Telephone: 01223 369299
Address: Midsummer Common, Cambridge
Rating: 17/20
It seems curious to me that gastronomy has never been accorded the kind of academic recognition that it merits. Wine bibbing gets its due deserts in the groves of academe, but food and cooking? No. The only answer for this oversight that I can come up with is that drinking makes you pissed, and that makes academic life tolerable, while eating doesn't. That, in a roundabout way, might go some way to explaining why our major university towns, with the honourable exception of Bristol, have so few restaurants of note. And when it comes to the ages-old contest between Oxford and Cambridge, the latter wins hands down.
Oxford has no restaurants of outstanding quality that I know of. Cambridge at least has Midsummer House. It stands near one corner of Midsummer Common, next to the river. It is a small, handsome building to which a conservatory has been added, with what you might call a compact garden beyond that. Not that the garden held much appeal when Tod and I went for lunch. It was one of those dank January days when all colours but brown had been drained from the landscape. Still, inside the conservatory all was cheery, with potted plants and sunny yellow, breezy paintings and bright service. Tod was pretty cheery as well, having recently given up regular employment for the stimulating uncertainties of the freelance life. There's nothing that makes you appreciate a plate of tucker more than not knowing where tomorrow's is coming from.
The chef/patron of Midsummer House, Daniel Clifford, is as English as English can be, but Midsummer House has all the style of a French restaurant striving to move up the Michelin league - it already has one star, and may well have two before too long. There are French waiters, a strong French wine list and an unmistakable French polish to the food, even if the menu is in English.
Tod was torn between the fixed-price lunch menu and the à la carte, and so, in the great spirit of English compromise, had the seared scallops with celeriac purée, truffle vinaigrette, façon Jean Bardet, from one, and then roast fillet of cod with lightly chillied haricot blanc and vanilla foma sauce from the other. I dived straight into the à la carte menu, with honey-glazed pork belly, shallot purée, roast scallops, black pudding and ginger and honey caramel, before moving on to Anjou pigeon à la Villegeois, with braised lentils, pommes sautée, confit garlic, poîlane croustillant and jus de raisins sec.
If those menu stanzas make the food sound layered rather than intricate, that wouldn't be far wrong. The pork belly and scallop dish, for example, ran through a spectrum of sweet flavours - pork sweetness, scallop sweetness, honey sweetness and shallot sweetness. There was even a hint of sweetness about the black pudding, believe it or not. At the same time, all the components were mild as well as sweet. It made for a mouthful that was cultured and comforting. Tod's own scallop first course and my main course were both pretty classical in nature, finely prepared and completely satisfying, if not exactly heart-stoppingly exciting. The pigeon, in particular, was a fine, not to say refined, version of a rustic original.
But it would seem that a radical heart beats in Clifford's breast. He is obviously aware of other things stirring in the kitchens of British restaurants. There was more than a little of the Fat Duck about the series of small tasters before we got down to the serious courses. However, it was the combination of chilli and vanilla with Tod's cod dish that clearly showed that here was a chef struggling out from under the restraints of classical French haute cuisine. Successfully, too, I should add. The soothing nature of the foamed vanilla sauce worked off the earthy haricot blanc and the heat of the chilli, turning a very fair ingot of cod into a star performer. It made me greatly regret not having the roast salmon with wilted iceberg lettuce, pommes galette, almond purée, white chocolate and caviar sauce.
Tod finished up with cheese from a modestly sized but impeccably kept trolley, and was very happy with that. I fortified myself against the rigours of the afternoon with a dish that showed off William's pear in various ways. It was an ingenious, delightful and light end to a pretty impressive line-up of dishes.
The fact that Tod's main course came off the fixed-price menu did not cut much ice when it came to the bill. The restaurant charged us for two full à la carte menus, which work out at £45 a head for three courses (not counting all the titbits that come along as part of the action). We drank modestly by the glass - two glasses of sherry, two each of wine, and one of eau de vie de poire. Even so, that part of the bill came to £36.25, with a further £8 on coffees. It seemed a bit steep, but I guess that covers all the chocolates and suchlike that were showered on us. So the full whack was £134.25. On the one hand, I would say that this was a fair price to pay for the quality of the cooking, and for the smoothness of the service. On the other hand, a pound or two taken off in recognition of the mixed menus, a little less charged for the coffees, and I would have left swathed in the feeling of real generosity.
· Open Tues-Sat, 12 noon-2pm, 7-10pm. Menus: Lunch, £20 for two courses, £26 for three; À la carte, £45 for three courses. Wheelchair access (no WC).
