There’s something about London on a summer’s evening; something magical. It’s the perfect time for romance.
So I took my favourite blonde out to dinner.
My gorgeous little sister works at The Cavendish Hotel and I (predictably) love the food. I’m also a big fan of her staff discount.
I met her after work, and feeling dog tired and starving hungry we settled down in the Petrichor restaurant and dived into the pre theatre menu. (Not that we were planning on going to the theatre. We just wanted to be in bed by 9pm. Because we’re super-duper cool.)
I was so happy when the waiter appeared with the bread basket and a selection of flavoured rape-seed oils that I think there may have been tears in my eyes. (I have an unhealthy obsession with their olive bread, and a [possibly quite foolish] rule of eating minimally before a meal I’m really excited about which has the unfortunate but unsurprising side-effect of making me a bit hysterical while waiting for the food to arrive. Poor Chlo.)
Chlo’s a big fan of vegetarian food, so we decided to order to share so we could try double the dishes. I was drawn to the asparagus tips with quails egg and truffle hollandaise sauce like a hungry little hollandaise-loving moth to a flame. Just. Look. At. It.
I can’t find the words to explain to you how good it was. I’ve been trying to put my food critic hat on and describe the subtlety of the taste, the creamy richness of the truffle hollandaise mixed with the sweetness of the “dehydrated grapes” (raisins, surely?), the cooked-to-perfection asparagus – but I’m salivating to the point of being tongue-tied.
And Chlo’s choice was just as delicious. Beetroot cannelloni, with creamed goat’s cheese, honey roasted walnuts, mascarpone cream, and an edible pansy flower to boot.
Looking at that beetroot cannelloni without being able to eat it is making me whimper. If you ever need to torture me for information without breaking the law, then I highly recommend you withhold snacks for a few hours and then show me food photography at dinner time.
After the starters our sharing plan temporarily failed, because we both wanted the spinach and goat’s cheese bake too much to entertain the idea of only eating half of one.
After thoroughly enjoying the first half I started to think that it was perhaps a tad too rich, and a smidge too salty. But I like rich. And I like salt. So it wasn’t in any way a deal breaker for me.
Sis and I knocked back some water to compensate (party animals!) and ordered something rather promisingly named a ‘chocolate avalanche’. And at this point, I need to apologise. Because the chocolate avalanche arrived in a perfect sphere of chocolate-y ganache-y wonderfulness. It was a thing of absolute beauty. It was perfect. And then the waiter asked if we’d like white chocolate sauce with it. This was obviously a mad question, and of course we would. And I should have taken a photo as he poured the sauce. Because the white sauce flowing over the chocolate sphere was exquisite. But mainly because, seconds later, this happened.
Which is exactly what was supposed to happen, from a taste perspective. The sauce softened the ganache enough for it to melt a little so we could more easily access the pistachio ice cream and honeycomb pieces nestled inside. The word ‘avalanche’ should have been a clue! But from a photography perspective, this was all a bit of a disaster.
Chlo however was not at all traumatised by my photography-based-failings, and was rolling up her sleeves and raring to go.