The school of culinary arts

This was an event hosted by the school of culinary arts. They’re a new entrant here in the gourmet dinner scene here. I was a littleconfused before I even started. They named it  ‘Monte Carlo’ yet everything here had a Vegas theme. From the pictures on the pass to how they named the courses, everything carried a Vegas or rather an American theme. Well of course this is India; It’s impossible to recreate the Las Vegas vibe here. This was seen in the venue,that felt a little bland. For a culinary school, it was a good effort. It was decorated well. Very few people here looked confident. Everyone here looked like they were learning the ropes, albeit having a good time. The venue lacked the ‘legacy’ and ‘warmth’ you’re used to feel when you walk into a hotel with areputation. It’s akin to walking into a newly built house and comparing it to an old home. It always feels like something’s lacking.

 This is a food review. I won’t go into much detail about the niceties and prep that happened before this. It was similar to what happened last time; except the service was taken down a couple of notches. The venue was a new building, brightly lit, spanking new furniture…. You get the gist of what I’m saying. It felt sanitized, getting comfortable here wasn’t really possible. I paid good money for this. These guys were professionals in the culinary arts. I had high hopes.

 

 I got seated at a table that felt a little flimsy. The clearance was low, it was inadequate for four people to share without squeezing in. This wasn’t the ITC. I guess most of their budget went in perfecting the culinary arts.

 This I thought was where the culinary arts began I suppose.They paid a lot of attention to laying the flatware and cutlery and itsarrangement. It could’ve been better had they arranged for a bigger table instead. There was grace in everything the serving staff did. Simple things like fetching cutlery and carrying water bottles emanated elegance. There was the occasional hiccup where I got a spoon with a blemish or a knife with a stain; but those guys were at the ready to take care of any problem I had, no matter how anal I acted.

 The dinner began with a mock tea sangria. I’m amused by the creativity they put in naming these. ‘Dusk in Vegas’ they called it. Thankfully, it was much colder what a dusk in Vegas is. I was surprised at the carbonation in the tea. It was sharp and stung my tongue too because of how cold it was. I could get a ‘seedy’ aftertaste, this was probably from the pomegranate (mixed with raspberry) that was blended in. My gulps were occasionally punctuated with the acidity of pomegranate seeds at the surface. This was still a refreshing beverage nonetheless, and had an ever-so-slightlythick consistency. Not enough to matter, but subtle enough to discern.  It was fine yes, nothing remarkable. The quality of the drink wasn’t anything to make your eyes pop, it was merely to behad and forgotten about, which I rightly did. Maybe this was the dusk in Vegas.The last light before the party begins.

 

 ‘Buzzing Angeles’ came next. I just did sunset in Vegas. What now,  am I supposed to be in LA? What are these names? Am I supposed to be in buzzing LA or hear buzzing angels? Even ifI do leave the Vegas dusk and get to LA it’s dusk all over again. And buzzing LA is where the ratatouille is supposed to come…..in an event named Monte Carlo. These names make no sense! They got the ratatouille right at least. For something so hyped by the sales team, I was appalled by the portion size, to be honest. The plating was top notch as expected. I’ll admit my incompetence in identifying leaves here. There were a bunch of those in this dinner and I’mhaving a hard time identifying any of them. The leaf here was surprisingly dripping in ‘light’ oil. It was crisp and didn’t add much value apart from the aesthetics. The ratatouille was well done. The flavors were delicate, and thebaking was on point. Nothing felt too soggy or crispy raw. I hate tomatoes, but I ate them without complaint just because oh how well they went with the bell peppers.

 The three dollops of cream retained the contrast intemperature that I’ve liked since I was a child. They went amazingly well with the ratatouille and further blended the flavors of what already was a perfect union of  vegetables and herbs baked to perfection. Cheese was surprisingly missing here. Maybe this was intentional, because they did the vegetables so well. A caseous presence would have harshly dampened the watery medium of the herbs and vegetables. The murphy basket wasn’t anything to be commented on either, in fact, it too felt like it was dripping with oil. The sauce at 7 O’clock felt welcome. I tasted it as is, and it was surprisingly nice. Nothing about it felt generic, and it too carried delicate flavors just like the ratatouille. This was fun, but the portion was nothing more than a couple of bites which left me craving for more. It was agood ratatouille, pleasing to the eyes and the tongue.

 

 I’d given up by now trying to make sense of these coursenames. ‘Sunrise manor” bought with it a ‘burnt garlic pumpkin’ soup with lavash. The soup never caught my fancy. It was the right consistency of a soup, but I hardly felt any burnt garlic in it. A pumpkin soup is not my thing, to be honest. It was not knorr-y in any sense, just a tad greasy and the pumpkin wasn’t very pronounced wither. There were hints of pepper sometimes, but nothing that brings the oohs and aahs in a soup. The lavash was a nice accompaniment.It was a little hard and dry as expected and didn’t particularly match the soup. Despite its middle eastern origins, its taste resembled a papad, with some herbs and sesame. This was an uneventful course, which I was glad to be done with.

 ‘Sunrise manor’ led to the ‘Charleston boulevard’. Yes, accordingto this menu, Charleston boulevard is where I’m supposed to get a good empanada because reasons. But the empanada they delivered was beyond what anybody couldhave expected. This was a damn 10/10 empanada. Everything about this was perfect. The crust was flawless. Nowhere was it overdone or undercooked, it was perfect all around, almost like an artificial empanada. No odd blemishes wereto be seen here. Putting a knife through it furthered my appreciation. It went right through, unhindered by the hardness of the crust, which would have been indicative of it being overdone. The fat in the crust was perfect. Nowhere did it feel like an excess, or too short. Every corner, surface, crevice was perfect. This was an empanada baked to perfection, no compromises anywhere. The filling inside was a similar story. The chicken held its moisture and wasn’t too wet in any place. The flavors unleashed by the chicken on baking were locked inside till I broke the seal. For a filling in a bready empanada, I was surprised at how good it was.  There was absolutely no room for complaint in the filling. I could feel the warmth of the garlic and the naughty acidity of lemon juice. This by far, was the best empanada I’ve had in my life. The sour cream was a delight to slather on the filling. It’s hard to raise the bar for empanadas now. It’s just too high. All the Mexican food I’ve had in India so far has been a sob story. This brings usto the salsa. For an empanada made so well, the salsa was an insult. Usually salsa has a soul of its own, like how a well-made chutney defines the meal you’re having. This salsa was an atrocity. It was merely a mixture of chopped vegetables devoid of any discernable taste. I can do a better job with some vegetables and a blender. I tried mixing it with the sauce spread on the plate, which very slightly assuaged my disappointment at such an insult to the finest empanada I’ve ever had.

A word needs to be said on the bread basket that’s posing ina lot of the pictures. Contrary to what I expected, the bread basket didn’t have refills. The breads weren’t anything remarkable either. Sure, some were a little special with the butter and herbs, but all of them dried abnormally fast. Nicely made bread stays fresh longer. The bun felt straight out of an airplane food tray. The garlic bread felt like it belonged to a rip-off pizza chain. Hell, one of them was so hard, it chafed my mouth while I tried tochew it. the guys in the kitchen might have meant well, but the bread basket felt so insincere. The only saving grace was the cloth that they used to cover it to supposedly ‘protect’ it from drying out.

 

 

 

 The fifth course was a red grape sorbet. An odd placement in my opinion. But I was later informed it was to ‘rejuvenate the palate prior to the main course’. I liked it. It was typical for a sorbet, yet fast to melt even in an air-conditioned room. I was amused by how smooth it was. Attention had probably been paid while freezing it. Nowhere could I find sharp or abnormally sized ice crystals. The sorbet magically dissolved in my mouth. The fennel on top was dense in its flavor. I was a little apprehensive, but fennel and sugary ice treats go well. We should totally have more of these. There was also a grape hidden in it, which too was surprisingly sweet. I’d liked it if they had toned down the sugar a bit. I was parched by the time I finished it.

 

 

 Midway in my sorbet, I was asked to confirm my order for the main course-  the ‘manoeuvre of sin city”. A chicken roulade stuffed with olive tapenade with arancini and bigarade sauce. The baby lettuce, asparagus, and the onion were comparable to what I hadin the ratatouille. Slightly sautéed, but generously dressed in olive oil. The roulade was a little dry yet carried a distinct flavor. This was the first time I was trying olive tapenade, I really quite didn’t know what to expect; I found it drab. Together, the entire roulade and the tapenade made for a peculiar combination. In my opinion, the main course is something intense. This was not quite in that direction. I felt compelled to down it with water. It was filling for sure, just a peculiar choice. As you can see, each roulade was richly stuffed, and was heavy on the way down. The arancini was good, well done and warm and soft on the inside. The outside was as good as a premium chicken nugget. The quality was befitting twice the price of chicken nuggets at McDonalds.

 

 

The rice on the inside was warm, soft and delicately seasoned, enough to just stimulate the palate. The real attraction was the bigarade sauce.  Words fall short of how I can express my adoration for the sauce. This was the best sauce I’ve had in my life. This had a medley of flavors yet left me stumped when I tried to pin the source of those. This was a perfect amalgamation of every savory sauce you’ve had in your life, with just the right consistency. Had I a bowl of it to myself, I might eat spoonfuls of it on my own and dress all my food with it, every day. It was sweet, spicy, warm, sour, and lip smacking good all at the same time. The orange was a playful presence yet fleetingly went away whenever I tried to relish it more. It was sticky, it stuck to the insides of your mouth and made the taste linger as you salivated. I don’t know when or if I can come across such a nicely made sauce again.

 

 

 The dessert titled ‘the even tide of Beverley hills’ arrived soon after I was done with the main course. A mix of guava jelly, cut freshfruit, and lemon muhallabia. The muhallabia was a little meek, more sugar than lemon. It did feel sour sometimes but was mostly resembling a weird custard. The cut fruit- no, a ‘tropical salad’ was up to the mark. The fruit was fresh,perfectly ripe, and was good quality overall. The guava jelly was amazing. Ittook no effort melting and disappearing in my mouth. There was even no need to masticate. It simply disappeared the moment it made contact with my palette. The bombe Alaska was the richest dessert I’d had in years. The icing on top wasn’t anything to comment on, but it had just the right amount of caramelization, done by an expertly wielded blowtorch. I was expecting this tobe only a pastry with some decent icing, but I had no idea this was filled with even more cream.

 

Cutting through with a spoon oozed out more creamy goodness,separated by more layers of the pastry. There was a pink overtone to the cream in some places bought probably by a cherry stuffed in between. The smoothness of the bombe surpassed any brownie or creamy cake I’d ever had. It was rich and heavy, stuck to the roof of my mouth and took real effort to swirl and swallow. It was cold, almost like a refrigerator and held its temperature throughout,which made this simultaneously feel surprisingly fulfilling and refreshing. The bombe on its own was an attraction in this dinner. It took me close to 20  minutes to finish it, cutting, chewing, and swallowing. It even stuck to theinsides of my throat. It had the perfect balance of cocoa and sugar, without the presence of extra butter anywhere, yet was so smooth and viscous. It was quite a task tackling a dessert so difficult to eat in one sitting, but given the chance I’ll do it again in a heartbeat.

I’d like to give a shoutout to the staff who were involved in making this dinner a success. I even got to meet with the chefs later who were happy to walk me through how they painstakingly put together such a meal. It’s always fun to meet the chefs. It’s a facet of gourmet cuisine we seldom see. Frankly, I didn’t follow some of what they said, I just kept nodding. This was a really good experience. For an event managed by students, I’m  impressed. The lack of service was made up with the excellence in the catering. This was food that I’ll fondly remember and crave for years to come. The plating and presentation were much better than the dinners I’ve done, and they deserve extra credit for that. Despite some hiccups in some places, they did a fantastic job in the plating and presentation. Extra points for being so attentive and accommodating for their guest’s needs. All in all, this dinner was gets a resounding 9/10 for their dedication to quality and their presentation of food. I’ve a newfound admiration for the culinary arts, for this time I really got to experience it as a guest, not a spectator.