COCONUTS CRITIC’S TABLE – If there’s one word that needs banishing from food writing, it’s “authentic.” Behind it usually lies the assumption that an “authentic” recipe – as if anyone has the authority to define what that means – is automatically better than an innovative variation, however well the plate of steaming heresy actually works. Similarly, decrying a perfectly good dish as “inauthentic” is often a way for the self-important to flaunt their superior knowledge of a cuisine, raising themselves above the lowly Plebeians who don’t know what real green curries or bowls of pho or ham sandwiches taste like. Yawn.
The worst foodie fundamentalists throw around accusations of “inauthenticity” like mad imams issuing fatwas. And if we can’t even keep fundamentalism out of the sincerest of all pleasures – that’s eating, obviously – then we are well and truly screwed. That’s why I think it’s perfectly fine to cook Thai food with less chili for farang without fireproof digestive systems or to stir cream into carbonara or whatever you damn well please. If the dish makes someone happy, it has done its job.
[[{“type”:”media”,”view_mode”:”media_original”,”fid”:”22721″,”attributes”:{“alt”:””,”class”:”media-image”,”height”:”634″,”typeof”:”foaf:Image”,”width”:”800″}}]]
So as tempting as it is, I’m not going to roast hyped new Sukhumvit fine-diner Whale’s Belly for using what some might call “inauthentic” – meaning huge – quantities of sugar in its Franco-Italian cuisine. Thais will likely make up the bulk of its customers, and owing to the characteristics of their own venerable cooking, they generally have a preference for sweetness. Thus it would hardly be fair to single the place out from the countless other Western restaurants in Bangkok dousing meat in sauces with the sugar content of ice cream. But that doesn’t mean I’m giving Whale’s Belly a pass. Because in several other ways, it’s rubbish.
The decor is one of them. An array of curved white slats on the ceiling nod to the restaurant’s name. They’re cute enough. But that’s pretty much the only aspect of the design that succeeds. Empty fish tanks could have been nicked from a bog-standard Thai-Chinese seafood restaurant. The maritime-related nik-naks on the shelves – mini galleon, treasure chest, telescope – are clunkingly unimaginative, while muzak and the view from the windows – a car park – all help deliver a good kicking to the restaurant’s pretensions. Worst of all, though, is the lighting, mostly the work of an array of small naked bulbs hanging from the ceiling. An excellent rule of thumb in restaurant design is that guests should be able to look in any direction they please without getting a grid of flaming dots temporarily burned into their retinas.
The food – we opted for the THB1,700++ set menu – ranged from good to mediocre to just plain bad. It hovered more on the low end of the spectrum. The “mac and cheese” hadn’t seen any macaroni, instead consisting of two types of ravioli in espagnole and Parmesan sauces: one was stuffed with “herbed chicken” – think sage-and-onion stuffing – the other with ricotta. This multi-spectrum umami-fest was one of two recommendable dishes the restaurant served us. Still, I couldn’t help but notice the inanity of the course’s name (I’m being pernickety but I just can’t help it). These days every posh restaurant has a gourmet take on “low cuisine” or a rarefied dish whose name references an essential quality it shares with a humbler one. But there needs to be some sense to the reference or it doesn’t work. Calling ravioli “macaroni” does not work.
We enjoyed a lobster bisque with a rich seafood flavor and truffle oil finish. But less successful – a lot less – was a honeydew “gazpacho” surrounding a blue crab rillette, sitting on guacamole and topped with caviar. The thin, sweet liquid that surrounded the crab had nothing in common with the Spanish soup save its temperature. It would have made more sense to call this almost fluorescent-green juice “a melted melon lolly” because that’s what it tasted like. It should be illegal to treat caviar this way.
The main courses also fared poorly, particularly the tenderloin steak, which tasted strongly of liver. No fine diner should expect to get away with livery steak, and certainly not one charging these prices. Seabass with orange miso emulsion (super sweet, but I promised I wouldn’t fault it for that) and teriyaki sauce (super sweet, ditto) was passable, though in a city brimming with seabass dishes, you need to do better than that.
The desserts rounded off a disappointing meal in appropriate fashion. A forgettable vanilla panna cotta with tropical fruits came with a bone dry “financier” sponge. A chocolate fondant cake – aka what is becoming known as Bangkok’s most cliché dessert, lava cake – was accompanied by berries that lost their flavor after a few chews and turned into a cardboard-like mush.
If this restaurant was less hyped and less pricey, there’d be no reason to publish this less-than-flattering assessment. But Whale’s Belly is benefiting handsomely from Bangkok’s usual avalanche of free or meal-priced PR. As a result – and against my better judgement – I had high hopes for it. Those hopes ended up dashed against the rocks like so many awkward sea metaphors. Like its namesake, Whale’s Belly is bloody expensive – and almost all blubber.
Whale’s Belly Restaurant & Bar
41, 39 Boulevard Tower A
Sukhumvit Soi 39
Bangkok, Thailand 10110
–
Coconut’s Critics Table reviews are written based on unannounced visits by our writers and paid for by Coconuts Bangkok. No freebies here.
Follow Dan Waites on Twitter: @DanWaites
