A room with a view

The blond and I had been invited to the grand launch of the new Ferrari 599 GTO, due to be unveiled for the first time at the Military Academy in Modena. Ferrari had kindly offered to put us up at their expense in Bologna to join a world wide gathering of rich and enthusiastic Ferrari addicts who had already reserved one of these new supercars. Only problem being I got the date wrong and arrived in Italy, completely over excited, a day too early. This could have been an anti-climax, after tearing through the autobahns of Germany and then the Brenner Pass in my runabout to get there. However, this mistake created an opportunity of its own - to stay for a night at the famous and ludicrously expensive Hotel Villa San Michele, on the outskirts of Florence.

It is situated on a hill in Feisole, looking down towards Florence and the has enjoyed a reputation only matched by Le Splendido, and a handful of other Italian hotels. Perhaps, such a august establishment is not used to its punters ringing at the last minute for a room, but I was not able to elicit much of a choice of rooms below one thousand euros per night. Upon arriving, it came down to a cramped double bedroom with a view to Florence and a better appointed room, with a view to San Michele's superb gardens. The blond, without hesitation chose the garden room. I can best describe the decor as "shabby genteel", that air of once being fashionable and "polished" daily by an infinite army of servants to keep up appearances. The bath was fascinating, in that the only way to reach the on-off tap was to lever oneself out of the prone position, crawl to the other end of the bath, make the adjustment and fall back again.

We took cocktails in the bar before dinner; pleasant enough, but had the weather been warmer, sitting on the terrace over-looking Florence would have made the drink truly memorable. What I do remember is that the bar steward was one of the best I have ever come across. The right mixture between efficient, friendly and smart - definitely management material and a delight to pass some light banter with.

Moving to the fairly formal dining room, which seemed to have its normal mix ( for Florence ) of Asians, Americans and possibly the odd Russian, the service was still at the highest level. Clearly they have had some old hands who have been around for donkeys' years and taught some of the young bloods how to serve. The food itself does not match the setting or the service; don't get me wrong its hard to fault it, but it lacks inspiration and any flair in its presentation. Put Gordon Ramsey in there for a week to shake them up and/or recruit some brilliant young chef from a less august establishment and it would be transformed.

The next morning we had what was described as an "American Style buffet breakfast". I think that's a completely inappropriate way to describe the very Italian fare that was laid out on a several substantial tables. It included various cured Italian hams and salamis, cheeses, fruit, pastries etc. All of the very highest quality, fresh and well presented. A steward was on hand to keep pouring coffee and rustle up some boiled eggs for the blond. In short, nothing American about it and could better be described as a "brunch" rather than a breakfast.

Check-out was quick and painless, apart from the staggering price. One of the senior concierge team, Massimo, was most helpful and can be seen above, standing next to me and the runabout.

Le Grill is deserted

The other night I decided to make a first visit to Le Grill at Prague's Kempinski Hotel having been seduced by a positive review by Claire Compton, a Staff Writer for that august publication, The Prague Post, entitled "Fresh Tastes for Spring", and published in the March 10 - 16th edition. According to Ms Compton Chef Marek Fichtner had introduced a new seasonal menu.

Booked a table for the blonde and i to celebrate her name day and imagined that the restaurant would be bustling with romantic couples either celebrating a similar name day, or taking a crack at the highly rated seasonal menu. Sadly, the restaurant was completely empty and there was no sign of the seasonal menu - perhaps it is just for lunch ? In any event, we both decided to take a main course from the A La Carte offerings ; I asked for the Czech farm chicken with normal mashed potato instead of the sweet potato puree on the menu. The waitress, clearly bored to tears decided she would exercise her culinary knowledge by asking the Chef if that was possible. Rather unkindly, I said to her that if he was having trouble with the plain mash, I would be happy to go to the kitchen and help him out. She appeared ten minutes later to say that mash potato was in Chef Fichtner repetoire, but it would delay the serving by twenty minutes or so. I wonder how he does the sweet potato puree - in a microwave, or, if he keeping a huge pot of it going under some warming lamp. The mind boggles.

True to her promise, the waitress produced the chicken and mash twenty minutes later and the blonde's piece of tired looking white fish. She poked it around the plate for the time it took me to chew threw my tough piece of bird and then left most of it on the plate. Neither dish justified their very high prices or the long wait, given that we were the only two punters in the whole place.

My wine was good - a half bottle of a very nice French Bordeaux, good vintage but annoyingly the waitress had removed it from the table to a resting place out of my reach, so I had to rely on her to re-charge my glass. The blonde consoled herself with pink Champagne which she claimed, took away the taste of the flaky fish.

I don't know who owns the Kempinski, but in terms of the operators agreement all the losses from this restaurant are probably passed on to the owner in terms of a standard hotel operating agreement. My advice to the owner, get down there and shake the whole restaurant team up or you will be waiting years before it breaks even. Its no wonder that the waitress told me that most of the hotel guests dine elsewhere; I don't blame them.

On Safari

In the heart of the Kruger Park, on the banks of the Sabie River, lies a boutique Safari Camp called Tinga. Its gracious owner Anthony Marx looks the real McKoy dressed in his bush suit next to red faced Night Rider. The camp is laid out as a number of luxurious but tasteful huts reached by a wooden walkway from central facilities; they are constructed from local materials and blend in well to the bush surrounding them with each having a viewing deck looking own towards the Sabie River.

Our first encounter with nature was nearly the Blonde's last. Having spotted a young bull elephant making his way up from the Sabie, towards our hut, she decided to jump over the low electric fence and venture out into the bush to get a closer shot of it ( with her camera of course ). Being cowardly by nature, I quickly dismissed the idea of rescuing her myself in favour of calling for one of the game rangers. One eventually appeared and was able to persuade the blonde to clamber back over the right side of the wire.

Later the same ranger took us on a day's tracking where we came close up to a group of hippos bathing and the Sabie River, a white rhino relaxing in the bush and a large cheetah eating its kill in a tree. Only one of the big five that failed to appear on cue, were the lions, but nevertheless an impressive round up.

However the other guests were a strange bunch; in particular, the blonde and I were lumbered with a friendly but very elderly couple from Johannesburg and a couple of Jehovah's Witnesses from Houston, Texas. The latter were very heavy going and its a mistake of the camp to make people on the same game drives also have to dine together in the evening. Enough is enough and i would have appreciated to get the opportunity to chose my company.



The food too was on the whole very disappointing; rather than trot out simple South African cooking the chef clearly wanted to show that he ( or she ) had been to a chi-chi cooking school. For instance, a delicious rack of Karoo one dinner was ruined by what was called a "mint and balsamic reduction", that in its effort to be sophisticated, merely rendered the meat cloying and tasting like it had been marinated in cough medicine.

Tinga has great potential and is real luxury in a stunning bush and river setting. however, lack of hands-on management seems to pervade the whole place and Anthony Marx was only evident one evening for cocktails. He told me that he is in the process of changing the management company; good luck with that Anthony and i may return to see if its made the difference between enjoyable and sublime !

Virgin Soldiers

Night Rider and the Blonde decided to head towards warmer climes for the New Year - namely to RSA, the Republic of South Africa. With some trepidation heading to Heathrow to catch the Virgin 6pm flight to Jo'burg on December 17th; heavy snow was forcaste for that evening. Judging by all the traffic on the M4 motorway out of London, it looked like everyone was leaving the City to a few visiting Americans and the hordes of asylum seekers to their own delights during the so-called "festive period" ( political correctness prevents NR as referring to this time of year as "Christmas" )

Sure enough, not long after getting in the Upper Class cabin, the promised snow started falling in generous quantities. However, a saviour was at hand. Sir Richard Branson himself, complete with at least three generations of his Upper Class family climbed aboard and enschonced themselves a few seats away. Sir R seemed to be in a great mood and no doubt, it was his influence that finally got us airborne by 7.30 pm. He is clearly one of the world's cleverest businessmen and so inspirational, that his Virgin staff work for a fraction of their bad tempered British Airways colleagues and always, have a smile and kind word for you.

Sir R had his ancient parents with him; but Dad who must be at least 90 in the shade, still looks like a fit old root and i can only wonder at the admiration he must have for his clever son. In deference to the ancients, Sir R announced shortly after take off that the oldest 15 or so punters travelling cattle class as the back of the plane, would be invited to join us in the Upper Class section. There then followed a procession of what must have at first sight, appeared to be the central committee of the Conservative Party, complete with shawls and sticks, stumbling into our midst and momentarily disturbing the flow of bubbly to the Blonde's glass.

Some sort of mediocre dinner followed and while the Blonde cackled through a showing of Bruno, I managed to get some zeds before the lights were turned up again before our landing at Jo'burg. There we were scheduled to catch a South African Airways "Air Link" flight to the Kruger Park. No one had told me that Airlink had suffered three serious accidents in the last three months and was in danger of having all its flights suspended until its safety record was put right. However, after seeing the crew and a few local maintenance staff fiddling with our first alloted plane, while we sat in a steaming hot bus next to it on the runway, I can understand why.

We finally made it onto one of their planes some 7 hours later; I could not help thinking that i could have driven to the Kruger in half the time and made a note to be not so lazy next time. I wonder what Sir R would have thought of "Air Link" - probably have shed a few crocodile tears.

A Tale of Two Cities and Aromi revisited

London and Prague can claim to be two of the most international Cities in Europe, perhaps the world. London has become so international that its now unkindly called "Londinistan" and with the women wandering around in what I think are called "burkas" one can understand why. Prague seems to have maintained a more European feel unless you are walking down Wencelas Square, after 9pm, when you might feel you were in Lagos or Jo'burg, with countless African gentlemen approaching you on each street corner, offering things I prefer not to put into print here.

Having shuttled backwards and forwards between the two Cities over the last 5 years I first chose CSA ( Czech Airlines ) as my preferred carrier. They had a reputation for keeping good time and until recently pretty good food and wine in their Business Class. Indeed, there used to be a nice printed menu with a choice of two main courses and funny little quotations translated from Czech into English such as "the way we eat is the way we work - Old Czech proverb". Well now their Business Class food has deteriorated beyond belief. I think they only have only had one thing on the menu for my last few flights: its "sweet and sour something with noodles". I asked the pretty stewardess what the "something" was - I guessed chicken or pork as it had that Chinese Takeaway kind-of-taste about it. She was clearly stumped by this unexpected query, but after consultation with her colleages, offered the advice it was "chicken". Maybe she was right, but I would suggest that followers of the Prophet and their main adversaries, stay well clear, just in case she was wrong and pre-order something Kosher.

CSA seems to have got themselves into a real old muddle. Service going downhill fast and use of weasel words in the booking terms to rip-off clients wanting to change bookings, upgrade etc. The sooner they are taken over the better and the present upper levels of executive management kicked out, not just making the CEO and his Board the fall guys. I am tempted to revert to the worlds "favourite airline" BA ( which I usually translate to "Bloody Awful"), rather than British Airways.

However, while during the last few years CSA has been going down hill faster than the world slalom champion, Aromi in Vinohrady has been going from strength to strength. Mind you, it was pretty good when Riccardo opened it but now with the serious competition from its new sister restaurant, La Finestra, it has achieved a new level of excellence.

Using the excuse of a business lunch I went there today, promising myself to limit indulgence to a single main course and no alcohol. Temptation was too strong however and the mixed seafood starter had to be accompanied by a glass of two of super Tuscan wine. A small plate of wild duck ravioli followed and it should have been worthy of a Michelin Star anywhere in Europe.

The restaurant was full as usual and I would imagine that it attracts many executives from Prague 4's so called "business district" which is a bit of sahara desert for good places to eat. But its nice to be away from all the trippers in the centre of Prague and looked after so well by Riccardo and his great team, so I imagine his loyal following comes from many miles, sorry kilometres, around.....

Lost in the Sahara..........Cafe

Hosting business dinners for fairly large numbers of people always exercises my imagination. One has to balance the excellence of the food, ambience against cost and the time available. In this instance I was entertaining the celebrity golf designer, Kyle Philips on one of his regular trips to Prague. Kyle is a charming and softly spoken American from California and one of the world's top in his profession.

Earlier in the day we had been treated to lunch at the excellent Kogo restaurant in the main town square in Bratislava ( opposite the Carlton Hotel ). This was a casual affair, enjoyed in the late autumn sunlight and, I can swear, the passing girls seemed much, much prettier than the ones you see walking up and down Wenceslas Square in Prague. This "Slovakian" Kogo serves much the same fare as the Prague ones and like them, normally provides good quality dishes, served promptly at a reasonable price.

I wish the same could be said for the Sahara Cafe, which occupies a prime position on Namesti Miru in Vinohrady ( just away from the teeming hordes of trippers that infest Prague's City Centre ). I have been a long standing client of the Sahara Cafe, going back to its first days of opening when none of the staff could even make a cappucino, let alone cook anything. In those days it was truly a "Fawlty Towers" experience and I remember the then ( first ) manager, some fellow from Sicily, telling me that his Chef had just walked out, but he would try and cook me something himself. You can guess the result.

Nowadays, they seem to have managed to recruit one or two cooks, but no manager is in evidence and the former Sicilian manager, no doubt gone back to the easier life on his island. The menu has been expanded and they have a very credible wine list that is perhaps the high point of any dining experience there.

Kyle and my team sat down at our table at 8pm; around 8.30 pm a waiter eventually appeared to take our pre-dinner drinks order. Going straight into the wine list I selected a couple of Italian wines that could easily have been selling for double, given their vintage and quality. Well done the wine buyer and general praise prevailed from around the table.

The food at the Sahara Cafe is sadly, another story. After a further long wait to have the order taken and an even longer one for them to arrive ( we decided to all skip starters, or the 8 pm start would have turned into a midnight session ). Kyle had ordered a Lamb Aggadir Casserole, where two very tiny lamb chops were hiding under some overcooked vegtables; I went daringly for "Asian Duck Breast" but I challenge anyone to indentify exactly what the meat was when it arrived - could have been pork, chicken, veal or even calamari. Cooked to death in a mess of vaguely Asian spiced soggy vegtables and tired looking rice.

Across the table, one of my colleagues was tucking into what looked like an exceptionally large and juicy filet mignon. He kept casting anxious glances at Kyle and myself as we jealously eyed his succulent slab of cow. In the end, he managed to hoover it all down without, yours truly even getting a small taste, so I must give his choice the benefit of the doubt.

Lost in the "waiter wilderness" again while we waited another 30 minutes for coffees and the bill, we eventually made it out after some 2.5 hours. I guess time passes more slowly in the Sahara than in the bustling metropolis of Prague, so I should not complain too loudly

La Veranda.....for a birthday bash

It was the blonde's birthday and as the occassion demanded a restaurant of some distinction had to be chosen for the evening. Somewhere in my sub-conscious I was aware of being recommended La Veranda for several years but probably being unable to ever find it, I had never dined there before. Going on to "Google" to see what had been written by my reviewing peers and others proved relatively fruitless, but wanting something small and romantic it seemed to be worth taking the punt.

I did manage to find that the Executive Chef, Radek David adopted an approach of introducing good local produce into his menu, rather than relying on the boring Prague tradition of beef from Argentina, lamb from New Zealand and vegtables that taste as if they come from Tesco. So many of his competitors are too lazy to explore the special local offerings of meats and other ingredients that on that basis alone, he should be congratulated.

Arriving at the door transported by the trusty AAA Cab Company, the smiling waitress quickly found our reservation and showed us to a nice table, large enough for four people but already laid for the two of us. Sitting on two adjacent sides of this table gave us both a nice view of the cozy main dining room and was vastly preferable to occupying one of the tables for two, where ( usually the man ) has to sit with his back to the room, cheek by jowl with those at the next table for two in the row. I wish restaurants would start to work on their table layouts and avoid these rows of tables for two; its neither pleasant nor romantic to spend a couple of hours or more seated like this. Perhaps, tolerable for the "date" but not for the poor chap on the outside !!

Anyway, we settled in comfortably and although the restaurant was not full, other diners started to drift in and it was pretty evident they had booked rather than just being "trippers" stumbling around in the maze of streets just off Pariska. Either they had been to La Veranda before or, someone with recommended them. The portents for a good meal were all good at this point. But as I gazed around the room, I could not quite place what it represented, Provence brasserie, rustic Tuscan, Bohemian shabby genteel ? Hoping that the menu and wine list would clear this up for me did not help either; while the English version I was given was properly translated ( why can't other Prague restaurants manage this ? ) ; the dishes all sounded appetizing many with a touch of Mediterranean cuisine, but a clear theme was lacking. I do not necessarily mean this as a criticism as many of the top London restaurants follow this trend but, somehow the cottagey decor of main room demanded more a "sense of place" be reflected in the menu. All in all, a bit too unfocused and unstructured for the taste of the common man.

However, the blonde was not complaining as she quaffed the first of many glasses of Tattinger Brut Reserve. This promised to be an evening to remember. The same cannot be said for my "starter", a fine pasta with a rabbit ragout. The pasta sat in a sticky and somewhat overcooked heap in the middle of the plate, while the ragout, incorporating generous lumps of well cooked bunny, did little to rescue improve the situation. I pushed aside a half finished plate and joined the blonde in quaffing copious quantities of the bubbly, to take the salty and indifferent taste away. She had elected to wait for a "main course" and declined my offer ( which I had cunningly made to look generous ) to finish off the bunny bits. At this stage I was mentally crossing my fingers that the next course would dramatically improve.

It did. And in grand style along with a glass of exceptionally good Bordeaux 2005.
I had wanted the pigeon from the daily special menu, but these must have flown early, so I had roast quail from the main menu. Radek David himself came out to carve two birds next to our table and they were cooked and presented to perfection, including the small asparagus nestling underneath. The blonde's plate was a colourful medley of vegtables and sea bass. Impeccably presented and the fish soft and cooked just the right amount of time; the vegtables crisp and no doubt, carefully selected by Radek from his local suppliers.

A nice little "birthday" cake followed. Again, served with style and a small round of applause from the other diners. Radek and his staff did a fine job throughout the evening of making one welcome and well looked after. Hard to find this standard of attention and it came along with a friendly smile. I will return to test other offerings and properly sample the international wine list.