It’s finally here ladies and gentlemen!
After years of grimacing about having to fly across the
Atlantic Ocean to NYC for the experience of, in my opinion, one of the finest eateries
that the island of Manhattan has to offer- I can now enjoy refined French cuisine
slapped with some of that New Yorker brashness that makes you want to charge
around Wall St batting people out of the way with your copy of The Journal.
I present to you, my fine friends, Balthazar London.
Presumptuously sat on the corner of Russell Street, Balthazar
boasts an extensive list of the finest meats, wines and flavours from its North
American counterpart. Having run out of excuses as to how the London adaptation
wouldn’t quite measure up to my past experiences, I chucked on my Choo’s channelled
my inner Carrie Bradshaw, sprinted down New Bond St and attempted my best “Taxi!!”
Greeted by the same signature Red and Yellow mast head, your
first step into the restaurant sends you reeling back to the hustling New York equivalent.
Tables within Alexa Chung’s waist from each other, waiters doubling as circus
performers as they try to outdo one another in the choosy challenge of “who can stack it higher?", the tight
lipped hostess who smiles so patronizingly at you as you announce your
reservation- It was love at first sight.
Our charming maitre d’ was attentive and helpful with my date’s
culinary impairment [he was vegetarian- heartbreaking, I know!], so I decided
to leave the fate of my three course dinner in her hands. She recommended the
Cured Salmon Ballotine with lemon crème fraiche and watercress for starters.
Not the gutsiest dish on the menu, but it’s definitely a
good launching pad for this beast of a main course...
What seemed to be the summit of Mount Spaghetti with the
most succulent Lobster in a rich roasted tomato and basil sauce adorning its peak
sent my senses into over drive, as you can see...
Definitely a must order!
After a joint chorus of “I
can’t possibly consume another morsel”, the maitre d’ uttered my 8
favourite words:
“Would you like to see
the dessert menu?”
Devil.
In came the warm Apple Tart Tatin laced in butterscotch
sauce and vanilla ice-cream.
Although a tad more butterscotch would have
guaranteed my skipping out of the solid oak restaurant framed doors, we were
left fed and watered to a level of high satisfaction.
An affair to remember indeed...
