The dish in question - the twice-baked Cropwell Stilton soufflé

I don't know why the language in this review of the posh Jermyn Street restaurant Wiltons amuses me so much -  the "undeniably accurate" guidance, the pungent cheesy flavor that "shone through in every bite" - the odd detail about how his fork disturbed the perfectly formed mound...  the wooden and windy "great opening chapter" and the confession that he could have eaten another should there have been "the opportunity to do so."

Sort of Robert Morley meets E.L. Wisty is how I imagine this being read aloud. 

Yet it's a young man who wrote it. 

Reviewer's ID mentions that he was born in the Grand Duchy of Luxembourg - not just Luxembourg which would be enough for most people, but the Grand Duchy

Another dish, more lumbering language

I dunno, looks pretty unappetising to me...

Two old English gentlemen enjoying the fine dining experience at Wiltons (founded 1742)