Is it really possible to tell whether a dish has been made by a man or a woman? We conducted an experiment at Mews of Mayfair, where David Selex, the chef, asked two talented young cooks from his brigade, Kevin Middleton and Jessica Van Nooten (both Australians), to prepare a starter and main course for our panel of judges to see if they could determine who had cooked which dish. The chefs weren’t told about the sex issue. They were simply briefed to cook in their own style, rather than that of the restaurant.

Our panel of judges consisted of Edward Sullivan, restaurant reviewer for What’s On in London, Sarah Canet, who helps to promote top restaurants, and the restaurateur Kurt Zdesar, formerly of Nobu, the man behind the dim sum chain Ping Pong and the restaurant at Mews of Mayfair.

While the dishes were being prepared, the panel, after much debate, reached a consensus on what to expect: simplicity and relaxed style, with sensual but gentle flavours from the female corner, and from the male corner, something with gusto, artistry and much showing off of peacock feathers . . . “Guys just can’t help being competitive,” reckons Sullivan. “Even when we are cooking for friends at home, we like to say we have just slammed something in the oven, but the truth is we’ve probably been poring over books and practising for days, because we have to produce food that makes a statement.”

The starters arrive: one an intricate, artily presented row of scallop tortellini with wild garlic purée, lobster foam and crispy courgette flowers; the other, crispy courgette flowers stuffed with halloumi and black olives, simply presented with a red pepper relish and rocket. It is astonishing how they conform absolutely to our expectations, both in looks and flavour. “Everything about the stuffed courgette flowers tells me they were made by a woman,” says Canet, speaking for the whole team. “It’s a very simple, modest dish, yet full of unexpected hidden flavours inside the flowers, whereas everything about the tortellini is more showy and complex. “Both are very accomplished dishes,” says Sullivan, but one says ‘eat me’; the other says ‘look at me’.”

Our main courses follow: roast Anjou squab pigeon with sage and potato fritter, seared foie gras and madeira jus, garnished with baby broad beans; and a baby vegetable tagine with spicy harissa yoghurt and flatbread. Zdesar is adamant immediately that the pigeon is a masculine dish. Canet isn’t so sure . . . “I would cook pigeon and foie gras,” she insists, “and the presentation is relatively restrained, whereas the baby vegetables that garnish the tagine are beautifully and precisely cut . . . it could be the work of a man.” Sullivan and Zdesar are having none of it, however. “A woman might cook pigeon, but not foie gras as well. There’s loads of testosterone-driven oomph in the flavours, but the clincher is the garlic chips,” says Zdesar. “A woman wouldn’t want that full-on garlic flavour in the mouth!”

So were they right? Out come the chefs to reveal that indeed the stuffed courgette flower starter and tagine were made by Van Nooten, while Middleton is the creator of the tortellini and pigeon.

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