Jonathan Day

I second Steve Klc's query. Most of the reviews I have seen have, at worst, indicated that a few of the dishes (say 3 out of 30) were not delicious. That was about the ratio in our dinner. And none of the 2 or 3 were actively bad, they just weren't outstanding, lile the other 27. If you can secure a reservation at El Bulli (no small task) it's unquestionably worth going, especially because the pricing bot for food and wine is very reasonable.

Fortunately a colleague took the check, so I never saw it, or the tip she added, if any. My guess is that the tab for four people was just over £300. And no, I didn't complain. The client left, happy, unaware as far as I know that the service had been unusually bad. This is London, after all, where the lights go out, the trains don't run, and people do strange things to you in restaurants.

If there was a tasting menu, I didn't notice it. In any event it would have been completely out of place at a dinner like this, which was mostly about discussion and only incidentally about the food and wine. First, people don't eat all that much at these dinners -- in fact, there were eyebrows raised when I whispered to the waiter to deal with my lobster. Strict protocol would have dictated nibbling at whatever was easily available and leaving the rest. Even if people had been enthusiastic eaters, the disruption from waiters (especially the bumbling ones at this place) bringing dishes and taking them away would have been inappropriate.

Yesterday to “1837”, the upscale restaurant at Brown’s Hotel, for a business dinner. Our welcome was distinctly chilly. We arrived at 6:55 pm (our client, who had chosen 1837, had requested a 7 pm start). There was nobody at the hotel door to greet us; inside, we found an empty corridor, with unmarked doors to the left and the right. We discovered that the right-hand door led to a rather untidy lounge and bar, and the left hand door to the restaurant. We walked into the restaurant and were quickly sent away. “We aren’t ready to open yet,” said a server. “You can’t wait in here. You can wait in the lounge.” We found a table in the lounge; it was covered with the remains of someone’s tea and drinks. After awhile a waiter arrived. “Would you like me to clean this table?” No, we prefer looking at dirty cups and dishes. After a few moments, we went back into the restaurant. Now it was open, and we were shown to a table. The tables are far apart, giving the impression of spaciousness and the possibility of a quiet and private conversation. Unfortunately, some quirk in the acoustics of the room meant that the talk from a group on the other side of the room was transmitted straight to us, as if there were a hidden microphone linking the tables. A waiter arrived with menus. “We have two specials: Scottish lobster, grilled or Thermidor, and rack of lamb. And smoked salmon from the trolley.” He swept away. The menus at “1837” are large and heavy, but the print is small, so selecting is clumsy and uncomfortable. There is a carte plus specials varying by the day – lamb, beef, and so on. Eventually a drinks waiter arrived to offer us aperitifs and bring the wine list, which is equally large and clumsy. It was a good list: broad, deep, and, for London, not unreasonably priced. We found a 1997 Cote Rotie that opened up in an interesting way, starting with a lot of fruit but then becoming surprisingly complex. My starter was “asparagus, truffles, mesclun salad.” It was acceptable, adequate, but no more. There was a pleasant mustardy dressing; boring salad leaves; a few oily slices of truffle; and fair-to-middling asparagus. A colleague ordered smoked salmon, which arrived whole on a trolley and was carved by a waiter with great flourishes of a knife, but which disrupted the discussion as the waiter asked about garnishes and plating. As a main, I had the grilled lobster. This was served split, but with the meat not really removed from the tail. This was not a problem, but the claws had been cracked in a perfunctory way, but there was no way to open them to extract the meat. Nor had I been served tools for lobster dissection. So I quietly asked a waiter to finish the job of opening up the crustacean. “Of course, sir, that would be my pleasure.” Another trolley wheeled to the table, more plates brought, another waiter came forward, another conversation interrupted. “Would you like me to do something with this lobster?” said the second waiter. Several impolite responses came to mind, but I said, “please remove the rest of the meat from the claws and shell.” He did this by grabbing the lobster between two napkins and wrestling it to a fall, leaving me with a small plate full of meat shreds (and, as it turned out when I tasted them, shell fragments). The plates were cleared, and another trolley was rolled up to the table. “Would you like cheese before your pudding?” No, I said, but I would prefer cheese instead of a sweet. Could you bring the dessert menu?” “No, please order your cheese now.” The selection wasn’t bad, though it wasn’t overwhelming: Stinking Bishop, Epoisses, various chevres, Stilton, Cashel Blue, etc., in fair condition. A colleague also asked for cheese. It then took 5 minutes for the dessert menu to arrive, and we sat there, looking across increasingly aromatic plates of cheese and waiting for the other two diners to order and then receive their desserts. They cheerfully prepared a mint tea (“Fresh mint or peppermint?”) and brought coffees and port. I left thinking that this place could have been good, but that well-meaning but incompetent service, from start to finish had left me with little desire to return.

I believe that Robert is travelling, but I hope he'll join in on his return, because he is far more knowledgeable about the wines and wine service at El Bulli than I am. He worked with the sommelier (whom I believe he found informed and helpful) and chose the wines; I sat at the other end of a long table and simply enjoyed them. The menu we were served was not well structured for the traditional progress of white - red - sweet wines. There was no transition from fish and lighter courses to darker sauces and meats. Even the shift from savouries to desserts was subtle. I'm not sure how we ended up with the red when we did, though it was very good. I believe a frequent suggestion from the restaurant is that diners drink a Cava all the way through the menu. It was as if the wine progression was a separate and parallel event to the dinner, just as the bread service was. Wines and foods didn't marry that closely. They were delicious, nonetheless, and added to the enjoyment of the meal.

I owe Andy and the UK group an apology on this review. I was given a review copy of Family Food, and have drafted a review but not finished it. This despite Andy's patient prompting and my repeated promises to get the thing done. The essence of the review is that the editorial strategy for this book seems to have become confused along the way. It is almost two books in one. The first is an exposition of Heston's explorations of "molecular gastronomy". The second is a discussion of food within the context of a family, food as something that parents prepare and enjoy with children, and so on. You can imagine a nervous editor saying, "Heston, we can't possibly publish recipes for snail porridge -- that would turn people off." And a subsequent change of direction, steering the book away from molecular gastronomy and toward family themes. It's possible that this mixture of two themes started before the book was assembled, whilst Heston wrote the Guardian columns from which the book is heavily drawn. However it happened, Family Food is an interesting combination of the familiar (roast potatoes) and the not-so-familiar, with many illustrations of how new techniques make ordinary foods (macaroni cheese) taste even better. Like the combination of red cabbage gaspacho and mustard ice cream, this blend of molecular gastronomy and family cooking seems odd but ultimately works. More to come when this is ready for TDG. Meanwhile, the book is well worth reading.

Thanks for a detailed report and especially for the pictures. Could you say just a bit about the prices for these desserts? Do you have to order them as a "flight", or are they sold by the piece? And how large are they? Would one of these treats be the equivalent to a stand-alone dessert plate in a fine restaurant (e.g. Daniel) or are they sized more like petits fours?

It's tough to generalise about "Europeans". I know a number of French people who would sooner die than criticise or carp at any morsel of food placed on their plate. We had a 13 year old from one of these families visiting us last summer, and I am sure I could have served him a plate of gravel. He would have crunched through it, then thanked me through broken teeth. Yet more recently, a French woman at a private dinner proceeded to instruct her host and the other guests, in loud tones, in just how the food should have been cooked and served, and what was to be done the next time around. I have seen Italians stubbornly refuse requests from guests (e.g. milk in after dinner coffee) because "that isn't good." One thing I struggle with, as a host, are guests who simply refuse to eat certain foods without specific sauces, usually bottled, that they have grown accustomed to: "I just can't eat lamb without mint jelly. I must have tomato sauce (ketchup) on roast meat, or I can't eat it. I don't care if this is risotto, rice needs soya sauce." Etc. I get this more often from Americans and Australians, but I can imagine Europeans doing the same thing.

Between a combination of exercise (a lot of it) and an Atkins programme I have lost 11 kg in the past couple of months. I am not a zealot about Atkins. When we were in France, over the last few weeks, the local markets had white peaches whose perfume you could smell 10 metres away. And cherries, imported from Canada, that were the size of quails' eggs; eating one was like drinking a glass of fine wine. Yes, I had a few peaches and cherries. And the occasional glass of wine. For me a major benefit of Atkins was that I became aware of the amounts of bread, pasta, potatoes, dried fruit, fruit juices, etc., that I was constantly and mindlessly consuming. My hunger for sugary and carbohyrdate-rich foods had simply grown out of control. I justified all of this on the grounds that it was, for the most part, "fat free": I could enjoy a baked potato, for example, with nothing more than a bit of salt and a grind of pepper. My servings of pasta, especially after an hour of hard cycling, had grown from 100g to 150g (dried product before cooking). I was making increasingly delicious and creative sorbets and eating too much of them. Who cared that the sugar solutions were at 18 degrees Baumé? It made the sorbet all the richer and creamier. And it was all fat free and therefore OK. On the Atkins "induction" plan I was able to abandon these carbohydrates "cold turkey" and lose the cravings for them almost immediately. My appetite is now under much better control, and the energy sag that I experienced, with clocklike regularity, every afternoon, has disappeared. My one daily espresso still tastes delicious, but I don't feel any urge for more coffee later in the day. I do eat more for breakfast than I did before -- and less at lunch and dinner; that requires adjusting the daily schedule a bit. Some Atkins pronouncements strike me as over the top. Except in the case of a diabetic, I can't see how a few breadcrumbs scattered over a gratin or a bit of flour dusted on a sole meunière is going to send someone into hyperinsulinism, or whatever the anti-Atkins condition is called. If something truly delicious is on offer, even a dessert, I am happy to eat a few bites of it. But only if it is exceptional: why indulge in stuff that isn't really wonderful, when there are so many good things available? The other Atkins idea with which I have no resonance is the "fake carbs" business. I love chocolate, and I now eat very little of it. But what I do eat is really good. I love pasta, but have consumed no more than 50 grams of it in the last month. When a beautifully prepared and sauced pasta was offered at a restaurant, I ate less than half of an Italian-sized (i.e. small starter) portion. At a dinner in Nice a few weeks ago, a visiting artist and cook prepared a number of creative pizzas. I tasted each one. Why not? Why spend money on "fake carbs", ersatz bread or pasta or chocolate? My approach has been to eat a lot less of the real stuff, but to concentrate on what is really good. And to avoid fake food, at all costs. Wine is a challenge, especially in France. It's considered deeply eccentric not to drink wine with a restaurant meal. And of course wines do have those dreaded carbohydrates. Again, the solution for me has been to drink a lot less, but to make what I do drink a lot better. Restaurants are offering more and more half- and two-thirds (50 cl) bottles. So far so good. As with all of these things, moderation and balance seem to be the winning way.

Do a bit of digging in this forum, and you'll find lots of places worth checking out in this area. To mention only a few (toss any of these names into the Search function and you'll learn a lot more): In Nice: La Merenda for traditional Nicois cooking Aux Rendez-Vous des Amis, ditto La Petite Maison, delicious but just slightly more refined Terres de Truffes, where truffles feature in everything including the apple tart In Cannes: La Cave, again for traditional southern cooking In Biot: Les Arcades, for simple, traditional food served up by an enthusiastic family In Cros de Cagnes: Loulou, for wonderful fish and amazing steaks In Antibes: Bacon, for the ultimate bouillabaisse In Mougins: Le Bistrot de Mougins, for simple, traditional, delicious cooking In Grasse: Bastide St Antoine, Jacques Chibois's two-star. Superb, creative cooking with a strong local flavour. Chibois has a less formal place in Menton, called Mirazur. In La Turbie: Hostellerie Jerome; simple, elegant, delicious; also a two-star. Regalez-vous! and bon appetit!

Just one comment on the closing of the proposed Scottish feast. In some dining circles in the UK the cheese or savoury comes after the sweet, a sacrilege to those accustomed to the French order of things, which puts cheese before sweet It would seem eccentric in the extreme to have two full cycles : sweet-savoury-sweet-savoury. I have sometimes been served in the following order: - dessert 1 - dessert 2 - savoury (anchovy toast, cheese, etc.) - coffee - chocolates or, more rarely, the savoury arriving after a pause following the coffee.

Gruyere, it is a pleasure to hear that you had good times at places we eGulleters recommended. Thanks for taking the time to report back.

First, many thanks for joining this Q&A. I've read both of your "chef" books and have enjoyed them a lot, not just for the food but also for some fine writing. It is great that you've come to visit eGullet. In The Making of a Chef, Chef Pardus describes a new way to make stock: Ever since reading that rather elliptical description, I've experimented, trying to make a stock that clarifies itself as it cooks. My most successful effort so far was a chicken stock; I used a lot of tomato skins and scraps and simmered it very, very slowly for a long time, checking the stock for clarity and body after 2, 3, 4, hours. It came up clear but rose-coloured, and with too much of a tomato flavour. What's the secret? How do you make a stock that clarifies itself as it cooks? Please enlighten us.

My guess is that when FG makes stock from whole chickens, he simmers the chickens just until the meat is properly poached, in which case it should be tender and flavourful, then takes the chickens out of the proto-stock, cools them a bit, and removes the best of the meat: breasts, thighs, etc. The carcases can then go back into the stockpot, and the pot back onto the fire, leaving you with poached chicken meat for salads, sandwiches and other cold preparations. Once a chicken has been simmered for an appropriately long period (I do mine overnight, in the oven of an Aga cooker), its meat should be virtually flavourless. And I'm guessing that FG wouldn't settle for that.

Thanks for a great introduction to stockmaking. Will you be covering clarification of stocks? Here in the UK -- I don't know whether this can be done elsewhere -- an inexpensive way to get chickens for stock is to go to a Halal butcher and buy "boiling chickens". They cost, on average, £1 apiece; I have had them for as little as 50p apiece by buying 5 at a time. They come with head and feet (the feet add a lot of gelatin to the stock) and are mostly skin, bone and beak. Perfect for stock. What a fine start to the eGCI!

Many thanks to Nikolaus for this extended and interesting post. After reading it I plan to retry the Moulin this summer, most probably at lunch where the prices are a bit more reasonable than at dinner. On my earlier post, I would emphasise that outstanding food would have made all the other problems and discussions disappear: the poor service, the wine waiter's repeatedly forgetting our order, the village discussion around M. Vergé, L'Amandier, etc. We really wanted to like the Moulin, and after the stuffed courgette flower, were prepared to like it even more. Sadly, the rest of the dinner was fair-to-poor both in concept and in execution. Nonetheless, we'll give it another go and report back.

I have followed Nikolaus's suggestion and started a new post in this forum, on the Moulin de Mougins. I am keen to hear members' comments. I respectfully disagree with Dr Hardt / winesceptre about La Table d'Edmond. It can be a pleasant place to dine. But its branded "raviellis" are just good ravioli, neither more nor less. As good as Edmond's ravioli are, I have had far better elsewhere in France and especially in Italy. By "better" ravioli, I mean pasta with superior taste and texture, more flavourful fillings, and more balanced sauces. Nor is it the best restaurant in the village. That prize, in my book, goes to Le Bistrot de Mougins, for traditional food, and La Terrasse, for more modern preparations. La Ferme de Mougins is also very good, but it is not in the old village.

Nikolaus, a new eGullet member, suggested a thread on Roger Vergé's Moulin de Mougins. I, among others, have posted negative comments on this place -- the most recent one here. The above link mentions L'Amandier, which Vergé no longer owns. We dined there while he did own it. The food was fairly good and the prices not too outrageous. Halfway through our main course a diner at the adjacent table lit a stinking cigar, spoiling the food and the wine for us. We politely mentioned this (in French) to the waiter. "And what do you want me to do about it?" he snapped, and walked away. So L'Amandier got a skull-and-crossbones in the visitors' book we keep with reviews of local places. After Vergé sold it, we returned to L'Amandier. A new team was on hand, complete with computerised radio transmitters to send the food orders to the kitchen. Despite this touch of clever efficiency, the food was dreadful: our dishes were either tasteless or burnt. And the service was even worse than before. As for the Moulin, we have dined there once. The signature stuffed and truffled courgette flower was delicious. None of the other dishes seemed to have been made with any care or love. A plate of venison arrived virtually cold. And the waiters were too busy tending to a large coach party to deal with us. So the entire experience left a lot to be desired, especially given the stunning price. As a part time resident of Mougins (we have a house below the old village) I have deeply mixed feelings about Roger Vergé. His fame has clearly contributed to the village's prosperity, and he has undoubtedly been one of France's greatest chefs and a leader in promoting simple preparations of perfect ingredients. He has brought our village a famous restaurant, a pleasant wine shop, a gift shop, and a cookery school. It is because of Vergé that Mougins is surrounded by some 40 restaurants. I want to like the Moulin de Mougins. Nothing would suit me more than to have a superb restaurant within close range of our house. I hope that the restaurant's regained second star bodes a significant improvement. But the meal we ate there was far from magical. I am keen to hear more recent reports, and -- if they are convincing and positive -- to try the Moulin again.

I think Jon's description is accurate: the Fat Duck menu changes, but around the edges. Heston Blumenthal is clearly engaged with Hervé This and other food scientists/molecular gastronomers in testing new ideas and methods. At el Bulli, on the other hand, almost nothing seems to carry over from year to year: there is a restlessness about their innovation that makes even keeping track of their repertoire a challenging task. I'm not saying that one approach is better or worse than the other. I can see the merit in constantly pushing the limits of culinary innovation; I can also see the advantages of taking a dish (e.g. the pot-roasted best end of pork) and constantly seeking ways to improve it. On Michael Lewis's point about tradition, it seems to me that avant-garde cooks can take us varying distances from traditional foods. Of course there are some universal "traditions": for example, (almost) nobody eats mud, gravel, wood chips. But within those wide bounds, there are dishes that go varying distances from the familiar. At the Fat Duck, the red cabbage gaspacho with mustard ice cream that LXT enjoyed -- as did I -- was unusual but not completely foreign -- perhaps 5 or 6 out of 10 on a scale of distance from the familiar, where a dish like roast chicken would score 1 and one like el Bulli's espardeñas con pure de limon (sea cucumbers, cut in noodle-like strips, served with a combination of puree of potato and lemon rind and a lemon marmalade on the side) a 9 or 10. Heston's crab biscuit with foie gras was harder to identify with anything in Western culinary tradition -- perhaps a 7 out of 10.

I'm struck that many dishes at the Fat Duck -- and this is also true of el Bulli -- are in fact references to classic or more traditional preparations. Of course one can never entirely escape tradition and convention: after all, for the most part these foods are presented on plates, with knives and forks rather than being offered in Erlenmeyer flasks or toothpaste tubes. There are savoury dishes and sweet dishes. Fine wines are served: even the most avant-garde restaurant seems happy to revert to tradition in the choice and service of wine. Both Heston Blumenthal and Ferran Adria write about the need to take classic preparations and tastes and help us experience them afresh. In both cases -- though with different styles -- a good number of their dishes are riffs or variations on things we have eaten since childhood. In some cases, he simply takes things and makes them taste superb: the pot roasted best end of pork, for example, comes with a macaroni gratin that is simply delicious, macaroni cheese taken to a great height, Blumenthal's riposte to Robuchon's mashed potatoes. I've enjoyed everything I've had at the Fat Duck. The only downside is that things don't seem to change that much from year to year: I am sure that in fact they do, but the changes seem incremental and therefore the menu that LXT enjoyed seems similar to one I had perhaps two years ago. el Bulli, on the other hand, constantly experiments and innovates, and rarely seems to repeat a menu or a dish. The downside here is that experiments can go wrong, as some of the reviews on these pages suggest.

I often see Russian tourists on the Cote d'Azur these days -- the new wealth of the "oligarchs" re-creating the tourism habits of the former Russian aristocracy. It is possible that fatigue and alcohol left me with a confused memory of the Cafe Pushkin menu. I did have dumplings as a main course at my first meal there -- and they were boiled, and filled with meat, and served with a delicious sour cream sauce. I am almost sure that the pies were described, in English, as "pelmeni". But in that case, how were the dumplings described? My colleagues and I had resolved to avoid the Cafe Pushkin on future trips, not because it was bad but because we wanted to try new places. Now I have to persuade them to return -- or I will have to dash over from the hotel to inspect the menu. Duty calls. I find that I become accustomed to the "Moscow smell" in the same way as a low-grade toothache or backache, or a night in a hotel room where previous occupants have been heavy smokers. It's always there, but I manage to push it to one side of my awareness. But what a sense of freshness on returning to London -- and any atmosphere that can make London air seem fresh must be foul indeed.

At our dinner there was definitely a bread service -- crusty white bread rolls, with pointed ends (a "batard", I think, or a "banette"). It was brought round at least 3 times, roughly to match the service of each of the main wines we ordered. Good crust and crumb, tasty but not oversalted. I don't remember the butter that was provided. The restaurant at el Bulli is only open from 1 April to 30 September. Was your visit in March part of a special event?

These were described as pelmeni, and they were unquestionably pies: pastry, filled with various meat preparations, and baked. I am no expert at Russian cuisine, but have dined at the Russian Tea Room before it closed (that meal was not very good), and have dined at Russian restaurants in the UK and France. My impression was that the Moscow restaurants were more confident about going a bit "off piste", playing with traditional recipes and varying the dishes a bit. The bortsch at Cafe Pushkin, for example, had smoked goose in it.

Moscow is not high on the list of places most of us would consider for good food, except perhaps for caviar. And it is far from a pleasant environment. The newly refurbished airport at Domodedovo (DME) is brighter, cleaner and easier to navigate than dark old Sheremetyevo (SVO) but you are still confronted with the "Moscow smell" as you leave the aircraft: smoke, chemicals and a distinctly lavatorial aroma. It fades after awhile as you grow accustomed to it, but it seems to cover the entire area. Old Moscow hands say that they have simply stopped counting the automobile accidents they encounter both in town and on the surrounding motorways, since realising the extent of the daily carnage on the roads would be too depressing. And the protocols for immigration and security are still daunting: expensive visas, long, complex forms to fill in, grim agents in cubicles that let them see you but give you little more of a view than their faces. Your details are registered with the police as you move from one hotel to another. Service, overall, is still highly uneven: in the better hotels, it is extremely accommodating, but it can break down quickly. You must think ahead about how to get from one point to another; you cannot assume that taxis, for example, will be easily available, or roadworthy when you find them, or that the driver will be able to communicate with you or even know the location of major buildings in Moscow. Nonetheless, Moscow offers a fair number of consolations. Much of the architecture is breathtaking. The Muscovites I have met have been highly intelligent and friendly. And it has some lovely restaurants. My recent travel there has allowed for some delicious food. Cafe Pushkin, Tverskoy Bulvar 26 (tel 229 5590) looks as though it is at least 200 years old; the exterior and interior have a wonderful and mysterious atmosphere, as though you have entered into an old Russian mansion, complete with ancient books, high ceilings and the like. A distinguished and literary-looking gentleman, no doubt a descendant of Pushkin's, with flowing white hair and a white beard, greets guests as they arrive and leave. Finding a table in Cafe Pushkin is no mean feat. It is not difficult to book (though you are well advised to do so) but there are multiple dining rooms -- the library, the roof garden, the salon, etc. -- and the process of getting you from the elegant reception area and bar to your table is not straightforward. On our first visit, we were shown to a pleasant table in a bright sitting room with high windows. Then a young man at a table across the room lit a pipe, filling the room with a sweet, aromatic smoke, as though someone was burning a stack of bubblegum. We asked to move. The waiter spoke on his mobile phone, and we were shown to a table in "the library", this time a darker room, surrounded by bookshelves. Our second visit was with a friend who doesn't plan far ahead in his life, but is blessed with the sort of luck that sees everything fall into place, whether in New York, Afghanistan or Africa. Had he booked? we asked, as we entered. "No," he said, "but it won't be a problem to find a table." The bar area was filled, every table was filled, and we started to think about other places to dine. But our friend whispered to the receptionist, and we were sent to the bar for a drink. "In 10 minutes you may dine on our rooftop terrace," said the maitre d'hotel. Ten minutes later we followed a waiter up three flights of stairs to the roof terrace. There was indeed a table for four, but another guest had installed himself at it and was determined not to leave. Mobile phone again. "I will take you to a beautiful table on our second floor," said the waiter. We followed him down. But there were no tables. The waiter started to tell us about the history of the place. As almost everyone in Moscow seems to know, it is all a simulacrum. The Cafe is completely new and was built, from the ground up, in the late 1990s: Disneyland in Moscow. The literary atmosphere is a complete fake, a Potemkin village for tourists seeking authentic Olde Russia. The waiter dashed away again and quickly returned. "Now I will tell you about the books and antiques. They are real." He took us to see a collection of antique clocks and some very old books, including the oldest in the restaurant's collection, a 15th century liturgy. We waited; we examined books and clocks. Still no table. Finally, one opened up, and we were seated. The menu in the Cafe is long and complex, a combination of French and Russian dishes, with a range of soups, hors d'oeuvres, large starters, and so on. Cucumbers are offered "demi-sel" (half salted) and fully salted. Pelmeni (pies) are offered with six different fillings including "abats de volaille" (chicken giblets) and calf brains. On one evening, I had a starter of smoked eels with seaweed and caviar; on a second, bortsch. Sterlet (young sturgeon) was perfectly cooked and served with a saffron sauce. And the "dessert of the Cafe Pushkin", one amongst many offerings, is a wondrous combination of dark chocolate and frozen berries and cream; we divided it amongst four. A distinguished and literary-looking gentleman, with flowing white hair and a white beard, also greeted us as we entered Sirena, Ulitsa Bolshaya Spasskaya 15 (tel 208 1412) I looked again to see whether the same man had popped over from the Cafe Pushkin, but this one was different. Perhaps this is the look of a Moscow restaurateur. Sirena is a fish restaurant. As if to remind us of this, we were seated in the "aquarium" room. The floor is glass; below it is an enormous fish tank, with sturgeon and carp swimming underfoot. The journey from the door to the table was vertiginous, but once seated the effect is pleasant. The menu is shorter, with few concessions to non-fish eaters. "Stuffed carp, Jewish style" was not the French carpe à la juive but rather a superb rendition of gefilte fisch, served with appropriate garnishes. As a main, I had turbot, in a light saffron-tinged sauce with red caviar. There were three lightly smoked scallops atop the turbot, which was fresh and beautifully prepared. Before dessert we were served a small glass of what was called "sorbet" but was in fact a sort of delicious sour cherry purée; it was so good that we asked for another round. For dessert I had vareniki, tender "ravioli" filled with cherries and served warm, with sour cream. We drank a bottle of near-frozen Russian Standard "Platinum" vodka with this dinner; it went down very easily. The entire meal was superb. To end the week on a fishy note, we dined at Old Tokyo Ulitsa Petrovka 30/7 (tel 209 3786). Here you have the conundrum of a large and long menu with Japanese names in handwritten Cyrillic script. I was able to decipher a few of the names; fortunately, the menu includes a photograph of every dish. The sushi here were fresh, tasty and well cut, especially the rolls -- I had a particularly good smoked eel and avocado roll, surrounded by red fish eggs. Practicalities: most restaurants in Moscow accept credit cards, but, except under the table, you cannot pay in cash other than roubles. Prices are expressed in "units", which are then translated into roubles at the prevailing exchange rate. Prices at good Moscow restaurants are high -- at least at London levels, perhaps more. Central Moscow is compact and not difficult to get around, and the Metro functions very well, though its maps lack the clarity of the London or Paris systems. Arm yourself with a good map and learn the Cyrillic alphabet, since street signs and metro stops are only printed in Cyrillic. Asking prices for taxis are very high, e.g. US$40 for a short journey, but can usually be negotiated.

Peter Mayle writes at some length about L'Auberge de la Mole, in La Mole, west of St Tropez: supposedly it offers good value and very generous servings. I have not tried it. In Lorgues, some 50 km from St Tropez, you will find Chez Bruno, home of Clément Bruno, the "king of truffles". It is no longer the simple out-of-the-way place it once was, and I have heard mixed reports recently. I have not been for some years; back then Bruno would simply waddle out of the kitchen and tell you what there was to eat that day...and it was generally good. Now it has one Michelin star, there is a long menu, and Bruno is something of a (self proclaimed) celebrity, with another restaurant in Nice. Nonetheless, this one is probably worth a visit. Mougins actually isn't that far from St Tropez -- it's only 75 km. The problem is getting into and out of St Tropez because of the horrible traffic. In low season, you can do Mougins-St Trop in a bit over an hour. In high season and even in September it will take longer. I would, however, avoid the Moulin de Mougins. It has been in decline for some years, following a spat between Roger Vergé and the village authorities. Our dinner there two years ago was stunningly expensive and, apart from the signature stuffed courgette flower, undistinguished. The service was also poor. Since then, there is a new chef and Vergé has regained one of his lost stars, so he is back to two. My impression is that the Mouginois tend to avoid the place, and I frequently see coaches bringing parties from Cannes to the Moulin: always a bad sign. Also, the Moulin is not in the old village, but at the bottom of a hill, near a motorway. It is no longer the peaceful Provençal retreat it once was. You won't hear the motorway noise, but that is thanks to double glazing and air conditioning. Because of Vergé, Mougins has something like 40 restaurants, many of them very good. A better though far simpler and less expensive place than the Moulin is Le Bistro de Mougins, for very traditional local food, nicely prepared. Or La Terrasse, also good, more upscale, with lovely views over the Med. Avoid L'Amandier, perhaps the most beautiful restaurant in the village. It once belonged to Vergé, but he sold it last year; it was bad when he owned it, and now it is horrid. If you want a two-star experience in the area, I would recommend Jacques Chibois's place in Grasse, Bastide St-Antoine. The approach looks just a bit grim, but once you are inside the property it is lovely, and the restaurant has a relaxed elegance that's hard to forget. We have always enjoyed our meals there; Chibois has a deep commitment to the products of the area but he is also creative and adventurous. Grasse is about the same distance from St Tropez as Mougins...same traffic problems in St Trop, though. Restaurants do change, so if you stick with your lunch reservation at the Moulin de Mougins do post and let us know how it is doing.