Stuart Macbeth heads to Restaurant 56 where he discovers the fine art of assembling a rhubarb cheesecake

The craze for photographing your food has swept these islands in recent years. It’s a compliment to Soux Chef Nick Bennett that I’ve gone a step further, hauling a camera into his kitchen at Faringdon’s Restaurant 56. But Nick is well used to all the attention. Ever since the 28 year old stormed into the finals of BBC2’s Masterchef: The Professionals last year, he has become something of a local celebrity. The four chefs at Restaurant 56 have capitalised on the TV exposure, slam dunking three AA rosettes, and fast approaching their goal of a Michelin star.

Today Nick has invited me along for a masterclass in haute cuisine, and when I arrive he is in his element. He has been at his stove since daybreak, displaying the culinary diligence, skill and vision of a Renaissance wonder kid.

The dish he’s chosen for us to work on today is a “simple” rhubarb cheesecake. The cheesecake has been set in flawless cylinder. Nick reveals that, after experimenting to perfect the shape, he eventually settled on a roll of plumber’s tube from B&Q. For presentation, the cheesecake is then delicately wrapped with a film of Agar, a seaweed derivative developed in Japan in the 17th century. This part of Nick’s ensemble took four hours to put together.

Isn’t four hours a little excessive?

“Oh, sometimes its days,” he enthuses. “We’re always one step ahead here. We never prepare anything at short notice, so there’s no risk of mistakes.”

I have a go at helping Nick to dress the cheesecake, but my efforts are hopeless. Ingredients slide awkwardly across the plate. My finished effort resembles an exclamation mark, drawn by a four year old.

Meanwhile Nick achieves things with rhubarb that I never thought possible.

One stage of the preparation involves pouring a potent rhubarb liquor, mixed with grenadine and lemon juice. In another, he palettes on a rhubarb compote. Again - hours in the making.

Wafers of biscuit, shavings of pistachio and an oval of pistachio ice cream complete the ensemble. The ice cream rests on the plate in the exact shape of a Brancusi bronze. Rhubarb and pistachio – how on earth do they come up with this stuff?

“The menu develops constantly,” says Nick. “When we invent a new dish it’s a big occasion for us. We’ll all sit in the private dining room to taste it. The chefs will try it, the waiters will try it, all the staff throughout the hotel will try it. And we’ll match a wine to it too.”

The attention to detail shines through when I sample the finished results. The pudding is accompanied by a punchy Piedmontese muscatel, so potent that it makes me want to embrace strangers at the bus stop on my way back to Oxford. And his homemade pistachio ice cream is as good as a day out at the seaside.

“I think from now on,” I confide to Nick,” I’ll going to have to think twice before telling anyone what a good cook I am.” He smiles kindly, and nods his agreement.