The Fat Duck

Bray is a magical little village, its streets framed by tall trees dripping with ivy and peppered with wildflowers taller than yours truly, populated by tiny bunnies as small as your hand and giant rabbits as large as your torso, and home to people one might think are Lillipudlian judging by the diminutive size of the miniature doorways. Where better for the great magician of food, the whimsical, imaginative, playful and beguiling Master of Edible Theatrics, Heston Blumenthal, to set up his little shop of delights, The Fat Duck.

Coming to this triple Michelin-starred restaurant has long been a dream of mine, with its signature liquid nitrogen-dipped bacon and egg ice cream and edible candy in edible wrappers (neither of which is vegan, but which are awe-inspiring nonetheless). Heston’s marriage of gastronomy and science makes my nerdy Chemistry-loving bones tingle with excitement and squeal with delight. The restaurant is as humble as the easily overlooked Bray High Street: a plain white cottage with only its signature logo, three simple wrought iron utensils hanging from above, a secret signal to foodie pilgrims coming to Bray from far and wide, distinguishing it from the identical ordinary cottages lining the street.

We ducked inside from the drizzle and were welcomed into a surprisingly light, airy space lined with blue and yellow paintings. The staff immediately made us feel welcome with a friendly smile and a glass of champagne. I had the Delamotte Rose, while the hubby went for the Taittinger Brut. The rose was refreshingly crisp and acidic with a good depth of flavour. As we sipped the bubbly and nibbled on the olives, we peeked at the swirls of evaporating liquid nitrogen rising up from other tables and held our breath in anticipation. As it's a set menu, we knew our turn would come soon.

Set menus are usually impossible for veg(an) diners, but Heston is much more considerate than some chefs (ahem Gordon Ramsay) and adjusts the menu accordingly.  We booked the restaurant months earlier, as the Fat Duck has a rolling schedule; reservations open at 10 am two months to the day prior to the booking which means, particularly for weekends, pressing re-dial on two phones simultaneously until you hear a real ring, then listening to a charming reading of childrens' literature with bated breath and fingers crossed, hoping space is still available. The reservations staff was very polite and accommodating when I mentioned my vegan dietary restrictions, promptly sending the information to the kitchen staff and confirming again before our arrival. When the waiter arrived with our menus, he politely informed me that my food would be different and proceeded to thank me profusely for giving the kitchen advanced warning. This took me aback- mentioning my diet early was the only way I could expect a good vegan meal with a 12-course lunch! Apparently some people are less considerate and expect a full vegan meal with no warning whatsoever.

I read through the menu, trying to imagine what would replace the salmon, pigeon and snail porridge. The hubby meanwhile stared at his menu quizzically, wondering how a Michelin-starred restaurant could overlook a backwards menu, starting with the dessert and ending with the palette cleanser. The waiter returned and with a magician's touch and a twinkle in his eye, gave the menu a shake and a tap and viola! Fixed!

This playful touch set the tone for the afternoon. We realised at this point that a meal at the Fat Duck is not merely a meal: it's dinner theatre, with the food as the main cast and the staff as the emcee. It reminded me of Jaques Torres' lively TV show, Dessert Circus, where he throws chocolate to the audience and conjures up sugary theatrics. It's a completely different atmosphere from other posh restaurants. There's no snobbery here; no one looks down on you for asking rudimentary questions about the wine or food, they only hope you enjoy your time. Knowing this meal can be a once-in-a-lifetime experience, they even provide you with a showbill- a copy of the day's menu secured with the Fat Duck seal in hot wax.

The meal began with gorgeous bread and fruity olive oil for me, while the hubby savoured fresh churned herb-infused butter - he usually dislikes dairy so this must have been quite special. Meanwhile we ordered wine. We decided to go for a wine tasting menu each, trying the lowest and second-lowest range since the two of us aren't exactly connoisseurs. Rest assured even the cheapest tasting menu is lovely. Being a gentleman, the hubby took the lower range, giving me the more expensive wines- these are written first below each dish.

The long-awaited liquid nitrogen dish came: Lime Grove, Nitro Poached Green Tea and Lime Mousse. Unfortunately the base is egg white and cannot be veganised. Double checking the eggs were free range, I tried it as well. The egg white ball was lowered into the liquid nitrogen then dusted with a mix of powdered matcha (green tea) and lime zest to cleanse the palette and stimulate the taste buds. The delicate shell melted and spread throughout my mouth, followed by the delicate matcha taste and rounded off with a citrus tinge that, true to form, made my mouth water.

The next palette cleanser was Red Cabbage Gazpacho with Pommery Grain Mustard Granita. The only vegan modification here was granita rather than ice cream. Cool and slightly sweet with a subtle twinge of spice from the mustard, this dish was delicious and refreshing.

We were treated to another dose of liquid nitrogen (always a hit with me) in the next dish, but its role was not to change the texture or flavour of the food - it was to enhance the smell. As anyone who has had a cold knows, smell and taste are remarkably connected. In order to bring an earthy feel to this course, Jelly of Smoked Mushroom and Pea Sorbet with Oak Moss and Truffle Toast, Heston's henchmen went as far as to dig up a patch of earth and bring it to our table. Resting on the moss were two small plastic holders with what seemed to be Listerine Pocket Strips inside. This thin film dissolved on the tongue to release the taste of damp forest, further developed by the smell carried across as liquid nitrogen was poured over the soil. The clouds of vapour swirled out to the edges of the table, bringing an ethereal feel to the course and an earthy smell to the nose.

The flavours that followed were divine. On the thin multigrain seed-filled cracker was a mound of fresh, subtle truffles and chives, garnished with thin slices of radish. In a little nook was smoked mushroom gelee with a tiny pyramid of frozen skinned peas. The fullness of taste and the earthiness from the mushroom gelee were phenomenal. If one could eat that gorgeous dewy, musty smell in a deciduous forest, this would be its taste.

(Sidenote: the hubby had the same toast, but with Jelly of Quail, Crayfish Cream and Chicken Liver Parfait. He preferred mine.)

[First wine to come: 2008 Gruner Veltliner, Kamptaler Terrasen (Austria) and 2002 Peter Lehmann, Riesling Reserve (South Australia). Both had a full taste and good crispness, though I preferred the Austrian.]


While the hubby experienced Heston's famous Snail Porridge, I was treated to Pea Porridge with Shaved Fennel. Garnished with tasty micro-coriander, the fennel was soft in texture and taste and the pea soup was flavourful, but not particularly noteworthy.

[Second wines: 2006 Collio Bianco, Klin, Primosic (Italy) and 2007 Grauer Burgunder, Burkheimer Schlossgarten (Germany). I preferred the Italian though the hubby liked his German wine.]


For many courses, Heston decided to create vegan alternatives that resembled the meat dishes in appearance if not flavour, making them virtually indistinguishable. Mirroring the hubby's Roast Foie Gras with Rhubarb, Braised Konbu and Crab Biscuit (second picture below) was my Roasted Aubergine with Aubergine Puree and Braised Konbu (first picture below). Aubergine can be heavenly when roasted, turning soft and sweet and melting in the mouth. Unfortunately that lushness wasn't reached here. The aubergine puree had gorgeous smoky flavours, but the piece of aubergine itself was too solid and the taste relied on the konbu for depth to the extent that I was rationing out the thin square of seaweed as I ate. The highlight of the dish were the thin flaky crackers in between. When vegan-ising food you win some and lose some, and unfortunately the aubergine was not strong enough to stand alone in place of foie gras.

[Third wines: 1990 Ockfener Bockstein Riesling Auslese, Mosel (Germany) and 2008 Vouvray, Abbaye de Marbouttier, Vigneau-Chevreau (France). Despite reassurances from the sommelier that the Riesling wasn't too sweet, it was too much for my taste - but I'm not a Riesling kind of gal. The French wine was more well-balanced and went well with the food.]

Then came another little bit of magic. Anyone who's seen Heston's recent TV show will know how whimsical his imagination is. We were transported to another world, a miniature scene found down the rabbit hole and through the looking glass. We were invited to the Mad Hatter's Tea Party. It began with the White Rabbit's gold pocketwatch, which disintegrated in the hubby's tea as it was swirled around. (Apparently this bit of magic isn't vegan, so my gold came pre-mixed with the tea.) This speckled tea was poured onto a glossy toadstool-like mound, the kind of toadstool upon which I could imagine the Caterpillar sitting and smoking his Hookah. Instead of a caterpillar, this mound had three miniscule mushrooms poking out from the top - toadstools growing one on top of another. How that was made boggles the mind.

On the side was a garden of microherbs sprinkled over a cube of layered beetroot and possibly parsnip. The cube fell apart layer by layer, so the flavours did not mix properly. The star of the show was the umami-tastic tea, a vaguely mushroomy broth that filled the mouth to the corners of the tongue. In the dinner-theatre, this dish was fantastically imaginative theatre.


A perfect amalgamation of imagination, taste, texture and indeed all of the senses came through in the next dish, Sound of the Sea. It began with a little iPod shuffle hiding inside a conch shell with headphones emerging from the top. Putting on the headphones, we were transported to the seashore with crashing waves and cawing gulls. Combined with the blue and yellow accents in the room, the realistic recording truly relaxed us. The plate arrived suspended over a bed of sand, but much more intriguing were the sand and sea on the plate itself. We were presented with an edible seashore with foamy waves crashing onto gritty sand. The only comparable experience I've had to eating the sand is an Indian sweet called Soan Papdi, with a gritty texture that dissolves quickly in your mouth. This sand had none of that sweetness, but had an incredibly realistic texture that lasted just seconds before melting into nothingness. The texture stole so much of my attention that other than its savoury nature, I had no clearer opinion on its taste at the last bite than the first. The foam was also delightful, infused with a salty sea-like flavour using seaweed and agitated into such a light, airy foam that it, too, disappeared after just seconds in my mouth, making me crave more of that elusive taste.

The only disappointing part of the dish were the rocks in the middle. The hubby's dish had fish, whose taste melded perfectly with the sea-and-sand theme. I don't know if Heston ran out of substantial vegetarian options, but he made the strange decision to substitute the fish with mushrooms - again. If the taste fit, I would have no problem with this as I do love mushrooms. The earthiness of the mushrooms, however, felt incongruous with the breezy sea. A saltier centerpiece, possibly using seaweed or capers, would incorporate more seamlessly into the dish. Despite this distraction, this dish was still my favourite in the entire meal, the highlight I always cite when asked about the Fat Duck.

[Fourth wine: not a wine at all. DaiGinjo Masumi Nanago Sake, Miyasaka Brewery (Japan). Strong flavour, a bit too sweet for me for the dish but lovely as Sake goes.]


Next came a beautifully artistic bowl of Cauliflower Risotto with Carpaccio of Cauliflower and Chocolate Jelly. I recently read Heston's column in the Guardian where he discusses the plight of the cauliflower as an ignored and underappreciated vegetable. The delicacy with which he approached this dish reveals a tender hand and a true desire to let the vegetable be the star, rather than a mere replacement for meat. Notably, this dish was the most different from the meat alternative, which also shows it is meant to stand on its own. A small mound of cauliflower risotto was bathed in cauliflower foam and dusted with cacao powder. Perched on top was subtly flavoured dark chocolate jelly out of which coral-like tangles of dried cauliflower shavings emerged. The chocolate was somehow not sweet but not very bitter, leaving just a mild chocolate taste on the tongue. The two flavours worked surprisingly well together, and while the carpaccio was somewhat of a novelty item, the textures of jelly and foam accentuated the delicacy of the dish. The dark chocolate was also complimented by the smooth wine.


The hubby's Salmon Poached in Liquorice with Asparagus, Vanilla Mayonnaise, Golden Trout Roe and Manni Olive Oil.

[Fifth wine: 2000 Quinta da Leda, Casa Ferreirinha (Portugal). Lovely, not attention-seeking yet full and smooth.]

The final main dish was Vegetarian Bone Marrow with a Tea & Marmite Broth and Horseradish Royale. Once again, the broth stole the show in this dish. The 'bone marrow' was slightly mushy and uninspiring. The grilled artichoke and baby white radish were nice, but it was the tea and marmite broth, another umami-filled infusion, that kept me eating- or slurping- my way through this dish.

[Sixth wine: 2004 Amarone Della Valpolicella Classico, Tommaso Bussola (Italy) and 2004 Val di Cornia Suvereto, Olpaio, Rubbia al Colle (Italy). Two more lovely reds.]

Before dessert, we were served a final palette cleanser of Hot & Iced Tea, another surprising touch guided by science with mouth-boggling results. Hot tea is less dense than cold tea, so when poured carefully it can sit on top without mixing - similar to the concept of hot air rising. The result is an astonishing blend of what seems to be two distinct drinks with very distinct mouth-feels. Compared to the light hot tea, the cold tea seemed almost jelly-like with its cold viscosity. The two tastes mixed in my mouth, confusing my sense of taste and texture- surely these can't both be liquids, with the same ingredients? This was definitely a unique and delightful experience.

Finally, it was time for dessert. Being vegan I rarely eat desserts and was tingling with anticipation. The first (yes first- dessert spanned multiple courses!) dessert was Rhubarb with Crystallized Coconut & Rhubarb Sorbet. I've only had rhubarb mixed with strawberry and never knew its individual taste before this - tangy, almost citrusy, and very sweet... though I'm sure that's the added sugar. The gorgeous coconut dollops gave substance and depth to the light (to be honest, somewhat boring) rhubarb jelly.

My favourite part of the dessert was the trail of coconut on the side topped with a quenelle of sorbet (yes, I've been watching lots of Food Network - currently Iron Chef's Battle Eggplant which is refreshingly veg-friendly, but I digress). The crystallized coconut was gorgeously caramelized with that almost smoky  toasted coconut flavour, the sorbet was tangy and bright, and the thin slice of candied rhubarb was absolutely divine as it melted in my mouth.

[Seventh wine: 2005 Arbois, Vin de Paille, Jacques Puffeney (France) and 2008 Jurancon, Uroulat, Charles Hours (France). I honestly can't remember how these wines tasted.]

Finally came the cherry on top: the chocolate dessert. The hubby got the "BFG" Black Forest Gateau (pictured above), and I expected a less exciting vegan version. Instead, I was treated to Chocolate Delice, a shiny glazed dark chocolate shell hiding an almost stomach-churningly rich dark chocolate mousse inside. A weaker constitution may shy away after two bites, but I enjoyed every bitter-sweet bite.

[Eighth wine: 2008 Alella, Doc Mataro, Alta Alella (Spain). A sweet wine, which unfortunately means my opinion is immediately biased against it.]


One might expect the meal to be finished at this point, but one would be mistaken. The hubby was offered an unusual apertif: Whisk(e)y Wine Gums featuring whiskey from across Scotland and the obligatory Jack Daniels. A playful interpretation of non-alcoholic children's sweets, these wine gums apparently carried the strong, distinct taste of each whiskey within.

Full and happy, we were given one last treat to round off the fanciful feast: a  pink-and-white striped take-home bag with sweet shop goodies for an added punch of nostalgia and trickery. Why trickery? The contents included Coconut Baccy, channelling the look (and smell?) of chewing tobacco, Aerated Chocolate with Mandarin Jelly with the wonderfully light, bubbly feel of popping candy, Apple Pie Caramel with an Edible Wrapper (non-vegan, probably gelatin wrapper) and The Queen of Hearts, a non-vegan white chocolate creation printed to look (and feel) exactly like a thick playing card and filled with a thin smear of strawberry jam. The hubby said these were both just as delicious as they sounded.

The entire afternoon was a fascinating sensory experience, a once in a lifetime feast of devilish and divine creations. The meal had our taste buds tingling and savouring, awash in umami; our noses scrambling to identify every varied scent; our eyes blinking in confusion, surprise and delight; our ears wooed with calming sounds and jumping at pops; and our fingers and tongues marveling at unexpected textures.

Once upon a time it was the Junk Wagon driver or the Carnival man or the owner of Ye Olde Curiosity Shoppe that brought magic into children's lives. Now, in our cynical world, it's comforting to know that even adults can still be surprised, beguiled and enchanted by a funny little man, the unassumingly fantastic Heston Blumenthal.