The Chant of the Barbie Dolls

Orwell probably hasn't stopped revolving in his grave since he was put there, what with the obscene mis-use of language that he described, growing increasingly out of control. John Reid, the Home Secretary, is, according to the Today program, delivering a speech later on today in which he will, apparently without irony, utter the line (and I'm paraphrasing) "there is no compromise with extremists". Hmmm. That strikes me as a somewhat extreme position in and of itself, particularly for a politician, one, who by definition, has all the integrity of a weasel in an egg factory.

Incidentally, you might ask how the seers and soothsayers at the Today program know what he's going to say later today. They get copies of such speeches, or at least the bits that Downing Street Managers want trumpeted, and the BBC obligingly goes and blasts it in my ear at 8am in the morning. Presumably their logic goes something like this (you can imagine John Humphreys or James Naughtie saying this if you want): "we get advance notice of things important politicians are going to say. We report on them. Later on in the day, the politicians say it and there is reaction. If we waited till the morning after, what they said wouldn't be news, we'd just be reporting reactions, so we have to report in advance". Or in other words: "we're happy to reiterate and trumpet whatever nonsense the people who appoint our bosses want to flap their lips about, under the guise of news, completely unchallenged. It's our job to be spokespeople for spokespeople".

The Chief of the Metropolitan police, someone you might expect to always weigh in heavily on the side of blandness in public statements, in a recent press conference about the alleged foiling of an alleged terror plot said the alleged perpetrators would have allegedly caused, and I quote, "unimaginable" devastation. Wow. Unimaginable devastation. I wonder what that would be like: say 500 people on the 10 planes, that's 5,000 people killed, and maybe throw in another 500 if these planes were downed over populated areas. 5,500 people killed. Whoops. I just imagined it didn't I, not so unimaginable after all. I can only conclude that to be a member of the police force one must have ones organs of imagination surgically removed (to use an Andrew Marr phase), in boot camp or Police Academy, or wherever it is that they go to be trained.

Anyhow, in times like these it's refreshing to go to a restaurant, particularly one in the Square Mile, and not have to sigh in resignation at abstruse descriptions and patent nonsense on the menu, but an encouraging menu maketh not a great gastro-experience. Getting access to Rhodes 24 in Tower 42 is a bit like going for a job interview. On a plane. You have to "check in" at reception, get a little green security "boarding pass", put you bag, brollies, books, and assorted paraphernalia through a security scanner, exchange pleasantries with 2 security guards, and then, leaving the glass fish bowl of the foyer behind, navigate your way through shiny corridors to the "B" lift banks for take off to the 24th floor (Rhodes on the 24th floor, see?).

First impressions are important. Boulet in New York, a 2 Michelin Star affair, had a softly lit entrance hall filled waist high at the sides with boxes of apples when we visited - an utterly wonderful aroma, redolent of Autumn and the country side, which just transported you as soon as you walked in the enormous arched wooden door - we instantly forgot we were in Downtown New York. The first thing you get inside Rhodes 24 is the stark acrid tang of cigarette smoke as you tumble into the bar, choc full of beshirted city types. The best views out at the Gherkin are, unfortunately, from the bar, so we gazed longingly out at it (one of my favourite buildings in London, it's like an enormous space ship when lit up at night) as we were whisked away to our table. Comfy seats, but we were posted beside some sort of lectern that the staff seemed to like congregating around, with bottles of expensive water, dripping condensation. The décor was passable, but I'm not sure I got the theme, if there was one. Somewhat typical for a dining room in an office block, but certainly nothing stunning.

We started with a very nice gin and tonic and house champagne which was pleasingly light. From the menu (see, back to my original point) much tempted, and the starkness, relatively speaking of the descriptions, augured really well in my view. Fish featuring heavily, we were in a more hungry mood and both opted for the scallops to start. An amuse guele of a cauliflower soup was, rather cruelly I thought, labelled "cup a soup but in a good way" by Piggly Wiggly. I know exactly what she meant, as the cream gave way to some sort of base stock, but I rather liked it.
Thereafter, 3 rather small but moderately tasty scallops (no roe: someone please tell me where does all the row go, because that's where I want to be), cooked to our taste (a little bit of jelly in the middle), but bizarrely, with salt added after being cooked (I could see the flakes). I can only conclude that the scallops were considered a bit bland, and so needed some salt - I agree that they were a tad bland, but was shocked that they would salt them none the less. The most puzzling thing, however, was the piped, sticky mash potatoes with a mushroom gravy as an accompaniment - ok in and of themselves, but did absolutely nothing for the scallops. What's wrong with a few crunchy bits of salad I say?

Anyhow, the Sommelier was quite helpful - our mains, which I'll come to - were meaty, so rather than compromise on the red, we got 2 glasses of a fascinating Riesling (Pewsley Vale, Californian) with a taste somewhere between boot polish, petrol, and old leather, and it tasted great to boot (haha) with the scallops. A bit of a revelation really. For our mains, I was sorely tempted by the fish, (seabass and monkfish amongst the choices) and ended up sorry I didn't go for it. Instead I opted for the oxtail and kidney suet pudding with beef gravy and parsley carrots, and PigglyWiggly went for veal loin with a macaroni cheese accompaniment. The suet pudding was good - my benchmark was the same dish in the Stags Head, Heston Blumenthal's gastro pub next door to the Fat Duck. While Rhodes' suet pudding was perfect (you could imagine the fluffy pud with some nice custard and a few sultanas) it was a very thick walled vessel for the oxtail and kidney. The beef gravy was an absolute necessity, as otherwise it would have been a major stodge fest. At the Stags Head, the casing was much thinner and the filling much more gravyish with lots more kidney. However, the kidneys weren't to the fore in Rhodes, but that's because they did have a slightly gamey tang (which I love). A very close call, but Rhodes shaded Blumenthal on the suet pud front, but I wouldn't go for either again to be honest. The parsley carrots were nice - but pretty much anything with that much butter is going to tickle your fancy. Cooked just the way I like them though, just a tad al dente. And the Seghegio Zinfandel (2004), a Californian effort, which was the Sommeliers recommendation was absolutely perfect with it - cut right through the deliciously gooey suet layers, with a nice berry flavour.

The veal, on the other hand, was a major let down - tough, unrepentant meat, with not much flavour at all, atop some wilted, defeated looking spinach. From my taste, I just couldn't imagine eating the rest of it. The mac and cheese was delightful, but I couldn't see how it would do anything for the veal. In fact, it didn't matter, because nothing was going to save the veal. Poor PigglyWiggly was devastated.

Service throughout was about adequate, but we were left looking at empty plates for what seemed a long time in between courses, but as mentioned previously the Sommelier guided us very well with his choices.

Normally, I would spend a long time rhapsodising on the dessert - however, the trades description act may apply here - I ordered a raspberry bakewell and got a plain old raspberry tartlet. All of the raspberry syrup, cream and peanut brittle ice-cream accompaniments in the world could not make up for my disappointment. Some tasteless decaf and a few petits fours later (the warm Dundee cake being a real winner), we were leaving, pausing only in the now cleared out bar (just because it's on the 24th floor doesn't mean the city types hang around - it's just like any other bar in the city in that respect) to take in the view. The bill came to 184 quid including a 12.5% service automatically added, which given the location, the clientele, the view and the fact that we had quite a bit of booze, isn't a bad price.

Compared to some other 1 starred restaurants we've been to (March, Peter Lugers, Alto, the Spotted Pig, all in New York admittedly) this was well below par. We definitely wont be going back, and my advice would be take your 180 quid and go somewhere else where yuo pay the same or in some cases less. For example: Morgan M, La Trompette, St. John's, The Wolsley (which is more spectacular really in an of itself, even though it doesn't have a view), Bibendum, or have a nice lunch at Clarigdes and go for a ride on the London Eye afterwards. If you want food and a view that is.