Having tried a few times before we snag a booking at OTIS Dining Hall we are surprised to find it busy but not packed, the bar seats unoccupied and the tables arranged with figure-skating space between. It immediately speaks calm and measured, a feeling that characterises our evening. OTIS has invested in training people, giving everyone a specific role and ensuring they carry it out precisely. This place has segued to the high end, and happily it's not only the service, but also the food and the wine - a polished experience.
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The look is Potter-era library, dark panelled walls, what I think are called coach lights, mirrors, dark wooden floors and tables, tan leather chairs, beige linen napkins, low lighting. It feels, actually, like the movie version of a Victorian high-society train trip, a feeling reinforced by the unusual way we are seated - beside each other, elbow to elbow, at our small round table. The other tables in our two are similarly arranged, so we're all facing the windows like we're heading somewhere. I like this; in fact when I'm seated opposite a dining friend at a square table, often as not I move my chair to be at right angles instead. But not everyone seems to agree; the couple at the next table shove their seats back so they can face off instead.
We also realised, belatedly, that it's a set menu, which will have us here for much longer than the 1.25 hours we had set aside. However, we mention our limited time to the staff, and presto! They time an entire three courses plus starter precisely to our time limit. So good. Everything about service tonight is good, from the wine guy - who has made his own wine choices and describes them with the right amount of enthusiasm and detail - to the person who brings each dish - ditto with the ability to describe and explain - to the others who look after us with the right amount of interruption. An actual sommelier, how long since you saw that!
The meal begins with a thin cracker filled with a sweet potato puree, a bite-sized offering, then a three-course menu with five choices in entrees and five in mains. Three vegetarian dishes are among the 10, although they asked about dietary preferences, so presumably they will cater.
Cauliflower veloute tastes gently of cauliflower (never guaranteed, as you'll know), with hazelnut oil which possibly adds a nuttiness to the warmth, and with a crab brioche on the side. The brioche is a lovely thing, a half hotdog-shaped soft, sweet bun spread with a fresh crab mix, adding spark.
The twice cooked pork with "last season's cherries", black garlic and barley comes as four little squares of pork belly, cooked soft then crusted and fried, so it's crisp on the outside, wobbly within, rich with fat. The sprinkled barley adds chewiness, and last season's cherries arrive as a jam-like topping. Pretty good.
We somehow order pork from the main list, too, but this is pork in a very different guise - lean and pure, light tasting like chicken breast as opposed to leg meat. The pork chunks are with fried Brussels sprouts, so meaty in themselves, smoked bacon, and what the menu describes as "chipotle-spiked maple, Roquefort butter". The blue cheese butter, two slices on top, is beautiful, present but not overwhelming, ditto the chipotle heat, and under it all appears to be a rich white sauce. It adds to loads of mouthfeel and richness.
Braised lamb with pickled walnuts, beer mustard, charred quince and pinenuts, as you can tell from the description, is another rich dish, the big hunk of dark lamb held together for the plating with a caramelised top meat and then falling apart with the touch of a fork. The dominant taste from alongside is the mustard, and again, yes, we like it. We also love the deep ruched-edge grandma-inspired plates on which the mains are served, and the bowls of roast potatoes and simple leaf and radish salad alongside are welcome.
Soft chocolate, poached persimmon and white pear, salted rye and gingerbread comes with the thin slices of persimmon covering the chocolate like a light blanket, but the reveal is not exciting enough to warrant the drama. To me, chocolate should always taste like it's written in drunk capitals, but here it's very light in its flavour, and flan-like in its texture. The persimmon and pear also tastes like very little, and the other ingredients are served as a crumb.
Strawberries and cream, though, is a joyful dessert. The cream seems to be in the form of panna cotta, and strawberries are here in many guises - fresh, jelly, sorbet. There are cubes of clear jelly which might be the elderflower, plus fennel and mint. It looks and tastes lively.
Regular readers will have probably detected a preference for quality food to be served in an atmosphere of generous chaotic bonhomie. But I leave OTIS without one iota of resentment for the seriousness and formality. The care and effort is striking.
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