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
As we strolled along Brompton Road on our way to dinner, Anders said, "There's a restaurant down here that's always busy whenever I walk past. We should go there some time." By coincidence - I won't say 'as luck would have it' for reasons which will become apparent - said restaurant in fact turned out to be our destination, La Brasserie, so Anders got his wish rather sooner than expected.
La Brasserie has been in business on the same site in Brompton Cross since 1972 and apart from the addition of a cocktail bar in 2010 - apparently the reason why they have started to invite bloggers and press in to write about the place - it doesn't appear to have changed much in that time. The decor is 'clichéd French brasserie-by-numbers', with red banquettes, checker-board tiles and framed photos of the Eiffel Tower all present and correct. It looks, as Anders observantly put it, like a tourist trap on the Champs Elysées, somewhere designed to reassure unconfident diners that here is somewhere so resolutely and indisputably French that you could not have a Frencher meal anywhere, jamais.
The menu is almost comedically francais too. Ask any mildy xenophobic granddad what he thinks French people eat and he'll rattle off a list including frogs' legs, snails, onion soup, boeuf bourguignon and steak-frites and all of these are indeed available at La Brasserie. In fact apart from the decor and the menu, the only thing that does appear to have changed since the 1970s is the prices, of which some, even in SW3 on what must be an incredibly expensive site, left us rather a bout de souffle.
I started with cuisses de grenouilles persillade, frog's legs cooked in white wine, garlic and parsley, while Anders decided to try the onion soup. Both arrived unnervingly quickly - within just a few minutes of ordering - and the intense heat radiating from Anders' soup bowl did nothing to dispel the suspicion that it had recently emerged from the microwave. When eventually cool enough to try, it was thin and salty, with no real onion punch and none of the depth and sweetness good onion soup obtains from slow, patient cooking. Anders gave up on it after only a few spoonfuls. The frog's legs smelled and tasted overwhelmingly of garlic; they were nice enough, and tender, but the meat had no discernible flavour of its own.
For our main courses we unthinkingly ordered two variations of essentially much the same dish, in Anders' case the hamburger Holstein - 'chopped steak topped with fried egg, anchovies & capers, frites' - and for me steak tartare, which when done really well (as in proficiently, not 'well', or even 'medium' for that matter, that would be silly) is one of my very favourite dishes.
Alas this was not one of those occasions. What came to the table was so unattractive, so sad and sorry-looking on the plate, that I broke my own rule and took a picture of it, just in case words failed me and I was unable accurately to convey how appalled I was at the green gunge-strewn patty of machine-chopped beef which appeared before me, a black olive plonked on top, two tiny cornichons and two wedges of hard, fridge-cold tomato added as garnish before the whole ugly affair was scattered as an after-thought with parsley.
What even was that green gloop? The recipe includes gherkins and capers and I gamely - and charitably - trusted that somehow in the food processor these had pureed and coagulated in the mix. I must say it didn't taste anything like as bad as it looked - it was well-seasoned and used good-quality beef - but I still couldn't forgive what had been done to it. Anders' burger - essentially the same thing, cooked - was fine. Not great, but fine. The accompanying frites were bog-standard catering chips, and none the worse for that, but not what you'd expect with dishes costing £17 (the burger) or £20 (the tartare).
In for a centime in for a franc, we gamely pushed through to desserts and oh, how I wish we hadn't. Tarte tatin, a forlorn, dark, compacted looking thing, consisted of sharp, mushy fruit (putatively apple) on a soggy base, served with a scoop of ice-cream - the only properly edible thing on the plate. It was actively unpleasant, also microwaved, and more than two thirds of it was left untouched. Anders' ginger crème brulée was OK, a good creamy filling under a nicely crunchy topping.
No-one noticed or seemed at all concerned that many of our dishes returned to the kitchen less than half-eaten, but then service throughout the evening was - with the exception of the friendly if oddly nervy cocktail barman - at worst brusque, at best nonchalant, so it came as no surprise that no questions were asked as to our (dis)satisfaction. And for this, a discretionary 13.5% service - yes thirteen-and-a-half percent - is added to your bill.
Whatever I might say about La Brasserie, it will have no effect on its ongoing popularity. A restaurant that has been in business for nigh-on forty years and is, as Anders has witnessed, always busy, does not need good reviews to continue to thrive nor will it suffer from bad ones. It is, effectively, criticism proof. A waitress could slap Fay Maschler with a mouldering ham and there'd still be a 45 minute wait for a table come Friday night while tables stand empty at the superior, and slightly cheaper, Aubaine two doors down.
La Brasserie isn't meant to be a destination for great (or even good) food. It exists for unimaginative wealthy locals and shoppers (and celebrities - Felicity Kendal was there on the night we visited, the most exciting thing about the whole experience) who value familiarity and stability over quality and value for money. "Darling," Anders said consolingly as I wailed uncomprehendingly into the night, "these people are not price-point conscious!"
No, no; I should say they are not.
La Brasserie, 272 Brompton Road, London SW3 2AW Tel: 020 7581 3089 http://www.labrasserielondon.com
I was invited to eat at La Brasserie free of charge by their PR company
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.
