FG Restaurant Rotterdam + François Geurds

Initial Reaction   

Let’s do acronymic acrobatics. FG stands for François Geurds. FG stands for flavours guru. FG stands for futuristic gastronomy. FG stands for fanatiek genieten. Enough. “Would you like some champagne?” greets the maître d’. Blanc de Blancs: that’ll be a rhetorical question. François Geurds, yes, FG himself, appears to welcome us. “I recognise you from The Fat Duck! One of Heston Blumenthal’s parties?” That’ll be us. Always on an Apician mission to redress the work life imbalance.

Big Yellow Taxi is playing. The barrel vaulted restaurant, occupying two redundant railway arches, is filled with pairs of Arne Jacobsen winged chairs. Chairman’s chairs: everyone’s important here. Later in the afternoon, when the restaurant fills up, they will gently rotate as guests move, forming a slow dance, an idle counterpoint to the fast choreography of the service. There’s nothing bridge and tunnel about these arches, capsules of intimate luxury. A few arches down is Denoism, a smart atelier with a glass walled studio in the middle where you can watch your next outfit taking shape while sipping a coffee.

Mainport’s a lovely hotel,” says François. “And this is a great area of Rotterdam. We attract guests from everywhere, France, America… Come and look at our garden!” We’re ushered through to a verdant private room. “It’s set up for a party later.” He strikes a pose. Arms folded. He puts the I into chef. “We have 56 covers including the private dining and eight people can sit at the bar watching the chefs. We’re fully booked tonight.” We opt for the locavore vegetarian tasting menu with matching wines:

“We don’t find cooking for vegetarians that different an approach,” he confirms. “We always start preparation anyway with lots of chopping of vegetables.” This is fine wining and dining so there are plenty of variations on a theme. Our wooden table is laid with two enigmatic white shapes plus a grinding bowl and petite cutlery. Remember the confusing days of yore when cutlery for every course was laid out altogether on linen tablecloths? Hot bread sits on one of the icebergs; traditional French Parmesan on the other. Interspersions of petals and greenery add colour. “The butter is from Normandy and here is Spanish olive oil,” introduces the waiter.

Another waiter arrives carrying a box of 12 peppers, white to black and every shade between. Enter some personalisation of the meal. After all, whatever Marco Pierre White thinks, everybody’s taste is different isn’t it? Under heuristic guidance we choose Congolese Likovala, Indonesian Cubèbe and Nepalese Timur peppers. A theatrical grinding performance takes place. Our table smells of 100 coffee shops. This routine – one we could get used to thank you – is repeated for salts, Pakistani Diamond and Sel Mirroir.

A sorbet cornetto wedged in a white arch reminiscent of the room shape is “dipped in three different tastes”: tomato, liquorice and piccalilli. Sweet and sour and salty, it’s becoming clear François enjoys treating his guests to taste, texture and temperature teases and temptations. “Collecting knives is a great passion of François’,” says the waiter, holding a murderous array of instruments. We select a mean looking dagger.

After an interlude of mushroom, coconut and haddock (yes they did check our pescatarian credentials) consumé, west Austrian Rabl 2012 “fresh and juicy” white wine is a perfume to the (on a knife’s edge) full bodied curried cabbage, carrot and parsnip with Slovenic cream of artichoke, served with black squid inked potatoes. Pure, unadulterated gastroporn. Is photographing food a disruption? Au contraire, it’s an aide memoire.

The textured black and gold plate displaying beetroot foam, artichoke and parsnip reminds us of a George Baselitz painting. Marrying art and gastronomy, its scent is of a country garden in bloom. The 2014 Colle Stefano white wine – “a typical grape from east Italy giving us fresh herbiness and earthy flavours” we’re told – adds to the rural mood inducing aroma.

Next, the sommelier recommends “a Washington State independent wine from the Dionysus Vineyard.” This smoky 2014 chardonnay plays the perfect companion to pumpkin cream and sweet and sour celery arranged in a crispy crenellation. We’re having far too much fun to pay a lot of attention to the staff’s eloquence and erudition.

Red instead of white wine is now served. In tandem, the arched window frames a blue sky turning grey. Pathetic fallacy or what? The Château de Grand Morgan 2014 pinot noir is “very fruity and earthy”. Our glasses are big enough to swim in, capturing the lingering essence and bouquet of the grape. It accompanies Portobello mushroom, sculpted almond chives and cherry pip sorbet. Another surprising and successful marriage.

“We don’t like the summer truffle in our kitchen!” exclaims François. Winter truffle (Tuber melanosporum) is far more potent than its summer counterpart (Tuber aestivum). Sure enough, winter truffle macaroni comes with lemongrass foam, lentils and parsnips surrounding an egg capped with edible gold leaf. Luyt Douro Doc Reserva Tinto 2011 proves to be yet another orthonasal olfactory hit.

Our carefully curated multisensory voyage is coming to a climax. Cascinetta Vietta Moscato d’Asti in a vintage glass (“light, sweet and just a bit sparkling!”) accentuates lychee sorbet decorated with coconut crisps on a dark chocolate base. FG does all the molecular mixology you’d expect from a modernist restaurant with a taste lab attached yet so much more.

“You have to be in your restaurant seven days a week,” believes François. “Sometimes I take a day off. Otherwise I’m here first thing. I live seven minutes away. In the morning I’m in the lab preparing all the sauces, the meals, the food. I’m always here. I open and close the door, 8.30am to 2.30am.”

The bill is presented under a shell. A sonic surprise? The sound of the sea? A tortoiseshell sculpture representing an inversion of the fossil shaped basin in the bathroom? Or just a paper weight? Four vegetarian courses €71 | five courses €91 | seven courses €111 | nine courses €131. Go the whole hog, add matching wines and Bru sparkling water and there’s not much change out of a couple of hundred euro. But what price umami?

The primacy effect (start of a meal) and regency effect (end of a meal) tend to stick in our minds. What could be more memorable than to sandwich a lunch between an amuse bouche (an unexpected gift) and a goody bag packed with more party favours than a political conference (a really unexpected gift)? Happiness extended. Oh, and the head chef cum experience engineer leaving his kitchen to bookend your visit with a personal welcome and goodbye?

Explosive, experimental and experiential, there’s only one thing missing from FG. It already has a sky high hedonic rating from us. A third Michelin star. Outside, a small red racing car will spin us through the hazy mist of sweltering heat, another rainstorm may await – who cares? – climes unknown persist and pursue us across a restless afternoon. Like a dream, a badly drawn dream. Losing focus, that’s speed and there’s a sailor in every Mainport, so we’re told.

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About Lavender's Blue

Snappy Wordsmith
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