Originally posted 19th October, 2014:

Nebraskan Observer

I’ve written before about the witty and acerbic writing of Jay Rayner for the Observer Magazine, and do so again now as I rather enjoyed his restaurant review Belly Laughs in today’s edition, laughing out loud myself at one point, though this isn’t the first time reading his work.

I have been prompted by two particular references/portions: the first because I recently ate at a harbour-front restaurant in St Ives and on the dessert menu there was an item titled [not exactly sure] something like Apple and Custard?

which then mentioned other apparent options within this, or so it seemed. When my wife ordered this I did ask if she wanted the custard – pavloved by that question mark – to be snootily informed by the waitress that this was a ‘deconstructed’ dessert and therefore custard wasn’t an option to discard, having also been educated by her that the apparent options were in fact the constituent parts of the ‘deconstructed’ whole.

Not watching many current cooking programmes, I wasn’t aware of this familiar literary term having acquired a newish culinary meaning, though I’m sure Derrida is fully up-to-date and pleased [having deconstructed his death in 2004]. Therefore, feeling just ignorant since, I was bolstered to read Rayner today mocking the term somewhat by writing of a dessert, There is also a “deconstructed” vanilla cheesecake, which, as too often, is code for “We couldn’t be bothered to make a proper cheesecake.” A cushion of whipped vanilla cream lies under a landslide of shattered digestives with a few berries in mourning.

Sweet, if you’ll excuse the pun.

The second is the following portion [I won’t say it….] which could/should also appear in my ‘Nebraska’ series of posts, and reads, The corn-fed, dry-aged Nebraskan rib-eye, with a carbon footprint big enough to make a climate-change denier horny, is bloody marvellous: rich, deep, earthy, with that dense tang that comes with proper hanging. And at £100 a kilo it bloody well should be. At that price they should lead the damn animal into the restaurant and install it under the table so it can pleasure me while I eat.

A beastly reference not to everyone’s taste, if you’ll excuse the extended pun – and the restaurant being reviewed is called Beast. No need to deconstruct any further.

Originally posted on 11th August, 2013:

Jay Rayner’s restaurant review in today’s The Observer Magazine excels in his trademark linguistically elaborate denigration or praise – this one entirely and wittily and devastatingly the former – and as a fan of good writing I am commenting on this here.

Take this opening salvo that sets the scene for this restaurant’s initial visit by Rayner and now consequent, imminent demise: It occupies the back room of a hotel for businessmen, dreaming only of an in-house movie and a handful of tissues, and feels like two hours of death by PowerPoint, presented by a lifestyle trends consultant who once went to Hoxton.

Other gems within the overall demolition are these two, The least offensive of the main courses is the crab, baked in the shell under a Cajun mayonnaise gunk. It looks like a hefty sneeze into a shell, after a long swim in the sea to clear a cold; and then this, a tube of breast and a reformed leg, clumsily coated in bright orange crumbs the colour of the cast of TOWIE.

I have written before and elsewhere of my high regard for Rayner’s witty restaurant review writing in The Observer Magazine. The witticisms reach their zenith when erring on the caustically critical climb, but he is also a graceful appreciator of what pleases. Above all, his creativity in expressing both pain and pleasure is boundless, as well as relentless, especially with the former emotion.

An additional part of my significant liking is for the man himself because of one particular encounter. Briefly, and some years ago now, an A level English student of mine wrote an exceptionally gifted ‘mock’ restaurant review as part of a writing unit exploring language registers and genre. Using Rayner’s work as exemplar, her creation was outstanding: linguistically rich, especially in its articulate, elegant and creative use of an apt semantic field, and comically brilliant. Rayner could not have bettered it himself.

As he freely and generously acknowledged himself. To support their creative writing pieces, students had to present an accompanying critical commentary. Having previously sought and obtained feedback from exemplar authors themselves to inform such commentaries, I therefore took a chance on contacting Rayner through The Observer to request the same for this girl’s stunning work. To his tremendous credit he responded with a letter full of genuine, effusive praise for her writing. And it was the unreserved, richly glowing expression of that praise that so pleased, and impressed.

In today’s review of The Holy Birds restaurant in London titled Divine Retribution, Rayner is as usual on fine form. You can and should read the whole here, but I will quote a snippet that, as always, had me smiling as I read,

The room in front of that kitchen is orange. Very orange. It’s like they’ve broken Donald Trump down for parts and used them to kit out a dining room. There’s an orange counter, orange dangly lights and orange banquettes, plus various bits of midcentury modern furniture and wood panelling. If the art director on Mad Men had got completely off their tits on Fanta and then set to work, it would look like this.

I may later add the two previous references to reviews I have posted before, but it is always best to read his current work, and I look forward to next Sunday. I will never forget his thoughtfulness in writing so fulsomely to my former student. I am sure there are very many who wouldn’t be bothered to do so.