Benedicts
9 St Benedicts Street, Norwich, NR2 4PE
Tel: 01603 926080
Internet: restaurantbenedicts.com
GPS: 52.630843, 1.291054
I’m not averse to a little research when it comes to choosing a restaurant, or when writing about one for that matter. Even so, my thanks go to Richard Bainbridge for making my life easier by providing me with a full run-down of his achievements, splashed across the first few pages of the wine list at Benedicts in Norwich.
This venue has long been serving the hungry of Norwich as before Richard came along it was a traditional French bistro, under the name St Benedicts, run by Norfolk restaurateurs Jayne and Nigel Raffles. Who, by the way, also owned Pinocchio’s, just down the road (I am not lying). As they wound down their various restaurant businesses up stepped Richard and wife Katja. Nine years later the venue – rechristened simply Benedicts – is still going strong, as was apparent one midweek evening a month or so ago when I found myself secreted in the corner of a very busy dining room.
Anyway, back to my research, and Richard’s curriculum vitae, published – in illustrated format, no less – as an opener to the wine list. Richard has, should you be interested, made four appearances on the BBC’s Great British Menu, scoring a convincing win on attempt number four when he won both – his use of bold, not mine – the starter and dessert course. Alternatively, perhaps you have seen Richard in his starring role in Channel 4’s Best of Britain by the Sea? Or maybe you were there when he received an honorary doctorate from the University of East Anglia and City College Norwich for his services to hospitality? Or, if you have a long memory, perhaps you recall Richard from his time as a commis and junior sous chef working at the Waterside Inn in Bray, where he was “astounded and inspired” by Michel Roux’s passion?
No? Well, me neither, but having been suitably educated, and now knowing we were in the hands of a Roux-inspired passion, I turned the page to finally encounter the wine list. In celebratory mood, I plumped for a bottle of the non-vintage Chalklands Classic Cuvée from Simpsons, an estate on the North Downs of Kent. Clearly modelled on those well-known wines from the other side of La Manche, this blend of Chardonnay, Pinot Noir and Pinot Meunier turned out to be a serviceable if rather anodyne example of the English sparkling style. It does at least have a sense of purity on its side, but it is the purity that comes once everything of character has been washed away.
While pondering whether or not some bottle age might help such a wine (it might) I turned to the menu. Dining at Benedicts is predictably tasting menu only, happily with a vegetarian option, and we chose two omnivorous and one vegetarian. Opting for the extended nine-course menu (I mean, how could I resist?) brought some real moments of joy, a highlight being the breast of Norfolk lamb, with gooseberry jam and chilled courgette soup.
In terms of presentation it lacked finesse, for sure, the lamb accompanied by an voluminous ectoplasm so green it could only have been invented by Lord Percy (Blackadder, “Money”, series 2, episode 4). Visually, it dominated the dish. Off the fork, however, this was delicious, the lamb true to Norfolk’s reputation, while the nugget of purest green melted into a summer garden on the palate. Top marks.
Equally strong was Holly’s radish tart. I have no idea who Holly is – uncharacteristically Richard Bainbridge did not see fit to educate me on this – but she makes a beautifully fresh radish tart, assembled with technical flair. Once again, it seemed to conjure up the very essence of summer on the palate, even if it did look a little lonely on the plate.
This summoning up of the seasons is clearly an area in which Richard excels, and presumably reflects his sourcing of local in-season ingredients and the ongoing evolution of the menu every few weeks, as well as his undeniable skill in the kitchen. Or it could be Holly’s skill, who knows?
Other dishes proved competent. I was not won over by the combination of Cromer lobster and heritage tomato on paper, but found to my delight that worked on the palate, and the lobster was cooked to a gentle tenderness. Again, ingredients matter; I think the quality of the tomatoes made all the difference here.
A fillet of line caught sea bass, with globe artichoke, aubergine caviar and sauce verte also held a lot of appeal, but in a moment of weakness I accepted the supplementary offering of summer truffles, which did nothing for the dish, smothering it in terms of its appearance on the plate, and dominating the palate too.
Sometimes, less is more. Admittedly I am not sure who needs to learn this, me or Richard Bainbridge. Probably, bearing in mind that fact I accepted them when offered, me. But should they have been offered in the first place?
Happily, both dishes went down well with a glass or two of the 2022 Islas Canarias Marmajuela from Bodegas Viñátigo, a delightful wine brimming with cool acidity and minerally freshness. Whoever put this on the list deserves a slap on the back. Unless they also selected the Chalklands Classic Cuvée, that is.
Other dishes moved me less. Close to the top of the menu there came a rice cracker, with salmon roe and sherry mousse, the result of Richard’s efforts to capture something of the ‘sundowners’ – typically a glass of sherry – that his grandparents once enjoyed. I know all this because it was printed on the explanatory card accompanying the dish. Richard was in educational mode. Sadly, I couldn’t find the joy in it I was supposed to. Perhaps I am just a poor student.
Another course which underwhelmed was the Parker House bread, three very competent bread buns served with asparagus and caramelised brown butters. The British restaurant trade has a strange relationship with bread as it too often makes a transitory appearance at the start of the evening, when ideally it should linger throughout the meal, there to mop up any juices or sauces too good to be left on the plate. To his credit Richard did suggest – in my rice cracker instruction sheet – that I use the bread to mop up any remaining sherry mousse.
To put bread in the spotlight like this, deserving of its own course in a tasting menu, I can’t help thinking it needs to give more than these bread buns did. Now Marcus Wareing’s potato and fennel bread, there is a bread which should have its own course, if not its own religion. I can’t see many flocking to worship the Parker House bread though. But I was certainly happy to eat my share, suitably slathered with the Wonka-esque butters (I had already licked the bowl of sherry mousse clean).
There was also a dish of barbecued leek, with Suffolk oyster mushroom, wild garlic and spring truffle which was unmemorable. By which I mean I really don’t remember eating it. Oh well, nobody’s perfect.
And then we were on to the sweet stuff, starting with a dish of fig leaf ice cream with red currents. Yes, red currents. I have no idea if this was a clever play on words – perhaps Richard’s grandfather once trained as an electrician, or perhaps he once swam the Red Sea before his sherry sundowner – but as there was no explanatory sheet to guide me I am at a loss. As it turned out, this was a perfectly decent dish of yoghurt, presumably homemade redcurrant jam and ice cream.
Now well into my fifties, and continually trying to keep the waistline under control, I have to admit this is what many of my breakfasts look like. Both in terms of portion size, and ingredients. Although minus the ice cream, obviously. And the jam, for that matter.
This dish preceded the Bainbridge pièce de la résistance which, as all Great British Menu fans (I know you’re out there) will know, is Nanny Bush’s trifle, in this case made with raspberry and Sharrington strawberry (Sharrington, for out-of-towners, is a well-known Norfolk fruit nursery).
The dominant component of this ‘trifle’ was the robust cube of jelly which encased the fruit. Out of duty I ate mine, and to be fair the flavours were good, but this is one for the fans of the Great British Menu only. To be honest it reminded me of jelly-fuelled childhood birthday parties in the 1970s more than it did a good trifle, which should be a rich, sloppy, custardy and ridiculously boozy affair. Nevertheless I cleared my plate, because that is what I had to do in the 1970s. Even at my birthday parties.
Of my two dining companions; one dissected theirs, eating down as far as the firm jelly, before calling a halt to proceedings – “and that’s enough of that.” The other trifle was rejected outright – “I don’t do jelly.” Sometimes I wish I had their self control. It would come in just as handy when people ask me if I want “the extra truffles” as much as it would when later served a brick of trifle for pudding.
Prices: The bill for three diners was a hearty £375.10, the bulk of which was £61 for the vegetarian menu, £63 for the seven-course menu and £79 for the nine-course menu. The Chalklands fizz was £59, the Viñátigo Marmajuela £61, the mark-ups looking favorable compared to retail prices. The truffle supplement costs £9 per diner if taken.
A discretionary service charge of 10% was added and paid, even though the service included some weird moments, one of which was the provision of menus to two of us, but not the third diner who was left empty-handed. A request for a third menu prompted the response “people usually share.” I presume the moment the judges on the Great British Menu were told the same, perhaps via the medium of printed explanatory card, was cut from the show. (23/8/24)