Paladino. 23rd Feb. 2002, 7.20 p.m.


Waitership: Helpful but unintelligent.
Upholstery: Resplendent in monogrammed satin dress.
Tablecloths: Yes. Hazelnut.
Lighting: Austere, beguiling.
Glasses: Shapely and convivial.
Cutlery: Forks repose with prongs against the table. An emphatically European gesture?
Menu writing: Rife with subtle metonymy and royalist pretension; to wit: pieces of meat were “crowned”, desserts sat atop a “moat” of chocolate.

Amuse-bouche: Salmon and tuna mousse. Mulchy and dishearteningly buttery, but otherwise insipid. Recycled-paper-pulp would be a useful comparison.
Appetizer: Soft fritter of artichoke and mozzarella, tomato salsa, rocket salad. The salad was not rocket. The rest was what it said it was – and perhaps a bit less.
Palate-cleanser: Lemon sorbet. Of exceptional resilience and appropriate frigidity. Presumably the egg whites were fervently flagellated.
Main course: Marjoram flavoured pappardelle in duck ragu. Noodles were of especially slender girth, but otherwise sound. Disagreeably sticky and combatively salty.
Dessert: Distinctive Autumn pear cake with the unusual addition of chocolate and roasted almonds. Was neither distinctive nor a cake. Unusual only in its petite proportions. Tart (for this was what it was) pastry was crumbly and did not cleave cleanly.

A vast, vainglorious spectacle emblazoned with shimmering promise; lots to see but precious little to taste.