What’s In My Mouth

As much as I love Spain, and food, and really extravagant dining, I’m not one of the fortunate that have experienced El Bulli.  Ferran Adria has undoubtedly informed numerous chefs whose tables I have been fortunate enough to join, but honestly; the whole molecular gastronomy deal is a train I barely glimpsed as it passed me by.  I didn’t even really bother to stand up at the station.  (I lay some of blame at the feet of my high school chemistry teacher, Mr. Roller, who did little to inspire the scientist within.) 

And therefore, for the reason above –as well as a few others that include the reason why I was in Iceland in the first place– I was caught a little off guard by the outrageous, science-experiment-like dessert  prepared tableside the end of an excellent dinner at ‘Orange.’   True to the restaurant’s decor and overall style, this took the edgy-award:  White Chocolate Dry Ice.   In all honesty, initially I wasn’t that interested.  White chocolate does nothing for me.  And as I try to describe what the waiter was doing to prepare this dish, I am realizing I should have paid more attention in Mr. Roller’s class, because honestly I have no idea what culinary or scientific principles, or ingredients besides said white chocolate, that went into this process.  What I can report, is that after spraying something from a whipped cream container into a metal bowl, all the while making circular motions (a whisk might have been involved at this point, forgive me but we were drinking Chateauneuf du Pape, and I can’t say for certain) what emerged looked like steaming cold albino turds.  

Still with me?  Believe it or not, I gamefully popped a few into my mouth — and this dessert was about as fun as food gets.  Satisfying, not particularly, but after eating too much too rich dinner, who needs dessert.  In fact, after sitting for two or three hours, you need amusement, and that’s exactly what it is.  Texturally, think of a cross between ice cream, PopRocks, and cotton candy.  The sensation is cold, and fleeting, and entirely un-food-like.  Fun!

Working backwards, there are a few more elements of this dinner worth mentioning.  The main course of veal was delicious.  The first course was more memorable, as the delectable langostines swam in a bath of cream, worthy of soaking up every drop with more and more bread.  But the list of cocktails was rediculous.  Welcome to Iceland, the country that takes their ’sexual liberation’ extremely seriously.  Excuse me, are we at Deja Vu?  Because who else would advertise a specialty cocktail named ‘The Pink Pussy’?  Oh well.  It was the last morsel that made the sweetest, and briefest impression.  Who says I can’t appreciate chemistry…