THE FIRST foreign food I, like most peo- ple of
my generation, ate was Indian, not in my home town — for Indian restaurants started to proliferate after the early 1950s — but when I went away to the university. Chinese arrived later, for me and for oth- ers. What I came to like most was French- traditional-bourgeois-provincial. On the whole I deplored the nouvelle of the early 1980s, though I could understand its virtues when it was done properly, as so often it was not in this country. Many of the inno- vating chefs said they had been heavily influenced by Japanese food, by its presen- tation, its healthiness, its freshness (which was often rawness). I decided it was not for me.
It was Petronella Wyatt who suggested I go to the Nobu restaurant in the Metropolitan Hotel just off Park Lane. I do not think there was any unkindness on her part in this. She merely thought it was time I stopped being such an old stick-in-the- mud, got out a bit more, saw some fashion- able life, that sort of thing, and that readers of The Spectator would want to know about the newest places as well. Or so I surmise. Who can tell?
Nevertheless My Companion and I start- ed the evening in more traditional fashion, at Richard Ingrams's 60th birthday party at the Royal Society of Literature's premises in Hyde Park Gardens. The usual suspects had been rounded up and it was most enjoyable. Though my mother taught me that it was the height of impoliteness to comment even favourably on the food or the drink at private functions — a stern injunction, pre-1914, I suspect, which would destroy most conversation today some highly acceptable dry white wine from the Jura was on offer. I mention this for the benefit of any publishers who may be think- ing of holding a party this autumn and who should understand that, contrary to the cus- toms and practices of the trade, it is not necessary to give their guests alcoholic poi- soning simply because they cannot run to champagne. It was also my son's birthday. He did not choose to join us at Mr Ingrams's party but met us at the restaurant instead.
This was on the Tuesday. On the Mon- day I had been telephoned by a young woman from the restaurant confirming my reservation for that evening. 'That's right,' I said, 'except that I'm coming tomorrow.' `Silly me,' she said, 'so you are. I'm always getting into a muddle.' She could not have been nicer. This practice — confirming reservations, I mean, not getting into a muddle about them — now seems to be prevalent, at any rate with the smarter establishments. The week before the Blue- bird had telephoned to confirm. The other change is that it is not only the customers who are young and beautiful but the serv- ing staff as well. And that is only the men. The general impression which these youth- ful waiters and waitresses give is of being Iranian politicians up to no good: not the mad mullahs in the dirty laundry, of course, but the younger, more plausible figures, with soft voices, black or dark grey suits, and white shirts buttoned up to the neck with collars and no tie or no collars at all.
I should make clear that our waiter, who came from Brazil and was (so MC assured me) extremely beautiful, could not have been more charming or more efficient. We had earlier been greeted by a friendly supervisory figure, male, who was evidently young and sounded Australian. My feeling is that Nobu is an Australian-Japanese restaurant. The Brazilian waiter, however, told us it was a South American-Japanese restaurant. He went further, informing me that the pepper steak I had ordered as a main course was Peruvian in origin. MC added to the international flavour by point- I thought you'd cancelled the policemen!' ing out that tempura, or delicate deep fry- ing, had been brought to Japan by the Por- tuguese. As I often say, you learn some- thing every day. We ordered three tempura dishes and three sushi to begin with.
Another waiter came up to tell us that, as the kitchen operated in its own way, we should not get them all simultaneously. Of course not, we said. We quite understood. Thank you for telling us. Much obliged to you for your consideration; as indeed we were. This is another change of the last five or ten years. Waiters and waitresses are not only younger and more beautiful but more professional. In the past the restaurateur's choice was between someone who was elderly, surly and more or less professional and someone who was youthful, surly and distinctly, even proudly amateur. A waitress would indicate 'I'm not really a waitress at all, if you want to know, but an actress, and what's more, daddy is a retired colonel.'
At all events, the service at Nobu could not have been better, in the new, ever-so- slightly familiar London manner. I must confess I still prefer the French style, where the staff — citizens of the Republic — do not pretend to be at all interested in you personally but simply get on with doing their job to the best of their ability. And the food at Nobu would have satisfied the most exigent critic. The tempura batter was light- ness itself. My son's main-course scallops were very fresh and perfectly cooked. The beef dishes which MC and I had were cut into strips, cooked exactly as we had asked and of truly South American quality. Here is what everything cost: two bottles of min- eral water, £7; muscadet 1996, £17.50; Fronsac 1991, £22.50; one asparagus tem- pura, £1.50; one scallop tempura, £5; one squid tempura, £3.50; one tuna sushi, £3; one sea bass sushi, £2.75; one salmon egg sushi (virtually as good as caviar), £3; one king crab ordered as a main course but consumed inadvertently as a starter, £15.50; one scallop and garlic, £15; one beef with pepper sauce, £14.75; one rib-eye steak, £14.50 (this and the preceding two main courses came with a broth-like soup); one chestnut pancake, £6.50; one roasted peach pudding, £6.50; one chocolate pudding, £7.75; three espresso, £6; total £152.50; `optional service', £19.06; bill, £171.56.
Two-thirds of this is £114.37, but two people could get away more cheaply by ordering one bottle of wine rather than two or none at all and fewer bits and pieces to start with, though in size they are no more than cocktail party nibbles really. I shall go again but only with MC, because she enjoyed herself so much and is more knowledgable about the food than I am. I am now off in search of more solid suste- nance in Lille, Tournus, Lyon, Bordeaux and intermediate stations.
Nobu, 19 Old Park Lane, London WI; tel: 0171 447 4747.
By Alan Watkins
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