Trompets, Magherafelt, Co Derry
Noel McMeel is a charismatic character. Modest to the point of self-effacement, his speech a steady stew of soft, mid-Ulster vowels, this tall, angular man gives no hint in his nature of the precision and the passion which one finds in his cooking.
We featured him on these pages some years back, when he was working at the Beech Hill Hotel in Derry. Then, he described an extraordinary American odyssey, which culminated in McMeel managing to talk his way into a job in the kitchens of Chez Panisse, in Berkeley, California, home for over two decades to the work, and the philosophy, of Alice Waters, the grand dame of US restaurateurs.
That experience had a profound impact on Noel McMeel and his work. Not in driving him to change his style, but in confirming for him that his method of working, which stresses the importance of relationships between cook and suppliers, between staff and customers, was the correct path for him to follow. In his new restaurant, the punningly-titled Trompets, in Magherafelt, he has found the perfect home to put his beliefs into practice.
Opening in Magherafelt is a daring step. Mid-Ulster is a culinary desert to rival Roscommon, but McMeel's restaurant feels right at home here, and his code of simplicity suits this modest location. Everything is understated, save for the decisive hospitality of Aidan Rooney, who works front of house as capably and confidently as anyone I have seen, and the cooking, which is so graceful and mature that it is captivating.
Starter courses of tagliatelle with haddock and a spinach and basil pesto, and a salad of seared scallops and spring onions with a baby leaf salad and saffron and mustard grain dressing, were both articulate with flavour. The tagliatelle was perfectly lissom and distinct, the fish housed in a potato shell and matched fittingly with the pesto, while the scallops were tender and just right, the sauce mopped up with excellent breads. It has always been a feature of Noel McMeel's work that the staples - breads, pasta, vegetables - are exactingly correct, but if his tagliatelle is perfect, even it is eclipsed by a wild mushroom lasagne which he serves as a main course.
A single kerchief of pasta is packed with mushrooms before being folded and dressed with truffle oil, and its confection of earthy flavours seems a veritable definition of McMeel's art. Although the dish is obviously very considered, the assurance of the flavours makes it seem utterly natural, utterly logical, as if mushrooms and truffle oil had no destiny other than to find themselves, ultimately, wrapped up in a sheet of pasta in a restaurant in Magherafelt. The absence of anything gratuitous in this cooking is magical.
Char-grilled chicken breast with tomato, mascarpone risotto and roast greens was similarly composed of relaxed, complementary flavours, the fowl just so, the risotto just so, the vegetables just so, a little trickle of saffron sauce just so. You don't put up any argument with cooking like this. It is complete, and completely delicious.
When our desserts arrived - a white chocolate soup with fresh raspberries and a tuile, and a tea blancmange of darjeeling tea mousse with a lychee sorbet and a Turkish sauce - I thought that McMeel had persuaded Gordon Smith, who was his pastry chef in Derry, to join up with him in Trompets. These desserts were so terrific I felt certain that only the wizard Smith could have made them.
I was wrong. Emma McLoughlin is the dessert chef, and it is a tribute to Noel McMeel's gifts as a teacher that he should have assisted and formed such a thrilling young talent. If Trompets is going to put Magherafelt on the culinary map, then Emma's white chocolate soup is going to have food lovers making pilgrimages to the town, just to enjoy this masterpiece. Light, not at all cloying or sticky, this was chocolate heaven. The tea mousse was excellent, only paling in comparison to the incredible chocolate soup.
From a wine list which is short and well chosen, but which should have brief notes describing the style of the wines offered, we drank some blowsy Kendall Jackson chardonnay, and a sublime David Wynn pinot noir, on which Adam Wynn has written the choicest little note about a bottle of wine that I have ever read.
One simple incident may explain the charm and the success of Trompets. When we remarked on the nifty yellow shirt and blue tie of our young, male waiter, he replied unselfconsciously, "Well, it's sort of classical and sort of modern, and we're proud to wear them". Proud indeed.
Trompets, 25 Church Street, Magherafelt, Co Derry, tel: (01648) 32257, fax: 34441. Open: Tues 6-10 p.m., Wed-Sat noon2.30 p.m., 6-10 p.m., Sun noon2.30 p.m.
Table d'hote £21.50 for three courses, surprise menu of four courses £27.50. Major cards. High chairs.
Deane's, Belfast
Michael Deane is a charismatic character. Watch him at work in his kitchens, his hair tied back in a bandana, his actions as urgent as a boxer in a ring, as flames leap from pans, orders are called, dishes are speedily dressed and sent out, and he seems the very archetype of the male chef: theatrical, driven, an explosion of activity, not merely the theatre of the kitchen personified, but the opera of the kitchen personified.
Deane had been working quietly in Helen's Bay, in Co Down, for the past few years, steadily and slowly perfecting his art to the point where the meal I ate there, last year, was the single most perfect dinner of 1996.
His unique talent lies in the fact that Michael Deane is the finest exponent of fusion cooking in the country. The use of exotically flavoured oils is his trademark. Allied to a piercing intellect which allows him to deconstruct classic dishes and reformulate them, his work can be intoxicating.
From Helen's Bay, he has moved to a large new premises in Howard Street in Belfast, and if Deane's kitchen style is operatic, then he has been given the culinary equivalent of La Scala in which to perform. Operating on two levels, with a brasserie downstairs and a 40-seater restaurant upstairs, Deane's is the most lavishly decorated restaurant in Ireland. Even the doors of the loos are ornamented. Its marriage of Baroque ornateness with Gothic over-the-top may not be to everyone's taste, but it is perhaps an understandable move, given the extreme minimalism of the other hot-shot northern restaurants run by Deane's contemporaries.
If Deane produced the best dinner of 1996, his new kitchen has not yet scaled those heights, probably because his work is so complex that it allows little room for error, and the rhythm and discipline he needs to find with his team is not yet match-perfect.
A broth of harissa roast quail, lemongrass and glass noodles showed his strengths: the flavours perfectly exact and succinct, the cleverness of the concoction tightly reined in, with the tiny pieces of quail resting on the noodles in the centre of the bowl. A roast and brandade of monkfish "Nicoise" is one of his trademarks: in essence a deconstructed salad Nicoise, with quail's eggs and green beans, potato and tomato, it is fleshed out with a perfect brandade and with small pieces of roasted fish.
Not only is this dish incredibly clever, it also shows Deane's ability to seize the flavours of a region perfectly. This dish is all about Provence, and its summery, salady, fishy flavours. It is a joy, a modern masterpiece.
Almost as good is his kedgeree, with squab, foie gras and curry oil. The oil, with its spicy notes, is the key here, accenting the Eastern flavours of a dish which has been taken apart and rethought, in much the same way as his carpaccio of spiced salmon, with sticky rice, chilli and soya oil is elemental and quintessentially Asian.
Main courses didn't enjoy the same exciting chutzpah, tending towards an over-elaboration which didn't demonstrate Deane's strengths. Roast cod with ratatouille, coriander pesto and a bell pepper jus had a perfectly cooked piece of fish, a microdiced ratatouille, and an unnecessary draping of fresh pasta.
The canon of lamb with roast fennel, a roquefort dressing and a jus of baby beetroot was cooked medium, which left the meat too dry. The casserole of seafood with baby vegetables and a saffron dressing had an excellent assortment of fish - salmon, hake, lobster, oyster, scallop and monkfish - but the saffron in the sauce was too strong and overpowered the individual flavours. Thai-style duck with a confit wonton and chilli was paired with pak choi, and its simplicity was much better judged.
Desserts are charged separately - at six pounds and fifty pence as the menu grandly spells out - and the star of the quartet was a red fruit cheesecake with a salad of red fruit, which was delightfully summery. Sticky toffee pudding with honeycomb ice cream was as rich as a roulade of chocolate, while citrus fruit brulee with lemongrass ice cream and physalis promised more than it delivered.
This tendency to make courses too rich is something which the kitchen will correct, but what they need to correct with greater urgency is restaurant management which was, on our visit, almost farcical. We had to put together four diners because the restaurant would only sell us a table for four, and would not accommodate a request for two on any evening of the week we were in Belfast.
Selling a room to capacity is understandable, given the investment in the restaurant, but to be so blunt about it is rather charmless. When we did arrive, having negotiated a table for four on Tuesday evening, the maitre d' firmly told us that our booking was for Wednesday night. No it isn't, we said - we had even telephoned that afternoon, confirming the booking but letting them know we might be 10 minutes late.
Hang on while I check, he said. And left us standing at the entrance.
Down he came, and said we could have a table, but he needed it back at 8.30. It was now 7.15. After all the palaver of trying to get a table, we said OK. At 8.20, the manager of the restaurant, who had neither apologised for, nor even acknowledged the situation, came over to the table and said, without explanation: "There's no need to hurry, you can hold on to the table."
As our main courses had yet to arrive, she appeared merely to be solving the immediate problem. In fact, they had simply set up another table for the other party. Couldn't they have made that decision an hour earlier? No one at any point offered us an apology for their mistake. A two-course dinner in Deane's costs £27, with desserts at £6.50 and coffee and petits fours £2. Those prices demand not only serious food, but serious service.
But, critics must be forgiving types, and we still had to try the brasserie. A couple of days later, we nipped in for an early lunch, and enjoyed a truly lovely confit of lamb with mushy peas and champ and a jus of thyme, which could not have been better.
The Thai spiced salmon with chilli noodles and a lobster and coriander oil was great, and desserts of mandarin and ginger cheesecake and a knockout chocolate tart with a cappuchino ice cream were right on the money.
Service was brisk, the atmosphere breezy, and it was easily affordable: lunch prices run from £4 to £10, with desserts less than £3.
Deane's, 38-40 Howard Street, Belfast BT1 6PD tel: (01232) 560 000 Brasserie open: noon-3 p.m.