Expectations Management

Hooked up with the Eton girls for dinner last night at Bob Bob Ricard. I've been reading about it for a couple of months now and was actually pretty excited about going. Reviews started out negative but recently got better and so I thought the time was nigh to pop on over.

5 cocktails, 3 sides (one actually a dish but priced as a side, so it stands), 4 mains, 2 bottles of wine, 2 hours and £260 later, I left thinking I probably wouldn't go back. Nothing was wrong per se, it just wasn't right. We arrived early for the table and were shown to the members bar for cocktails which were absolutely commendable. At £10 a short drink though, they almost had to be. The members bar was a basement affair and pretty enough. I liked the way there was space for bags under the tables, although I suspect that may have been down to interpretation as opposed to design.

Dinner was taken in the main restaurant, which lived up to reviews to a T. The decor was lovely, reminiscent of the Orient Express (where is Poirot when you need him?). The menu was haphazard (on page 2, a cold favourite of "Mini Magoo's 100% Organic Muesli" and on page 3 "30g Caviar Blinis, Sour Cream") but conceptually successful. More successful than sides of cold Scotched Quails Eggs and runny Mac & Cheese. Warning bells did go off when our amicable waitress asked each of us if we would want a side with our orders, all of which sounded like the were going to be hot and heavy. This was clearly a place where bills ratcheted up.

Mains were a mixed bag. A-Dub of A-Dub AWL fame loved the booties on her chicken kiev, and the sweet corn mash she got with it was a dieticians nightmare but delicious (as these things always are). I've never seen booties, by which I mean the paper cuffs I normally asosciate with lamb chops, on chicken kiev before, so I was fairly sceptical from across the table. Still, that mash would have healed most wounds. Vee went for the steak and received what appeared to be a fillet on the bone. She'd been precise in how she wanted in done ("medium. That's only a little pink") and sadly received it rare. That's entirely pink, closer to scarlet, really. Di (not the Princess, but close) opted for salmon and a side salad, which appeared to be a fairly straight forward affair. Then again, everything I've seen and heard has supported what Anthony Bourdain had to say about chicken and salmon in restaurants. They'd best get it right! My own choice was actually tasty but dissapointing. A hefty slice of Halibut browned in butter on beurre blanc came with overcooked wild mushrooms. Nothing wrong with it but it stabbed the heart of my personal adage "If I can make it just as well, I don't want to pay for someone else to".

Dessert was an "ooh!! Cake!" moment. Di and I decided to share the platter of cakes that, even now, I hold a sneaking suspicion may have come from Waitrose. Now that Maison Blanc are pre-packaging and distributing from Waitrose, I'm suspicious of miniature cakes on a plate.

All in, nothing was wrong with dinner. It just wasn't £65 right. I know people who pay less for an orgasm, and I'd have liked at least that for the money.