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REVIEW BY KANG LEONG
In the searing heat of the 2006 summer, Jennie Bond – super posh royal correspondent extraordinaire presented the first episodes of the Great British Menu. The premise was cook-off between some of the best chefs in the country to decide who would cook for our dear Queen(ie)’s 80th birthday bash in a swanky banquet. It also doubled as a campaign to promote what was then, a rather low view on British haute cuisine ( high cooking for us anglais-men) . Back then, I was but a wide eyed boy mesmerised by the unfolding glamorous world of gifted men of sharp tastebuds and in command of ultra fresh ingredients. I was also introduced to local produce and the significance of mum’s recipe.
marcuswareing-100You see, the pudding that made it to the Queen’s table wasn’t a molecular gastronomical concoction dreamed up by a crack chef with too many Michelin stars to lose; instead, it was a custard tart Marcus’ mum made when he was a child. I watched his intense concentration in baking that tart on TV and just the mere sight of the finished product had me salivating like a dog. I have nothing but immense respect for Mr Wareing, the perfectionist, the disciplinarian, the first Ramsay Protégé and abit of a personal cooking god for me. Three years later, with but a grain of sand’s worth of gastronomical knowledge, I am upon the footsteps of Wareing temple at Berkeley Hotel, the site formerly of Petrus and I am here to eat a perfect egg custard tart.
Heels on, Ladies
I am shaking as I enter this shrine. Southport’s finest export has been abit of a superhero to me and I think the cooking show did nothing but enhance his reputation as a master of his craft. As of writing, the newly revised ’09 Red Guide re-confirmed his two stars status.
I landed on a rather busy late Friday Lunch, having just got out of work in time, catch the right train to cross four zones to get to the heart of Knightsbridge. Even though, I actually just live about 15 minutes down the road. Following my pocket busting meal at The Square and even more cussing from Paxman on Newsnight (have you noticed how Gavin Esler replaces Jeremy whenever there are no politicians or CEOs’ necks to wring) , I thought I’d be sensible and not blow my load on yet another £ 75.00 a la carte.
£ 35.00 a pop for a set lunch is rather hefty, but given its 2 star status, we’ll see how justified that price tag really is.
Club Gentlemen
I’m Mr dress down Friday deciding against a shirt and opting for a cashmere jumper over an Oasis tee. I did iron my pinstripes but I didn’t shine me shoes.
I must say, I felt a little out of place as I was ruffled feathers next to the all too dapper velvet and satin surroundings. Passing through the heavy doors of the Berkerley, I am greeted by a hotel lobby with far too much polished marble and carpets so thick, it feels like you’re walking on a bed of garfields. Preceding the restaurant doors is a lounge area whose clientele look like fulltime Jennie Bond wannabes and I did spot the odd ‘I was last year’s Russia’s top Supermodel’ nobody has heard of. Perhaps I should have waited till I dropped my Paul Smiths before making my acquaintance here?
As I reached the restaurant’s closed doors -thick frosted glass- I could feel the buzz emanating from behind them. I stole a peek from between the glass and saw shades of silk ties, red nails and the sound of glass chinking accompanied by the occasional artificial pandering like this:
‘Ha-ha-ha, Ewoh Dahh-ling, you mah-ust tell me me-ore.’
I took a deep breathe and duly practiced my own pretensitivities ( clearly, a word invented by me) with the receptionist,
‘Marcus Wareing?’ I said. ‘This way Monsieur’ She said. ‘Ha-ha-ha. Yes my dah-ling, yes’ I said, hesitating at first ( this is called, being 25 and taking a p ) . Woo wee, here I go.
Canapes, Mr Leong?
Have I ever told you what my name actually means? You see, Kang is one part Chinese for Healthy. Jian-Kang or 健康. Health is wealth folks, and the key to good health is good living and that means good food. The set menu option means that I can afford myself a nice glass of something-something. Though I must say Mr Wareing, your wine list is not quite recession friendly, £13 for a glass of American pinot? £11 for a Sicilian red, so hollow in the centre of the palette, I could have mistaken it for an Australian Merlot. Surely you can do better than that Marcus? I regretted my decision to go mafia style with my choice of red. Blech.
Before I could even say sparkling, the waiter comes around with a large trolley of bubbly, to which I duly declined citing that my application for a government bail out was still pending approval from Mr Darling’s eyebrows. Canapes were then hastily rushed to my table by a team of well dressed men to which this act , one suspects, has been rehearsed too many times. They were in the form of triangular parcels, salty and fishy taramasala paste on a biscuity base; accompanied by crispy dried toast and a garlic cream cheese relish. Oh yeah, it tasted alright, it’s free, it’s a nice touch and I cant complain.
Rebeginning
Now is an appropriate time to dwell abit on service. The staff are mindful, chirpy and professional. I might even add, a cut above the industry because it’s like they were put through intensive ‘The fine art of small talk’ seminars because their conversations were friendly and strangely comforting. They made the rather imposing red & black walls, with shimmering chandeliers and 30’s glamour seem like a visit to my pou-pou’s (Nan’s).
In other words, right at home.
My waiter was a Johny Wilko lookalike with a posh accent, all smiles and he brought me a shot of tomato veloute to get things rolling. ‘Good for the tummy’ He exclaims. Like a savoury espresso, the foamy, creamy and rich soup did indeed warm me up inside and a soup which I could have easily mistaken it to be pumpkin or even carrot for it tasted sweeter and meatier and was more orange than red. Good stuff, now on to the food I paid for.
Beginning
I could just say that Petrus is a beautiful restaurant. Or I could say that Marcus Wareing’s has an exquisite bar, glowing mirrors, the leather and black woods bouncing off those incandescent reflections. The décor included white grills for windows and also had long wall length mirrors. Leather red seats one with arm rests and the other without, this is gentlemen club circa Sherlock Holmes. The centre piece of the restaurant is a chest of drawers onto which a large glass box sits, exposing the puds. The drawers are functional of course, it’s for cutlery.
Amidst all the gawking, I somehow forgot to take home a copy of what I ate, so I can’t quite remember the exact descriptions of the dishes (you will forgive me won’t you?). Starters was a langoustine soup, with parcels of lobster wrapped with tomato and vanilla. Accompanying the lobster were three tiny dollops of ricotta cheese. How did I know these things were hiding in the soup? Well that’s because those things were exposed before the waiter poured the soup in.
Aromas, I could smell the langoustine rising from the soup, muddy and salty and all the delights of the sea. The soup had the texture of light single cream and it was full of langoustine flavour. It was also reminiscent of dried shrimps and sea salt. Moving on to the meaty parcels – There was a distinct aftertaste of lobster wrapped with flavours of caramelised sweet onion. You will forgive me for this vague description but, it tasted abit Chinese to me. I’m almost tempted to say that it tasted like sweetened bacon ( I just said it ). Ricotta melted in the mouth with a rather appetising graininess and the together with the sandy and muddy langoustine seafood flavours, it was quite a light way to start a meal. I liked it, but wasn’t entirely over the moon, the portion was a little dinky if I do say so and I was feeling emptier than usual after plate one.
A curry infusion
The Berkerley is in a rather odd location. It straddles between Hyde Park Corner and Knightsbridge, they advertise themselves as being in Knightsbridge, but really they are only just within the exclusive post code. I mean, they are so far beyond Harvey Nicks and even further beyond One o One that they are dangerously close to the Wellington Arch.
For mains: slow roasted mutton with mustard sauce, and curly kale on the side.
The curly kale is definitely infused with curry powder. The accompanying fried puffs were battered, airy and floury and tasted rather like an Indian roti. This dish would not be out of place in Benares ( I recall having the lamb fillet which is quite close to this one). Murtabak, curry mutton and a lot of Anglo-Indian fusion going on in this dish. I was expecting to taste a lot of mutton flavour sealed in to the slow roast, but it was not the case. It was frankly disappointing in this department. It tasted more like a smoked mutton, the meat was more rare than pink, it did not wow and for a 2 star restaurant, the cooking is abit of a downer – it tasted good, don’t get me wrong – but it certainly was not special.
Maybe he was gunning for natural flavours and everything else around the meat to spice the dish – but it just wasn’t all that exciting. Perhaps it’s the cut of the meat, it did carry the gamey sickly savouriness of mutton, but I can have the same sort of dish for half the price along Edgeware road.
Seriously Indian inspired, small portion and was not filling, this dish was easy to eat, but in the end it did not wow.
I came, I saw, I ate the custard pudding
Graduating from the Ramsay entourage after nearly 15 years in Gordon’s shadow, I can see why Marcus confidently stepped out of it. This restaurant is far better than the other lauded Ramsay rising star, Maze. The food here is far subtler and the cooking is a cut above Jason’s, bearing in mind I’m comparing a set lunch against a full a la carte at Jasons’. Pre-dresser: A passion fruit jelly sorbet, I heard the waiter utter vodka as well. This trifle of a cheesecake in a shot glass had a cold and sharp passion fruit that helped to cleanse the palette and wake me up from zombie lunch daze. I can only assume that a lychee sorbet sits atop the jelly. There it was, after I waived away the cheese trolley ( £10.00 supplement ) , it finally landed on my table, three years of anticipation had ended. Baked Egg custard tart, with strawberry jelly and strawberry swirl ice cream.
I’m contemplating to take my time with this, to eek out abit of appetite from you, and to just appreciate the way it looks. It is simply beautiful, the surrealistic golden hued triangle of cold custard had refracted red light from the jelly bouncing off it’s cinnamon crusted exterior and it glowed like I was staring at the Holy Grail from Indiana Jones. I can wait no longer! I must dive in ….
… oh dear, I knew it.
Something this dream-like could only taste like the best damn, custard pudding I have ever had. No, no it’s the best damn pudding I have ever had. The custard is cold and the cinnamon providing a herby edge to the vanilla taste. The strawberry is a dream of candied jam and jelly, and gave way to an interesting contrast to the richness of the custard. The custard was a full flavour of eggyness (and I’m Chinese, so I know my egg tarts) this was so good it could rival, if not better the best kept secret Cantonese dim sum recipes in Hong Kong.
It was that good and to echo my tag line: I have found THAT pudding. This is the best finish I’ve had in recent memory and the pudding alone is worth the price of entry. I could not hide my appreciation for the pud. The waiter told me that Marcus did not intend this pudding to be as popular, nay, as legendary as it is now. Apparently, he says that they took it off the menu a few months ago, only to find disgruntled returning diners yearning for the sweet finish. I can see why - Marcus, dish 1 and 2 wasn’t really all that great, but this pudding is so good, its starless.
Deliverance
What is the significance of a pair of chairs, one with arm rests and the other without? Is it an elaborate attempt to create abit of eccentricity for the Michelin man to give you the extra star, I wonder.
Speaking again on the cooking – I felt it was not technically brilliant. Yes, some people might argue that ‘it’s just a set lunch’, so let’s isolate that argument and limit it to just the roasting of the mutton. Given the prowess of the kitchen, it was merely ordinary. One needn’t special ingredients to make food taste wonderful, you just need to cook it well. A perfect example of which is the set lunch at Hibiscus – now newly recrowned with 2 stars – £25, much cheaper and on my visit, the cooking there was so far beyond Marcus Wareing’s that it was out in the stratosphere. There you go, comparing like for like. As for the other 2 star place I went to, The Square – absolutely no comparison, Phil’s kitchen is (currently) a lot better than Marcus’, in fact if I were to rank them, I’d say Phil and Claude are about a tie, Marcus trailing behind, not far but not close either.
Ah, except Marcus has a trump card you see, and that trump card is called the Baked Egg Custard tart. May Marcus keep it on his menu for as long as he still runs restaurants because I have a feeling it is not just a defining moment in his illustrious career, it may even become a symbol for the re-emergence of British cuisine altogether.
Verdict: Good, very good but not great. Except for pudding which was so good, it made me spew all kinds of emotive words.
In the searing heat of the 2006 summer, Jennie Bond – super posh royal correspondent extraordinaire presented the first episodes of the Great British Menu. The premise was cook-off between some of the best chefs in the country to decide who would cook for our dear Queen(ie)’s 80th birthday bash in a swanky banquet. It also doubled as a campaign to promote what was then, a rather low view on British haute cuisine ( high cooking for us anglais-men) . Back then, I was but a wide eyed boy mesmerised by the unfolding glamorous world of gifted men of sharp tastebuds and in command of ultra fresh ingredients. I was also introduced to local produce and the significance of mum’s recipe.
marcuswareing-100You see, the pudding that made it to the Queen’s table wasn’t a molecular gastronomical concoction dreamed up by a crack chef with too many Michelin stars to lose; instead, it was a custard tart Marcus’ mum made when he was a child. I watched his intense concentration in baking that tart on TV and just the mere sight of the finished product had me salivating like a dog. I have nothing but immense respect for Mr Wareing, the perfectionist, the disciplinarian, the first Ramsay Protégé and abit of a personal cooking god for me. Three years later, with but a grain of sand’s worth of gastronomical knowledge, I am upon the footsteps of Wareing temple at Berkeley Hotel, the site formerly of Petrus and I am here to eat a perfect egg custard tart.
Heels on, Ladies
I am shaking as I enter this shrine. Southport’s finest export has been abit of a superhero to me and I think the cooking show did nothing but enhance his reputation as a master of his craft. As of writing, the newly revised ’09 Red Guide re-confirmed his two stars status.
I landed on a rather busy late Friday Lunch, having just got out of work in time, catch the right train to cross four zones to get to the heart of Knightsbridge. Even though, I actually just live about 15 minutes down the road. Following my pocket busting meal at The Square and even more cussing from Paxman on Newsnight (have you noticed how Gavin Esler replaces Jeremy whenever there are no politicians or CEOs’ necks to wring) , I thought I’d be sensible and not blow my load on yet another £ 75.00 a la carte.
£ 35.00 a pop for a set lunch is rather hefty, but given its 2 star status, we’ll see how justified that price tag really is.
Club Gentlemen
I’m Mr dress down Friday deciding against a shirt and opting for a cashmere jumper over an Oasis tee. I did iron my pinstripes but I didn’t shine me shoes.
I must say, I felt a little out of place as I was ruffled feathers next to the all too dapper velvet and satin surroundings. Passing through the heavy doors of the Berkerley, I am greeted by a hotel lobby with far too much polished marble and carpets so thick, it feels like you’re walking on a bed of garfields. Preceding the restaurant doors is a lounge area whose clientele look like fulltime Jennie Bond wannabes and I did spot the odd ‘I was last year’s Russia’s top Supermodel’ nobody has heard of. Perhaps I should have waited till I dropped my Paul Smiths before making my acquaintance here?
As I reached the restaurant’s closed doors -thick frosted glass- I could feel the buzz emanating from behind them. I stole a peek from between the glass and saw shades of silk ties, red nails and the sound of glass chinking accompanied by the occasional artificial pandering like this:
‘Ha-ha-ha, Ewoh Dahh-ling, you mah-ust tell me me-ore.’
I took a deep breathe and duly practiced my own pretensitivities ( clearly, a word invented by me) with the receptionist,
‘Marcus Wareing?’ I said. ‘This way Monsieur’ She said. ‘Ha-ha-ha. Yes my dah-ling, yes’ I said, hesitating at first ( this is called, being 25 and taking a p ) . Woo wee, here I go.
Canapes, Mr Leong?
Have I ever told you what my name actually means? You see, Kang is one part Chinese for Healthy. Jian-Kang or 健康. Health is wealth folks, and the key to good health is good living and that means good food. The set menu option means that I can afford myself a nice glass of something-something. Though I must say Mr Wareing, your wine list is not quite recession friendly, £13 for a glass of American pinot? £11 for a Sicilian red, so hollow in the centre of the palette, I could have mistaken it for an Australian Merlot. Surely you can do better than that Marcus? I regretted my decision to go mafia style with my choice of red. Blech.
Before I could even say sparkling, the waiter comes around with a large trolley of bubbly, to which I duly declined citing that my application for a government bail out was still pending approval from Mr Darling’s eyebrows. Canapes were then hastily rushed to my table by a team of well dressed men to which this act , one suspects, has been rehearsed too many times. They were in the form of triangular parcels, salty and fishy taramasala paste on a biscuity base; accompanied by crispy dried toast and a garlic cream cheese relish. Oh yeah, it tasted alright, it’s free, it’s a nice touch and I cant complain.
Rebeginning
Now is an appropriate time to dwell abit on service. The staff are mindful, chirpy and professional. I might even add, a cut above the industry because it’s like they were put through intensive ‘The fine art of small talk’ seminars because their conversations were friendly and strangely comforting. They made the rather imposing red & black walls, with shimmering chandeliers and 30’s glamour seem like a visit to my pou-pou’s (Nan’s).
In other words, right at home.
My waiter was a Johny Wilko lookalike with a posh accent, all smiles and he brought me a shot of tomato veloute to get things rolling. ‘Good for the tummy’ He exclaims. Like a savoury espresso, the foamy, creamy and rich soup did indeed warm me up inside and a soup which I could have easily mistaken it to be pumpkin or even carrot for it tasted sweeter and meatier and was more orange than red. Good stuff, now on to the food I paid for.
Beginning
I could just say that Petrus is a beautiful restaurant. Or I could say that Marcus Wareing’s has an exquisite bar, glowing mirrors, the leather and black woods bouncing off those incandescent reflections. The décor included white grills for windows and also had long wall length mirrors. Leather red seats one with arm rests and the other without, this is gentlemen club circa Sherlock Holmes. The centre piece of the restaurant is a chest of drawers onto which a large glass box sits, exposing the puds. The drawers are functional of course, it’s for cutlery.
Amidst all the gawking, I somehow forgot to take home a copy of what I ate, so I can’t quite remember the exact descriptions of the dishes (you will forgive me won’t you?). Starters was a langoustine soup, with parcels of lobster wrapped with tomato and vanilla. Accompanying the lobster were three tiny dollops of ricotta cheese. How did I know these things were hiding in the soup? Well that’s because those things were exposed before the waiter poured the soup in.
Aromas, I could smell the langoustine rising from the soup, muddy and salty and all the delights of the sea. The soup had the texture of light single cream and it was full of langoustine flavour. It was also reminiscent of dried shrimps and sea salt. Moving on to the meaty parcels – There was a distinct aftertaste of lobster wrapped with flavours of caramelised sweet onion. You will forgive me for this vague description but, it tasted abit Chinese to me. I’m almost tempted to say that it tasted like sweetened bacon ( I just said it ). Ricotta melted in the mouth with a rather appetising graininess and the together with the sandy and muddy langoustine seafood flavours, it was quite a light way to start a meal. I liked it, but wasn’t entirely over the moon, the portion was a little dinky if I do say so and I was feeling emptier than usual after plate one.
A curry infusion
The Berkerley is in a rather odd location. It straddles between Hyde Park Corner and Knightsbridge, they advertise themselves as being in Knightsbridge, but really they are only just within the exclusive post code. I mean, they are so far beyond Harvey Nicks and even further beyond One o One that they are dangerously close to the Wellington Arch.
For mains: slow roasted mutton with mustard sauce, and curly kale on the side.
The curly kale is definitely infused with curry powder. The accompanying fried puffs were battered, airy and floury and tasted rather like an Indian roti. This dish would not be out of place in Benares ( I recall having the lamb fillet which is quite close to this one). Murtabak, curry mutton and a lot of Anglo-Indian fusion going on in this dish. I was expecting to taste a lot of mutton flavour sealed in to the slow roast, but it was not the case. It was frankly disappointing in this department. It tasted more like a smoked mutton, the meat was more rare than pink, it did not wow and for a 2 star restaurant, the cooking is abit of a downer – it tasted good, don’t get me wrong – but it certainly was not special.
Maybe he was gunning for natural flavours and everything else around the meat to spice the dish – but it just wasn’t all that exciting. Perhaps it’s the cut of the meat, it did carry the gamey sickly savouriness of mutton, but I can have the same sort of dish for half the price along Edgeware road.
Seriously Indian inspired, small portion and was not filling, this dish was easy to eat, but in the end it did not wow.
I came, I saw, I ate the custard pudding
Graduating from the Ramsay entourage after nearly 15 years in Gordon’s shadow, I can see why Marcus confidently stepped out of it. This restaurant is far better than the other lauded Ramsay rising star, Maze. The food here is far subtler and the cooking is a cut above Jason’s, bearing in mind I’m comparing a set lunch against a full a la carte at Jasons’. Pre-dresser: A passion fruit jelly sorbet, I heard the waiter utter vodka as well. This trifle of a cheesecake in a shot glass had a cold and sharp passion fruit that helped to cleanse the palette and wake me up from zombie lunch daze. I can only assume that a lychee sorbet sits atop the jelly. There it was, after I waived away the cheese trolley ( £10.00 supplement ) , it finally landed on my table, three years of anticipation had ended. Baked Egg custard tart, with strawberry jelly and strawberry swirl ice cream.
I’m contemplating to take my time with this, to eek out abit of appetite from you, and to just appreciate the way it looks. It is simply beautiful, the surrealistic golden hued triangle of cold custard had refracted red light from the jelly bouncing off it’s cinnamon crusted exterior and it glowed like I was staring at the Holy Grail from Indiana Jones. I can wait no longer! I must dive in ….
… oh dear, I knew it.
Something this dream-like could only taste like the best damn, custard pudding I have ever had. No, no it’s the best damn pudding I have ever had. The custard is cold and the cinnamon providing a herby edge to the vanilla taste. The strawberry is a dream of candied jam and jelly, and gave way to an interesting contrast to the richness of the custard. The custard was a full flavour of eggyness (and I’m Chinese, so I know my egg tarts) this was so good it could rival, if not better the best kept secret Cantonese dim sum recipes in Hong Kong.
It was that good and to echo my tag line: I have found THAT pudding. This is the best finish I’ve had in recent memory and the pudding alone is worth the price of entry. I could not hide my appreciation for the pud. The waiter told me that Marcus did not intend this pudding to be as popular, nay, as legendary as it is now. Apparently, he says that they took it off the menu a few months ago, only to find disgruntled returning diners yearning for the sweet finish. I can see why - Marcus, dish 1 and 2 wasn’t really all that great, but this pudding is so good, its starless.
Deliverance
What is the significance of a pair of chairs, one with arm rests and the other without? Is it an elaborate attempt to create abit of eccentricity for the Michelin man to give you the extra star, I wonder.
Speaking again on the cooking – I felt it was not technically brilliant. Yes, some people might argue that ‘it’s just a set lunch’, so let’s isolate that argument and limit it to just the roasting of the mutton. Given the prowess of the kitchen, it was merely ordinary. One needn’t special ingredients to make food taste wonderful, you just need to cook it well. A perfect example of which is the set lunch at Hibiscus – now newly recrowned with 2 stars – £25, much cheaper and on my visit, the cooking there was so far beyond Marcus Wareing’s that it was out in the stratosphere. There you go, comparing like for like. As for the other 2 star place I went to, The Square – absolutely no comparison, Phil’s kitchen is (currently) a lot better than Marcus’, in fact if I were to rank them, I’d say Phil and Claude are about a tie, Marcus trailing behind, not far but not close either.
Ah, except Marcus has a trump card you see, and that trump card is called the Baked Egg Custard tart. May Marcus keep it on his menu for as long as he still runs restaurants because I have a feeling it is not just a defining moment in his illustrious career, it may even become a symbol for the re-emergence of British cuisine altogether.
Verdict: Good, very good but not great. Except for pudding which was so good, it made me spew all kinds of emotive words.
REVIEW BY KANG LEONG
In the searing heat of the 2006 summer, Jennie Bond – super posh royal correspondent extraordinaire presented the first episodes of the Great British Menu. The premise was cook-off between some of the best chefs in the country to decide who would cook for our dear Queen(ie)’s 80th birthday bash in a swanky banquet. It also doubled as a campaign to promote what was then, a rather low view on British haute cuisine ( high cooking for us anglais-men) . Back then, I was but a wide eyed boy mesmerised by the unfolding glamorous world of gifted men of sharp tastebuds and in command of ultra fresh ingredients. I was also introduced to local produce and the significance of mum’s recipe.
marcuswareing-100You see, the pudding that made it to the Queen’s table wasn’t a molecular gastronomical concoction dreamed up by a crack chef with too many Michelin stars to lose; instead, it was a custard tart Marcus’ mum made when he was a child. I watched his intense concentration in baking that tart on TV and just the mere sight of the finished product had me salivating like a dog. I have nothing but immense respect for Mr Wareing, the perfectionist, the disciplinarian, the first Ramsay Protégé and abit of a personal cooking god for me. Three years later, with but a grain of sand’s worth of gastronomical knowledge, I am upon the footsteps of Wareing temple at Berkeley Hotel, the site formerly of Petrus and I am here to eat a perfect egg custard tart.
Heels on, Ladies
I am shaking as I enter this shrine. Southport’s finest export has been abit of a superhero to me and I think the cooking show did nothing but enhance his reputation as a master of his craft. As of writing, the newly revised ’09 Red Guide re-confirmed his two stars status.
I landed on a rather busy late Friday Lunch, having just got out of work in time, catch the right train to cross four zones to get to the heart of Knightsbridge. Even though, I actually just live about 15 minutes down the road. Following my pocket busting meal at The Square and even more cussing from Paxman on Newsnight (have you noticed how Gavin Esler replaces Jeremy whenever there are no politicians or CEOs’ necks to wring) , I thought I’d be sensible and not blow my load on yet another £ 75.00 a la carte.
£ 35.00 a pop for a set lunch is rather hefty, but given its 2 star status, we’ll see how justified that price tag really is.
Club Gentlemen
I’m Mr dress down Friday deciding against a shirt and opting for a cashmere jumper over an Oasis tee. I did iron my pinstripes but I didn’t shine me shoes.
I must say, I felt a little out of place as I was ruffled feathers next to the all too dapper velvet and satin surroundings. Passing through the heavy doors of the Berkerley, I am greeted by a hotel lobby with far too much polished marble and carpets so thick, it feels like you’re walking on a bed of garfields. Preceding the restaurant doors is a lounge area whose clientele look like fulltime Jennie Bond wannabes and I did spot the odd ‘I was last year’s Russia’s top Supermodel’ nobody has heard of. Perhaps I should have waited till I dropped my Paul Smiths before making my acquaintance here?
As I reached the restaurant’s closed doors -thick frosted glass- I could feel the buzz emanating from behind them. I stole a peek from between the glass and saw shades of silk ties, red nails and the sound of glass chinking accompanied by the occasional artificial pandering like this:
‘Ha-ha-ha, Ewoh Dahh-ling, you mah-ust tell me me-ore.’
I took a deep breathe and duly practiced my own pretensitivities ( clearly, a word invented by me) with the receptionist,
‘Marcus Wareing?’ I said. ‘This way Monsieur’ She said. ‘Ha-ha-ha. Yes my dah-ling, yes’ I said, hesitating at first ( this is called, being 25 and taking a p ) . Woo wee, here I go.
Canapes, Mr Leong?
Have I ever told you what my name actually means? You see, Kang is one part Chinese for Healthy. Jian-Kang or 健康. Health is wealth folks, and the key to good health is good living and that means good food. The set menu option means that I can afford myself a nice glass of something-something. Though I must say Mr Wareing, your wine list is not quite recession friendly, £13 for a glass of American pinot? £11 for a Sicilian red, so hollow in the centre of the palette, I could have mistaken it for an Australian Merlot. Surely you can do better than that Marcus? I regretted my decision to go mafia style with my choice of red. Blech.
Before I could even say sparkling, the waiter comes around with a large trolley of bubbly, to which I duly declined citing that my application for a government bail out was still pending approval from Mr Darling’s eyebrows. Canapes were then hastily rushed to my table by a team of well dressed men to which this act , one suspects, has been rehearsed too many times. They were in the form of triangular parcels, salty and fishy taramasala paste on a biscuity base; accompanied by crispy dried toast and a garlic cream cheese relish. Oh yeah, it tasted alright, it’s free, it’s a nice touch and I cant complain.
Rebeginning
Now is an appropriate time to dwell abit on service. The staff are mindful, chirpy and professional. I might even add, a cut above the industry because it’s like they were put through intensive ‘The fine art of small talk’ seminars because their conversations were friendly and strangely comforting. They made the rather imposing red & black walls, with shimmering chandeliers and 30’s glamour seem like a visit to my pou-pou’s (Nan’s).
In other words, right at home.
My waiter was a Johny Wilko lookalike with a posh accent, all smiles and he brought me a shot of tomato veloute to get things rolling. ‘Good for the tummy’ He exclaims. Like a savoury espresso, the foamy, creamy and rich soup did indeed warm me up inside and a soup which I could have easily mistaken it to be pumpkin or even carrot for it tasted sweeter and meatier and was more orange than red. Good stuff, now on to the food I paid for.
Beginning
I could just say that Petrus is a beautiful restaurant. Or I could say that Marcus Wareing’s has an exquisite bar, glowing mirrors, the leather and black woods bouncing off those incandescent reflections. The décor included white grills for windows and also had long wall length mirrors. Leather red seats one with arm rests and the other without, this is gentlemen club circa Sherlock Holmes. The centre piece of the restaurant is a chest of drawers onto which a large glass box sits, exposing the puds. The drawers are functional of course, it’s for cutlery.
Amidst all the gawking, I somehow forgot to take home a copy of what I ate, so I can’t quite remember the exact descriptions of the dishes (you will forgive me won’t you?). Starters was a langoustine soup, with parcels of lobster wrapped with tomato and vanilla. Accompanying the lobster were three tiny dollops of ricotta cheese. How did I know these things were hiding in the soup? Well that’s because those things were exposed before the waiter poured the soup in.
Aromas, I could smell the langoustine rising from the soup, muddy and salty and all the delights of the sea. The soup had the texture of light single cream and it was full of langoustine flavour. It was also reminiscent of dried shrimps and sea salt. Moving on to the meaty parcels – There was a distinct aftertaste of lobster wrapped with flavours of caramelised sweet onion. You will forgive me for this vague description but, it tasted abit Chinese to me. I’m almost tempted to say that it tasted like sweetened bacon ( I just said it ). Ricotta melted in the mouth with a rather appetising graininess and the together with the sandy and muddy langoustine seafood flavours, it was quite a light way to start a meal. I liked it, but wasn’t entirely over the moon, the portion was a little dinky if I do say so and I was feeling emptier than usual after plate one.
A curry infusion
The Berkerley is in a rather odd location. It straddles between Hyde Park Corner and Knightsbridge, they advertise themselves as being in Knightsbridge, but really they are only just within the exclusive post code. I mean, they are so far beyond Harvey Nicks and even further beyond One o One that they are dangerously close to the Wellington Arch.
For mains: slow roasted mutton with mustard sauce, and curly kale on the side.
The curly kale is definitely infused with curry powder. The accompanying fried puffs were battered, airy and floury and tasted rather like an Indian roti. This dish would not be out of place in Benares ( I recall having the lamb fillet which is quite close to this one). Murtabak, curry mutton and a lot of Anglo-Indian fusion going on in this dish. I was expecting to taste a lot of mutton flavour sealed in to the slow roast, but it was not the case. It was frankly disappointing in this department. It tasted more like a smoked mutton, the meat was more rare than pink, it did not wow and for a 2 star restaurant, the cooking is abit of a downer – it tasted good, don’t get me wrong – but it certainly was not special.
Maybe he was gunning for natural flavours and everything else around the meat to spice the dish – but it just wasn’t all that exciting. Perhaps it’s the cut of the meat, it did carry the gamey sickly savouriness of mutton, but I can have the same sort of dish for half the price along Edgeware road.
Seriously Indian inspired, small portion and was not filling, this dish was easy to eat, but in the end it did not wow.
I came, I saw, I ate the custard pudding
Graduating from the Ramsay entourage after nearly 15 years in Gordon’s shadow, I can see why Marcus confidently stepped out of it. This restaurant is far better than the other lauded Ramsay rising star, Maze. The food here is far subtler and the cooking is a cut above Jason’s, bearing in mind I’m comparing a set lunch against a full a la carte at Jasons’. Pre-dresser: A passion fruit jelly sorbet, I heard the waiter utter vodka as well. This trifle of a cheesecake in a shot glass had a cold and sharp passion fruit that helped to cleanse the palette and wake me up from zombie lunch daze. I can only assume that a lychee sorbet sits atop the jelly. There it was, after I waived away the cheese trolley ( £10.00 supplement ) , it finally landed on my table, three years of anticipation had ended. Baked Egg custard tart, with strawberry jelly and strawberry swirl ice cream.
I’m contemplating to take my time with this, to eek out abit of appetite from you, and to just appreciate the way it looks. It is simply beautiful, the surrealistic golden hued triangle of cold custard had refracted red light from the jelly bouncing off it’s cinnamon crusted exterior and it glowed like I was staring at the Holy Grail from Indiana Jones. I can wait no longer! I must dive in ….
… oh dear, I knew it.
Something this dream-like could only taste like the best damn, custard pudding I have ever had. No, no it’s the best damn pudding I have ever had. The custard is cold and the cinnamon providing a herby edge to the vanilla taste. The strawberry is a dream of candied jam and jelly, and gave way to an interesting contrast to the richness of the custard. The custard was a full flavour of eggyness (and I’m Chinese, so I know my egg tarts) this was so good it could rival, if not better the best kept secret Cantonese dim sum recipes in Hong Kong.
It was that good and to echo my tag line: I have found THAT pudding. This is the best finish I’ve had in recent memory and the pudding alone is worth the price of entry. I could not hide my appreciation for the pud. The waiter told me that Marcus did not intend this pudding to be as popular, nay, as legendary as it is now. Apparently, he says that they took it off the menu a few months ago, only to find disgruntled returning diners yearning for the sweet finish. I can see why - Marcus, dish 1 and 2 wasn’t really all that great, but this pudding is so good, its starless.
Deliverance
What is the significance of a pair of chairs, one with arm rests and the other without? Is it an elaborate attempt to create abit of eccentricity for the Michelin man to give you the extra star, I wonder.
Speaking again on the cooking – I felt it was not technically brilliant. Yes, some people might argue that ‘it’s just a set lunch’, so let’s isolate that argument and limit it to just the roasting of the mutton. Given the prowess of the kitchen, it was merely ordinary. One needn’t special ingredients to make food taste wonderful, you just need to cook it well. A perfect example of which is the set lunch at Hibiscus – now newly recrowned with 2 stars – £25, much cheaper and on my visit, the cooking there was so far beyond Marcus Wareing’s that it was out in the stratosphere. There you go, comparing like for like. As for the other 2 star place I went to, The Square – absolutely no comparison, Phil’s kitchen is (currently) a lot better than Marcus’, in fact if I were to rank them, I’d say Phil and Claude are about a tie, Marcus trailing behind, not far but not close either.
Ah, except Marcus has a trump card you see, and that trump card is called the Baked Egg Custard tart. May Marcus keep it on his menu for as long as he still runs restaurants because I have a feeling it is not just a defining moment in his illustrious career, it may even become a symbol for the re-emergence of British cuisine altogether.
Verdict: Good, very good but not great. Except for pudding which was so good, it made me spew all kinds of emotive words.
In the searing heat of the 2006 summer, Jennie Bond – super posh royal correspondent extraordinaire presented the first episodes of the Great British Menu. The premise was cook-off between some of the best chefs in the country to decide who would cook for our dear Queen(ie)’s 80th birthday bash in a swanky banquet. It also doubled as a campaign to promote what was then, a rather low view on British haute cuisine ( high cooking for us anglais-men) . Back then, I was but a wide eyed boy mesmerised by the unfolding glamorous world of gifted men of sharp tastebuds and in command of ultra fresh ingredients. I was also introduced to local produce and the significance of mum’s recipe.
marcuswareing-100You see, the pudding that made it to the Queen’s table wasn’t a molecular gastronomical concoction dreamed up by a crack chef with too many Michelin stars to lose; instead, it was a custard tart Marcus’ mum made when he was a child. I watched his intense concentration in baking that tart on TV and just the mere sight of the finished product had me salivating like a dog. I have nothing but immense respect for Mr Wareing, the perfectionist, the disciplinarian, the first Ramsay Protégé and abit of a personal cooking god for me. Three years later, with but a grain of sand’s worth of gastronomical knowledge, I am upon the footsteps of Wareing temple at Berkeley Hotel, the site formerly of Petrus and I am here to eat a perfect egg custard tart.
Heels on, Ladies
I am shaking as I enter this shrine. Southport’s finest export has been abit of a superhero to me and I think the cooking show did nothing but enhance his reputation as a master of his craft. As of writing, the newly revised ’09 Red Guide re-confirmed his two stars status.
I landed on a rather busy late Friday Lunch, having just got out of work in time, catch the right train to cross four zones to get to the heart of Knightsbridge. Even though, I actually just live about 15 minutes down the road. Following my pocket busting meal at The Square and even more cussing from Paxman on Newsnight (have you noticed how Gavin Esler replaces Jeremy whenever there are no politicians or CEOs’ necks to wring) , I thought I’d be sensible and not blow my load on yet another £ 75.00 a la carte.
£ 35.00 a pop for a set lunch is rather hefty, but given its 2 star status, we’ll see how justified that price tag really is.
Club Gentlemen
I’m Mr dress down Friday deciding against a shirt and opting for a cashmere jumper over an Oasis tee. I did iron my pinstripes but I didn’t shine me shoes.
I must say, I felt a little out of place as I was ruffled feathers next to the all too dapper velvet and satin surroundings. Passing through the heavy doors of the Berkerley, I am greeted by a hotel lobby with far too much polished marble and carpets so thick, it feels like you’re walking on a bed of garfields. Preceding the restaurant doors is a lounge area whose clientele look like fulltime Jennie Bond wannabes and I did spot the odd ‘I was last year’s Russia’s top Supermodel’ nobody has heard of. Perhaps I should have waited till I dropped my Paul Smiths before making my acquaintance here?
As I reached the restaurant’s closed doors -thick frosted glass- I could feel the buzz emanating from behind them. I stole a peek from between the glass and saw shades of silk ties, red nails and the sound of glass chinking accompanied by the occasional artificial pandering like this:
‘Ha-ha-ha, Ewoh Dahh-ling, you mah-ust tell me me-ore.’
I took a deep breathe and duly practiced my own pretensitivities ( clearly, a word invented by me) with the receptionist,
‘Marcus Wareing?’ I said. ‘This way Monsieur’ She said. ‘Ha-ha-ha. Yes my dah-ling, yes’ I said, hesitating at first ( this is called, being 25 and taking a p ) . Woo wee, here I go.
Canapes, Mr Leong?
Have I ever told you what my name actually means? You see, Kang is one part Chinese for Healthy. Jian-Kang or 健康. Health is wealth folks, and the key to good health is good living and that means good food. The set menu option means that I can afford myself a nice glass of something-something. Though I must say Mr Wareing, your wine list is not quite recession friendly, £13 for a glass of American pinot? £11 for a Sicilian red, so hollow in the centre of the palette, I could have mistaken it for an Australian Merlot. Surely you can do better than that Marcus? I regretted my decision to go mafia style with my choice of red. Blech.
Before I could even say sparkling, the waiter comes around with a large trolley of bubbly, to which I duly declined citing that my application for a government bail out was still pending approval from Mr Darling’s eyebrows. Canapes were then hastily rushed to my table by a team of well dressed men to which this act , one suspects, has been rehearsed too many times. They were in the form of triangular parcels, salty and fishy taramasala paste on a biscuity base; accompanied by crispy dried toast and a garlic cream cheese relish. Oh yeah, it tasted alright, it’s free, it’s a nice touch and I cant complain.
Rebeginning
Now is an appropriate time to dwell abit on service. The staff are mindful, chirpy and professional. I might even add, a cut above the industry because it’s like they were put through intensive ‘The fine art of small talk’ seminars because their conversations were friendly and strangely comforting. They made the rather imposing red & black walls, with shimmering chandeliers and 30’s glamour seem like a visit to my pou-pou’s (Nan’s).
In other words, right at home.
My waiter was a Johny Wilko lookalike with a posh accent, all smiles and he brought me a shot of tomato veloute to get things rolling. ‘Good for the tummy’ He exclaims. Like a savoury espresso, the foamy, creamy and rich soup did indeed warm me up inside and a soup which I could have easily mistaken it to be pumpkin or even carrot for it tasted sweeter and meatier and was more orange than red. Good stuff, now on to the food I paid for.
Beginning
I could just say that Petrus is a beautiful restaurant. Or I could say that Marcus Wareing’s has an exquisite bar, glowing mirrors, the leather and black woods bouncing off those incandescent reflections. The décor included white grills for windows and also had long wall length mirrors. Leather red seats one with arm rests and the other without, this is gentlemen club circa Sherlock Holmes. The centre piece of the restaurant is a chest of drawers onto which a large glass box sits, exposing the puds. The drawers are functional of course, it’s for cutlery.
Amidst all the gawking, I somehow forgot to take home a copy of what I ate, so I can’t quite remember the exact descriptions of the dishes (you will forgive me won’t you?). Starters was a langoustine soup, with parcels of lobster wrapped with tomato and vanilla. Accompanying the lobster were three tiny dollops of ricotta cheese. How did I know these things were hiding in the soup? Well that’s because those things were exposed before the waiter poured the soup in.
Aromas, I could smell the langoustine rising from the soup, muddy and salty and all the delights of the sea. The soup had the texture of light single cream and it was full of langoustine flavour. It was also reminiscent of dried shrimps and sea salt. Moving on to the meaty parcels – There was a distinct aftertaste of lobster wrapped with flavours of caramelised sweet onion. You will forgive me for this vague description but, it tasted abit Chinese to me. I’m almost tempted to say that it tasted like sweetened bacon ( I just said it ). Ricotta melted in the mouth with a rather appetising graininess and the together with the sandy and muddy langoustine seafood flavours, it was quite a light way to start a meal. I liked it, but wasn’t entirely over the moon, the portion was a little dinky if I do say so and I was feeling emptier than usual after plate one.
A curry infusion
The Berkerley is in a rather odd location. It straddles between Hyde Park Corner and Knightsbridge, they advertise themselves as being in Knightsbridge, but really they are only just within the exclusive post code. I mean, they are so far beyond Harvey Nicks and even further beyond One o One that they are dangerously close to the Wellington Arch.
For mains: slow roasted mutton with mustard sauce, and curly kale on the side.
The curly kale is definitely infused with curry powder. The accompanying fried puffs were battered, airy and floury and tasted rather like an Indian roti. This dish would not be out of place in Benares ( I recall having the lamb fillet which is quite close to this one). Murtabak, curry mutton and a lot of Anglo-Indian fusion going on in this dish. I was expecting to taste a lot of mutton flavour sealed in to the slow roast, but it was not the case. It was frankly disappointing in this department. It tasted more like a smoked mutton, the meat was more rare than pink, it did not wow and for a 2 star restaurant, the cooking is abit of a downer – it tasted good, don’t get me wrong – but it certainly was not special.
Maybe he was gunning for natural flavours and everything else around the meat to spice the dish – but it just wasn’t all that exciting. Perhaps it’s the cut of the meat, it did carry the gamey sickly savouriness of mutton, but I can have the same sort of dish for half the price along Edgeware road.
Seriously Indian inspired, small portion and was not filling, this dish was easy to eat, but in the end it did not wow.
I came, I saw, I ate the custard pudding
Graduating from the Ramsay entourage after nearly 15 years in Gordon’s shadow, I can see why Marcus confidently stepped out of it. This restaurant is far better than the other lauded Ramsay rising star, Maze. The food here is far subtler and the cooking is a cut above Jason’s, bearing in mind I’m comparing a set lunch against a full a la carte at Jasons’. Pre-dresser: A passion fruit jelly sorbet, I heard the waiter utter vodka as well. This trifle of a cheesecake in a shot glass had a cold and sharp passion fruit that helped to cleanse the palette and wake me up from zombie lunch daze. I can only assume that a lychee sorbet sits atop the jelly. There it was, after I waived away the cheese trolley ( £10.00 supplement ) , it finally landed on my table, three years of anticipation had ended. Baked Egg custard tart, with strawberry jelly and strawberry swirl ice cream.
I’m contemplating to take my time with this, to eek out abit of appetite from you, and to just appreciate the way it looks. It is simply beautiful, the surrealistic golden hued triangle of cold custard had refracted red light from the jelly bouncing off it’s cinnamon crusted exterior and it glowed like I was staring at the Holy Grail from Indiana Jones. I can wait no longer! I must dive in ….
… oh dear, I knew it.
Something this dream-like could only taste like the best damn, custard pudding I have ever had. No, no it’s the best damn pudding I have ever had. The custard is cold and the cinnamon providing a herby edge to the vanilla taste. The strawberry is a dream of candied jam and jelly, and gave way to an interesting contrast to the richness of the custard. The custard was a full flavour of eggyness (and I’m Chinese, so I know my egg tarts) this was so good it could rival, if not better the best kept secret Cantonese dim sum recipes in Hong Kong.
It was that good and to echo my tag line: I have found THAT pudding. This is the best finish I’ve had in recent memory and the pudding alone is worth the price of entry. I could not hide my appreciation for the pud. The waiter told me that Marcus did not intend this pudding to be as popular, nay, as legendary as it is now. Apparently, he says that they took it off the menu a few months ago, only to find disgruntled returning diners yearning for the sweet finish. I can see why - Marcus, dish 1 and 2 wasn’t really all that great, but this pudding is so good, its starless.
Deliverance
What is the significance of a pair of chairs, one with arm rests and the other without? Is it an elaborate attempt to create abit of eccentricity for the Michelin man to give you the extra star, I wonder.
Speaking again on the cooking – I felt it was not technically brilliant. Yes, some people might argue that ‘it’s just a set lunch’, so let’s isolate that argument and limit it to just the roasting of the mutton. Given the prowess of the kitchen, it was merely ordinary. One needn’t special ingredients to make food taste wonderful, you just need to cook it well. A perfect example of which is the set lunch at Hibiscus – now newly recrowned with 2 stars – £25, much cheaper and on my visit, the cooking there was so far beyond Marcus Wareing’s that it was out in the stratosphere. There you go, comparing like for like. As for the other 2 star place I went to, The Square – absolutely no comparison, Phil’s kitchen is (currently) a lot better than Marcus’, in fact if I were to rank them, I’d say Phil and Claude are about a tie, Marcus trailing behind, not far but not close either.
Ah, except Marcus has a trump card you see, and that trump card is called the Baked Egg Custard tart. May Marcus keep it on his menu for as long as he still runs restaurants because I have a feeling it is not just a defining moment in his illustrious career, it may even become a symbol for the re-emergence of British cuisine altogether.
Verdict: Good, very good but not great. Except for pudding which was so good, it made me spew all kinds of emotive words.
The Calendar Launch party for Hello Sailor was a huge success! Calypso Harland's aspirations to take part in the Clipper 09-10 Round the World Yacht Race are closer to fruition thanks to a fantastic soirée of 50’s inspired beauties and rugged sailors.
Calypsos’ calendars, as well as helping her raise funds for the monumental renowned race, are destined to make a huge difference to vast amount of people with half of the money raised going to the charity Médecins Sans Frontières, also known as Doctors Without Borders.
Calypso, originally from New Zealand, was inspired after seeing the race advertised on the London Underground and with no sailing experience plucked up the courage to apply. From there it has been an epic struggle of raising funds and peoples support in her dream. For Calypso this race has become more than just an aspiration and has morphed into a quest and a life challenge. Her success with the recent launch party is just a minor indication of the motivation, willpower and determination that Calypso has poured into the project.
The evening itself took place in the most fitting of venues, the HMS President. Arriving as the London sky started to turn an orange hue, we jumped on board to be met by the lovely Calypso herself. With an easy manor she gave us a whizz-round tour of the ship and introduced us to some of the beautiful girls & boys that had made the calendar a reality. We shared some fantastic Sailor Jerry cocktails before the night’s entertainment of live music & burlesque dancers begun. The evening was a relaxed affair albeit with a lot of sailor-esque dancing and drinking. The night peaked with an emotional speech from Calypso to everyone who had helped out or brought a calendar. I found it a hugely inspirational event with people all grouping together to support a courageous women in a dream that I could only describe as arduous (35,000 miles) and rather scary (I am not a fan of being miles away from land).
If you are interested in showing some support or buying a calendar then please do check out Calypso’s website at - www.hellosailor.org.uk It is most certainly a worthy cause!
Calendar Pics
Calypsos’ calendars, as well as helping her raise funds for the monumental renowned race, are destined to make a huge difference to vast amount of people with half of the money raised going to the charity Médecins Sans Frontières, also known as Doctors Without Borders.
Calypso, originally from New Zealand, was inspired after seeing the race advertised on the London Underground and with no sailing experience plucked up the courage to apply. From there it has been an epic struggle of raising funds and peoples support in her dream. For Calypso this race has become more than just an aspiration and has morphed into a quest and a life challenge. Her success with the recent launch party is just a minor indication of the motivation, willpower and determination that Calypso has poured into the project.
The evening itself took place in the most fitting of venues, the HMS President. Arriving as the London sky started to turn an orange hue, we jumped on board to be met by the lovely Calypso herself. With an easy manor she gave us a whizz-round tour of the ship and introduced us to some of the beautiful girls & boys that had made the calendar a reality. We shared some fantastic Sailor Jerry cocktails before the night’s entertainment of live music & burlesque dancers begun. The evening was a relaxed affair albeit with a lot of sailor-esque dancing and drinking. The night peaked with an emotional speech from Calypso to everyone who had helped out or brought a calendar. I found it a hugely inspirational event with people all grouping together to support a courageous women in a dream that I could only describe as arduous (35,000 miles) and rather scary (I am not a fan of being miles away from land).
If you are interested in showing some support or buying a calendar then please do check out Calypso’s website at - www.hellosailor.org.uk It is most certainly a worthy cause!
Calendar Pics
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