Please note that since writing this blog post, Bij Wink has closed down
I recently read an article about what a person’s eating habits can reveal about themselves and their romantic partner. The conclusions weren’t exactly astounding (people who are adventurous about food are more likely to be adventurous when it comes to sex – well, who’d have guessed that, eh?) but they did get me thinking about the fact that, after most meals, my hands and face somehow end up completely covered in what I’ve just eaten, while the Honey Badger stays pristine. Actually, I’m not sure I want to take this thought any further…
Anyway, I was reminded of my total inability to do what I’d call “elegant eating” last week at restaurant Bij Wink, as I snatched HB’s lamb chop bone from his plate and proceeded to chew it clean. Well, when I say chew it clean: the bone came out clean; my face did not. Our waiter, who I’m assuming was Mr Wink himself (he was quite extraordinarily friendly), and who had seen my scuffle with the lamb chop, came to clear our plates: “you’re a girl with quite the appetite, aren’t you?” he asked, smilingly. I decided to take it as a compliment.
Still, back to the food. By far my favourite dish was the starter of warm rillettes and saucisson with sweet, spiced apple and fig chutney, and pickled cucumber. It was so rustically presented that we even caught the chef taking a photo before she sent it off to our table.
We’ve sort of covered the lamb, which was good enough it itself and came with a tasty sausage – kind of like a mixed grill. But for me, the croquette and farinata were too rich and too fried, while the roasted aubergine was tough as leather. And no sauce. Odd accompaniments all round.
I much preferred my own main course: scallops with chickpeas, chorizo and fennel puree. A good balance of textures and flavours, although I missed the fennel tempura and bottarga mentioned on the menu.
When it came to dessert, there were four on offer, and four of us out for dinner. It was like dessert dating, with four perfect (and predictable) matches: my chocoholic friend Nicola went straight for the chocolate pud (she’d decided that before we even walked into the restaurant). Her boyfriend, a tall Dutchman (aren’t they all?), went for the cheese plate – which I also attacked like a thieving mouse. The Honey Badger went for a light, fruity panna cotta, which turned out to be less light and fruity and more sweet and rich than anticipated. While I (yup, you’ve guessed it) went for the alcoholic option: scroppino.
Still, I’ll count myself lucky on this score because according to Ms Sheraton, the author quoted in the article: “If a woman consistently orders sickeningly sweet, over elaborate whipped-cream desserts, she may be given to equally sticky goodbyes.” No danger of that here. Toodle-oo.
