Cassis

In a very enjoyable recent article for Vanity Fair, Corby Kummer bemoaned the 'tyranny' of the tasting menu. "How," Kummer asked, "did the diner get demoted from honored guest whose wish was the waiter’s command to quivering hostage in thrall to the chef’s iron whim?" My thoughts exactly. In London as in America, an increasing number of restaurants - usually, but not always, the kind helmed by ambitious young chefs who include hubristic vacuities like 'reaching for the [Michelin] stars!!' in their Twitter bios - offer only tasting menus, even at lunchtimes when most right-minded diners don't even want two courses, never mind eight and up.

As a diner, I generally shy away from tasting menus for the reason that having what I eat in which order and at what speed dictated by the kitchen is the polar opposite of how I like to eat out; I have a great deal of respect for many chefs and restaurateurs but as a paying customer I like meals to be about my choice and convenience, not theirs. And as a writer I tend to avoid them because tasting menus have almost always to be served to the whole table and it's terribly boring to write (and read) about a meal only saying, "We all had the soup, and then we all had the halibut, and then we all had the duck" and so on ad infinitum.

But a tasting menu that genuinely serves to showcase the talents of a brilliant chef, perfectly balanced, carefully timed and matched with expertly chosen wines? Now you're talking, and that's exactly what's on offer at Cassis, the smart Provencal bistro in Knightsbridge where I enjoyed a meal that, on reflection, was probably the single best restaurant meal I ate in 2012. 

I've visited Cassis (and liked it very much) before and was lured back by an invitation to see what new executive chef Massimiliano Blasone - ex of Apsley's - was doing differently. The answer is, in a good way, not much; the upscale bistro menu, mindful of but not enslaved to the cuisine of Provence, is still there. What Blasone has done is to add some exceptional pasta and risotto dishes, and refine presentation so that what's on the plate is as visually impressive as owner Marlon Abela's art collection on the walls.

After expertly-mixed Martinis by way of aperitifs, my artist pal Paul Vyse and I started with sea bass tartare, coarsely-cut, silkily-fresh fish bound in a subtle trace of goat's cheese with a dash of citrus and sandwiched between crisp sesame wafers. Geometrically arranged on a plate decorated with a stripe of piment d'Espelette, the precision of presentation and equilibrium of flavours served as a clear statement of intent for the dishes that would follow.

Ethereally light cod brandade was perfect scooped up with its accompanying black olive tuile, while tart rhubarb marmalade countered the richness of caramelised Landes foie gras, dusted with bitter chocolate powder. Black Angus sirloin steak tartare - an additional dish included at our request - was surprisingly light, its spicing subtle enough to allow the flavour of the beef to dominate. Rabbit ravioli with pistachio cream was more robust, the nutty, rich cream stopping just shy of being actually sweet.

Lobster risotto was gloriously rich, dusted with saffron and containing generous translucent, just-cooked slices of lobster tail. Seared scallops, served with a pea puree as vibrant in taste as of colour, were similarly well-timed, lightly crusted from the heat of the pan and inner-cheek tender inside. A subsequent game dish, a classic combination of vividly red venison with red cabbage, was cooked sous-vide but retained far more texture than this fashionable but, I find, often disappointing method of cooking usually permits. Roasted sprouts provided additional crunch.

After a palate-cleansing mouthful of lime jelly came a trio of desserts: a chocolate sundae of sorts, a raspberry sorbet of the like I could happily eat after, or indeed for, every meal, and an elegant seven-layered assembly of ganache and wafer in chocolate crumb that reminded me, wonderfully, of an extremely posh Drifter. We somehow managed the dainty chocolate and fruit petits-fours that provided the finale to this note perfect, epic meal.

Massimiliano Blasone is clearly a prodigious talent; his cooking is intelligent, precise, innovative and exhilarating but also, refreshingly in a time when many chefs appear to be trying to outdo each other with the obscurity of their ingredients and idiosyncrasy of technique, really rather accessible. Less accessible - unsurprisingly - is the price; the seven-course menu we enjoyed is £75 with wine flights at £30 or £50. I'd certainly suggest letting the sommelier choose wines for you, as we did; highlights included a wonderful green-appley Albariño with the brandade, Monbazillac with the foie gras and and a really exceptional 'L'Instant' rosé from Provence with our ravioli. 

Service throughout was knowledgable, attentive and polished, and if I have one reservation about Cassis it's that the overall identity and decor of the place don't quite seem to marry up with the aspirations of the kitchen. The food might be Provencal, but casual bistro this n'est pas, and with Blasone's addition of Italian dishes to the menu this crisis of identity seems even more pronounced. Marlon Abela has for some time now been rumoured to be bringing his high-end Italian brand A Voce to London; perhaps with a simple name change for Cassis and some minor cosmetic tweaking he could achieve it on this site.

Corby Kummer dislikes tasting menus, as explained in his Vanity Fair piece, because they are 'tedious; surprise and delight and originality shouldn’t be banished'. They're certainly not banished at Cassis, where surprise, delight and originality are to be found in every course.

Cassis Bistro, 232-236 Brompton Road, London SW3 2BB Tel: 020 7581 1101 http://www.cassisbistro.co.uk





Posted by +Hugh Wright

Galoupet, Knightsbridge

Firstly, a public apology: when our waitress told us straight-faced that Galoupet's offering of small plates to share was a 'unique concept', I laughed out loud and reeled off a list of other places where this could be done, like the worst kind of restaurant-collecting tosser. It was an awful, Onanistic thing to do and I wouldn't for a second have blamed her if she'd tipped my (superb) Pink Basiltini cocktail over my head and had me thrown out. That she didn't, and in fact proceeded to provide unfailingly polite and enthusiastic service for the rest of the night, is to her enormous credit. Mea maxima culpa.

Whether it's entirely unique or not, the menu 'concept' (why does everywhere have to have a 'concept' nowadays?) at Galoupet - a new wine bar/restaurant/shop on Beauchamp Place from the Chateau of the same name - is a very appealing one. Fifteen dishes, most available in a small or large size, are offered in a simple list, in the order in which the kitchen thinks they are likely to be most enjoyed - so salads come first, followed by fish, finishing with some meat dishes.

For every dish there's a suggested wine pairing, served in a 125ml measure, this large variety of by-the-glass options made possible by the use of Enomatic wine storage machines. You don't have to have the suggested wine; the intriguing list offers another twenty or so varieties, including (of course) those from the Galoupet estate itself. The flexibility is there to order lots of small plates to share, each with a different wine, or stick to a conventional starter-main-dessert-and-bottle-of-wine-between-us configuration.

Cassis Bistro

Given that I wrote recently that I'm not greatly fussed about new restaurants per se, it might come as a surprise to find me writing, once again, about somewhere that's barely been open a fortnight. It shouldn't however, as the new opening in question is Cassis Bistro, which on paper ticks all the same boxes as the last one, Cigalon, and indeed offers the same cuisine, Provencal. If (either of my) regular readers are worried that this review of a new Provencal restaurant will just be a rehash of the last, let me assure you now that the two restaurants - and I hope the two reviews - are very different, albeit almost equally as good.

Cassis is the latest addition to the gradually-expanding Marlon Abela Restaurant Company (MARC) which includes private members club Morton's, ultra-expensive, Michelin starred Umu and The Greenhouse in London as well as upscale Italian A Voce in New York - London gets a branch in 2011 - and a couple of other high-end bistros on America's East Coast. MARC clearly positions itself at the premium level of the hospitality industry  - a prestige marque, one might say - which puts a lot of pressure on the team at Cassis to get things very right from the get-go. On the evidence of what I saw - and ate - they've succeeded.

You can tell that MARC mean business with this venture from the address alone; Cassis occupies an expensive, expansive plot on the swishest stretch of Brompton Road leading up to Brompton Cross, where Ralph Lauren rubs shoulders with Chanel. Design-wise Cassis is clearly intended to appeal to the people who populate that kind of boutique; the look is bistro de luxe, with populist touches - specials chalked on blackboards, monochrome prints of Parisian cafe scenes - nestled alongside discreetly expensive furniture and classy modern art by Julian Opie and Gary Hume. Warm honey hues throughout and cute zinc pots of herbs on the tables make for a cosy, cosseting space, made even more so by a festive open fire which was most welcome on the sub-zero day on which we visited.

My lunch date was my friend Matt Bramford, a graphic designer and sometime fashion editor (it was his cultured eye that identified the art) with whom I was seeking sustenance before an assault on Harrods. Hurried shoppers, ladies-who-lunch and busy businessmen will appreciate the two- or three-course set menu at £18/£20, but we decided to indulge ourselves and splash out on the a la carte (well, it is Christmas). As well as traditional starters there's a list of petites bouchées - 'little mouthfuls'  - such as tapenade and pissaladière which would be fun for sharing, but we just grazed on the abundant, excellent bread selection while sipping a Kir Royale and deciding what to order.

The starters we eventually chose - delayed partly through indecision and partly through endless gossiping - were fantastic. Matt's pumpkin soup with chestnuts and Provencal goat's cheese was as thick and velvety as a theatre curtain, the cheese adding bite and the chestnuts texture, served attractively in a heavy lidded terracotta dish. My grilled stuffed squid, piquillo pepper and passata sauce was in fact a brace of baby squid, char-grilled to perfect smoky tenderness and filled with a lovely salty farce of peppers, herbs and rice. The accompanying tentacles had been flamed to a moreish subtle crispiness; with a lick of the rich passata sauce they would, I thought, make a brilliant bar snack by themselves.

My main course of veal kidneys, violet mustard sauce and raisins was wonderful, the tender kidneys cooked until only just pink and the slick sweetness of the gravy balanced out by the tang of plump raisins. A small helping of mange tout was a welcome inclusion, their crunch and earthy flavour complementing the rich softness of the rest of the dish. I noted at the time that the sauce tasted neither of violets nor mustard; later research revealed that violet mustard does not do exactly what it says on the jar but is actually an aromatic, violet-coloured relish made with mustard seeds and grape must. Whatever; the sauce was delicious.

Matt's roast Landes duck breast  - cooked astutely, the skin crisp, the flesh tender, bathing in a luxurious cassis sauce - was exceptional and would have induced plate envy had my own choice not been so good. We agreed with hindsight that side orders of rich creamy polenta were just a little too much; one to share would have been enough.

 Filling up nicely but still with room for a little something, we shared three cheeses (bigger appetites can choose to have five) which came with a very tasty chutney and really wonderful honey and fig bread. The waitress could only tell us what two of the three were - a chêvre cendré and a Tomme - but all were very good.

They certainly went well with the last of our bottle of Gamay de Touraine, Chezelles 2009, a light, elegant red which had proved more than a match for the rich flavours and textures of our meal. At £25 it was also good value and one of many similarly affordable wines on the mostly-French list; prices start as low as £19 and go up as high as one's pockets are deep. A charming and personable sommelière is on hand to provide guidance where needed and wine is poured only when the imminent emptiness of the glass requires it.

Service was just about faultless in terms of courtesy and timing but staff seemed a little stiff, even nervous of each other at times, which wouldn't feel out of place in a more formal restaurant but does in what is meant to be a bistro. I'm sure that this will pass as everyone settles in and gets to know each other. That said, Cassis is really only a bistro in name; not having tablecloths, and glass panels etched with French food terms - the only design detail I really didn't like - do not a bistro make and I think that before long Cassis will acquire a well-deserved reputation as a high-end, high-quality destination restaurant rather than the casual, drop-in-anytime kind of place it asserts itself to be. Either way, it certainly hits its mark.

Cassis Bistro, 232-236 Brompton Road, London SW3 2BB Tel: 020 7581 1101 http://www.cassisbistro.co.uk 

Koffmann's, Knightsbridge

For those of us afflicted by the increasingly-common condition known as Restaurant Obsessive Disorder - symptoms of which include poring over online menus late at night, booking tables at new restaurants the minute phonelines open, and cataloguing everything we eat in words and even pictures assuming it to be of interest to others - the comings, goings and coming again of famous chefs at The Berkeley have been as fascinating as the peregrinations of the yellow warbler are to ornithologists.

Twelve years ago, Pierre Koffmann moved his three-Michelin starred restaurant La Tante Claire from its site at 68 Royal Hospital Road to The Berkeley, an early example of a top chef being lured to a top hotel. The Chelsea site vacated by La Tante Claire was taken on by the then relatively-unknown Gordon Ramsay, who three years later had three stars of his own. When Koffmann entered semi-retirement in 2003 (semi- in that he kept on a consultancy gig) and closed La Tante Claire, the by now very well-known Ramsay was taken on by The Berkeley's owners, Maybourne, to oversee all their restaurants. His two-starred, Marcus Wareing-helmed Pétrus replaced La Tante Claire, and Jean-Georges Vongerichten's fusion temple Vong was booted out to make way for Gordon's smart-casual Boxwood Cafe.

Fast forward to 2010, and following very public fallings out between Ramsay and Maybourne (which only Gordon Ramsay at Claridge's survived), and between Wareing and Ramsay, a practically unchanged Pétrus is now Marcus Wareing at The Berkeley and the Boxwood Cafe site - empty since April 2010 - has been taken on by...none other than an un-retired Pierre Koffmann. Plus ca change, as M. Koffmann might say. I tell you all this by way of bringing home the point - to non-ROD sufferers - that in London restaurant terms, Koffmann's is A Very Big Deal Indeed. It's for this reason that I chose to go there for Sunday lunch with my friend Nina, who on her occasional visits from Bermuda entrusts to me the choosing of somewhere fabulous for a long, boozy catch-up meal. To my great relief and pleasure, Nina's trust was repaid by Koffmann's being every bit as good as I had expected it to be.

In keeping with the reputation of The Berkeley itself, everything about the restaurant is discreetly luxurious, all pale surfaces and gentle lighting, with cheerful flashes of colour provided by green-upholstered chairs and some wonderful floral arrangements. It's smart rather than formal; Nina and I were in our Sunday best but other diners were in jeans and didn't look out of place. The size of the tiered room - there are two dining rooms separated by a very chic bar area on the landing between - would allow for more tables than there are; the resulting generous spacing adds to the air of relaxed elegance.

The Sunday lunch menu, offering three choices for each of three courses, is exceptional value at just £26, round about the price of a main course on the a la carte (the cuisine may be 'the simple, rustic...food of the countryside' but the prices are very much of the city). To kick off, Nina chose chicken liver parfait which was excellent, a hint of anise lifting it above the ordinary although its being served in a teeny-tiny Kilner jar seemed a little gastropub. My salad of hearts of palm with shrimps was much more in keeping with the surroundings; well-presented, colourful and classy. The crunchy shredded hearts were dressed in a lovely mustard/citrus emulsion full of flavour but not so much as to overwhelm the fat, sweet shrimps on top.

We both chose the same main course, braised shoulder of lamb with white bean cassoulet, and there could be no better example of the 'hearty, robust seasonal food' which it is Pierre Koffmann's stated intent to provide. The lamb was soft and rich, shaped into a neat cylinder and served on a bed of the hearty but not heavy stew. We were pleasantly surprised to be served a trio of complimentary side dishes (quite why they were complimentary I wasn't sure, but let's just say Nina is a very attractive woman) of honeyed carrots, green beans and  - a little oddly given our menu choices - French fries. All were good, although I thought the little metal pail the chips were served in was naff rather than nice.

We shared a flawless dessert of caramelised oeufs a la neige - more commonly known as ile flottante or floating island - a featherlight cloud of meringue atop a sweetened custard. Having spied, and smelled, the cheese trolley from across the room we shared a selection of the magnificently kept cheeses from La Fromagerie, two cow's and two goat's milk of which our favourites were the smooth, strong Fougeru and a salty Persille du Marais. A bottle of Corbieres Classique, Chateau Ollieux Romanis 2008 at £28 saw us through the meal, light enough to complement the starters yet robust enough to match well with the richness of the lamb and cheese dishes.

Service was generally as excellent as it should be in an establishment of this pedigree, but a couple of inadequacies stuck out. The waiter who took our food order would not take our wine order, but the sommelier sent to do so did no more than write down the name of the wine I had to point to on the list. The amuses-bouche we were presented with was no more than an anchovy fillet wrapped around a black olive on a disc of near-stale bread and the petits fours served with coffee, miniature chocolate macarons, were fridge-cold and chewy. These little freebies are lovely if they add something to the meal but if the desire isn't there to provide good ones, I'd rather have none at all.

These though really are minor gripes and don't in any way affect my opinion that this is a restaurant worth obsessing over. The food is superb, the atmosphere comforting and the service respectful but warm. It's not horrendously expensive either; our beautiful lunch, a good bottle of wine, a port, coffees and service came to £56 each.

The next time Pierre Koffmann retires it may be for good. ROD-sufferer or not, I'd recommend getting yourself to The Berkeley and catching him while you can.

Koffmann's, The Berkeley, Wilton Place, London SW1X 7RL Tel: 020 7235 1010 http://www.the-berkeley.co.uk/koffmanns.aspx

Emporio Armani Caffe, Knightsbridge

Emporio Armani in Knightsbridge is, to paraphrase the famous 80s advertising slogan for its near neighbour the V&A, an ace caff with quite a nice boutique attached. Located in the quiet mid-section of the Brompton Road, past the scrums around Harrods but not as far West as chi-chi Brompton Cross, the grand UK flagship of Giorgio Armani's younger, edgier label attracts a fashionable mix of well-heeled, well-dressed locals and wealthy foreign visitors. Thanks to the chic first floor Caffe, should hunger strike after a shopping spree or they require sustenance before one, they need not set foot outside the exquisitely polished door.

Readers of my recent write-up of Racine may recall that my best-friend-in-the-whole-wide-world Andrew works at Emporio Armani and it was at his suggestion that we booked ourselves in for lunch last week. Although aware of it, I'd never eaten at the Caffe (only the original, at Armani's Milan megastore) and might never have done had Andrew not heard good things which found their way to my ears. It had to be lunch - the Caffe is only open during normal store hours - and a day off work presented an ideal opportunity.

As you'd expect from the master of sleek, pared-down luxury, the design of Mr Armani's cafe is in perfect keeping with the philosophy of the label.  The decor of the long room - it runs the full width of the front of the store - combines high-gloss black marble, vast mirrors reflecting the natural light which pours in through an immense picture window, elegant beige seating and accents of Armani's favourite lipstick red. Like the clothes themselves, it's entirely classic while at the same time resolutely modern.

The menu reads as it should in a high-end Italian brasserie; there's a good range of antipasti and pasta, salads in starter and main course sizes and various fish and grills, as well as desserts and a lengthy drinks list for those fancying just a sugar or liquor high before dropping £600 on a blazer. As befits the demographic of the area - broadly, high-net-worth ladies who lunch and the men who walk them around town - the cooking style of chef-manager Djamel Benchikh is light and health-conscious without stripping away all signs of fun and indulgence, so while the majority of dishes are steamed, grilled and low-carb there's still some frittura going on.

Andrew started with calamari fritti while I ordered Parma ham with figs. The calamari were excellent, oil-less, crisp batter yielding to chewable rather than chewy squid. A slightly spicy, rich tomato dip served with it added colour and punch. My prosciutto - served in a portion large enough to serve as a light main course - was wonderful, a gorgeous mound of silky, salty ham and super-ripe figs complemented nicely by chunks of Galia melon and shavings of Parmesan. 

Main courses were equally simple and just as good; Andrew's test of any Italian restaurant (he and I have eaten our way around Tuscany) is their pasta e pomodoro and Armani's passed with flying colours, the thick, chunky tomato sauce having been slow-cooked to bring out an intensity of flavour not common in such a simple dish. My fillet of sea bass, adeptly seasoned, grilled to just-golden and presented on a soothing bed of palourde clams and broad beans was completely brilliant, the best fish dish I've had this year by a nautical mile.

Throughout the meal, warm tomato foccacia and olive bread, delicious on their own and even better dipped in the wonderful olive oil and balsamic provided, were regularly replenished. A couple of glasses of a crisp, floral Gavi di Gavi were the ideal accompaniment to the light but distinctive flavours of the food and tap water was happily brought and topped up (I mention this as reassurance to anyone who, nervous of asking the prices in a designer boutique, might be afraid to ask for anything less than Acqua Panna in a designer cafe). Service, from a brace of model-pretty staff, was as smart as the Armani suits they were wearing.

A couple of minor details, though far from criticisms, are worth noting. One is the aforementioned opening hours, or rather lack of them; the Caffe is only open when the store is open, currently 10-6 or at the latest 7. This is a shame, as I could see this being a really smart dinner destination if only the architects had thought to include a separate entrance. The other is that, unsurprisingly I suppose, the food is almost as expensive as the clothes; our two-course lunch with two glasses of wine, a Coke and 12.5% service came to £73. But like the collections for sale in the store around us, the price was borne out by superlative quality, expert manufacture and high style. 

Both this ace caff(e), and the rather nice boutique attached to it, are well worth a visit.

Emporio Armani Caffe, 191 Brompton Road, London SW3 1NE Tel: 020 7584 4549 http://www.emporioarmani.com 

Racine, Knightsbridge

If the love of money is the root of all evil, then Knightsbridge must be the most evil place on Earth. Everywhere you go in SW1, conspicuous wealth and consumption abound; gaudily customised supercars line the pavements outside the ever-heaving Harrods, all the £30-million plus penthouses have sold out at the new One Hyde Park development, and three-star chefs are falling over themselves to open restaurants in five-star hotels. As if enclosed in a protective, recession-proof bubble, the occupants of Knightsbridge appear oblivious to austerity, be they resident in one of the area's exclusive red brick terraces or visiting for the summer from one or another emirate.

It's only in an area like Knightsbridge that a place like Racine could have 'firmly established itself as a favourite neighbourhood French restaurant' as the website proudly states. Almost anywhere else, chef-proprietor Henry Harris's slick, classic bistro would be considered pricy and posh, to be saved for special occasions, but in relation to most nearby competitors Racine is comparatively inexpensive (though cheap it ain't), and markedly less formal. It's also, deservedly I'd say based on my recent visit, doing a roaring trade.

My lifelong best friend Andrew and I were having dinner to celebrate his recent success in being appointed to a senior sales position at Emporio Armani just up the road (as an alumnus of the label I know first hand just how damn hard it is to even get a foot in the door) and chose Racine on the basis of our having both heard good things about it. In fact, Racine has been on my radar ever since it opened; I was an early adopter of Henry Harris's honest, luxurious cooking when he was at Fifth Floor at Harvey Nichols just round the corner and was immediately interested when he left to set up Racine - I just didn't get round to actually eating there until last week.

Like the area, the food at Racine is very, very rich. Harris appears to hold no truck with modern healthy eating fads; the menu is a delightful list of patés, mousses and remoulades, of roasts and grills and chops. Everything is garnished, sauced or buttered, and served in abundant portions; naturally, I bloody loved it even though I waddled out at the end of our meal and may drop dead of a heart attack before the week's out.

To start with, Andrew had a warm garlic and saffron mousse with mussels and I chose hot foie gras with wilted endive, piment d'Espelette and spiced bread. Andrew's mousse was almost soufflé-light but still very creamy in texture, tasted subtle without being bland and paired nicely with the flavour of the handful of plump, poached mussels surrounding it. My liver was just gorgeous; warm, quivering, unctuous and indulgent, it went beautifully with the nutmeg spiciness of the toast and the slight bitterness of the endive. My palate isn't refined enough to have detected any particular flavour of Espelette pepper, but as the sum of its parts this dish worked very well.

Main courses were equally as good if also rather heavy. As a lover of both offal and blue cheese I was never going to choose anything but the grilled veal kidneys with Roquefort butter, which came served additionally with some velouté-smooth mashed potato. The two fat, silky kidneys were full of flavour, cooked just through to a pale rose and bathed in a good couple of ounces of salty, tangy butter. It was a a terrific combination which given the choice I would probably have preferred without the potato; it was undeniably beautiful mash but just tipped the dish as a whole over into over-richness. Andrew's breast of duck with new season's grelots (baby onions), lovage and a gateau campagnard - a sort of apple-y rosti - was more balanced, the duck almost quackingly pink and the vegetables complementing rather than competing with it.

Determinedly we ploughed on to desserts figuring that we might as well be hanged for un mouton as un agneau. My pot of vanilla cream with Agen prunes was essentially unburnt crème brulée served over fruit in an upright dish, simple but enjoyable and evidently made from only the very creamiest cream, the kind of stuff that looks at extra thick double cream with pity in its eyes. Andrew's pud of choice was even simpler but also even better, vanilla ice cream of exceptional quality - home-made or not we weren't told - with a little jug of preposterously perfect hot Valrhona chocolate sauce.

Fancying a light-ish red wine we drank a very agreeable 2007 Chateau de Tersac, Corbieres which coped well with the succulent textures and flavours of the food and was fairly priced at £21. The wine list is long but undaunting, sub-divided helpfully into 'from Europe' (though by and large this means France) and 'from around the World' and then into by the glass, half bottles and bottles. There's something for every palate and price range although a black mark is awarded for the incessant pouring of it - three waiters in as many minutes had to be told Non, merci until it sank in that we could and wished to do it ourselves. Service was otherwise charming, polite, and well-paced.

Our bill, on which we received a 25% discount thanks to a Toptable offer, came to a very fair £80 and even if we had paid the full whack of £96 I'd have felt we'd got good value for money. My only objection, as much out of principle as confusion, was that Racine charges a lofty 14.5% service, an inexplicable whisker less than the 15% only really charged in the hautest of places but a hefty 2% over the more usual twelve point five. Knightsbridge being Knightsbridge I expect Racine's regular clientele don't bat an eyelid at such piddling sums; to the rest of us however it's an unwelcome extra expense and that's, well, just a bit rich.

Racine, 239 Brompton Road, London SW3 2EP Tel: 020 7584 4477 http://www.racine-restaurant.com/ 
 

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Bar Boulud, Knightsbridge

Late last Wednesday, when I got home from dinner at the recently opened Bar Boulud, I tweeted: "So underwhelmed by Bar Boulud that I'll need a serious mainline fix from my enthusiasm dealer before I can even think about writing it up." This was no exaggeration; bar the ever-effervescent and aesthetically-delightful company of my strapping Welsh pal Will, my evening at New York superchef Daniel Boulud's new 'informal' restaurant had delivered so little to be excited about that I genuinely wondered if I would ever be sufficiently arsed to put fingertips to keyboard. I certainly couldn't be bothered to take any photos hence this post being illustrated with my favourite picture of Will from our trip to Madrid last year.

To preface, particularly for those who don't follow restaurant and catering news with the slavish devotion of the blogosphere and Twitterati, 2010 is to be the year of the superchef hotel restaurant. Riding the crest of a wave which started last year with the arrival (albeit in name only) of Heinz Beck at Apsleys, 2010 has already seen Bruno Loubet launch his insanely successful eponymous Bistro at The Zetter and, just a few weeks ago, the opening of Bar Boulud, the London off-shoot of thrice-Michelin-starred Daniel Boulud's New York gaff of the same name. Treats still to come include Heston Bloomineck's first London restaurant (which like Bar Boulud will be at the Mandarin Oriental Hyde Park) and perhaps most excitingly of all, Pierre Koffmann's return to The Berkeley. By Autumn you'll be hard pressed to find a fine diner in the capital which doesn't have a three-star chef's name above the door.

You'd expect then that with a big-name chef patron, a five-star-deluxe location and a track record of success in the bear pit which is the NYC restaurant trade, Bar Boulud would be something pretty bloody special. Alas, your expectations would be for naught, because the actual product is pretty mediocre. 

First - and worst - of all, there's the quite spectacularly unattractive room. The floor, chairs, tables, bar and panelling are all made of the same harsh, hard wood in the same harsh, hard shade. There are accents here and there of a deep terracotta-ish red, offset by rendered walls painted the colour familiar to tenants everywhere as 'landlord beige' and adorned with bought-in-bulk generic black and white photography. The overall effect, I put it to Will, was of the breakfast room in a Thistle hotel; Will, who was a high-up with the chain for eight long years, concurred. I provide here an interior shot of the Thistle Hotel Cheltenham as my Exhibit A and invite anyone who has been or might go to Bar Boulud to spot the difference. 

Menu-wise, Bar Boulud offers a wide and appealingly described range of brasserie fare; a long-ish list of charcuterie options is joined by a selection of sausages, soups and salads in portions geared towards sharing. If you're after something more substantial there are burgers (apparently a Boulud speciality) and 'plats de resistance', a rather grand name for fish and meat main courses which include classics like coq au vin and steak frites. So far, so Cafe Rouge.

While deciding what to have we sampled a couple of cocktails, neither of which bowled us over. My Negroni was insipid - too much sweet vermouth possibly - and Will's Cosmopolitan (Who dear? Gay dear? Us dear?) was just silly, poured at the table from a miniature pitcher, into a cocktail glass containing a giant ice ball, in which were encased rose petals which perfumed the drink as the ice melted. Sometimes cocktail theatre can be fun, sometimes it's just naff; the latter was the case here, made worse by the fact that rose petals have no place in a Cosmopolitan.

We ordered a selection of dishes to share, a small charcuterie platter, a tourte de canard (duck terrine in pastry), boudin blanc with truffle mash and cervelas de Lyon, one of the day's specials described as pork sausage baked in brioche - I envisioned a high-end pork pie. Additionally I ordered chilled pea soup with baby carrot for no better reason than that I love chilled soups.

The charcuterie is made in-house to specifications laid down by Parisian master charcutier Gilles Verot and I thought it rather grand that rather than have the charcuterie bought in, Boulud had had a charcutier brought in. Particularly enjoyable on the platter were slow-cooked beef cheek which had an intense, almost curried flavour and a terrine of pulled (sort of braised) rabbit. Accompanying pickles were lively and piquant. Less impressive were the various hams and meats, which were indistinguishable from anything one could buy in a half-decent deli.

Our tourte de canard was very good, layering gutsy pressed duck, abundant nuggets of goose foie gras (their foie gras is all goose - I checked) and sticky, squishy figs, the whole encased in a deliciously sweet, glazed pastry. Boudin blanc was also a pleaser, the sausage's delicate smoothness of texture belying its concentrated pork flavour; the truffle mash it nestled on was rich, buttery and utterly luxurious. My chilled pea soup, listed as also incorporating rosemary cream, did not taste of the herb at all but was tasty and primaveral, providing a welcome cleansing contrast to the salinity of the charcuterie. The worst dish by far was the cervelas de Lyon which consisted of dense sausage-meat - "Is this Spam?" I wondered more than once - within claggy, dry brioche which stuck in the throat. Removing  the bread rendered it barely more edible.

Although we were fairly full, we decided not to order desserts less from being full than for lack of any interest. A combination of the ugly room and far too formal service - from far too many staff - had made it impossible to relax all the time we were there and we just wanted to get the hell out. Our bill, including a glass of wine each (Will's a Sancerre, mine a lovely, light Irancy, at about a tenner apiece) and 12.5% service came to £104 which we both clutched our pearls at; individual plate prices don't raise eyebrows in isolation but boy do they add up. As we left, Daniel Boulud himself was working the room, but neither he nor any of his copious staff felt it necessary to thank us or wish us goodbye.

I'd struggle to recommend anything about Bar Boulud though damn it I have been racking my brains to try. Sure there's the good quality of the charcuterie but anywhere can sell someone else's established product. Otherwise I really don't see anything special about Bar Boulud to make up for the awful design, the dull stiffness of the ambience and the 'so what?' OK-ness of the food offering.

Perhaps it will make a nice breakfast room.

Bar Boulud, Mandarin Oriental Hyde Park, 66 Knightsbridge, London SW1X 7LA Tel: 020 7201 3899 http://www.barboulud.com/ 

Apsleys: A Heinz Beck Restaurant

Before I launch into what is going to be, let me warn you now, a gushing eulogy to my incredible dining experience at Apsleys, let me first get out of the way my one, solitary gripe: that inelegant, clunking name. Until about four years ago, the restaurant at The Lanesborough Hotel on Hyde Park Corner was known simply as The Conservatory; then, following a tasteful and no doubt very expensive make-over, it was renamed Apsley's in honour of Apsley House, a.k.a. No. 1 London, the one-time residence of the Dukes of Wellington just across the road. In September, it was announced - to great excitement in the foodie community and not least in my small corner of it - that the kitchen was to come under the control of German-born, Italy-based superchef Heinz Beck, holder of three Michelin stars for his restaurant La Pergola in Rome.

Now, you'd think, wouldn't you, that this momentous occasion might merit a change of name to - say - 'Heinz Beck' or perhaps 'Heinz Beck at The Lanesborough'. Losing the Apsleys name would be no great loss; while well-respected and reasonably renowned, scoring fairly highly in (to give just one example) Zagat's 2010 guide, it has always been a stealth-wealth, cognoscenti type destination which could have survived a more radical name change. Even 'Heinz Beck at Apsleys' would trip off the tongue more easily if they really had to keep the name; but no, the powers that be have lumbered this astonishingly brilliant restaurant with an astonishingly dreadful moniker. Which, as this little rant will have made apparent, rather grinds my gears.

Crap name notwithstanding, Apsleys gets absolutely everything else very right indeed. To start with the room, it's a very beautiful space, the soaring glass ceiling adding drama to the luxuriously decorated, two-tiered space, done out in shades of mauve and taupe with plush, swirl-patterned carpet, modernist chandeliers and a mural the length of one wall. It's the polar opposite of many contemporary restaurant interiors with their minimalist, neutral decor and calculated absence of elaboratory flounces, but I liked Apsleys all the more for it; it strikes me that the perfect antidote to the current on-going economic doom and gloom is a little bit of unapologetic, conspicuous luxury, and Apsleys offers an abundance of it.

Another wonderfully old-school aspect of the experience is the service, boasting the highest ratio of waiting staff to tables I've experienced since Gordon Ramsay at Claridge's (of which, while I mention it, note the thoroughly sensible name - but I digress). Many restaurants make the mistake of thinking that having an army of staff will guarantee good service, but fail to train their people to a sufficiently high level and end up oppressing diners with over-attentiveness. Not so at Apsleys, where the battalion of staff from head waiter to junior tray-bearer via a couple of 'ranks' in between, has been drilled to perfection, ensuring that every diner's every need is not only met but also pre-empted, and those little acts that in lesser diners feel like fuss for fussing's sake - re-folding napkins while one's in the lav, topping up wine and water - just happen as if by magic.

Finally, and importantly, the staff have that rare quality of a sense of humour; our waiter played along with my shriek of mock-shock when he announced that 'Ze chef 'as prepared for you a little surprise' and our playful eye-rolling which greeted the detailed introductions and explanations of successive dishes. I don't mind this particular, new-ish quirk to fine dining as long as it genuinely adds something to my knowledge of the dish - here it does - but I nonetheless find it insanely amusing.

Speaking of which, it wasn't just me being amused but also my bouche, which leads me rather neatly to the important matter of what we actually ate, we being myself and my artist pal PV, like me not averse to a swanky dining room and a bit of top quality nosh. First to hit the table was a selection of wonderful freshly baked breads (special mention must go to the pancetta-infused rolls), accompanied by some excellent olive oil and rock salt served in dainty china dishes.

Then, as we sipped a glass of delicious Prosecco, we were presented with chef's aforementioned 'surprise' - not Heinz Beck popping up from beneath the table shouting 'Boo!' but a trio of quirky amuses: a liquorice allsort-sized slice of pepper and aubergine terrine, a melting veal beignet on a wisp of basil cream, and a piquant cube of kumquat jelly. The unlikely combination worked to serve the intended dual purpose of these things, namely to give a taste of what to expect from the meal ahead and to awaken the palate in readiness for it.

Palates awakened we started on our starters; PV had chosen potato cream with slow-cooked egg, while I went for Iberian suckling pig with pomegranate emulsion. Both were superb, PV's rich, thick soup marrying nicely with the almost jelly-like texture of the gently poached egg, the former being gently and ceremoniously poured over the latter at the table. My dish surprised me slightly by being not a simple dish of robustly-flavoured meat as I'd expected but actually a quite delicate salad, the slices of tender, rare meat joined on the plate by a scattering of wild herbs and pomegranate seeds as well as the tart, refreshing emulsion. It worked well, the meat and fruit complementing each other as comfortingly as roast pork and apple sauce but in a much lighter incarnation.

For our main courses we both fancied fish; I chose gilthead sea bream with pepper coulis and cucumber, while PV decided to try the mackerel in filo with olives and celery. Each dish was elegantly and imaginatively presented, the sea bream in angular herb-dusted goujons accompanied by an unexpected (and delicious) panzanella-stuffed pepper, and the mackerel in a long, appealing 'cigar' of crisp pastry. Each dish perfectly represented Beck's description of his style of cooking, 'light cuisine of Mediterranean flavours', bringing together delicately flavoured components in order to produce complex, rewarding layers of taste in each mouthful.

After a short rest we were brought a selection of palate cleansers, as I had fully expected we would be, Chef having already surprised us quite enough for one evening. Chilled mango puree, served in a shot glass with a hemisphere of crystal clear mint jelly on the side, did an excellent job of refreshing the taste buds without entirely obliterating the lingering flavours of what had gone before. What went after however was, for me at least, the real highlight of a meal that had been full of them.

Billed as 'chocolate tart', what I actually received was three mini-desserts; the tart itself, a shallow bowl of crunchy, spiced pastry filled with rich, warm, viscous melted chocolate laced with ginger; a mound of coarse strawberry 'salsa'; and a quenelle of awesome rosemary ice-cream. Each by itself was speech-arrestingly gorgeous, but when combined on the spoon and taken together almost brought tears of joy to my eyes. The only other dish which I can recall having reacted to with anything like this degree of sheer enjoyment was a strawberry souffle at Guillaume at Bennelong (note, again, the name...) in Sydney; this dessert topped even that. PV's pear cake with cinnamon and crunchy amaretti ice-cream was, he told me, extremely good, but I was so carried away with my plate of Manna that at the time it seemed impossible to countenance anything else on the table being in the same league. I am sure that this was unfair of me and that PV should be taken at his word.

Although I'm certain that coffee at Apsleys would be as carefully selected and presented as the food, we agreed that it would spoil rather than complement our state of pleasant satiation; but this wasn't to be the end of our meal. Whether ordering coffee or not, Chef likes to spoil diners one last time with a plate of hand-made chocolates and petits fours, five per person no less, which like everything to leave his kitchen are exquisite - innovative, light, delicious. A little slab of chocolate ganache spiked with popping candy was particularly memorable and fun.

And there I think is a word to sum up the whole experience of dining at Apsleys (now, let's not forget, 'A Heinz Beck Restaurant'); it really is great fun, being treated like royalty in a gorgeous space, enjoying clever, imaginative food served by adept staff who manage to maintain a studied elegance and formality without ever taking themselves too seriously. PV and I left on a real high, both I think aware that we hadn't just had a great meal, we'd had a really great experience.

So many restaurants, or rather restaurateurs, have gone out of business because they have invested more time and energy in gimmickery and spin than they have in getting the basics of food, ambience and service right. In contrast, assuming that the standards we experienced are maintained, I can see Apsleys quickly becoming one of the hottest tables in town and racking up another few Michelin stars for Mr Beck. Who knows, he might even work his magic outside of the kitchen and get them to do something about that damn silly name.

Apsleys: A Heinz Beck Restaurant, The Lanesborough Hotel, Hyde Park Corner, London SW1X 7TA Tel: 020 7259 5599 http://bit.ly/5giP7



Posted by +Hugh Wright

Harrod's Sandwich Counter

Think of Harrod's Food Hall and the first thing that springs to mind is probably caviar, foie gras and quails' eggs, our imagined staple-foodstuffs of the moneyed classes, being sold at sky-high prices to Belgravia dowagers and cooks from the nearby embassies. Not so; the Food Halls (to give them their correct title) offer everything from the most basic such as tins of Heinz Baked Beans, to the most luxe - caviar is indeed present at £270/100g of Beluga - via everything conceivable in between, at prices not always much dearer than at less grand corner shops than this. One real surprise however is that for all that Knightsbridge is awash with the usual line-up of Prets, Eats and Starbucks, the Food Halls are also the best place around for a filling, and believe it or not cheap, lunchtime sandwich.

Hidden away in the grocery section at the periphery of the labyrynthine Food Halls, just before they end and become perfumery, there's a sandwich counter offering a vast array of fresh treats with a good couple of dozen combinations of fillings and breads from a classic ham and cheese croissant to the fancy-pants crayfish club. The display is mouth-watering, with fillings rising in abundant mounds from the the rolls, baguettes and ciabattas which struggle to contain them; there's invariably a queue but this being Harrod's, it is managed with impeccable panache by the boatered staff.

Best of all though are the prices; with the exception of some of the most elaborate seafood options, nothing's north of four quid. My baguette of prawns in Marie Rose creme fraiche came in at just £3.50 and was bursting with huge, juicy prawns in just the right amount of light, dill-scented sauce. Another we tried, the club torpedo at £3.95, was abundant with chicken and bacon and oozing with an indulgent but not excessive amount of good fresh mayonnaise. Both were far superior to anything I'd ever eaten at the same price from, say, Upper Crust, while also being considerably more upper class.

So, next time you're in or around SW1 and fancy a substantial snack at an easy-to-swallow price, bypass the chains and head for Harrod's sandwich counter - a little bit of luxury you can afford!

Harrod's, 87-135 Brompton Road, London SW1X 7XL Tel: 020 7730 1234 www.harrods.com