In an article I have read recently, the author exposed how, as we go through life and as we gain more experience, the magic of life fades. The more we know and live, the less we wonder. Being constantly bombarded with mediocre restaurants explain why some of my friends (with decent cooking skills) have forsaken eating out altogether. So whenever you find a jewel like this, the magic of life comes with it.
Cuisine: Middle Eastern
Head chef: Amedi AKA Tomar
Camera: iPhone 6
My dear co-foodie has challenged me to write this review (due to the fact that I had tweeted about having a culinary orgasm) like a saucy, cheap novel. Challenge accepted.
We entered the Palomar, our skin slightly numb from the cold, autumn night. The air was brimming with joy and excitement, a waitress inviting us to order some cocktails whilst we wait. I did not mind; if anything, I had been told, the longer the wait, the greater the pleasure (because you’re hungry so then… right? I’m getting much to into this whole saucy novel experiment).
Soon after we saw ourselves sat right at the bar, privy to all that was happening in the kitchen. I felt exposed, my eyes peering from right to left, searching, yearning. There were countless recipes cooked right in front of me, with smells of exotic lands calling for me to explore them.
We tore into the Kubaneh with vicious delight, the soft dough ripping easily and it had been an instant reflex to smell the bread. The tahini was excellent, but the velvet tomatoea drip was even more so. I wanted my mouth to have a gland which, whenever I am sad, produces velvet tomatoes dip. This is the next step in human evolution.
The Salmon Tartare and Beetroot Carpaccio were equally delicious, yet the real treat were the mains, especially the Polenta Jerusalem Style. The polenta was soft and silky, and as I took it in I was confronted with a full range of forbidden flavours, my lips quivering with each moutfhful.
For myself, I ordered something which contained chicken leg (not entirely sure of the name as I had ordered with the help of the extremely knowledgeable waiter we had for the night). Moist and well seasoned, it was a dish that continued the pleasurable tone of the night yet couldn’t compare to the polenta (perhaps due to my weakness towards truffles).
Dessert wise, the Jerusalem Mess proved to be beyond the reach of it’s Eton counterpart – cheekyly playful, a shocker our stomach could still take in more food.
Beyond the (potentially failed) attempt to humour, The Palomar has been on of the few restaurants in the past several months to really wow me – not just with the food, but with the incredibly comfortable atmosphere that the staff there create. A must visit.