Dutch Government falls

The entire Dutch government has been brought down by the Ayan Hirsi Ali affair. Most gratifying.

Piccolino

Piccolino is part of the oxymoronically named "Individual Restaurant Company" group and the Nottingham branch is a recent addition to the Lacemarket dining scene, with a prime location at Weekday Cross. We went on Saturday night for a visit which is unlikely to be repeated.

We had booked for 9pm but were invited to wait in the bar area for an hour and purchase our own drinks until a table became vacant. Some starters arrived before we had actually managed to order anything and the waiter then removed them and wandered around looking for their proper destination. Evidently he couldn't find it so they came back again as "compensation" for our delay - now that's what I call class.

The bar, which is right next to the dining area was full of ghastly smokers and the restaurant seems to be a great hit with 20-something hen nights and raucous office parties. I can't imagine why - it's not like it's cheap or anything. At £45/head (with wine), the food is way below the standard you would expect - my suckling pig was dry and overdone, though the starter was acceptable.

The decor is part lurid 70's american diner and part gloomy cocktail bar. The staff seem inexperienced, harassed and under trained.

Restaurant Sat Bains

Blogging, it seems, can take you places you never expect. This week I read about a homeless woman living in a car, who blogged her way to a book deal with a major publisher. Simultaneously, I was scandalized to discover that my neighbour, Troubled Diva, has been covering the Eurovision Song Contest in Athens for the highbrow Microsoft spin-off, Slate.

I, meanwhile, am a judge in the Nottingham Restaurant Awards; Much more up my street and all thanks to my new best friends at the absolutely fabulous Big Table PR.

My dining companion has been none other than Peter “Hoover” Harden of Hardens Guides. I had a preconceived notion of what a Wall Street junk bond analyst turned food writer would look like. He would look like Mr Creosote. In fact, I am happy to report that Peter is positively svelte, despite an extraordinary capacity to take on food. He even held me to an honourable draw at tennis, in torrid conditions, at The Park Tennis Club.

We were judging the Fine Dining category (yesss!), three epic meals in two days, all on expenses. I have been guarding the results under terms of the closest security for about a month now but yesterday’s awards ceremony releases me from all obligations and I can now reveal that the top three restaurants nominated in the popular vote were World Service, Harts and Restaurant Sat Bains. It was sad to see Merchants excluded but only two of the mighty triumvirate of Harts, Merchants and World Service could make it into the final three, given the foregone conclusion of Restaurant Sat Bains.

Of course, Sat Bains won hands down. They are indisputably the best restaurant in Nottingham if fine dining is what you are looking for. Value for money was not one of our judging criteria and might have changed the results if it had been. You can spend an awful lot of money very quickly at Restaurant Sat Bains. I did not want to lose this job next year and thus ordered very conservatively from the dinner menu rather than the tasting menu. Nevertheless the bill effortlessly topped £100/head. I have heard of people spending £200/head at Sat Bains and coming away shocked, angry and well... hungry.

But the food is extraordinary and the Michelin star is certainly justified. My main course and dessert were world class, the starter only marginally less so. All the “twiddles”, the little surprises between the major courses were brilliantly inventive, light and invigorating and colourful. For obsessive foodies, those with deep pockets or a generous expense allowance, Sat Bains cannot be beaten in Nottingham today.

Perhaps significantly, Sat did not turn up to the awards ceremony to pick up his trophy. Instead he sent a message to his fans and fellow chefs which was read out from the stage.

"I can't come. I'm fucking working. Just like you all should be."