The Ledbury - London, England

They say that lunch is the inferior meal of fine dining. Then again, “they” are usually the same SMH’ers that throw shade on British food, and once again they are wrong. Though The Ledbury may be more casual by day, their flavors are anything but.

I often enjoy the amuse bouches even more than the apps. I love the sneak preview of all that is to come, and the momentary mouthful allows a glimpse into the fleeting whims of a beautiful mind. 

If these amuse bouches are any indication, this meal is going to change my life. Our first is an seaweed crisp with a dollop of Smoked Mussel Cream. The mussel sits heavy like a thick dewdrop of pate, with a texture that washes over like waves of silk. The smoke infuses the senses, a smoldering coal from deep within. 

Next is a Guinea Fowl Pate Puff, airy pastry layered like centuries of sandstone, housing a bold burst of liver cream. The final, not-photographed delight features a succulent crab paste with tiny shrimp that pack a punch both sweet and powerful.

Even bread is unforgettable. This Sourdough uses a bold starter, and there is that fermented flavor that finishes with a tang. A soothing goat whey is dotted with molasses, a dashing concoction that gives it a perky boost.

The Fresh Hazelnuts starts like a mere salad, but it sneaks into a whole new memory. The noisettes make their expectedly nutty noise, highlighted by summer peaches and green beans that blow me away. I truly do not know what they doing to their beans here, but London  has the best green beans in the world. I’ve never enjoyed green beans like I have in London, and I doubt I ever will. This salad smells and tastes of sunkissed summer, touched by dew, and buried within the warmth, there are glimpses of savor as duck liver gratings peek through.

The Veal Tartare is a primal pile. The taste is so pure, so raw. The fine bits of baby beef have amped up their game, and the rich sauce awakens something wild.

The silky roasted artichoke is just divine, a tangy finish that takes a dip in a mozzarella lake. As if the tartare isn’t already a crazy dream, a side of beef fat becomes one with a crusty chunk of toast.

I can barely bring myself to cut into the Native Lobster. Its beauty is too much to mar, and I grow concerned when I see the thick scales of shiitake on top. I fear the assertive fungi will overexert their influence over the fragile flavors of lobster. But this combination doesn’t sink; it swims in a lake of lemon velvet, and the shiitake adds balance to a smooth-sailing lobster sea.

The Belted Galloway Beef is a risk worth taking. It is a dish for two so we can’t hedge our bets on separate entrees. It’s my best gamble yet, and the payoff is huge. I may never know a risk more worth taking. The tender cut of filet bleeds bright blood into layers of onion seared tender, and a coin of bone marrow buys another complex layer of melting bliss. Yet the unyielding, unforgiving, easy-to-bland, quick-to-dry cube of short rib becomes the highlight of the dish, of the meal, perhaps of my entire time in London. This preparation highlights and solidifies the rich marbling of fat, as it weaves a web through every glistening crevice of meat. Each bite shreds under the mere flick of a fork.

Pre-dessert preps the palate with a cleansing Passion Fruit Mousse. The dairy is made bold and bright by a more tangy fruit, and it re-awakens the sleepy sugar taste buds, previously overwhelmed by the intensity of the short rib.

A lightly-fried Donut completes the cleanse. A light shell houses a doughy middle that flicks off sugar sprites as you bite.

The real dessert follows, first this work-of-art Raspberry Tart in light-catching crimson and gold. Raspberries release their juice into a light cream and a crunchy crust, playing peekaboo with scoops of dense sorbet. 

The Brown Sugar Tart is a sugar-crust on a block of roasted sugar. This custard is smooth with a breeze of burnt, and it meshes with the bitter finish of ginger ice cream. It’s a colder shock, the ice cream, a dash of breezy, spicy burn to counter all that sugar and cream. The line of sweet grapes add a juicy, jammy accent to finish the flavors off.

Post-desserts come quick, right when we feel too full to move. The Juniper Caramel Stick is crisp and refreshing, a digestif that tastes like a sappy tree with floaty notes of pine.

There are also Chocolate Truffles, not uncommon and not unexpected, but the creamy center is expectedly divine.

If this is lunch, I MUST return for dinner. The Ledbury is among the best meals I’ve had in London, and it ranks among my top ten ever. The creativity is astounding, and its execution is exquisite and unparalleled. The Ledbury is in a league of its own, a unique experience I will not soon forget.

BFF Trip 2018 - London, UK - Day 4

The Tower of London is our send-off before our side-trip, and it is magnificent. The White Tower was skyscraper of its time, and the turrets loom imposingly. 

Aside from housing prisoners of high rank, the tower was reserved for royal guests. The lodgings were luxurious, a show of English power and wealth. 

Alas, it's only remembered for the executions, a process that started by boat, through the Traitors Gate.

To the Bloody Tower, with its mystery of the princes, and beneath a bizarre but heavy-hearted memorial to the women beheaded on the tower green.

The Crown Jewels are a breathtaking relief from all the heavy history, and they alone are worth the price of admission. No photos allowed, but it's not a site you'll soon forget. 

Outside, you see Tower Bridge, London's Golden Gate, a working, functioning piece of history. It's living proof of an age when things were built to last. 

Even the graffiti was better quality back then, though I suppose the prisoners had no TVs to distract them. 

The Tower is a morning well-spent. We move onward to the Ledbury for lunch, and after that our journey to Paris begins. 

St. John Bread & Wine - London, UK

There is an old-school vibe at St. John, and it saturates the senses. It’s hardly the surround-sound of stuffy old men, it’s more like self-assurance, an expression of confidence and class that only comes with experience and time. 

Their menu is the kind of old-school that doesn’t age, a collection of classics with creativity that appeal to all ages. 

The Duck Liver and Foie Gras Toast is a buttery spread of fat and bile that glides a glassy surface across the crags of crusty brown toast. The foie is bright-eyed and fresh, but the bread suggests an ancientness to the recipe, a loaf that has been shaped by the hands of generations of bakers, baked a million times. 

I’ve been warned that British cuisine is meat-heavy, but they don’t neglect their vegetables here. The White Cabbage, Brown Shrimp and Cervil is a crisp salad of garden-fresh sort-of slaw that flies on the wings of an herby cervil. The tiny brown shrimp add an overarching sea-sweet succulence that permeates every crevice of the cabbage.

Fennel and Berkswell carry the vegetables well, an earthy shroud of fennel tastes like a Monet meadow, unveiling a milky, firm curds-n-wheyish cheese beneath. It’s like digging for gold and finding it in a golden-brown cheese-crust.

The smaller mussels of the Mussels, Cider and Dill are pockets of flavor-burst ocean and brine. Every bite is slightly, beautifully brackish and releases a deluge of cider-laced juice. The remaining broth makes short work of a basket of standout sourdough.

A green salad provides a bitter canopy to coax the tender notes from thin slices of Beef Heart in balsamic. The vinegar uplifts a heavy heart, giving it an exalted place among the best bobby beans I’ve ever had. Pickled walnuts lurk in waiting, concealed beneath the tender leaves. The texture is almost fleshy, but the finish is sweeter as the dry nuttiness is lost in the moist pickle. They almost take on the texture of chestnuts this way, and I no longer want walnuts any other way. 

The Deviled Lamb Kidneys are indescribable. The signature game of lamb is not lost, but the commonly rubbery texture is transformed. The sauce is heavy and dark with an uplift of salivating spice from the flash and bang of chili pepper. The saturating sauce seeps into the toast for the most delectable bits of soggy bread.

The transition to dessert is less abrupt in a more-salty-than-sweet Treacle Tart. This after-dinner delight is hardly a British novelty, but for me it is a new and instant love. This sticky, toffee-textured slice of salted honey has layers of flavors, a depth and dynamic that gives each bite a different angle.

The Madeleines follow as the conclusive end to an experience even Bourdain couldn’t forget. They take at least 15 minutes to make, and they disappear within seconds, as if they had never existed at all. These floaty shells dissolve faster than a wanting tongue can perceive, in a flurry of butter, sugar, and air.

Whoever said that the food in London is lacking...is an idiot. St. John is living proof that British food can be most brilliant, and I am so enamored I fear the remainder of my trip will only be disappointment. My head full of wanderlust wants to experience something new, but St. John has won my heart with the old, and all I can think of is how to get back there again.