Week 4 - Greg + Tom C
Tom and I wandered down from our chalet to L’Altiplano in the centre of Val d’Isère. It was snowing and the footpath is bordered by a snowbank on the side nearest the road. The trees had snow on their branches and the occasionally draped in fairy lights. Magical isn’t a word I often use, but I feel it’s warranted on this occasion.
L’Altiplano is on the ground floor of the K2 Chogori hotel, and fancy hotel restaurants always have a certain atmosphere arising from the combination of residents who have eaten there several times and outsiders who are there for a special meal. L’Altiplano was no exception.
Tom and I discussed our fellow patrons at various points throughout the meal, including a couple sitting on the table next to use who barely exchanged a word, a table of Norwegian men in their late 50s / early 60s who took every mouthful of wine very seriously and a couple in their 50s who were clearly very wealthy.
Tom and I both like a fancy restaurant and good food. There’s something about the calm that comes with really good service that somehow makes a meal more enjoyable. I also enjoy eating food that I never would/could prepare myself at home. Yes they’re expensive and the portions can be small, but that’s not the point. There’s something other about them. Perhaps it’s a chance to set foot into another world, one that isn’t real, even for those that inhabit it permanently. I remember reading something by one of the minor Murdoch’s who said that the wealthier you become the less you have to interact with people who aren’t like you: no check in queues, no trips to the supermarket, no sitting in traffic on your way to the gym. I guess we’re all on that scale somewhere, but I’m not sure complete detachment from reality is something I aspire to.
One of the most awkward fancy dining experiences I’ve had was at a restaurant in East London called The Water House Project. The food was delicious, but it was completely spoilt by the dining experience, which I will inflict upon you now, much as it was inflicted upon me. Everyone is seated at communal tables (which I don’t have a problem with) and before ordering the head chef/owner calls the room to silence and proceeds to introduce every member of staff, including the pot wash who he’s hauled out of the kitchen and would clearly rather be elsewhere, by name. We were then allowed to order. Each dish was delivered by the chef who had cooked it, which I think is a nice concept, except when they interrupt your conversation mid-flow every time they deign to place something on the table and then look aggrieved that you’re not paying them your full attention. This however, was nothing compared to how excruciatingly awkwardly the whole event came to a close. Once we’d all finished eating, the head chef once again insisted on silence and lined up his protégés. We were then called upon to give them a round of applause. As if that wasn’t enough, we were interrupted during our coffees by maestro himself and asked if we enjoyed the meal. We all muttered our compliments and then he asked, and this is the clincher, “Were there any particular highlights?”. Asking for feedback is one thing, insisting it’s positive really takes the biscuit. It was honestly one of the most self-indulgent, narcissistic things I have ever been subjected to. That said, I’ve just checked Google and the restaurant currently has 4.9 stars out of 5, so what do I know.
Tom asked me why I’d decided to start Greg Plus One. I generally don’t do well with questions that require self-reflection, but like to think I did a fair job of answering this one. I really like spending time with large groups of people and I’m equally comfortable by myself; I’ve lived alone for several years at a time and don’t struggle with it at all; it’s nice for things to be where you left them and to only have your own art on the walls. When it comes to interactions with other humans, I find that you get the most authentic version of someone when you interact with them one on one, not huddled at the side of a busy party, but face to face across a table. People are less guarded, less inclined to show off and more themselves one on one. I guess that’s why therapists, clairvoyants and pet therapists see their clients one at a time.
Tom also asked me what my goals were for the year, the kind of question I would usually baulk at and offer a self-effacing response to, but Tom’s a good friend so he can get away with it. Tom and his partner, Chris are planning an extension to their house, so that’s their annual goal sorted. I don’t really have an annual goal per se. Greg Plus One is a good start and there are some changes afoot with my business that will come to fruition this year, that’s enough for me to be getting on with for the time being.
One of my current obsessions is the solar panels I’ve had strapped to the roof of my house, along with a battery in my cellar. I ensured Tom was fully appraised of every element of the system. I also check the app several times a day to determine how much electricity I’m getting “for free”. Given I live in Manchester and it’s February the answer is “not much”, but I live in hope.
Tom is a doctor, much like many of the people I find myself hanging out with of late. I met him and Chris when I moved from London to Didsbury in the summer of 2023. Chris and Tom have become really good friends and I spend a lot of time with them. Tom and I have a very matter of fact approach to life and generally say exactly what we’re thinking. Chris is relentlessly positive and laughs at all my jokes. I love them both.
I asked Tom why he became a doctor (he’s a consultant anaesthetist) and he said it was partly because he was always familiar with hospitals (his mum’s a nurse) and partly because he always did well at school so they were keen for him to apply to medical school. In fact, he was the first person from his school to apply in the previous 5 years.
We discussed our childhoods and our parents’ appreciation of nice meals out. Tom still remembers his first truly fancy meal, which was at Gordan Ramsey at Claridges. His mum had been promoted to a senior nurse and his father’s building business was doing well so they decided a treat was in order. Tom’s mum still has the menu preserved in a plastic sleeve in their kitchen. When I was a student in London, the Evening Standard had an annual offer whereby you could collect vouchers to exchange for a fixed priced meal in one of a selection of Conran Restaurants. I went with my parents a couple of times and my father always insisted that we steal the ashtray from the table. My parents don’t smoke, and neither do I, but each restaurant had a unique ashtray that was exclusive to the venue. I still have a couple in my kitchen drawer.
My dad worked for IBM for 32 years and spent a lot of time traveling and living abroad with the business, particularly in the United States, a country he still has a fondness for. He was born at the outbreak of the Second World War and used to an austere existence in the UK. I can only imagine the excitement of getting a transatlantic flight at a time when such things were exceptionally rare. And then to be greeted by the excesses the US had to offer. I can see why he fell in love with the place and how it acted as a catalyst for enjoying good meals out.
Both Tom and I enjoy cooking and discussed our distain for people who say they can’t cook. As far as I’m concerned, cooking quite simply involves following a list of instructions and a moderate amount of attention to detail. There’s also something rewarding about turning a pile of ingredients into a fully fledged meal. I’m less adept when it comes to cooking from scratch, but rustle up a carbonara at least once a week. We never ate particularly fancy home cooked meals as children, but my mum would always cook something from scratch, usually spaghetti bolognaise or a lasagne, or occasionally baked beano, which deserves an entire blog to itself. Perhaps this is where my distain for non-cooks stems from.
The meal at L’Altiplano was exceptional. We both ordered the tasting menu and were more than full by the end. A particular highlight was the postre estilo pisco. Here’s the full menu:
Crocantes con guacamole - Spiced avocado puree, crackers
Bao - Lacquered pork breast, ají Mirasol and fresh herbs
Ceviche Classico — Catch of the moment, leche de tigre and aji Rocoto
Tiradito Viera — Scallops, ají Amarillo bards stock, maracujà
Ceviche Nikkei — Bluefin tuna, sea urchin, sesame, ají limo soy sauce
Chupe de Abadejo - Spiced Blue lobster broth and yellow herring with ají rocoto and tageta oil
Pollo a la brasa - Grilled baby chicken, cumin and ají mirasol
Lomo Saltado — Stir-fried Beef and vegetables, ají Limo
Patatas Bravas — Fried potato, sweet potato, cassava and oca, sauce and spicy catsup
Maiz — Seared corn, ají limo and coriander
Postre estilo pisco - Lime mousse, mint, coriander, pisco, lime and green apple sorbet, crunchy cucumber
Chocolate, vanilla veteado con mani — Half-baked chocolate biscuit,marbled vanilla ice cream with caramelized peanuts
Pina asada con Chile — Roasted pineapple with chili, green pepper ice cream, spicy panna cotta
The only minor distraction from what would otherwise have been a perfect experience was the waft of cheese from the fondue the table next to us had ordered. A strange choice for a Peruvian restaurant.
While we were chomping down on our final mouthfuls, Tom told a story that made me laugh out loud and knock over my glass of water. It was of an elderly couple who had consumed a large pot of anti-indigestion tables that they had confused for sweets and then been swiftly admitted to hospital with kidney failure (they’re fine now).
A delicious meal, in a perfect setting, with a lovely man. Thanks Tom!
