Simpsons Restaurant - & musings on memory

The memory is a slippery thing, apparently randomly picking various aspects of life or specific moments to file as 'memorable' and seeming to discard the rest almost as though it had never happened. At least that it is how it is for me, but then my poor memory is a subject of long-running family jokes, until you ask me to sing the whole of Mozart's requiem, or quote every lyric from every song on the Now30! album. Music seems to bypass my poor memory functions, which I guess is a blessing since I once really did have to sing the whole of Mozart's requiem from memory (something rather hard to fake), whereas I can usually blag my way through forgetting people's names by extensive use of what I call cute-isms e.g honey, sweetie, darling, duck, bunnykins (and those are just the names I use for my boss! :p).

Even my ultimate passion, food, struggles to stay pinpointed clearly in my memory, especially now I eat out so regularly, and when one has, say, half a dozen or more tasting menus (each of between 5-12 courses) a year, I suppose it would tax even good memories to remember each course exactly, and - more specifically - remember where each meal was eaten. For this reason I am an avid collector of menus from the restaurants I visit, and it needs only the briefest glance at a resume of a meal for me to remember pin-sharp every taste, texture and feeling. Maybe my memory isn't so bad after all - it just requires a little poke to get it started. This need to have a written cue for remembering my gustatory past is another reason I started blogging, so a few pictures and descriptions will not only (hopefully) feed your imaginations, and maybe encourage you to visit some places I've been, but it also means when, in the dead of night, I'm struggling to remember exactly where I had that aaaaammaaaaazing melt-in-mouth lamb 'crackling', it is but the work of a minute to find it and fully recall it in all its gloriousness (it was at Petrus, by the way!)

Simpsons in Birmingham is the grown-up sister to one of the best local restaurants we have here in Warwickshire - Simply Simpsons in Kenilworth, a place that boasts arguably the best mushroom soup and steak tartare in the country, so I was keen to see what they could do with the oomph and power of the Michelin guide behind them (Simpsons in Birmingham has held 1 star for years, which it first won when it was located in Kenilworth originally). Fron the outside it's a very pretty little building, especially around Christmas - as you can see from the pic - with all those fairy lights to dazzle you, and inside it is plush and welcoming - lots of dark wood floors and furniture and high-ceilinged white walls. The staff were a smidge too 'comedy French' to my cynical eye - you know the sort, voices that drip with so much garlic and sneering that you can't help but suspect it of being put on - but once we'd settled down they were helpful and attentive, and the waiter who served us desserts nearly bounced with delight when I started picking out the bluest and strongest cheeses on the board - he'd clearly had me pegged as a Cheddar and Edam kinda girl!

Maybe it was because I had a camera and a notebook (note to other foodies-with-cameras - Simpsons is impeccably well lit), or maybe the Chef was just in a generous mood, but we were positively showered with amuse bouche - much to my delight, as the tasting menu had waaaay too much fish for me to be able to cope with, and I do like lots of little bites to get a good look at what a restaurant can do.

Thick slices of smoked salmon wrapped round dense, smooth cream cheese; little fingers of moulded prawn and crab, dipped in a nutty toffee-batter coating; an obscenely good Beignet of ham hock and roasted chicken, and a superb pearl barley risotto with little bites of artichoke, all nutty and creamy at the same time. A wonderful way to start a meal.

For what I will laughingly call 'starters' after that parade of mini-courses, we shared three dishes between us. Well, I say shared, each of us dominated one plate, pausing occasionally to pass mouthfuls to the others in the spirit of sharing.

My starter was a Terrine of ham hock, roast chicken and foie gras, soft boiled quail’s eggs, sweetcorn purée, truffle dressing - which was a struggle to defend from ravenous attacks, after everyone had got an idea of how good the ham hock would be from the amuse bouche. It was dreamily tender, with layers of silky smooth pate mixed perfectly with soft chunks of meat, and the sweetcorn puree was practically raw and squeakily fresh - oh so good. My friends had a delicious Bonbon of quail, pumpkin purée, cep marmalade, Madeira sauce and a solitary large Lobster and tiger prawn ravioli swimming in a little puddle of lemongrass velouté, both of them beautifully cooked with all the strong flavours carefully balanced.

Main courses came on the generous side, and indeed we all struggled to finish them, delicious though they were. A Duo of Aberdeenshire beef (fillet cooked on the bone & slow cooked cheek), served with bok choi, cauliflower purée, purple potato gnocchi, caper and raisin jus was a hearty and rich dish, with quite a strong offally hit and the beautifully coloured gnocchi were a wonderful sop for the juices. My slow-cooked belly of Wiltshire pork, glazed apple, black pudding and savoy cabbage was a bit hit and miss - the pork had had a serious amount of steam on it, meaning the crackling hadn't crisped up which was a shame, but the black pudding was superb, and although the pork didn't feel like it needed the sweet apple, it was an excellent mix with the dark blood pudding.

Probably the winner of the dishes was the roast loin of Finnebrough venison, pancetta and potato terrine, romanesco, quince purée, red cabbage, juniper berry sauce. The staff at Simpsons really know what they're about when it comes to sauces and vegetables, and the juniper sauce was well reduced but not too sticky, and the romanesco was just perfect, and went amazingly well with the rich but lean venison. For my friend the best part of the dish was the terrine on which the venison rested - wafer thin slices of potato which had been interwoven with slivers of pancetta, which had slowly melted during a long slow cooking - something I feel I will be required to replicate at home sometime soon!

A further amuse bouche arrived in the form of a passionfruit cream with sugared nuts, which was so delicious I nearly shouted for joy when The Housemate announced she was too full to eat her portion, and therefore I got two bites instead of one. A glass of tawny port insinuated its way onto the table, and I felt ready to approach the cheese board, full though I was - and not just cheese, we also had a 'salad' of poached pear with fourme d'ambert and a honey dressing, and some ice cream too!

Relaxing in the lounge after the meal with an aperitif, the evening took on a distinctly decadent feel, and I began to wonder if I should get myself a smoking jacket and order a cigar (they still offer these in the lounge after dinner, although how that works with the new law I'm really not sure!). Sadly, the impeccable service seemed to end the second we were removed from the dining room, and it took nearly half an hour to coax a bill out of anyone - and when it arrived we had been massively overcharged by mistake. I find it such a shame when this sort of thing happens, as it inevitably sticks in the mind and will no doubt make me think twice when I consider going back again, which is rather unfair on the chefs who'd worked so hard. Perhaps it would be just wise to request your bill before retiring from the dining room- and do be sure to check it carefully.