Just how bad can a free "romantic gourmet food and wine" experience get? Read this and weep...
Freebies are great - who can argue with that? Last month, I went to a free comedy show put on by the US stand-up Lewis Schaffer, whose catchphrase is: "It's free so what have you got to lose?" To which, after a surreally shambolic experience at Vinopolis on Valentine's Day, I guess I would answer: "Well, a whole afternoon of my life."
Let me elaborate. In return for previewing a few of their Valentine's Day events, I was offered a complimentary pair of tickets to Vinopolis's Gourmet Food & Wine Tasting Experience on 14th February.
My partner and I hadn't planned anything for the big day and so we thought this "gourmet" food experience - a masterclass in which guests indulge in a "delicious four-course meal paired with a fabulous selection of wines" - would be a fun way to spend an hour or two on Sunday.
After hanging around the wine wharf's foyer for about 20 minutes we were finally ushered through - along with around 25 other couples - to have a glass of Prosecco before entering a vast, echoing conference hall, the setting of our "gourmet" adventure.
Our hosts for the experience (which was meant to last one-and-a-half-hours but actually dragged on for well over three) were Vinopolis's resident wine expert Tom Forrest and his ever-suffering sidekick Melanie Reeve. Tom, who told us proudly he used to be a chef before moving into oenology, dealt with everything food-related (plus dabbled in jokes and humour) while Melanie talked us through the four wines and one glass of rum we had been allocated.
Firstly, each of our five glasses contained but a trickle of Bacchus's fabled liquid - the amount that you would usually down in one when schmoozing at a party. By the time melancholic Melanie had covered the etiquette of tasting wine (swirling, sniffing, sucking, slurping) and the painstaking history of each vintage, there was nothing left in the glass to match up with our food, which kind of undermined the whole experience.
Unless you were sitting at one of the tables at the back, that is; there, the guests had been poured regular glasses of South African Semillon by the Eastern European server-cum-sommelier (who was comically chastised by Tom for being too generous).
The food and not the wine, it must be said, was the source of the event's most chronic problems. Don't get me wrong, despite the miserly portions, the (overly buttery) salmon terrine, strawberry sorbet amuse-bouche, venison casserole and marquis au chocolate with orange custard were all (on the whole) perfectly tasty - but dishes you would expect at a friend's dinner party, not something you would fork out £50 for in a "gourmet" restaurant.
Indeed, if ever there was a more wayward use of the word "gourmet", this was it. Alexandre Balthazar Laurent Grimod de La Reyniere, the original gourmand and celebrated "father of the table", would have turned in his epicurean grave.
My condolences go to Tom - his confidence must have taken a real battering out there - but the buck has to stop at him. He built up his culinary skills in front of an intimate audience of 50-odd people - but then spent the whole afternoon invariably apologising for the texture of the sorbet ("this isn't how I wanted it to be") or the warmth of the vanilla mashed potatoes ("someone must have turned the oven off") or the consistency of the stew ("it's not usually this thin").
All we needed was a swearing Gordon Ramsey to make this Kitchen Nightmare complete. What's more, there were just two servers (who themselves couldn't conceal their hysterics) - meaning that half of the room had finished their rapidly-cooling mains before the other half had even set eyes upon them. Then, excruciatingly, Tom had to cook two vegetarian mains "live" in front of our own eyes. You could hear a penny drop - and his heart almost stop.
Tom had clearly bitten off more than he could chew. Any lingering hope of having his own TV cookery show must have evaporated as quick as the first couple to walk out on the whole debacle (that's to say, rather quickly; she had, after all, spent most of the time either grimacing or looking for solace in her iPhone).
You see, not only did Tom put his cooking up on a pedestal, he also insisted on telling us just how he prepared each course - down to explaining, ad nauseum, the minutest of details such as how he chopped the red cabbage (with a knife, leaving out the hearts, since you ask).
To make matters worse, Tom and Melanie clearly despised each other. They had about as much chemistry as wine and beer (oh dear) and spent the entire duration bickering at each other and rolling their eyeballs back in dismay. It was, in short, like watching an episode of The Office - so cringe-worthy that you had to laugh. For a moment I even thought Vinopolis's weekly Saturday night comedy evening, the Laughter Lounge, had carried through to Sunday - and we were all part of an elaborately filmed TV prank.
We didn't stick around for our Nespresso to see how the whole thing panned out, choosing to follow the lead of two other couples and slip out the side door (not before the sound-system had failed, rendering poor Melanie hoarse while an IT man battled to mend the PA).
More than anything, we were pretty thirsty and in desperate need of a glass of wine and a bite - a sad indictment of the whole episode - so off we traipsed to the Globe pub on the Southbank, where we happily paid for two large glasses of white, which we paired (rather expertly if you ask me) with a bowl of olives.
Luckily, we saw the funny side. The three hours had been so snafu, it was impossible not to laugh it off. In fact, in terms of entertainment, it even gave Avatar a run for its money (and length). I just feel sorry for the guys who actually parted with £100 for two tickets to impress their loved-ones - for it was about as romantic as Saturday night in with Ashley and Cheryl Cole. Or Tom and Melanie, for that matter.
Boulud prepares for London arrival
Journalists (including yours truly) were treated to a special breakfast in a plush suite of the Mandarin Oriental Hyde Park this month in anticipation of the opening of chef Daniel Boulud's first UK restaurant this summer. The Lyon-born chef, whose New York restaurant 'Daniel' was recently honoured with Three Michelin Stars, attended the delicious buffet to talk about 'Bar Boulud', a charcuterie-centric bistro set to open in early June. In perfect English (but with a French accent oh-so easy on the ear) Daniel championed the famous terrines and pates of award-winning Parisian charcutier Gilles Verot, and explained how he insisted on his Knightsbridge street-level bistro having an open kitchen. 'Bar Boulud' is the start of a total culinary shake up at the Mandarin Oriental, which will later this year also become home to Heston Blumenthal's first London-based enterprise. Boulud & Blumenthal: talk about a dream team to whet the appetite. Tom Forrest, eat your red cabbage heart out.
Bailout for Beatles' landmark studios
The government this month proved that when it comes to bail-outs it doesn't just reserve its intervention for banks by stepping in to save Abbey Road, the recording studios made famous by the Beatles. Rumours that owners EMI were ready to sell the dated studios to property developers were put to sleep after it was announced that the Culture Minister Margaret Hodge had declared the iconic 1830s venue a Grade II listed historic building on the advice of English Heritage. The rescue of one of pop music's most famous shrines means the St John's Wood street in north London will continue to attract hordes of tourists eager to replicate the famous snap of John Lennon, Paul McCartney et al straddling a zebra crossing on Abbey Road.
Domin-gone
Opera titan Placido Domingo pulled out of five March performances at the Royal Opera House to undergo "preventative surgery" to help heal a stomach ailment. The withdrawal left the ROH in a bit of a dilemma for they had billed the Italian tenor's sell-out performances in Handel's 'Tamerlano' as Domingo's swansong on the famous Covent Garden stage. Kurt Streit, an American tenor, will fill Domingo's shoes but the ROH is making the rare decision to offer all ticket holders a 20 per cent credit note - a worthy gesture in our eyes. Domingo, a chronic workaholic who swears by the expression "if I rest, I rust", is expected to return to the ROH in June in Verdi's Simon Boccanegra.
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