. The whole episode sent us off into gales of laughter because it seemed like something right out of the show. At the time I didn't know about all the trouble Marcus was having with Gordon, and I can't help but wonder if this episode didn't have something to do with that. Or maybe they just dropped a pot...

...In any case, next was the bon-bon tray. The bon-bon tray!?! Never in my life have I dined somewhere that served one. What arrived was an abundance of chocolate - tiny little chocolate morsels in all flavors. What's that scene in Monty Python? "It's just a thin mint." Yeah, I kinda felt like that, like just one chocolate would force me to start calling, "Bring me a bucket!" But I ventured forth anyway, and selected a chocolate-covered Turkish delight which melted in my mouth on contact. Hubby got a mango/passionfruit chocolate. Of course we each took teeny bites and traded. That's what married foodie couples do - NEVER order the same thing, and always trade for tastings. Both were out of this world. And I do remember them.

Did we want to end this glorious meal with cognac? Even though it was a once-in-a-lifetime event we passed. Too much wine and rich food (i.e., old tummies). Coffee? I don't think we did, and now I'm sorry. At this point it was late and I remember thinking about the staff, and how they probably wanted to clean up and go. As we left the restaurant, supremely sated and feeling very happy, there were still three or four couples dining. I remember thinking, "Crap! We should've stayed! We need to drag this evening out more so it won't end!"

Now I wish we'd stayed because with this economy lord knows if we will ever experience anything like that again. But again, both of us have worked for restaurants. So while we were there for one night on the other side of the glass, pretending to be wealthy, and enjoying all that life has to offer, at the same time we were remembering what it felt like to look out of the kitchen door porthole, wishing those rich assholes would leave so we could go home.

The wait staff were also a huge part of what made this experience such a memorable one, and another reason Marcus has those two stars. All through the meal they were present, but not present, whipping by with menus, glasses, our courses. Gliding by effortlessly as though they were dancing. Everything from the first amuse bouche to the last bon-bon was perfectly choreographed. When I flagged down a waiter to ask for directions to the restroom, he immediately stopped what he was doing, grandly pulled the table out from us (without spilling anything) and walked me to the door himself. Someone else who noticed my return stopped what they were doing to replace my napkin with a new one. Now that's service. And I think that's way we didn't stay. People who work so hard deserve a break.

More than once Bruce and I looked around and noticed how bored the other diners seemed to be. The boredom of the supremely wealthy who sigh with ennui because they dine like this all the time. Ho-hum. One couple across from us didn't speak their entire meal. Meanwhile we were living right in the moment, cherishing each bite, each sip of wine, and for weeks after that, talking about how stupendous this was - the meal of our lives. We still talk about it. Thank you Marcus.

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Petrus. Main Course.

Another entry in the continuing narrative that is the best meal of my life - so far. In London. At what was once Petrus, but is now Marcus Wareing at the Berkeley.

So after finishing several amuse bouche and a glorious appetizer course, we were clasping our hands in glee to set upon our mains like a pack of wild hounds. Really, the anticipation was just that huge, because not only had I ordered farm-raised Scottish halibut, but hubby had ordered Norfolk suckling pig - which had been marinated, then cooked for 24 STRAIGHT HOURS! Holy crap. So basically they had begun cooking this succulent juicy piece of pork yesterday while we were tooling around South Bank trying to find a place that served tea and scones. The mind reels.

Now don't get me wrong, I love halibut and ordered it specifically because it was from Scotland. I had had the best oysters of my LIFE in Scotland (and I need to write about that actually). Yeah, yeah, don't order fish on a Monday, whatever Tony Bourdain. I just knew that this fish, here, at this time, would be out of this world. And I was anticipating it - but I was literally jumping out of my SEAT at the thought of eating that pig.

Our main courses arrived. My halibut was delicious. So perfectly cooked it flaked right on my fork the second the two made contact. Served with charred asparagus and asparagus puree. A transparently curling slice of parmesan was arranged on top. Genius paring, as the salty parmesan was really good with the tender fish and the smoky bitterness of the asparagus. The asparagus was charred to perfection - charred way better than either one of us has been able to do on a grill at home. Pencil-thin spears, so tender they just fell away in your mouth. Out of season? Yes, but when you've got a party going on in your mouth you're not one to split hairs...

...And the pig? The pig. I could wax poetic on the pig. It was all I could do to convince my husband to let me try it as all I could see were his hands and face tearing into it like the Tasmanian Devil. Bones were flying! I did manage a tiny chop and some crispy skin. The chop was so small it was almost quail-like. Except this quail tasted so much better. Like a porksicle. So yummy it's criminal. Words cannot adequately express the pork yummy goodness of euphoria I was feeling as I obliterated that chop and chewed up that skin in all its crispy crunchiness. So good. When I was a kid I used to read the Little House books and was jealous when Laura was given pork cracklins during hog-killin' time. This must be what that's like. Crunchy porky goodness squeaking between your teeth and a porksicle to go along with it. Sigh. I've toyed off and on over the years about being vegetarian, but after eating Marcus's pig those thoughts just floated clear away. Even watching a horrific documentary about hormone-injected factory-produced piglike creatures couldn't tear me away from this stuff. It's just that damn good.

Not to be outdone, the sides presented with the pork were equally yummy - although it took me a while to remember them while writing this as the memory of that pork seems to have erased all else. The suckling pig did have chicory with it in some form or fashion which added a nutty dimension - as if you needed another dimension! Before we devoured the pig entirely, a waiter brought over a tiny steaming copper pot of the most finely whipped mashed potatoes I'd ever seen. He delicately spooned a tiny hill of them onto hubby's plate before placing the pot on its own little serving tray. Jealousy doesn't describe it. I got a few mouthfuls, but the remainder of the meal saw me gazing hungrily over at that little copper pot like it contained an antidote I needed so I wouldn't die right there at the table. These potatoes were so smooth it was like you were eating milk. So smooth you could drink them like Jamba Juice. Yeah, I love asparagus, but....those potatoes!

I must admit after all that deliciousness I knew there would be dessert. There had to be, right? Oh my god, how am I going to fit in dessert? Must. Have. Willpower. I'm not of the age where I can necessarily eat like Henry VIII anymore. But here? I'll try...

To check out Marcus Wareing and hear what a truly cool chef he is, check out his video interview, which he did ONE HOUR before opening his new place. Grace under pressure indeed.

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Petrus. First Course.

The next entry in my continuing saga that is "the best dinner of my life". As described in previous posts, hubby and I dined at Petrus in June before it moved/closed/changed, whatever you want to call it. But the important thing to note is that Marcus Wareing was still at the helm (and still is actually). A very important note because I firmly believe he was the reason why this meal was so special - and why I'm spending several blog entries describing it!

I've been reading some reviews of his new place on the Internet, something now I think I shouldn't do lest it color my own. My experience was in early summer after all (months ago) and I'm not a professional restaurant critic. I'm glad I'm not - maybe I'll bring a perspective the professionals can't. I don't know every detail, I don't take pictures. Mine are impressions, snapshots. What I clearly remember with a very few notes. What stood out to me. A layman's perspective from someone who just enjoys good food, who sees eating as an experience, not just a way to stuff your craw.

As we entered, who should be standing there but Jean-Phillipe Susilovic, Gordon Ramsay's maitre d' waiter from Hell's Kitchen. Working at 10:30 on a Monday night? You would think his celebrity might have bought him some time off, but no. Here he was smiling broadly and welcoming us to Petrus, napkin draped over his arm, looking all the world like a cartoon caricature of a French maitre d'. Not that this is a bad thing. Where he appears miniature and birdlike on the show, here he is tall and very handsome. He uses broad sweeping gestures, one eyebrow seemingly always raised. His graciousness comes across as purely genuine, not just something dreamed up for the tourists. Very professional. I am swept off my feet.

He seats us, placing the menus in our hands. Would we like some champagne? Why of course, we're about to spend over a month's food allowance on one meal. Why not? The champagne tastes delicious, particularly in this atmosphere. Petrus is dark and purple. Very purple and plush. Tables draped in white encircle the space and the walls are very eggplant. But oddly, it's not too dark because of wee halogens directed to each person's spot. So while I am VERY farsighted and often need my reading glasses to look over a menu, here I don't. It's perfectly bright, just bright enough to read what I can order. Wow. Love that. It's a little detail many restaurants today too easily forget. As my old interior decorator friend David used to say, "Lighting is everything."

Our first amuse bouche was a foie gras biscuit - one teeny tiny triangle of foie gras with a thin crust of wafer. It dissolved in my mouth like butter. A sip of the champagne just heightened the experience to the sublime. Little bubbly explosions with a background of earthy, buttery goodness.

While we waited for our wine to arrive, we enjoyed some pre-appetizer munchies, arranged just on our large, round table. At last a restaurant that doesn't try to cram two people and 8 courses into a 2-foot by 2-foot square little space. Here we had ROOM. The hummus was yummy, especially when you dipped a parmesan cheese straw into it. the honey potato campagne bread was delicious with butter - thick chewy crust, with lots of meaty sweet bread inside.

And then our wine arrived. A 2003 Gevrey-Chambertin ‘Au Vellé’, domaine Denis Mortet. I simply ADORED this wine, and relished every sip of it with the meal. Again, the sip after the bite heightened the taste, and made what was "more" - MORE. The sommolier did a terrific job of selecting the champagne and wine. We told him what we liked, what we would be ordering, and he went to work seamlessly. This wine was delicious - it tasted like silk, smooth, velvety on the tongue. Just yummy.

Second amuse bouche - a shot glass full of cucumber and green tomato gazpacho. I will be making my gazpacho with green tomatoes from now on. It tasted like the best gazpacho you've ever had, but with the tartness of green tomatoes and the added garden pasture herbiness of the cucumbers. I have never tasted anything as light and summery and palate-cleansing as this in an amuse bouche. Just lovely.

After looking at the menu, my husband and I agreed we wouldn't order the Chef's Tasting menu. Not because of cost, mind you, we were ready to fly to the moon after all. Simply because there were so many other things we wanted to try. I've since learned (from Bill Buford's "Heat") that ordering a Chef's Tasting at or near closing time in a restaurant is an amateur move, a CARDINAL sin. The staff is ready to close up shop and nothing pisses them off more. I'm so glad we didn't. Even with a reservation I would've felt pretty stupid. It's not that I want to come off as a know it all when it comes to restaurants, but I have worked in them, and really appreciate how hard the staff works. I want to respect them and honor them by having the meal the way they would themselves. So no tasting menu for us.

First course - I ordered the sweetbreads having never had them before, I figured, hey, if you're going to eat offal for the first time, might as well have them by someone who knows damn well how to cook them. Honey got the foie gras - he's a foie gras fanatic from way back - one of the reasons I married him.

My sweetbreads were a taste of heaven. A huge slab of them rested on parsnip puree with a Sauterne sauce. The sweetbreads were equal parts earthy, nutty, redolent of the earth with a pleasant, not overpowering gaminess. I've had liver and kidney and heart - not prepared great or anything, and have often found the flavor just too strong. This was anything but. The organ meat taste was soft like a pillow and the sauce provided a sweet wine background to the flavor. The parsnip puree was a perfect foil. Mashed potatoes but a step up.

I got exactly one bite of husband's foie gras - he wouldn't let me have more. Served alongside a bing cherry sauce and hazlenut puree. Pure genius. The two "sides" added a sweet dimension to the foie gras, making it almost like a dessert from the earth. And the foie gras portion was huge, as it should be. Too often you order it, pay through the teeth, only to get a skimpy poorly-prepared version of this misunderstood item. This was a slab, perfectly perfectly cooked. It didn't just dissolve in my mouth, it almost didn't exist there. So buttery and flavorful of the earth with that tart aftertaste of cherries followed by the sweet nuttiness of hazlenuts. Follow that up with a sip of the Geveray Chambertin and you've got the most perfect sublime mouthful possible. My husband agreed it was the best preparation of foie gras he had EVER tasted in his life. We still talk about it.

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Petrus. Pre-dinner drinks.

So, FINALLY, I've sat down and actually plotted out the design and architecture of what was easily the best meal of my life. As previously described, hubby and I went to Petrus in London back in June, before it became Marcus Wareing at the Berkeley, (pictured) not knowing it had just been named, "The Best Restaurant in London."

We took a cab over which is an experience in itself - I've taken London cabs before here in the States and still wonder why more companies don't use them - they're so easy to get in and out of! Particularly when you've had an 8-course meal with a pre-dinner cocktail, pre-dinner champagne, plus wine (wink wink). And the little fold-down seats are adorable.

Anyway, we arrived early for a drink. As we sat in the lounge and perused the 10+ page cocktail menu, we could tell immediately that things here were just a bit different. Remember that Sesame Street song? "One of these things is not like the others..." well, it was kind of like that. We felt ever so slightly out of place. Now both of us were dressed to the nines mind you, but still, the whole vibe here just DRIPPED wealth. These people weren't just rich. They were wealthy. At ease with themselves and their lush surroundings. They were used to this stuff. Meanwhile, my hubby and I had, "We're trying too hard! We're dumb American tourists!" emblazoned in Sharpie pen across our foreheads. Even the young female escort hanging all over two rich old farts in the corner seemed more at home in this place than us. And that's saying something because you could tell she hadn't been invited. She was purchased. She was ol' "Escort #9" with a bullet.

It didn't help that the cocktail waitress came over and said, ever so curtly, "May I HELP you? Are you LOOKING for SOMETHING?" At that moment, I was so grateful for my sweet but inwardly evil, brassy southern upbringing, as well as my training with Chatham alums. In a voice that dripped with honey (and hopefully was not trying too hard) I stated, "Why yes, we're here for a dinner reservation and would like to get a drink."

Her whole face changed. I guess the magic word was "reservation" because not only did she swing into action, but three or four other hostesses came back frequently from then on to check and see if we were all right. Now THAT is more like it! We were showered with fancy cocktail nibbles and the hostess offered to walk us over to the restaurant when we were ready to go. And of course the drinks would be added to our dinner bill. No fuss, no muss. I could get used to this.

My cocktail, simply put, was stupendous. Tall glass, crushed ice, two straws, and god knows what else. That night is such a blur that I have absolutely no recollection of what I ordered. And I can't even go back and check. Their drink menu used to be online, but no more, as explained in my previous post. In any case, it tasted of citrus and herbs and just a slight spice from either ginger or cardamom. And it completely kicked my ass. By the time our reservation was at hand, I was doing one of those walks in tottering heels where you hope that no one notices you probably just did 6 tequila shots. But I wasn't too far gone to make an UTTER fool of myself. Just tipsy enough to be sassy at a party, not the embarrassing lush in the corner with her eye makeup half down her face.

You see, I had fasted for most of that day. My tummy can't take all the rich foods it used to, so in preparation I had taken two Prilosec, eaten lots of fruit, swilled gallons of water, and had only eaten a ginger digestive with some tea before heading off for our 10:45pm reservation. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it. At 10:35 that evening, I was drunk, hungry, feeling blissfully happy, and walking with a strut, playing at being wealthy as the hostess escorted both of us across the lobby to our reservation. I felt like a million bucks, and we were headed to what we knew would be the meal of our lives. Does it get any better than this? I think not.

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Petrus.

So while in London, I had probably the greatest meal of my entire frikkin' life at Petrus. A 2-Michelin-starred-Gordon Ramsay establishment right in the heart of either Mayfair, Knightsbridge, or Chelsea depending on what map book you follow. It's located within The Berkeley Hotel.

What's weird is that while researching the links for this story, I learned it won't be a "Gordon Ramsay Holding" for long (which I bet is why our old "eff-bomb" master looks so worried. Notice whose face is on the website? Not Marcus Wareing from the looks of it, too many crags! No, it's GORDON, and the website says that Petrus will be closing September 9, moving to a new location in early 2009.

What the Petrus website doesn't tell you is that Gordon's spectacular young protege was just named as London's "Top Chef" and his restaurant, "The Best in London." No longer Petrus, it will now be renamed Marcus Wareing at the Berkeley. Evidently, Gordon and Marcus have come to a not-so-nice parting of the ways, and Marcus has ended up on top. Too many TV shows Gordon? Click here for the story.

So basically, I am not alone in thinking that our dinner at Petrus was incredible. It was. And I knew it would be from the beginning. Not only did I have to make reservations a month in advance, but the only one available was for 10:45pm on a Monday night. "I'll take it!" I exclaimed, I know, way too enthusiastically in my boorish American way. As foodies, my husband and I were just so thrilled to have the experience of a 2-Michelin star place - and the thought we might run into Gordon, our favorite angry celebrity chef, was just icing on the cake.

Now I feel like I didn't give Marcus nearly the credit he deserved while we ate there. Yes, we had reserved because of the stars and Gordon's name, but secretly all along, it was Marcus behind the scenes giving us the meal of our lives. Good going dude. You deserve every accolade, and I'm sorry for the oversight. Gordon who?

I wonder what happens with Jean-Phillipe though? Oddly enough, he was *working* and working hard, late on a Monday night, the night we dined (more on that tomorrow). I hope Gordon is at least giving him a great compensation package, although I bet ol' JP won't be leaving Gordon's grasp just yet...

(Stay tuned to tomorrow's episode for a course-by-course rundown of the place. I swoon just to think of it.....)

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