It's grouse season, but this succulent little bird is still too-often overlooked in favour of plain old chucks. What we need is a reconnaissance man to convince the sceptics... Ah! As luck would have it, food blogger Douglas is game...
The ‘Glorious Twelth’ (of August) marks the first day of the shooting season for red grouse, the pin-up of the Scotch industry. I have often wondered whether these warbling birds with red-eyebrows and black tails might be more fun to shoot then eat.
After consulting game aficionados, I booked the legendary ‘Bentley’s Grill’ off Regent Street. My father accompanied. Having frequented the venue some 25 years earlier when it was “rather down at heel” he was delighted to note it was shabby no longer. In a heroic move in 2005, Richard Corrigan, Celtic tiger and devotee of ‘evangelical ingredientism’ purchased the clubby pile, instantly instigating a top to toe refurbishment. This labour of love by the Michelin starred-chef was motivated by his toil there over a decade before.
Bentley's Grill
Whilst we sipped Champagne at the marble counter of the piano bar, the restaurant manager recounted stories of his shooting trips north of the border. An intriguing insight into bird psychology. Snipe are trusting and fly erratically. Male woodcocks croak then squeak during courting. Teal are even more audible. And grouse soar into the sky when disturbed, with dramatic, whirring wing beats. Looking towards a cabinet containing assorted stuffed seagulls, he mentioned that a table of trans-Atlantic cousins had asked: “Are they grouse?” the previous evening.
Flutes finished, we ventured up to the Grill and into the Edwardian era. William Morris fabric insulates the walls. Studded leather chairs meet an expanse of linen. A still life of a lobster, crab and enormous copper pot dominates, joined by anatomical fish studies. Little light fittings, which look like antlers, punctuate.
Little espresso cups of Game, Truffle and Chestnut Soup, like liquefied Stroganoff, were nurturing and earthy; a dense tile of game terrine followed, served with a hardcore chutney of ‘mustard fruits’ and a buoyant, arctic raspberry scented Pinot Noir. Game and red Burgundy is a classic match. Each element seldom overpowers. Our version came from further afield, however. Whilst more commonly known as ‘Middle Earth’ since that tedious trilogy of films occurred there, New Zealand’s Central Otago region features the world’s most southerly vineyards. For me, though, the wines seem like caricatures.
Game terrine; "a dense tile"
It was by now time for the grouse, nimbly carved at table. A surprisingly small bird when plucked, it yielded an intense aroma. Imagine a gentleman’s club: cigar smoke trails twirling amidst decanters of mature claret and polished panelling. It was sealed on the outside with a pinkish, moist, remarkably tender texture within. The skewered livers, served separately, had an unadulterated earthiness. Shredded cabbage and bacon temporarily toned this down. A lustrous reduction coated. Overall it was so intensely compelling that I wish I had asked to keep the carcass to gnaw away the final scraps. An angular, elegant and refreshing ’05 Chianti accompanied, tasting of bitter cherries, cedar and cold mash.
Grouse: "intensely compelling"
A wide brimmed, chilled trifle was perfectly layered, from reservoir of crunchy fruits to pistachio dusted, creamy top. Alongside, a sweet Riesling added the taste of ripe currants and a cleansing acidity. Immaculate macchiatos followed.
By now the dining room was almost empty. On a trip to the old school loos, complete with marble splash backs, I almost became wedged between the door and a gent’s tummy. Judging by his admirable bulk, I imagined him to be a Bentley’s habitué. For an instant I glimpsed a future vision of myself….
Read more of Douglas's food odysseys here
Bentley’s Grill
11-15 Swallow Street, London. W1B 4DG
T: 020 7734 4756
Nearest Tube: Piccadilly Circus