On arrival at Restaurant James Sommerin, we ordered a good Pinot Noir. We noted that the ambiance was calm, staff attentive and the other guests were very well attired.
Feeling relaxed, in our jeans and T shirts, we discussed the merits of the food; each dish looked elegant like a work of art. Much to my husband’s dismay, I started to make notes about the food. The guests on the neighbouring table were intrigued by the notebook. Clearly, I wasn’t a restaurant critic as I was wearing jeans. We sipped more of the wine that was so beautifully flavoured with summer fruits that it could have been a soft drink.
The delicious food improved with each course. Buoyed by this tasting experience, I was determined to write an analysis of each dish. I scribbled furiously between each morsel and took photographs of the dishes. More delicious wine was poured into a glass that could happily home several goldfish.
Alas, I cannot read the scribbles in my notebook. Throughout the notebook, I had repeated the words ‘great textures’ and ‘explosion of flavour’ albeit in various styles of handwriting. ‘Desert’ was underlined enthusiastically. Did I go to the Sahara to eat pudding? Other words were incomplete and I hope that they didn’t run off onto the beautifully laundered table cloth. I circled ‘black pudding’ purée several times because I didn’t have my highlighter pen. I do remember that I was offended by the puréed texture but I am a northerner.
Undeterred by the black pudding, I did note down Picasso’s poetry on a plate. Obviously, Pinot Noir should come with a cliché warning on the label. Mysteriously, the notebook has splashes of wine and food inside of it but I will keep it as a tribute to the Picasso chef.
James Sommerin is a chef and an artist. The restaurant was like a theatre of food and next time I will dress up for the occasion. The food was so good that I can forgive the corruption of the black pudding texture. I will wish on a star for the restaurant!
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