Anyway, in other cities around the world people pay good money to whiz up 40 stories in a soundless space-age glass elevator and gawp at familiar landmarks from an eagle’s eyrie. So given the chance to look down on the top of the stately Gherkin as a mere by-product of having dinner, and not a high-falutin, mortgage-inducing ten course tasting menu either, every visitor to London really ought to book a table here. Heck, if you live in London you should try Duck & Waffle once too. I’m just not sure the food on offer is good enough to persuade me to do it twice.
It’s sharing plates, by the way. An idea so novel that our waitress felt the need to explain the concept. She also giggled at me when I sniffed the wine rather than tasting it (“Heehee! Why did you do that?”) which was a cute insight into the level of experience of some of the staff up here in the clouds. I have to say though that service was always friendly and mostly useful.
A really big smoked haddock scotch egg with curried mayo was an interesting way of de-constructing and then re-constructing kedgeree, although very, very salty. Three tiny Herdwick lamb cutlets were delicious on a bed of pureed aubergine. Fish of the day was four tiny nibbles of salmon served on a big brick of Himalayan salt. Nice presentation, but someone didn’t think through how such a miniscule quantity of food would be received at table. Grumpily. Then again there was a generous blob of good rabbit rillettes on toast. And a bag of super sweet/salty/spicy crispy pigs ear strips that were very moorish. They bring out the dishes whenever they’re ready, and apparently the heritage tomato salad takes a long time prepping. Pity, as we were gagging for some fresh veg after what was quite a
Mercifully the roasted turnips that arrived with half a grouse were a solid hit of fine vegetable. But half a grouse is not a sharing plate. To eat half a grouse you need to tear into the bird with knife and fork, devouring the obvious bits of meat in a couple of bites and then winkling out all the tasty little shreds while bones and flecks of bird fly everywhere. At some point you’ll want to pick it up and chew the particularly awkward bits off. How this can be a pleasure to pass around a table of four I just don’t know. Good grouse, though.
Puds were good, without being epic. Maureen’s torrejas with caramel apples were the best, a cast iron pan full of sticky deliciousness. My peach melba was lacking in the promised caramelised almonds, but this was swiftly rectified (good service, see?). Unfortunately the almonds were bizarrely the saltiest item we had all evening and destroyed the otherwise nice peach melba without mercy.
Duck & Waffle is fair value given the location, we managed £40 each sharing one bottle of wine between four. So having said I wouldn’t come back here, I probably would. I would visit again if I came up to town with my parents, for instance, or some friends. I’d bring them for the views and the experience, and by picking carefully from the menu we’d have a pretty good bite to eat with it.
