Le Manoir aux Quat’Saisons review: ‘Britain’s most perfect meal’

Also under the Riesling’s watch is the second course, Le Crabe. Fond childhood memories of seeking out the scuttling creatures makes crab rather hard to swallow – I never eat it. One bite of Le Manoir’s offering is all it takes, however, to have me throwing decades of sentiment out the window. The meaty, creamy Devonshire crab has real bite and the rich bisque below is divine. Satellites of kaffir lime sorbet, passionfruit jelly, coconut gel, succulent sea beans and finger lime caviar create a mix of textures and temperatures that’s pure genius. Two courses in and I’m already picking favourites.

Le Jardin is a sublime pistou soup

‘My belly is blissfully brimming’ 

One of the tangerine coloured blooms spotted in the garden has found its way onto the next plate, Fleur de Courgette. Stuffed with a luminous green mousse of herbs, mushroom and scallop, the show-stealing courgette flower shares the plate with a beautifully fat Orkney hand-dived scallop poached in girolle liquor. The two sit atop pickled cauliflower fungus, wild mushrooms and vibrant orange enoki: a melange of salt and umami, tang and a whispered breath of truffle. Courgettes are grown purely for their flowers at Le Manoir: in summer they harvest 100 flowers a day.

The accompanying Mersault is beautiful: crisp, citrus, with toasted barrel notes that linger on the palette. I could write odes to it, but it’s soon replaced with my favourite wine of the night. The phenomenal Bandol overturns long-held feelings of rosé’s inferiority with hints of strawberry, raspberry and rose petals. It pairs with Les Saveurs de Bouillabaisse, a beautiful marriage of pan-seared Cornish sea bass, sea herbs, fennel and saffron rouille. The Cabinero prawn – the pinkest, plumpest, most perfectly cooked prawn – was nothing short of remarkable.

By the time the beef comes, my belly is blissfully brimming and yet the Aberdeen Angus fillet and Jacobs ladder has me salivating. Served with chicory, onion purée, beetroot, nasturtium oil and a glorious braised baby gem lettuce, its earthiness balances with rich red wine sauce. The flavours are extraordinary, the beef beyond belief. Washed down with a smoky Margaux of ripe berries and pleasant bitterness, it’s a moody and marvellous plate after the lightness of fish and garden vegetables.

Shortly after, a veritable gurney of cheese arrives, practically groaning under the weight of lemony goats, tangy washed rinds and nutty, spruce-wrapped cheeses. The wares change every three months, excepting the Comté, which shares its region with Blanc so earns a forever-home amid the dried fruit, grapes and chutneys. With a server like Edward Scissorhands, every slice getting a new set of cutlery, and I order with bold abandon.

Le Manoir is laidback luxury

Nearing full capacity 

By this point it’s becoming ever more evident that I’m biting off more than I can chew. The soft slice of fig bread might have been a mistake, but its jammy sweetness says otherwise. I can’t regret a bite, though I’m nearing full capacity. Thankfully, a much-needed breather before the first dessert lets you sit back and be ineluctably drawn into the ambience. 

Article source: https://www.theweek.co.uk/arts-life/food-drink/958352/le-manoir-aux-quatsaisons-review-britains-most-perfect-meal