Our waiter was ostensibly French, and, as is their custom, welcomed us in his native tongue. From then on the proceedings had a distinctly francophone tinge, most of which was lost on me. Perhaps my dining partner, very much an English rose, but three months into a year abroad, had begun to emanate a distinctly continental vibe. I had panicked that I was dressed unsuitably for the occasion, as is my custom, as this seemed, to all intents and purposes, a ‘very nice restaurant’. I’d booked nearly a week in advance, and even then go the feeling we were very lucky to have got in at a semi-sensible time. This fear was quickly allayed. The atmosphere was laid back, warm and vibrant; the lay out was cleverly done so couples could be coupley (and not make everyone else feel ill) and those out with friends could get through a bottle of vino in relative space.
Aware of my incapacity to multi-task whilst eating out, for instance to both converse and read the menu at the same time, I thought I’d look at the menu online so I could be both engaging and able to make a well-informed decision at the restaurant. This menu proved not to be the one placed in front of me on the night, and so my plan was foiled. My company’s decision was basically made for her, the French being renowned for their unsympathetic attitude towards vegetarians. Her choices for the three courses ended up being cheese soufflé, cheese crépe and the cheese board. The dessert choices were not as limited, but I felt this was an excellent choice.
I opted for prawns and scallops to start, and roast duck on a spring onion and potato rosti to follow. I mused that the seafood might be few and their flavour lacking, but was happily wrong. The king prawns were fresh and cooked perfectly (unlike those that gave me food poisoning just a few days later, but ‘I fought the prawn, and the prawn won’ is another story for another time). The scallops, although almost certainly not hand-dived bay scallops (how dare they?), were tasty nonetheless. A mollusc fan might have been disappointed that they were served without the roe, but I was unperturbed. The main course was a mistake. This was not because there was anything wrong with the duck per se; indeed it was crispy on the outside and pink on the inside and a generous portion. I just don’t like rostis. This personal issue would never arisen had I not inevitably panicked in my decision-making, when confronted with so many appealing options. There was also a distinct lack of greenery on the table; the majority of it was part of the table decoration. Alas, we had neglected to order side dishes due to being deep in discussion about the intrinsic (or otherwise) value of art. Tant pis.
Given the quality of the food, and the choice for all but the herbivores, the prix fixe menu is great value at £22. Available every day (except Saturday) you can have most things off their regular menu. Inevitably, though, one forgets about the heftier price tag attached to good quality alcohol. Having emptied our pockets, finding only euros, cigarettes and ironic polaroids we were forced to do a runner. Perfect for a special occasion, sufficiently away from the main drag and one to go to with your parents to at every opportunity.
