It’s…duck confit with a pistachio crust, something else, and sultana leather. Pretty delicious, even if it thwarted my second attempt at scoring some good old fashioned confit (a hot leg with crispy skin). At Rust en Vrede the night before, I went for a “sole and duck confit” which turned out to be a roll too, with sole on the outside, duck in the middle. Also good, but I think I remain a traditionalist when it comes to confit. (Time to get me some duck legs, methinks.)
It’s…oyster mushrooms with a crispy soft-boiled egg. We came up with several theories about how to get the soft egg inside the crisp shell, but I’m not convinced we solved the mystery. Novel-icious.
It’s…lacquered pork belly with various fruity bits, and beetroot.
It’s…an optical illusion. But we were there, and it was a delightful way to round up 24 hours of gastro-indulgence that featured truffle, foie, at least one oyster, at least one snail, several amuse-bouches, a touch of jus, some foam, various purees, a rocking hazelnut sauce (with artichoke tortellini: big hit), copious wine, and a curious “brulee” which substituted the caramelized top with halved blueberries – much to the consternation of its eater, who found the concept of halving blueberries rather silly, not to mention a poor substitute for burnt sugar.
But happily the hits far outweighed the misses, and the real wonder is that we were able to come home and eat pizza for supper. The stomach is a hardy beast.