Table 9 - the Verdict

"You shud hev some Shumpagne" She tells us, in her stunning Lithuanian accent. "Is goot fair you. Ze bubbles, zey gif veetality." Victoria has read our minds. She is the new front of house manager for Table 9, flown in from London only a month ago, and yet relaxed as a local, completely at home in what is already her restaurant. She is vibrant, bubbly like the champagne she recommends, yet there is a hint of brooding and seriousness to her demeanour - she knows what she is doing. The boys, Scott and Nick, chefs and owners of this new concept at the Hilton Dubai Creek, know this. That's precisely why they have brought her here.
She creates a sense of youth and smooth efficiency from the outset. Victoria knows and loves this restaurant inside-out and backwards, and she will talk about it, and talk about it some more. She takes charge of your eating experience, and some might not like her forward nature. I love it. It may be new to Dubai, but it's a good thing - just as I had hoped and written about with the news of this restaurant, the chefs have taken their first step at shaking up the Dubai restaurant formula. Confident, knowledgeable, verging on cocky service. Bravo.
We choose four small plates and two larger ones, the quantity as advised by my new favourite Maitre'd. "But you didn't order the crispy egg!" (yes, she still has the beautiful drawl, but I have lost it) she tells us. We will be missing out on one of the best dishes - should we swap it for the rabbit? "Oh, no, that's very good too." The scallops? She frowns, shakes her head, no - we need to have those too. Finally the chicken (with foie gras) loses out to the egg.
After a surprising amuse bouche that looks like a seedling (complete with soil), but is the best cauliflower cheese I have ever tasted, the waiter arrives with two of our entrees. He is carrying a secret smile with his silver platter - he too is a big fan of the egg, he tells us. We enjoy it as much as Victoria had hoped we would - I am happy to have been persuaded. Somehow they have managed to crumb and deep-fry an egg while keeping the yolk runny. I won't study this paradoxical presentation until later - I am too busy stuffing my mouth - wiping the tender leaves and cepes in the sherry caramel, and then finally refraining from licking the plate clean. The scallops also are gorgeous. A dish to love for the traditionalists, but still very cleverly done - it's got a wintery kind of richness to it seldom found in seafood dishes, and the tiny soft onions are pretty as a picture.
I don't know if it is Victoria, Scott, or Nick - hopefully a combination of the three, but the attitude has rubbed off on the staff. I remember their faces from my last visit to Verre several months ago, but they are different people. They walk faster. They smile with sincerity. They know the menu, really, really KNOW the menu. What's that yellow stuff under the rabbit? "Its a piccalilli pickle." Ahh, it tastes like a root vegetable or something - I can't put my finger on it. "Aha, it's quince." Really? Are you sure? "Ohh yes, definitely quince." Confidence, smile, turn, swagger, swagger, back to the kitchen.
We liked the idea of the lobster, and I had sampled it at the press gathering previously, but this time it doesn't inspire quite as well. I shouldn't complain - 70AED for a lobster entree with artful taste combinations of vanilla, mango and paper-thin pork crackling is a steal - it just fades a little compared to the other dishes. Maybe it's about the ingredients - it's easy to wow someone with lobster, but the humble egg, or rabbit with pickles? That's a harder task, and I appreciate it more.
We drink, and drink some more. The champagne we started with is already gone - I'm dining with Lucrecia. Another girls' night - could be dangerous. We titter about inane garbage, and watch the pass on a wide-screen above the actual table 9. The sommelier brings us wine in half-glasses. I love this concept - just recently seen at The Press Club, but not in Dubai before (by me at least). It only works if there is a great and copious selection of wine on offer by the glass. It's not London, and Dubai lists are always limited, but they have done a great job, and I enjoy dabbling with the unusual, knowing it's only 75ml if it doesn't sit well with me. A 2009 Cleray Muscadet is everything I hoped and nothing I feared. It's a good cheapie to tuck up my sleeve for later.

Our mains arrive - Venison with blackberries, and sauce in a pot along-side. Lucrecia's eyes sparkle as I pour the grue de cacao. The meat is so tender - nothing like any other leathery strip of deer I've ever tasted - more like a lamb backstrap in texture, but deliciously gamey and offset with the sour-sweet berries and the bittersweet sauce. Despite being stacked to the brim, we can't ignore the Pork belly. It too comes with a jug of jus, and some cheeky little crispy sage dumplings that I chase around the plate until they get mired in the gravy. It's the best pork belly I can remember having - it's not fatty at all, yet has the flavour and softness and flaky texture of the lardy bricks that I am used to getting when I order this cut - just without the stodge. Clever.
While we are debating the whole second-stomach-for-dessert concept, the waiter brings us a sliver of the ginger and lime slice, ignoring our feigned attempts of Oh-no-we-just-couldn'ts. It's a D. For "dessert", "delicious", and "do it". Certainly not for "diet". It cleanses our palates and we decide we are ready for round three.
Lucrecia orders the "chocolate, hazelnut, caramel", whic turns out to be a chocolate dome - exactly what you expect it to be, until you get to the treasure inside, an egg of hazelnut white chocolate filled with goo. I order the Licorice meringue and clementine, despite the fact that I'm not so keen on the citrus. I don't know why, but I had expected a big black cowpat of egg-white and sugar next to a chunky marmalade. Instead I got the dish of the night - tiny delicate off-white meringues with a bomb-blast of licorice flavour, segments of fresh clementine, slender straps of chewy licorice and candied peel, and a creamy citrussy parfait scattered with a tasty salty-sweet crumb.
And now, we think, it is finally over. But no - we are invited to the kitchen. The chefs know I write a blog, but every other diner who has finished before us has also been given the cooks tour. We have watched them all stumble in rapture through the glass doors to the kitchen before us.
Both chefs greet us and ask us if we enjoyed our meal. We gush a bit, quite a bit to be honest. Then Lucrecia offers five minutes of unsolicited interior design advice. They are calm and friendly - nothing like the chefs I have worked with. They have managed to complete a service in utter transperancy with no red faces, angry outbursts or pots thrown at the heads of the apprentices, and yet, they are still cool. But that's not the only surprise - in an era of celebrity chefs who are never present, it is refreshing to be able to talk to the person who both designed and cooked your meal.
We return to the table for Pick 'n Mix. Like an old Cornwall lolly shop or an Aussie country confectionist, our waiter rolls up a cart with glass jars and home made sweeties. It's like taking home a doggy bag without the embarrassment of asking for it. The bags have candy stripes - pink for girls, black for boys, with a signed card from the chefs inside. There is vanilla fudge - soft and semi-sweet, peanut brittle, nougat, lemon drops and cassis jubes that taste just like drinking ribena under Gran's tree in Ivanhoe in 1984.
 
And then it is all over. It's been an ordeal - I feel like I've been to a wedding or something - there's been so much oohing and ahhing, smiling and chattering. And my muscles hurt like I've been dancing, but I know it's just been from wriggling in my seat with absolute glee.
There is only one problem with Table 9 - it still looks a bit like Verre. Scott Price and Nick Alvis are wonderful operators in their own right, and I'd like to see them with a clean slate. They are young and vibrant, and the decor (apart from the masterclass screen and the glass wall to the kitchen) is still a little staid. Imagine Rihanna in a polyester twinset and sensible shoes. Guys - get rid of the table skirts and stilleto it up, then you will have the best restaurant in Dubai. By a long, long, long way.
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Table 9 is at the Hilton, Dubai Creek Beniyas Road, Dubai (map)
Small plates 70AED, large plates 100AED, degustation menus from 300AED. Licensed.
Open for dinner nightly except Saturdays Phone: +971-4-227-1111website Reservations recommended
Chefs Scott and Nick also run the Glasshouse restaurant next-door - a more casual experience, open breakfast lunch and dinner daily.
And... considering they have no website yet, and I think they deserve some extra publicity, here is some info on festive promos: