The Waterside Inn, Bray

In the dark days before Britain discovered food, you would head into the countryside for a meal with all the enthusiasm of a Roman centurion venturing into Boudicca’s local for an afterwork pint. Dining options seemed limited to a clutch of dowdy restaurants and woodbine-scented pubs, all seemingly locked in an eternal battle to see who could get the most breadcrumbs onto the menu. It was not a good time to be a scampi.

Of course, times have changed. Celebrity chefs now rule the airwaves, controlling our minds with their talk of specially sourced ingredients, seasonal produce and fancy bread. Word of this culinary coup has reached all four corners of the land; Sweary Gordon has intimidated good food out of eateries nationwide, and out in the countryside there are crisis meetings of baffled ploughmen trying to work out where their lunchtime pickled onions have gone.

Down at the Waterside Inn, perched on the riverbank in the drowsy Berkshire hamlet of Bray, all this ebb and flow is greeted with the kind of supreme indifference only our Gallic neighbours can muster. Michel Roux opened his doors in 1972, turning out elegant French food with the minimum of fuss and fruity language, and the restaurant seems to have existed in its own gastronomic universe ever since. But times have changed in 25 years and we’ve booked a table for Sunday lunch to see if Roux’s formula has changed with them.

The answer is an emphatic non, as we discover stooping into the snug lobby and stepping back in time. The immaculate maître d' offers a charming welcome before gliding us through to the dining room, where our table offers the most picturesque view imaginable. The Thames drifts languidly past, taking with it a family of ducks, a swan or two and a canoist hell-bent on re-enacting the Poseidon Adventure. It’s the only evidence of strenuous activity in this lazy part of the world. In fact, it’s so relaxing here that the idea of food begins to feel like a bonus. Nevertheless, it’s three Michelin stars worth of bonus so we’re keen to get stuck in.

There is no shortage of waiters to help on that score: we stop counting at 14, all of them appearing and disappearing like unfailingly polite ninjas. A plate of delicious hors d’oeuvres materialises in front of us, including a tiny steak tartare that, in the bonzai era of Nouvelle Cuisine, would have been halved and served as a main course. There’s nothing nouvelle about my entrée though: the last time I ordered apple soup I was in a high chair and needed it to redecorate the kitchen, so the Velouté of Granny-Smiths and Scallops is a nostalgic choice. It’s a good one too, with the texture of heady truffle slices providing earthy contrast with the juicy scallops and sweet apple.

My main course, a pan-fried fillet of Angus beef, is cooked to perfection in a delicate anchovy butter and arrives perched regally on a bed of ratatouille that promises to be ‘sicilian style’. I’m wary as my only other exposure to sicilian-style things was the The Godfather 2, but it’s been a while since a courgette was implicated in an honour killing and it smells incredible. It tastes even better, with the sweetness of the red peppers tempered by a subtle tarragon tang, and it lasts about as long as as a Corleone at a toll-booth.

Technically at this point I should be trying to puzzle out what kind of alchemy is taking pace in the kitchen to make food so wrong, so light. I order dessert instead. When it arrives it’s the clearest evidence so far that The Biggest Loser is not must-see viewing in the Roux household. The Péché Gourmand Selon "Alain" et "Michel”’ — or, in English, ‘70,000 Calories of Pudding Action’ — is actually seven contrasting pudding-ettes, ranging from a molten, dizzying, chocolate sponge to the kind of rum baba Oliver Reed would have approved of. It’s a fittingly decadent way to round off a magnificent lunch.

The food here is, of course, exceedingly rich, and rich is what you need to be in order to pay for it. It is eye-wateringly expensive and I mean that quite literally. Ultimately, though, The Waterside Inn is more than just a layman’s guide to what it would be like to be Alan Wicker — it’s a reminder that, while fads come and go, good food cooked with skill and love is timeless. As Michel might say: Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose.

Palintology

"One of the things we have to change is the idea that people cannot disagree without challenging each other's character and their patriotism. The times are too serious for this patriotism playbook." Barack Obama

"This is a man who can give an entire speech about the wars America is fighting, and never use the word "victory" except when he's talking about his own campaign.Victory in Iraq is finally in sight ... he wants to forfeit. Al-Qaida terrorists still plot to inflict catastrophic harm on America ... he's worried that someone won't read them their rights." Sarah Palin

Last Thursday was a disorientating day for any foreigner glued to the US election campaign. One minute Barack Obama was basking in the hollers and cheers of 80,000 star-spangled liberals in Denver, fresh from accepting the presidential nomination and approving perhaps the silliest set design since Spinal Tap’s microscopic Stonehenge. Then Sarah Palin arrived.

Poor Obama must have been wondering where everyone had gone. On the face of it, this was the most bizarre vice-presidential nomination since Dan ‘The Potatoe’ Quayle, and the way the press told it the McCain team had found Palin flipping mooseburgers somewhere in the part of America that should be part of Canada. And that turned out to be her version of events too. It must be a devious ploy to win over the disenfranchised Hillary hardcore, wheezed blindsided pundits, ignoring Palin’s somewhat divergent stance on absolutely everything, not to mention the fact that in every publicity photo she seemed to be armed to the teeth.


All this before she’d even taken to the stage for her acceptance speech, which, as it turned out, was utterly brilliant and completely policy-free. Like Serial Mom meets The Deer Hunter, it took us from small-town Alaska to the Hanoi Hilton, via the sordid back-alleys of Washington. It was compelling, mawkish, thundering and sarcastic, and really needed one of those '60s Batman sound-effect boards to do it justice. “What does Obama actually seek to accomplish, after he's done turning back the waters and healing the planet?” KAA-POW! “I guess a small-town mayor is sort of like a ‘community organizer’, except you have actual responsibilities.” ZAAAAM! As you scoured the GOP’s speechwriting team for Jack Dee, you could just hear the unmistakable ka-plunk of Republican jaws, and reason, hitting the floor.

Five days and six trillion words of gleeful copy later and still no one’s quite sure what to make of Palin. VPs don’t win elections, they say, but then this is no ordinary election — for one thing, it’s the first time the incumbent party has attempted to run as challenger to itself. “Nothing to do with us, buddy,” the Republicans wheedle, while the rest of the world tries to figure out why there isn’t at least a hundred point gap between the parties. Americans like their politicians to pretend they’re not politicians, a stunt Palin has pulled off pretty impressively, but pretending not to be the government takes real concentration.

Exactly how free Palin turns out to be of the “special interests, lobbyists, big oil and the good-ol' boys” will be fascinating to discover. Leaving aside the hockey mum schtick, fishing, homespun wisdom and general piety, she's a politician and lobbying is as much a fact of political life as fundraising or, say, taking credit for scrapping pointless projects you'd approved in the first place. Just type 'John McCain' and 'lobbyist' into Google and start wading through some of the 2,600,000 entries.

Palin has a weekend of intensive briefing behind her now and is on the verge of her first interview with the national media on ABC. We'll find out what’s behind "the naughty smirk of the killer librarian", as A.A Gill puts it. Gill detects "the delicious hint of salty revelations to come," and, as the king of the salty revelation, he should know. We can only hope. If ever there was a strong argument to give moose the vote, Palin is it.