I had wanted to go to St John's for many years. I had first read about Fergus Henderson and his approach to food a few years ago and I felt inspired by it. The notion of nose to tail eating seems to foreign to many, but with my Chinese background, this seemed far more familiar. It always seemed to me to be so wasteful that so many parts of a butchered animal was discarded in a lot of modern cooking.
I was in London and staying with my brother. He and his girlfriend would often go to St John's for dinner, so he was happy to make a booking. I went about my day looking around London whilst he and everyone else coming for dinner went to work. I arranged to meet them at the restaurant and I felt a slight buzz of excitement heading there. I got off the tube at Farringdon and started to make my way down the street towards the restaurant, following the map on my phone. The area seemed a bit familiar. I wasn't sure why, it all seemed to stir memories for me. I thought that maybe this was just because I was seeing streets I had seen on television before. I kept walking and the nagging feeling kept growing. I got to the front of the restaurant, which is in an older building, with big wooden doors leading into an open area which then leads up into another internal building. I stood outside and the feeling of deja vu was now overwhelming. I stood in front for a bit longer and scoured my brain, trying to understand why it was that I was certain that I had stood in front of these doors before. It then suddenly hit me. I wasn't dreaming. I wasn't merely drawing on recollections from some image on television I had seen before.
I had been here before.
It was a long time ago. It was in fact during my first ever trip to the UK and Europe that I had found myself at St John's. I was still young and inexperienced as a traveller. I had arranged to catch up with one of my old teachers, Benoit, who was himself then a young man. We had wandered around and then walked into a "pub" to get a quick meal. I still remember the prices. The incredibly expensive prices and I thought to myself that London truly was a city with astronomical costs. The food was tasty, but both Ben and I had pulled back dramatically and eaten only a tiny amount to try and save money. What a complete fool I had been! I had walked into a two Michelin starred restaurant and been surprised at the price! I had walked into one of the best restaurants in town and thought it was just a local pub.
This time the entire experience was far less stressful. Rather than looking at the menu in shock at the prices, I instead perused it with intent and curiosity. I wanted to try every dish. My brother told me not to worry as he took control of the ordering. He came here so often that the waiter seemed to know him. The waiter gave both him and his girlfriend a knowing nod of the head after he finished his order, as though to acknowledge that my brother had completed the job expertly. Each dish that came out felt rustic and wholesome, but carefully plated. Near the middle of the meal, the famous roasted bone marrow was brought out. This was the dish that I had been waiting for most keenly. We each took a piece of the bone, and scraped the contents out onto a piece of the bread which had been provided. Once the bread had been coated, you then put some of the parsley salad which had been prepared on top. The sharp herb flavour cut against the fat of the marrow which immediately coated the inside of your mouth. It tasted buttery and meaty at the same time, all against the crunch of the toasted bread. It was an inspired combination of flavours and textures.
All the other dishes we lovely and comforting. There was sadly no pigs tail that evening, but the sweetbreads with the peas reminded me so much of some of the rich congees that my mother used to make for me when I was sick. I couldn't help but think back to childhood, when other kids would laugh or tease myself or the other kids from ethnic backgrounds about our choice of food. Even my ability to use chopsticks was often a source of surprise and wonder. Now, in a swanky part of London, I was sitting with my friends eating a combination of marrow and offal. All served on white linen and with silver cutlery.
I was in London and staying with my brother. He and his girlfriend would often go to St John's for dinner, so he was happy to make a booking. I went about my day looking around London whilst he and everyone else coming for dinner went to work. I arranged to meet them at the restaurant and I felt a slight buzz of excitement heading there. I got off the tube at Farringdon and started to make my way down the street towards the restaurant, following the map on my phone. The area seemed a bit familiar. I wasn't sure why, it all seemed to stir memories for me. I thought that maybe this was just because I was seeing streets I had seen on television before. I kept walking and the nagging feeling kept growing. I got to the front of the restaurant, which is in an older building, with big wooden doors leading into an open area which then leads up into another internal building. I stood outside and the feeling of deja vu was now overwhelming. I stood in front for a bit longer and scoured my brain, trying to understand why it was that I was certain that I had stood in front of these doors before. It then suddenly hit me. I wasn't dreaming. I wasn't merely drawing on recollections from some image on television I had seen before.
I had been here before.
It was a long time ago. It was in fact during my first ever trip to the UK and Europe that I had found myself at St John's. I was still young and inexperienced as a traveller. I had arranged to catch up with one of my old teachers, Benoit, who was himself then a young man. We had wandered around and then walked into a "pub" to get a quick meal. I still remember the prices. The incredibly expensive prices and I thought to myself that London truly was a city with astronomical costs. The food was tasty, but both Ben and I had pulled back dramatically and eaten only a tiny amount to try and save money. What a complete fool I had been! I had walked into a two Michelin starred restaurant and been surprised at the price! I had walked into one of the best restaurants in town and thought it was just a local pub.
This time the entire experience was far less stressful. Rather than looking at the menu in shock at the prices, I instead perused it with intent and curiosity. I wanted to try every dish. My brother told me not to worry as he took control of the ordering. He came here so often that the waiter seemed to know him. The waiter gave both him and his girlfriend a knowing nod of the head after he finished his order, as though to acknowledge that my brother had completed the job expertly. Each dish that came out felt rustic and wholesome, but carefully plated. Near the middle of the meal, the famous roasted bone marrow was brought out. This was the dish that I had been waiting for most keenly. We each took a piece of the bone, and scraped the contents out onto a piece of the bread which had been provided. Once the bread had been coated, you then put some of the parsley salad which had been prepared on top. The sharp herb flavour cut against the fat of the marrow which immediately coated the inside of your mouth. It tasted buttery and meaty at the same time, all against the crunch of the toasted bread. It was an inspired combination of flavours and textures.
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