Come on Gordon, Give us a Show

Recently I found myself at Gordon Ramsay at the Ritz Carlton Powerscourt – is this the world’s longest restaurant title? – sampling, over a leisurely lunch, a selection of magnificent champagnes from the house of Roederer (though not, alas, the Cristal, beloved of Russki billionaires and Yankee rappers). Lunch was taken at the Chef’s Table in the kitchen where us guests eagerly expected pyrotechnics. Alas no. We were all gobsmacked by the total lack of theatre. The chefs pottered around doing their thing, there were no tantrums, no knife chucking, no “What are you? A f*ck*ng useless tosser!” Bummer. Come on Gordon, if you can’t turn up in person or clone yourself could you not train these boring bastards to put on a show? It was all rather like spending the afternoon at Croke Park watching a display by mime artists. Only marginally more absorbing than Kilkenny v Waterford, that’s how good it was.

Brilliant lunch in Budapest last week. Beef marrow in broth with rye toast. Roast goose leg with red cabbage, sour cherry sauce and sholet (tiny white beans). Big slab of cheesecake and good coffee to finish. Cost, with two fine big beers and a glass of what we nicknamed ‘Ambulance’ – the Hungarian digestif bearing a big cross on the bottle, €23, amazing.