Week 24: Michelin Star

 Type of writing: Food critic review




Kit on restaurants

Chez Theivamanoharan, Dunstable

Chez Theivamanoharan has been in business for a number of years, thriving, however, on an exclusive, invitation-only basis. I myself have been waiting six months for a seat at the table. Only now have the owners seen fit to pull out a chair and let me in.

Typically, the dishes served here are inspired from Jamie, Ella, Delia and other one name brands. The restaurant operating very much on the mantra, ‘If you aren’t known by your forename alone, you’re not worth knowing.’ There are, of course, speciality dishes: the Chili Con Carne is one. Here, the chef recognises that sauciness should be left to the bedroom, reducing the dish down to Joey Essex levels of thickness. Served with tortilla chips and brown rice, it’s the kind of comfort food that will see you through a pandemic.

Another triumph is the Cauliflower Falafels. Everyone knows cauliflower is the Ugly Sister to the fairytale of broccoli, having as it does all the flavour of a Salsa Night at a social centre. But in this restaurant’s hands cauliflower will go to the ball, transforming as it does from an unloved spinster to knockout gorgeous. Roasted and blended alongside chick peas, almonds, cumin, chick peas and oil, it is a tour de force.

Which brings me to today. Literally, I was salivating in anticipation. Slurping my own hands in frenzied excitement. So few have penetrated this gastronomical palace; I was about to be one of few who has; the happy few, we band of brothers. But before the food, let me herald the ambience.

Commentary from football is on in the background, a delicious riposte to the hoity-toity playlist of Michelin restaurants. Rejecting bland Muzak in favour of the music of everyday signals how unpretentious and homely the eatery is. These descriptors are mirrored in the staff. The wife is in running bottoms and a hoodie; the husband sports a beard that is two days too long; and the other relative is taking pictures of me on his phone. It would be impossible for any of them to be any more accommodating. They all radiate warmth; more importantly, natural warmth. It is clear they’re happy to see me. I’ve grown sick of waiting staff that appear as though they went to an LA surgeon to augment their smile, only to end up looking like some demented clown that would jump you in a sewer. No, these people are good eggs; they probably serve them too.

An amused bouche is brought to my high chair immediately. It’s pureed sweet potato and finger food sweet potato. How audacious is that? Heston Willy Wonka Blumnethal would insist on some knickerbocker bollocks of different flavours and textures, but Chez Theivamanoharan serves one flavour in two ways. Needless to say, I dived straight in. Manners went out the window. Decorum took leave. I blew a raspberry to etiquette and stuffed myself silly. Such was my glee I lost complete control of my spoon; fortunately, the owners were on hand to give me a hand and feed me too. All of this left me wondering: why are we paying top whack for restaurants that make you put all the effort of getting it in your mouth?

By the end of the sweet potato, I looked like an accident in a fake tan salon. I was more orange than a Dutch football fan in a Donald Trump mask. But what did it matter? Shouldn’t food be fun? Should it be tucked serviettes and Google translating menus? Fennel dust on seaweed? No, it needs to be rolling down hills, jumping in puddles, sliding on wet surfaces. A dialogue, a communication, boisterous badinage between diner and delicacy. If you want formal, this is not the place. If you want joy, then bring your own brouhaha because we’re having a party.

So good was the sweet potato and sweet potato, I couldn’t eat another thing. That’s right I didn’t get go beyond the hors d’oeuvre. I just felt sated. Contented. Complete. I wanted for nothing; needed for nothing. I was in a happy place. Arcadia. Avalon. Shangri-La.

These though are fictional paradises. Chez Theivamanoharan is the real thing. Do what you can to enter The Kingdom of Chez. Sell your soul if you must. If God had the sweet potato, He would understand.

_________________________________________________________________________________

Chez Theivamanoharan, Dunstable. Open all week. Invitation only.

 

    

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