Naked Disappointment

When I first started crushing on the Food Network, the first celebrity chef I stalked was Jamie Oliver. The Naked Chef created dishes that made my foodie mouth water, while even my picky eater husband thought his recipes were keepers. Over the years, I have purchased all of his books, even going so far as to have my brother send me them from England so I didn’t have to wait a year for their American release. I bought his latest book, Jamie’s America, on the day it was released.

When Hubby said we would need to spend a few days in London on our way to Inverness, the first words out of my mouth were, “We’re going to Jamie’s Fifteen! Yay!” I’d love to say that I gave Hubby input into this dining choice but he knows about my Jamie obsession and knew that our 48 hours in London would require a visit to this celebrity chef’s flagship restaurant.

We reviewed the website ahead of time and decided that since this was a once in a lifetime chance to drool over Jamie, we would forgo the trattoria upstairs and book ourselves into the dining room in the basement. Although the only offering was a prix fixe tasting menu, we weren’t worried as each course came with several options. Moreover, when we made our reservations online, there was even a spot to include Hubby’s food allergies so that changes could be made in advance for his selections.

The tables were close together but since it was a Monday night, the noise level wasn’t such that we could hear other diner’s conversations. Despite being still slightly drunk from our adventures at a local pub near our hotel, we decided to order a bottle of wine to accompany our meal. We perused the menu and found that with the exception of dessert, there were plenty of options for Hubby to choose from.

The tasty amuse bouche combined the flavours of citrus and pomegranate. The themes of fresh seasonal flavours would be present for the entire meal.

Hubby was delighted with his starter of a salad of prosciutto with figs, honey, and pea shoots. He repeatedly mentioned that the unusual combination of flavours worked well and looked forward to trying it at home in the future. My salad of a “gooey” mozzarella with peaches, almonds, and salad leaves was less interesting. It looked promising both on the menu and the plate but I found the flavours boring and uninspired.

I wasn’t willing to give up on my boy Jamie so it was with great excitement that we awaited our next course. Hubby ordered pasta in pork ragu finished with a gremolata and olive oil. Unbeknownst to him, I tried several bites of this mouthwatering dish when he was in the washroom. I’m glad I did though as my selection was yet another bust. I was torn between ordering the risotto and the “rotolo di pasta ripieno” – rolled pasta with spinach and ricotta served in a roasted pepper broth. I was convinced to order the latter and was devastated by the lack of power behind the flavours. There wasn’t a single bite that made me believe that the man whose cookbooks I so frequently turned to could have developed this boring recipe.

Our meat course was next up. Hubby ordered lamb with beans and beet leaves in a rosemary and anchovy dressing. This would be the first time all evening that Hubby felt his meal didn’t hit the mark. My roast pork loin aubergine with Swiss chard, and pan juices, on the other hand, was my first opportunity to enjoy a flavorsome dish. I was willing to overlook the somewhat greasy texture of the meat since I was too busy enjoying the contrast of flavours on my plate.

Dessert was the biggest disappointment of the evening for me. It wasn’t the long wait for our final course that bothered me (I enjoy a leisurely meal and loathe being rushed out of a restaurant), but the fact that there wasn’t a single option on the menu that Hubby could enjoy. Remember, we had told them ahead of time both in writing and over the phone that he was lactose intolerant. When it came time to order our dessert, the waitress seemed surprised by our dilemma and had to work with the kitchen to come up with a suitable option.

The fresh fruit with a scoop of lemon sorbet that was finally presented was nice if uninspired. Although I’m not typically a fan of panna cotta, I took a chance and ordered the heather honey panna cotta with apricot, smashed Amoretti biscuit, and shortbread. I made my selection based on what I had seen presented to other tables and was pleasantly surprised by the light flavours. The dessert was tasty but again suffered from what I had dubbed “Jamie’s one note-itis.”

To say that my experience was a disappointment would be an understatement. The service from the generically interchangeable waitresses was cold yet flawless. The décor and general atmosphere, on the other hand, was warm without actually being welcoming. I desperately wanted to love this restaurant and find every bite blissfully flawless for no other reason than my love of the man whose name is on the door. Instead, I had an expensive meal that served to not only diminish Jamie Oliver in my eyes but also prove the adage that celebrity restaurants are more about hype than quality.