Biting Into Meat Fruit At London's Dinner By Heston Blumenthal

Heston Blumenthal has, without question, changed the food world. He's pioneered multi-sensory dining and reinvented the culinary experience. His scientific perspective toward cooking has resulted in worldwide accolades and awards, and he is unmistakably one of the United Kingdom's best chefs.

Many may know Blumenthal for his infamous and innovative three-Michelin-starred The Fat Duck, but in 2011 he also opened Dinner by Heston Blumenthal, at The Mandarin Oriental in Hyde Park, which delivers a meal revolving around linguistic playfulness and the quirks of British history. In true Blumenthal style, irreverence and cheekiness take pride of place next to the unparalleled composition of sophisticated dishes.

The unique concept behind Dinner stems from Blumenthal's passion for gastronomic history. After discovering a treasure trove of recipes in fourteenth-century cookbooks from the British Library and Hampton Court Palace, Blumenthal and his business partner, Ashley Palmer-Watts, created a menu that evolved those dishes for today's audience, communicating the mystical fascination and cultural appurtenances of England past.

Sitting at our table inside The Mandarin Oriental, we're bookended between wide, expansive views over Hyde Park and an unobstructed view of the kitchen. The glass-walled kitchen houses a team of chefs operating with military precision around a massive spit roast. Opening the menu, diners immediately note the dates listed next to each item, from circa 1390 to 1830. It's a return to the historic influences of the restaurant and a reminder of the unique backstory to each dish.

Of all the Heston Blumenthal dishes that have been created and publicized internationally, none would compare to the worldwide fascination that has accompanied his "Meat Fruit" dish. Based upon a British recipe for Pome Dorres or "apples of gold" from circa 1500, Blumenthal and Palmer-Watts' recipe requires three days of intense labor to bring the final product to fruition, so to speak.

Upon arriving at my table, I take a moment. Before me sits one of the most beautiful, picturesque, and visually hypnotic pieces of food I've encountered. A perfect mandarin, with its glowing orange surface, detailed right to its minuscule pores, the pure dimple, and a striking green stem, rests on a wooden board next to a grilled slice of bread. The piece of "meat fruit" is just that — while looking incredibly like a mandarin, the creation is actually comprised of a glistening mandarin jelly skin housing a stunning chicken liver parfait. After the "fruit" is sliced open, a seductively gooey inside beckons, and the resulting taste is as captivating as it looks. You couldn't dream of a smoother pâté. The richness of the liver unifies with a cocktail of Madeira, port, and brandy, all of which bring a slight sweetness to the velvet-like texture. It's a spectacular dish, both in its captivating visual aesthetics and its marvelously enchanting taste.

The Roast Turbot and Green Sauce, circa 1440, is impeccably cooked, with the meatiness of the robust and succulent fillet paired with the accompanying charred vegetables. A slight sweet tang from the onion and eucalyptus brings a welcomed extra layer to the dish, which, in comparison to other items on the menu, seems to present a slightly softer presence during the meal.

Chicken Cooked with Lettuces, circa 1670, is literally as it appears on the menu, and in all truth, is something that I wouldn't typically order at a restaurant with two Michelin stars. But for that reason, I decide to go against my best instincts, and wait to have my expectations of a meat and salad dish challenged. The dish itself is, on arrival, a surprisingly simple plate. An elegant roulade of pristine white chicken, encased by the most golden of crispy skin lies next to gently cooked lettuce, a burnt onion emulsion, and a spiced celeriac sauce. The chicken is tender and supple; its texture is utter perfection after being brined, then sous vide for an hour and half, before then being blanched. There's a hint of smokiness from the creamy milk-based spiced celeriac, and a saltiness from the crispy oyster leaf. It's a deceptively complex composition, with every single element superbly prepared, resulting in an affably warm and satisfying dish.

Dessert was, in comparison to the extraordinarily high bar set by the savory acts, not as gripping. The often-talked-about Tipsy Cake, circa 1810, requires 40 minutes' notice for the chefs to prepare, and while ours was completely faultless in its construction, it lacked the deep complexity and creativity in flavor one would hope for. There is, however, an argument to be put forward that the exquisitely pilllow-esque texture of the almost marshmallow-like cake could rely on its pure simplicity, but the stout, roasted pineapple almost seemed to counteract that suggestion. Blumenthal is also known for his use of liquid nitrogen, and here it appears with dessert; an ice cream cart is wheeled to your table, where liquid nitrogen is poured into a mixer to produce dazzlingly creamy and smooth ice cream. Served as a hand-held ice cream with a selection of toppings, it seems almost unjust to present what has the potential to be a wonderfully whimsical and inventive concept in a cone. Nonetheless, it is a remarkably fluent and easy dessert to conclude the enthralling meal.

The meal was faultless in its execution, and the level of service was dazzlingly faultless. The staff is expertly knowledgeable about the menu and each dish's preparation, and they deliver their insight with enthusiasm and affability. For visitors to London, Dinner by Heston Blumenthal presents a truly unique dining experience, both in its nod to historic British cuisine, but also in its truly notable execution of innovative creations.