The experience of eating in England

It is a very bad habit of mine to avoid Indian food whenever I visit a foreign land. So in spite of curry now being a British dish, I have resisted the temptation on this trip to England so far. In any case, there have been temptations galore as I have ventured into Lebanese, Chinese, Italian, Spanish, English and Japanese cuisines.

The highlight so far has definitely been Jamie’s Italian in Oxford. It appears at first sight to be as unpretentious as the man appears to be on television — friendly, warm and enthusiastic.

However, having been confronted with a beeper which tells you when you table is ready and a device which captures your credit card, I realise that I am well behind in my understanding of the way technology can rule your life. As it happens, the waitress guides us to our table without the beeper going off and the card-capturing just returns it without doing anything, I am at least comforted by the ability of human nature to foil (or spoil) just about anything.

I am distracted by nothing I can see. What jumps off the menu at first glance are the ‘world’s best olives’ and ‘posh chips’. The olives are large, fresh, served on a bed of ice with some chilli tapenade. Actually, you need nothing but the olives. The chips are a work of art — drizzled with truffle oil and topped with grated parmesan. As my cousin and dining companion points out, you can never really eat chips (all right, French Fries to you wannabe philistines) again after that.

I try to eat wild boar but it is not available so have some “artisan” salami and a prosciutto salad. The joy of eating here is the freshness of the ingredients and the delicate additions to enhance the taste. It is an art which encourages subtlety over sensationalism.

The cousin who is vegetarian tries a truffle tagliatelle which is replete with the strong flavour of that inimitable fungus.

For dessert I have a walnut tart with crème fraiche — surprisingly, it is light and yet filling.

Interestingly, the pricing here is not tagged to the fame of the celebrity chef. A meal at an Italian brasserie at London’s Covent Garden costs about the same. At a certain level, prices seem to stick to a basic level — from pubs to restaurants. This is reassuring, even if this is an economy going through a crisis of sorts.

Meanwhile, sticky toffee pudding lived up to my memories of it, the Yorkshire pudding at a Manchester (once Lancashire now an entity by itself apparently) carvery which went with an excellent roast loin of pork and pints of Guinness suggest that British cuisine continues to thrive.

And that it is possible   to survive without some badly made desi food. I can do better at home, right?