Gordon Ramsay at the London

Los Angeles is falling over itself to be the first to write something catty about Gordon Ramsay's new restaurant at the London. I can't tell if it's just because I like the guy or because he tried to help carry my mother's bag at the airport when they were on the same flight from London or whether I'm just being a contrarian, but here's a concept: I liked it. A lot.

Here are some things you should know about J and me: We like to eat and we know how to cook. It's our 20th wedding anniversary. We're in good moods. LA was warm and humming in that early evening light. Amusingly, fluffy bits floated in the air like that scene from Amarcord. We'd both read the hideous reviews and so we both had the same attitude: It could only get better. And boy, did it get better.

Here are some things about the decor at the London: Stamped pink Naugahyde sofas with brassy gold buttons sound hideous, but look incredibly pretty in that light room. Brass fixtures I can usually do without, but with the pink light filtering through the flimsy cheesecloth blinds, somehow it all worked. And the loos are fabulous. Shiney white and chrome.

When we arrived, the girl at the front desk hesitated just a little too long finding our reservation. J rolled his eyes at me in that "This is going to be interesting" way. My heart sank. But then we were led to the absolute nicest table in the room -- a cozy corner booth from which you could see the rest of the dining room and the whole of dusky LA unfurling outside the window. Our waiter, Carlos, was impressive from the minute he said "good evening." He was direct, polite, unpretentious, knowledgeable but managed to ascertain almost at the beginning of the conversation that we were food people, that we knew what we wanted, and took a step back from his regular sell. In fact, it was so far away from that bloody Disneyland ride "Have you been to California Adventure before? Let me tell you a little about how we do things around here" mentality that I wanted to kiss him. Think how many times you have had a fun evening ruined by an overzealous waiter? Please, if you go to the London, find Carlos....he will make your evening.

J and I, gluttonous pigs that we are, ordered about twelve dishes, which we shared. The portions are tapas-sized "small plates" but from what I'd read on the food blogs, I'd imagined them to be minuscule teaspoon-sized morsels. They're not. In fact, we could hardly finish our final round of dishes. Also, note to self, I will never be a food critic because a) I didn't write anything down because I was so busy eating and b) food critics don't drink three glasses of good white burgundy and then try to remember everything they've had (thank God I found the menu posted on line!)

We started with the following three dishes:

Pacific yellowfin tuna with pickled daikon, crab beignets, sesame soy dressing - J loved this & I adored the tiny beignets, no bigger than a monopoly dice
Cold green pea soup with cured salmon, caviar & creme fraiche - the color and the taste of the slightly minty soup reminded me of England in the summertime and the salmon was so mild, it was divine
Smoked rainbow trout, avocado, fennel crisps, sauce mousseline - best smoked trout, both firm and melty in the mouth, I've ever had...this tasted Norwegian to me with the tiny pieces of boiled potato and the little slivers of beet

Then:

Sauteed sea scallops, 'wild rice', cauliflower puree, sherry caramel - getting bolder by this point, I asked our waiter if I could take home a bowl of the cauliflower puree and eat it alone in front of the tv, instead of ice cream -- completely delicious although the portion is just over a teaspoonful
Cassoulet of seafood, king prawn tortellini and garbanzo beans -- a blissful little bowl...the tortellini was packed with flavour...also, I don't remember garbanzo beans but the tiniest, sweetest lima beans you've ever had
Monkfish with cripsy chicken skin, lemon thyme consomme -- okay, so, this one = sheer genius
Broiled black cod, pigs tails with Kumamoto oyster, Perigord truffle -- don't really remember this (the wine maybe?) but J loved it

And finally:

Smoked pork belly with roasted Scottish langoustine, celeriac and apple - I could take or leave the langoustine, but oh let me die stuffed with pork belly...
Veal fillet and "ris de veau," bulgar wheat, sauteed morels and sage jus - ris de veau better than the veal which was a little bland (under-seasoned)
Braised Pig's head with English peas and chantarelles -- easy to see why this is the dish people are raving about this; the pork was rich in flavor and served with the most tender, barely cooked peas and subtle, not too buttery pureed potatoes. Yes I'm homesick again.
Wild asparagus risotto with chive flowers - creamy risotto (the English like to add cream to their risotto which is apparently an Italian no-no but makes it incredibly rich and yummy) and the tiniest baby asparagus, so small that they appeared to be barely budding sticks of lavender.

My mother and I discussed Gordon Ramsay on the phone yesterday, as we do. She likes him, especially after the display of gallantry at LAX. I think he's a perfectionist & probably a nightmare (ha) to work for, but I love that he has a big, soft heart. ("He does say fuck rather a lot, doesn't he" said my mother, uncharacteristically.) This big soft heart comes through in his food -- the loving way it's presented, the ridiculously tender green vegetables, the emotional combinations of ingredients. Three or four earnest waiters bring out each course and arrange them just so on the table, a noughties version of the eighties cloche-reveal (remember that - the "wow"?!)

He's a big, blonde, effing and blinding target and yes, I understand why the haters blogged about their hideous meals. It's a badge of honour I'm sure, to bag on Gordon, the big bully who yells at people that can't defend themselves, but I like him and I like that he's big and bold and larger than life and that he has really tried to "get" this city and not just carbon copy what he has in NYC or London. The restaurant decor says it all. Who else could get away with boxy brass light fixtures and sugar pink naugehyde and make it feel right, cozy even? So to the haters: up yer bum. You know, FUCK OFF, as Gordon would say.

PS (and this is the best part) the lovely Carlos brought out with the bill a plate of mini macaroons and chocolate cornflake treats, the kind we used to make as children with a bar of dairy milk and a packet of Kellogs. "Oh my gosh - cornflake treats" I said, and the heretofore unflappable Carlos said in his best be-quiet-little-girl voice "Oh no, these are hazlenut blahblahblahs" (I didn't hear the word he said because greedily, I'd already popped one in my mouth). But they are one and the same, cleverly disguised with Cadburys Whole Nut, the very best chocolate in the world.