Verses

It is with a certain trepidation that we review Kitchener-Waterloo's fine dining establishment, Verses. We were pleasantly surprised, although not necessarily at the right things.

We were stand-ins for a Chef's Table Tasting Menu, which encompasses at least eight dishes, at our last count, with wine pairings for most. As we benefited from the wine pairings, we cannot be counted on for a full and accurate description of the menu, other than certain Small Exceptions which shall become apparent.

It was as though in a dream that the amuse-bouche appeared and was sent away, only an unpleasant alcoholist haze remaining behind it, the watermelon and seven-year-balsamic vinegar being more than overpowered by the whiskeys and such that were despatched from the gelatin. Not a perfect start.

And less, yet, to follow. A chunk of sea bass, with a tough, rubbery skin. Some vegetable tempura with indifferent dipping sauces. A bit of this, a bit of that. Nothing memorable.

Part of the memory gap is the fault of the chef. She was incoherent, mostly, mumbling her way through a laundry list of ingredients for course after course until we were ready to sub for her -- ah, saffron, yes, and Nova Scotia scallops, thank you, we'll take it from here. Though her guidance was useful now and again, the presentation was without passion or conviction, and was too often lost amid the sounds of other patrons making use of the lavatories.

And then -- the claw.

There will, I propose, be a television drama, whose plot is thus: a lobster threatens all human society; such lobster is captured and dispatched; Our Hero does remove the dispatch'd lobster's claw, poaches it in butter, and serves it on pan-fried sweetbreads with a saffron-carrot reduction.

Or not. The point is, such a dish will serve to satisfy World Peace for the next century or more. For when one desires to explode one's neighbour, one must only think of Course Seven, and say, "while I disagree -- vehemently -- with your point of view, a bit of lobster, poached in butter and served on milk-cleansed, pan-fried thymus glands of a young cow, must absolutely do the trick", the other party must reply, "surely, there will room for us, too", and all will soon be well.

For these were things of beauty and light. Of greatness and stupour. Of perfection and no more.

Oh, to be sure, there were other courses -- an ostrich "main" course with homemade buckwheat fettucine, followed by a happy dessert offering (chocolate phyllo; is there a better combination of words? certainly not coming easily to mind) accompanied by a lively muscat -- but nothing even approached the greatness of the lobster.

So let the call proceed far and wide: we require only this; a claw of lobster, poached delicately in rich creamery butter, served atop sweetbreads fried lightly until crisp.

And, we propose, replace all other menu items with this.

We shall return soon, receive our eight courses of lobster and sweetbreads. Or we shall call our Members of Parliament.