Posted on 19-1-2003
Heston:
the hottest chef in the world
He doesn't look much like the world's hottest chef - or the
one who introduced the world to sardine ice cream, snail porridge
and cauliflower risotto with chocolate jelly. He doesn't look
much like the chef who has won his third Michelin star faster
and younger than anyone in history. In fact, Heston Blumenthal
doesn't look much like a chef at all. One of the new breed of
mobile prop forwards maybe, but not a chef.
There's no toque on his cropped reddish hair. His broad features
break easily into a breezy grin. His white jacket struggles
to contain his shoulders and chest. His lower body has the sort
of chunky musculature that comes from hours in the gym.
Yet this cheerful, diffident, shy 37-year-old is leading the
world in a revolution in modern restaurant cooking. His restaurant,
the Fat Duck in the wealthy Thamesside village of Bray, Berkshire,
is only the fourth British establishment to hold three stars
(the others are Michel Roux's Waterside Inn, also in Bray, Gordon
Ramsay in Chelsea, and Restaurant Marco Pierre White, although
White has renounced the accolade).
But the Fat Duck has none of the multi-million-pound fixtures
and fittings, the bevies of deferential waiters, the artworks,
the solemn hush of a temple of gastronomy. It is small, cheery,
elegant and comfortable.
The Fat Duck is simply the most easy-going, accessible and
democratic great restaurant in Europe - the more unexpected
because the style of cooking Blumenthal and his young team have
developed is far from what has come to be thought of as the
conventional Michelin style, based on the principles of French
haute cuisine. He calls it molecular gastronomy.
When he opened the Fat Duck in 1995, aged 28, he cooked French
brasserie classics: petit sale aux lentilles; steak and chips,
sauce Bordelaise; salmon rillettes; lemon tart. However, he
cooked it to such perfection that he attracted a quiet following
among his fellow chefs, including those who then slugged it
out for the title of the nation's number one culinary maestro,
White and Ramsay.
Both visited the Fat Duck regularly on their days off, not
bad for a chef whose only formal training had been a week in
the kitchens of Raymond Blanc's Le Manoir Aux Quat' Saisons.
Those seeking to discover the seeds of Blumenthal's success
in his childhood will be disappointed. 'Although my mother was
a very good cook, my childhood memories were not woven with
gastronomic experiences. I didn't spend hours beside her, stoning
cherries or peeling potatoes. Food nostalgia for my generation
was quite heavily influenced by synthetic flavours such as strawberry
Angel Delight.'
His father had started an equipment leasing company in the
Seventies, which was doing pretty well. At 16, Blumenthal's
family went abroad for the first time, taking a summer holiday
in France.
'My father had read about a restaurant in Provence called L'Oustau
de Baumaniere. Neither of my parents had eaten in a gastronomic
restaurant before and I was lucky enough to share the experience
with them.
'The sommelier, sporting handlebar moustache and leather apron,
was directing diners around the encyclopaedic wine list. Lobster
sauce poured into soufflés and baby legs of lamb carved
in front of excited diners were just some of the wondrous sights.
At this moment I realised gastronomy was for me.'
However, after leaving school, he became a photocopier salesman
and debt collector, among other jobs, before ending up as credit
controller for the family business. All the while he was teaching
himself the classical foundation of French cuisine.
In 1985, he met his wife to be, Susanna, who shared his love
for all things gastronomic. They fed his obsession with trips
to France, where they ate, ate and ate. In 1990 they bought
a tiny cottage near Beaconsfield and the following year, their
son, Jack, was born. Nearly two years later, Susanna gave birth
to a daughter, Jessie. It took two more years of searching and
saving until they found a 450-year-old pub in the centre of
Bray. 'Money was tight, but I was lucky enough to have friends
who took time off to help decorate the place.'
It wasn't long before the Fat Duck was receiving attention
in influential quarters for its inspired brasserie food. Then,
in 1998, the year the Fat Duck received its first Michelin star,
Blumenthal had something of a Pauline conversion. His technical
understanding of cooking and his inquiring spirit had already
been stimulated by the influential Science and Lore of the Kitchen
by Harold McGee.
As Blumenthal tells the story, he was cooking French beans.
The conventional way to preserve as much of their brilliant
green colour is to throw them into a large pot of heavily salted
boiling water, boil them until they are part cooked, plunge
them into iced water then re-heat them when you need them. 'I
asked myself: why do we do this?'
Searching for an answer took him to Len Fisher and Peter Barham
at Bristol University, who had been looking at the problem of
the French bean and other gastronomic conundrums, but had yet
to find a chef who shared their curiosity. The answer turned
out to be simple: the greenness of the bean did not depend on
the salt, the boiling water or the ice water douche. It depended
on the level of calcium in the water. Use low-calcium water
and you can boil French beans, or any green vegetable, well
beyond the crunchy stage, and still preserve that green colour.
'At last, here was a chef who understood,' says Barham. 'He
was completely open-minded. He still wants to know what happens
to food from the moment it is produced or grown, to the moment
it is eaten. And he uses his knowledge to produce the most fantastic
dishes.'
After French beans, he started asking about other areas of
cooking. Why do we cook meat this way and fish that way? Why
does this go with that? Why can't it go with something else?
And by finding and understanding the scientific explanations
behind the processes of cooking, he developed new methods. He
made contact outside conventional culinary circles, with such
figures as McGee, Charles Spence, Professor of Experimental
Psychiatry at Oxford, and Professor Tony Blake, vice-president
of research at Firmenech, the world's largest flavouring company.
In 2001, the second Michelin star was awarded. The same year,
the Fat Duck was named Guardian Restaurant of the Year, Blumenthal
became the Guardian Weekend cookery writer, made a six-part
series for the Discovery Channel, opened a brasserie on Bray
Marina and published his first book, Family Food. The Fat Duck
also picked up the Good Food Guide Restaurant of the Year, AA
Guide Restaurant of the Year, AA Wine List of the Year, and
he was named Good Food Guide Chef of the Year and voted AA Chef
of the Year.
His cooking is rooted in his first gastronomic love, French
cuisine de haut en bas. Each of his dishes, no matter how outré
they sound, is grounded in pleasure. Each element is worked
on incessantly to refine its effect. His dishes work on levels
of sophistication involving temperature, texture and taste that
few other chefs, British or otherwise, begin to understand,
let alone approach.
But he allies his culinary passion to another fundamental consideration.
When he writes or speaks about food, he constantly alludes to
the tastes and sensations of childhood. It isn't that he wants
to recreate flavours of long ago in an adult form. He simply
wants the eater to taste food that has the same magical freshness
and clarity we experience when we first eat anything. His investigations
show how even a small amount of understanding can raise the
amount of pleasure we derive when we eat. This suggests a colossal
shift in culinary history.
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