Mju ensures that Aussie rules

10 April 2012

This review was published in July 2001

When Aussies like Barry Humphries, Germaine Greer, Clive James and Robert Hughes leave their evidently congenial homeland and settle here and in the USA, you figure that, in the worlds of art and ideas, sun and surf probably don't count for much. But when highly successful chefs leave a country where raw ingredients are impeccable and the wines an ever-expanding pleasure, then you have to suppose that a song written about Sydney would include a sentiment along the lines of "if you can make it here, you must make it elsewhere".

Within the past month, two of Australia's most lauded chefs have opened restaurants in London. David Thompson, who established Darley Street Thai as possibly the most exciting venue for Thai food outside Bangkok's royal palaces, is cooking at Nahm in The Halkin hotel, which I reviewed enthusiastically two weeks ago. At another hotel, the Millennium Knightsbridge, Tetsuya Wakuda, famous for his Japanese and French-inspired cooking at Tetsuya's in Sydney, has opened MJU. He has sent ahead his head chef, Chris Behre; the man himself is not due to start his one-week-in-every-month stints until 23 July.

My dinner at Mju was consequently during a period that restaurateurs style as a soft opening. This translates as you pay the full price but you are expected to be forgiving. The full price at Mju for dinner is £50 for a set menu of eight courses. This fixed sum, give or take a pound or two, is becoming the norm for an ambitious meal - consider Petrus, Neat, The Square, Gordon Ramsay, Orrery, The Lindsay House - which with wine to do the food justice, water, coffee, digestifs etc, means that the £100-a-head dinner is, at a certain level, commonplace. It seems a point worth noting even if only to be scandalised.

Tetsuya Wakuda's style is to send out a meal with no menu. When we sat down at Mju in the windowless area on the first floor that constitutes the dining space - the word room would be an exaggeration - we were left alone for what seemed like ages while waiters dressed as if for a Masonic lodge meeting criss-crossed the room in an agitated manner. Finally, some bread rolls were brought and then the sommelier approached. The poor chap was stymied when I asked, quite reasonably I thought, what we were about to eat. It does tend to influence the choice of wine. Another waiter was sent over to reel off the dishes which arrive in suitably small portions in eight waves plus a surprise extra.

As you might surmise, this system results in a constantly interrupted meal where conversation finally has to take a back seat unless it be about whether the strong note of wasabi should intrude quite so often; how odd it is that Australians would seem to use the Belgian word witloof to describe chicory; why salad resembling a supermarket bagged mix was included in such thoughtful, precise cooking; why the word spatchcock has been used to describe a bird rather than a process of preparation; and other such uproarious topics.

The meal was undeniably skilfully wrought - hence the two-star rating - but combined with harried service (remember, soft opening) managed to omit completely that rather necessary element when eating out, fun. In the cookery book Tetsuya (Grub Street £25), the man himself comes across as brave and engaging. Aside from the cringing foreword from an American chef which makes you want to reach for a Kraft Velveeta sandwich and a glass of Vimto, everything else in the book is inspiring and also practical.

I cooked the grilled breast of duck with apple and ginger dipping sauce. It worked, was delicious and only the black sesame seeds proved impossible to source in a supermarket. The recipe for Tetsuya's famed confit (oil-steeped) Petuna Ocean trout with fennel salad explains the seductive texture and contrasting flavours in the almost identical dish made in London with wild Scottish salmon.

A recipe missing, much to my disappointment, is for the coquettish dessert we were served: a floating island with vanilla bean and praline custard. The poached meringue hid inside flecks of raspberry and chocolate; perfect. All in all, the book successfully conveys Tetsuya Wakuda's particular talent for fusing culinary cultures.

At his restaurant in Sydney, now housed in a listed building, there exists the admirable Australian wine policy of BYO as well as the offer of selected glasses of wine to match the dishes, which, for reasons of cost or relaxation or both, would enhance the event that in the Sloane Street hotel is attended (at present anyway) by costive self-consciousness - and deep inroads into your credit card statement.

Mju
16-17 Sloane Street, SW1X 9NU

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