I'll have a side of drama, please

Tableside cooking is nothing new, but modern-day diners have forgotten how fun it can be, says Tom Parker Bowles, who makes his case for its renaissance

- Tom Parker Bowle

THE contraption looks innocent enough, all gleaming silver dome and delicately wrought legs, decorated with pretty Rococo swirls. A vast screw protrudes from the top, its handle shaped like a ship’s wheel, giving the impression of a particularly ornate nutcracker. Or a juicer, designed for Marie Antoinette. But rather than plump walnuts or luscious oranges, this machine craves only one thing: bones—and lots of them. For this is a tool more suited to a medieval torture chamber than a lady’s boudoir—an antique duck press, hand-cranked to crush sinew, bone and cartilage alike, squeezing out every last drop of fat, juice and blood.

And it’s sitting beside my table at Otto’s, Gray’s Inn Road, London WC1 (www. ottos-restaurant.com), where the eponymous Otto Tepasse, whippet thin and elegantly attired, is working his tableside magic. First the duck— sourced from a specialist farmer in Challans, France —is roasted, then it is returned to the table for inspection, crisp skinned, golden and glorious. The breasts are removed with surgical precision, sliced into thin pink slices and set aside. Now the real drama begins.

The carcass is crammed into the machine’s chamber and the wheel is slowly turned, until those precious juices, dark and delicious, flow down the small spout into a jug below. Next, a small spirit burner is lit and the essence of quacker poured into a pan, mixed with wine and Cognac, briefly flamed. A little cooked liver is added, too, before a deft swirl, a brief bubbling reduction and the finished sauce, shiny and intense, is carefully spooned across the breast. Tableside cooking with all the drama of King Lear, albeit a rather happier ending (for diner, not duck). Not only a joyous culinary Cavalcade, edible