Food Snob

Hi, I was at l'Ambroisie for lunch in January. Please click here for my full review with photographs: Here Sorry for not reproducing it here...but it is quite long. My menu: Amuse Bouche 1: Comté gougères Amuse Bouche 2: Velouté de butternut avec crème fouettée de truffes blanche Entrée: Corolle de noix de Saint-Jacques et brocoli à la truffe blanche d’Alba Plat Principal 1: Escalopines de bar à l’émincé d’artichaut, caviar oscietre gold Plat Principal 2: Feuilleté de truffe fraîche ‘bel humeur’ Pre dessert: Sorbet poire William Dessert 1: Arlettes caramélisées fromage blanc, citron et pamplemousse confits Dessert 2: Tarte fine sablée au cacao amer, glace à la vanille Petit Fours: Madeleine à la vanille; truffe chocolat; tartelette Normandie; macaron citron; et tuile d’amandes

Hi, I was at l'Ambroisie for lunch in January. Please click here for my full review with photographs: Here Sorry for not reproducing it here...but it is quite long. My menu: Amuse Bouche 1: Comté gougères Amuse Bouche 2: Velouté de butternut avec crème fouettée de truffes blanche Entrée: Corolle de noix de Saint-Jacques et brocoli à la truffe blanche d’Alba Plat Principal 1: Escalopines de bar à l’émincé d’artichaut, caviar oscietre gold Plat Principal 2: Feuilleté de truffe fraîche ‘bel humeur’ Pre dessert: Sorbet poire William Dessert 1: Arlettes caramélisées fromage blanc, citron et pamplemousse confits Dessert 2: Tarte fine sablée au cacao amer, glace à la vanille Petit Fours: Madeleine à la vanille; truffe chocolat; tartelette Normandie; macaron citron; et tuile d’amandes

Hi, I ate at Lasserre in January. One can find a full review with photographs on the site: click here René Lasserre’s legacy is his eponymous restaurant. One of the most impressive hosts of his day, he entertained the world’s rich, famous and important at his tables for a generation. Gala evenings, celebrity parties, haute cuisine…this was a world away from the Basque home Lasserre left at only twelve to work in Paris. His first job in the capital was as a busboy, but by nineteen, he was already that restaurant’s maître d’hôtel. Spells at the Pavillon d’Armenonville, the Lido, Prunier and Drouant followed before he realised his dream of owning his own restaurant. In 1942, he purchased what he described as ‘a kind of garage’, but was really a hangar that had been used as a bistro during the World’s Fair of 1937 and disused since, on the Avenue Victor-Emmanuel III (which later became Avenue Franklin D. Roosevelt). His first few years, with Paris under German occupation, were difficult. However, whilst other restaurants, such as Maxim’s on the Rue Royale, were full with Nazi officers, Lasserre fed résistants like André Malraux and Jacques Chaban-Delmas. In 1948, with the war over, he opened Club de la Casserole, making this the place to be seen after movie premiers, gallery openings and other society events. He won his first Michelin star the next year. It was at this time that he, André Vrinat (Taillevent) and Raymond Oliver (Le Grand Véfour) created ‘Traditions & Qualité’ – a collection of the world’s greatest tables. 1951 brought renovation and today’s neo-Classical mansion was constructed. This new site was to be where gastronomy met entertainment; men in tails served, white doves were released, models walked between tables and all female diners were given small porcelain saucepans as a keepsake (almost a million have been given to date). His second star came in 1952 and, for the next two decades, the likes of Salvador Dali, Friédéric Dard, Romy Schneider, Marlene Dietrich, Maria Callas and Audrey Hepburn called Lasserre there home away from home; it was over lunch here with André Malraux that Marc Chagal decided to create the ceiling at the Opera Garnier. Another anecdote involves Dali who would order ortolans, but was content to simply smell them (the waiters would more than gladly finish them off for him). Michelin came calling for the third time in 1962 and, even though this last star was revoked in 1982, Lasserre’s kitchen remained a nursery for some of France’s top chefs – Marc Haeberlin, Guy Savoy, Michel Rostang, Jacques Lameloise, Jean-Paul Lacombe and Gérard Boyer all apprenticed here. In 2001, Jean-Louis Nomicas replaced Michel Roth as Lasserre’s head chef. He had been born in Marseille and begun his career there at l’Oursinade in 1983. Two years later, he joined Alain Ducasse’s Juana (2*) as chef de partie. This was the start of a near-ten year relationship between the two that culminated with Nomicos’ five year stretch as sous chef at Louis XV (3*), Monaco. In 1995, he moved to Pavillon de la Grande Cascade (1*) in Paris’ Bois de Boulogne before joining Lasserre. Here he was a breath of fresh air. He decided to preserve the classics that had made the restaurant its name, whilst simultaneously rejuvenating them. To do this, he called upon his southern roots, regard for the seasons and creativity. He has also spoken of his guiding philosophy, defining three key principles: keep it simple; respect tradition; and refresh tradition. ‘The magic of the kitchen is the continuous creativity. You always create and you have to re-invent yourself twice a day. You work with products that are alive, that come from the earth…You try to be creative. That's my passion,’ he has said. Chef Jean-Louis has a reputation for demanding quality ingredients and maintains close relationships with his suppliers – he always has his foie gras comes from les Landes, fish from Carantec, beef from Salers, potatoes from Chez Clos. His former mentor, Ducasse, speaks highly of him: ‘Jean-Louis has conviction. His cuisine expresses passion for the product and the search for the basic essentials. The result is brilliant, delicate, elegant.’ Lasserre lies opposite the Grand Palais. It is a seemingly small, white stucco mansion; unassuming yet serene. On the ground floor are eighteenth century-styled salon privés and waiting rooms; the main room sits upstairs and is reached via a small, velvet-padded, staff-operated elevator. The dining room is a daydream or, for some, maybe a memory; here time does not exist (or at least the clocks stopped forty years ago). One is almost struck with a sense of déjà vu – although I am not really old enough to have déjà vu-ed any of this. It is theatrically belle époque: grand chandeliers, tall arched window frames, silk drapes, balustrades and jardinières. Subtle yellows and oranges aided by soft, warm lighting give the room a comforting fantasy. It appears cramped, but although busy it is not crowded with large tables being decently spaced, their specially chosen placement affording each a view of the whole room (and the whole room of them). Flower-embroidered tablecloths are peachy-salmon coloured and decorated with Bernaudaud plates, monogrammed cutlery, red roses resting in silver swans and silver sculptures of various creatures, which people apparently like to ‘set free’ – my table had a red-eyed, slinky-tailed serpent. The crystal and glass light fixtures are custom made by Cristalleries de Saint Louis whilst the mahogany, moveable trolleys have also been specially designed. The sliding ceiling, a sensation in the fifties, features dancers, angels and was painted by Touchagues. White orchids ornament the room whilst a Steinway sits in one corner, ready to supply live music later (Mack the Knife played tonight) – nothing could be more appropriate. Shown to my seat, I observed the audience. The restaurant was still rather empty, but it was early. The crowd was composed mainly of foreign diners who were surprisingly young. I felt welcome, but the atmosphere was very…hushed. The menu received, it took moments to order. Local friends, better knowing than myself, Julot and Laurent V, had already told me what I had to have: ‘Get the macaroni! Get the pigeon!’ As their advice was in rare alignment, I had no choice but to obey. The carte also contributed the icing on this capricious cake: what dish but Canard à l’Orange – everywhere a cliché, here a classic – could better embody the nostalgia of Lasserre? Amuse Bouche: Foie gras et pain d’épice; sablé et oeuf de caille; et crème au parmesan et poire. An assortment of amuses arrived almost immediately: foie gras with gingerbread tuiles; Bréton biscuit with quail’s egg; and tartlet of parmesan mousse and pear. The foie was smooth and not overly rich with a sweet, warm linger left by the ginger; the sandwich was sparked by a smidgen of sour lemon and grapefruit mousse. Creamy egg, sitting atop thick, crumbly sablé, secreted sweet, caramelised marmalade, which had noticeable but agreeable acidity. A crisp basket bore incredibly light yet still sharp parmesan and morsel of moist pear. Les Pains: Baguette; pain céréales; et pain bis. The breads – baguette, cereal and brown rolls – were from a local boulangerie. The former was nicely crusty, but under-seasoned; the latter two were better in that respect and soft too with the cereal carrying a pleasingly strong seedy aftertaste. Butter was Bordier and so very good. Entrée 1: Macaroni aux truffes noires et foie gras de canard. Two layers of penne pasta, perpendicular to one another, were gently glazed in glowing parmesan cheese; the plate, punctuated with corresponding circles of celery and black truffle, was overlaid with jus de veau diffused with more truffles and streaked with celery purée. Each macaroni brimmed with a brunoise of truffle, celery and foie gras. The pungent smell of truffle and foie was the first sensation felt. The second, soft pasta melting in the mouth (the secret is that it had been cooked in milk) and disclosing a heady and delectable debris with enjoyably grainy texture. The cheesy crust imparted subtle tanginess; the sauce had substance; and its identical little discs delivered crunch. Chef Jean-Louis first concocted this at Le Grand Cascade whence he brought it here. It is one of his classics and possibly one of French cuisine’s too as the original recipe (« timbale de macaroni aux truffes ») is Auguste Escoffier’s and over one hundred years old. Here, the dish has been lightened with the introduction of humble, but able, celery. Entrée 2: Coquille Saint-Jacques en viennoise de noix, pomme vert, poireaux aux huîtres. Then, un cadeau de la cuisine. Scallop, encrusted with hazelnut, breadcrumb and green apple cubes, came with a compact column of chopped oysters and leeks, covered with a wafer of more apple, the two standing in scallop reduction. The lightly-cooked shellfish was soft and moist, its inherent sweetness accentuated by that of the apple. Leek and oyster worked well together; the elemental brininess of the latter balanced by the mellow flavour of the former and by the fruit. The sauce was creamy, salty-sweet and very tasty. This skilfully constructed dish showed off a highly developed understanding of harmony. Plat Principal 1: Homard rôti au miel de châtaignier et romarin, artichauts poivrades. Resting in chestnut honey, roasted lobster tail, segmented and studded with a sprig of rosemary, was accompanied by a threesome of sucrine-shelled spheres of lobster claw on one side and by a chain of consecutively alternating cross-sections of artichoke poivrade and tomato atop a bed of mesclun vegetables on the other. The lissom lobster was good quality and had been prepared well; succulent and juicy, it was full of sweetness. The dark green globes of lettuce – sucrine is a French variety of Romaine; smaller with buttery leaves and saccharine in taste – and claw meat had corresponding taste and pleasant texture. The pavé of poivrades, lettuce and tomato was earthy, sweet and tangy. The tender artichoke – a variety from Provençe, not as large but much more intense – had discernable nuttiness and a hint of harshness. The rich, rusty honey, with its dark, verging on bitter, tone picked up on this and offset the sweetness of the shellfish as well. Rosemary added to the faint woodiness, as well as to the lovely aroma, of the dish. Plat Principal 1: Pigeon André Malraux, fruits et légumes de saison. Whole pigeon, deboned at the neck, filled with a farce of foie gras and duxelle of wild mushrooms and roasted with vin jaune and truffle jus, was served with baby onion atop carrot, beetroot, turnip and pear, all aboard a blanket of lettuce; a Madeira, truffle and jus rôti reduction was poured upon the pigeon tableside whilst the fruit and vegetables had already been sprinkled with shallot vinaigrette. Pommes soufflés were supplied separately. The beefy bird, its meat perfectly cerise-pink, was strong and gamey; the foie within, which the livery-likeness of the pigeon firmly agreed with, was still soft and appreciatively so. The gravy, almost a syrup, was heavy and thick – in a good way. The mushrooms, vin jaune and truffle blended noticeably well, with a mutual nutty note running through each. The fuller flavours of the pigeon were moderated by the moist, sweet and refreshing seasonal sides; their vinaigrette’s acidity cutting through the richness. However, there was a problem with the pommes soufflés, which were cold. Mentioning this, they were removed and replaced within minutes. Additionally, and very pleasingly, the sauce for my course was kept upon a little Bunsen burner on one of the serving trolleys and added to my bird as I ate. Hot. Twice. There is, unsurprisingly, a story here. It is a signature of Lassere’s and honours their aforementioned habitué, Malraux, a modern-day Chateaubriand, whom Jacques Lameloise can recall always ordered the pigeon (and he ate lunch at Lasserre almost daily). Malraux himself even claimed, ‘my greatest coup is that [Lasserre] created Pigeon André Malraux to outdo another restaurant, Le Grand Véfour, which had invented Pigeon Prince Rainier.’ This is also a recipe that Chef Jean-Louis has reinvented. Its previous incarnation would be considered ‘too much’ for today’s diners (think bacon, cock’s combs and more foie gras), so he cut the quantity, reduced the cooking time and introduced the portion of five-a-day. While I am in the story-telling mood, I may as well recount how pommes soufflés came to be. According to Larousse Gastronomique, they were accidentally invented in 1837 at a lunch for some VIPs opening a new railway line from Paris to Saint-Germain-en-Lay. Having started frying some sliced potatoes, the chef heard that his guests’ train had problems climbing a steep slope as it approached, so he removed them from the pot, half-cooked. When they finally, unexpectedly, appeared, the cook threw the now-cooled potato pieces into very hot oil and, to his surprise, they puffed up et la suite, tout le monde la connaît. It was as I awaited my desserts that, suddenly, the celebrated sliding ceiling was exercised and within moments the sky and stars were allowed and able to shine in. However, it was minus five degrees outside, so having let in a blast of fresh, crisp air, it was soon closed. Dessert 1: Timbale Elysée Lasserre. A tuile coupe, containing overlapping layers of poached pear bearing a sizeable scoop of vanilla ice cream, was crowned with a caramelised sugar cupola and sitting in pear coulis; the plate was dusted with pistachio sugar and adorned with violets and pistachio nuts. Deconstructing the dainty dome with my dessert spoon, I sampled the smooth, deeply flavoured ice cream. Its coldness contrasted with the room temperature of the pears pleasantly. These were juicy, sweet and delightfully fresh. Beneath the fruit, there was a soft sponge which had become soaked in the pear juice and coulis. The biscuit bowl was crunchy whilst the crumbs of shiny coronet did not cling to one’s teeth. Dessert 2: Trilogie de chocolat ‘coeur de guanaja’, mandarines mikan. This course consisted of three incarnations of chocolate with satsuma: miniature soufflé; tart; and mousse with ice cream. Straight away, the satsumas’ scent was sensible. The soufflé was set upon first; crisp coat, speckled with satsuma zest, was cracked, uncovering a rich, molten middle. Next was the tart with brittle base and thick, dense filling, topped with a peeled pair of satsumas. Last was light, mildly tempered mousse atop ice cream and dark chocolate ganache. Little croustillant chips littered the various tiers and, in this version, the satsuma savour was strongest. Grand cru Valrhona 70% Guanaja was a fitting choice; the dark chocolate naturally floral and faintly fruity already. Petit Fours: Pina Colada; Caramel avec fruit de passion; macaron citron; truffes chocolats; truffes enrobés; pâte à choux avec crème à la pistache; et crème au citron meringue. The principal petit four was composed of lemon jelly beneath pineapple brunoise, then lime foam and finished with Pina Colada emulsion. Forcefully sour lemon, lively lime, alcohol and acidic fruit made this interesting, if a little strong. The caramels were sticky, but distinctly tart; little swans, creamy and sweet. Macarons were crispy, soft and sugary whilst the meringue, surprisingly cold and properly sharp. Hazelnut and almond encased truffles were quite nice as were the plain chocolates that melted on one’s fingertips. The dishes here demonstrated that the kitchen is technically very talented. They also confirmed a very refined appreciation for balance, attention to detail and a desire to please all the senses. The chef’s good judgement and willingness to incorporate less common combinations of ingredients came through strongly, for instance, in the coquille Saint-Jacques, scallop, apple, leek and oyster worked terrifically together. Besides pleasing the palate and being easy on the eye, what stood out, were some of the fragrances from the food; these were warm, appetising and distinct. In addition, the quality of produce and execution were faultless. The chef’s fondness for his Mediterranean home manifests itself in his cooking: his skill with seafood; the use of thyme, rosemary, citrus fruits and chestnut honey; and the importance he places on vegetables may all be part of this. Some of the menu is very traditional indeed, but unashamedly so. The dishes may not be what they once were, literally, but the pigeon André Malraux, for example, is still hearty and satisfying. I like this sense of history and story that such recipes possess and so admire Chef Jean-Louis’ enthusiasm for retaining and reinventing these. To me, this shows that he sees Lasserre’s legacy as just as important as his own and having said, ‘I love Lasserre. I'm so proud to be here’, that certainly seems to be the case. Sharing a few words with him after dinner only reaffirms such a modest attitude - he seemed friendly, wholehearted and very nice; and he could not stop smiling. Once I entered the restaurant, from my warm reception from the doorman before being whisked up in the little elevator to my friendly goodbye from the same gentleman, it was a surreal experience. But a nice one. I was in another world. One of pastel pinks and coral colours, silver peacocks, gilded crystal cups, duck à l’orange, dancing figures, live piano music and roofs that opened. It was not like any restaurant I had ever eaten in and possibly never will again. I doubt everyone would share these feelings. I am sure some would find it utterly boring, others would hate it. In contrast, however, I thought it rather charming, full of whimsy and of romance. It was an experience.

Thanks! Glad you liked it.

Dear All, You can click here for my full review with photography: Here (please note you are not obliged to follow the link and kindly notice how it opens in a seperate window) The etymology of the name Apicius is a curious, complicated and controversial thing. There seems to be three Apici whose names have survived for posterity - the first, a professional glutton living during the Republic whose love of excess and excessive love of food meant that his name was henceforth applied as a nickname to future gourmands; the second, and most eminent, Marcus Gavius Apicius, who lived in the first century AD; and the third, a cook who lived a hundred years later and discovered a method for packing and sending fresh oysters to emperor Trajan whilst he waged war in Mesopotamia. As mentioned, the second was the most famous and the most infamous, so much so that even the likes of Pliny and Seneca felt obliged to comment on him and his habits. One story attributed to Marcus is that having heard that the largest, sweetest shrimp were to be found near the Libyan coast, he commandeered a boat and crew from his home in Minturnae (just north of Napoli) and made the storm-tossed voyage there. As his ship drew close to the shore, local fisherman pulled alongside him in their little boats, offering him their shrimp; utterly unimpressed with these, he immediately turned back without even going ashore. Another anecdote has him, having discovered that he had frittered away a fortune of one hundred million sestertii and with only ten million (a considerable amount) left, so afraid of not being able to eat and entertain himself in the manner he had become accustomed to, committing suicide. His appetite for indulgence however lived on in the Italian language: in comparable fashion to how foie gras is produced today, this Apicius found a similar technique for pork liver whereby he (force- and over-) fed his pigs on figs, then slaughtered them with an overdose of the aperitif mulsum (honeyed wine), their livers, by now, ficcatum (literally, figged). This term has evolved into the word fegato, Italian for liver. Besides these three epicures, however, there also exists a fourth/fifth (they have not decided yet) century Latin cookbook either filled with the second Apicius’ recipes; edited by yet another Apicius, Caelius…; or given the subtitle, Apicius, in honour of the aforesaid trio. Whomever it was written by/edited by/named after, it is the earliest cookbook ever found. Officially titled De Re Coquinaria (On the Subject of Cooking) and holding nearly five hundred recipes, its contents are today a useful reference for reconstructing the dietary habits of the ancient world and reveals that the Romans passed onto their Italian ancestors their love of agrodolce flavours, pasta, spelt, sausage making and the use of reduced wine in sauces; it also has possibly the first instructions for paella, tian and cassoulet. For those who are still reading, I apologise for the protracted preamble - as you may have guessed, I have more than a passing interest in ancient history and literature. Anyway, the reason, or raison, for all this waffle? Well, that would be the Parisian two-star run by Jean-Pierre Vigato on the rue d’Artois, also dubbed Apicius (after the book and none of the men). Born on the Île-de-France, in Conflans-Sainte-Honorine, Vigato first apprenticed at local hotel Moulin d’Orgeval, before completing his CAP and joining Le Moniage Guillaume and then Charlot le Roi des Coquillages, both in Paris proper. After this, he went to Chez Albert (2*) where he studied English and oenology, eventually making maître d’hôtel. In 1978, he bought the restaurant Les Roches Gourmandes in an auction, only to sell it within months. The next year, he opened another, Grandgousier, which proved more successful and won him his first Michelin star (1981). A year later, he sold this too. In 1984, he launched Apicius near avenue de Villiers. After one year, the restaurant had earned its first star; after three, Vigato and Apicius had their second. This success secured further honours; Guide Hachette named him ‘Chef of the Year 1998′ and he was selected to represent France at the 1992 Universal Exposition in Seville. In recent years, he has been busy setting up smaller bistros around the capital. If not a chef, he has said he would want to be a writer or a sculpture. This artistic trait betrays itself in his cooking; he is renown for his innovation; modernising of traditional dishes; fusion of rustic and refined; and for using uncommon combinations. He is a bon vivant himself who enjoys dining with his friends - his weakness, a good cigar after a good meal. Twenty years after Vigato first opened Apicius in the 17th, he decided to move. As of late 2004, his current location is a nineteenth century hôtel particulier, which used to belong to the Comte Artois, and sits nestled in private gardens behind the Champs-Elysées. The mansion once housed the Schneider family and then Helena Rubenstein before Luc Besson bought it. He first rented the space to Schroders Bank, but later invited Vigato, his friend, to join him. The director still keeps his office in this Hausmannian home. Once across the courtyard and through the door, one finds himself in a vast atrium with tall ceilings. To the left there is a bar where classical, contemporary and Belle Époque meet and mingle; think Greek columns, black bar stools and crystal chandeliers. To the right, there is a long corridor running along the outside of the dining area that has been split into three semi-separate spaces; this creates privacy without isolation. Along the outer side are French windows swathed with silk curtains that are chocolate and orange at one end, harlequin green at the other. Walls are khaki whilst the carpet, ecru. Soft brown banquettes rim the room and chairs are wooden with woven straw backs. The Eric Zeller designed area is decorated with 3D artwork, seventeenth century Indian bibelots, Polynesian sculptures and nineteenth century Flemish paintings. These touches are eclectic and colourful, but not at all garish. In stark contrast to the surroundings, tablecloths are brilliant white and laid with Ercuis cutlery and custom-made cover plates; no two tables share chargers of the same colour. There is a minimalism with clean lines, smooth surfaces and subtle furnishings; it is elegant and very comfortable. Amuse Bouche 1: Toast avec Poivré; Betterave, Fromage de Chèvre; et Financier avec Legumes Provençal. The meal started with a trio of amuses. First, a savoury sablé sprinkled with black pepper that was pasty and thick on the tongue and left a distinct, spicy aftertaste. Secondly, a little ladle laden with beetroot and goat’s cheese that melted in the mouth, its sourness syncing well with the slightly pickled beet. Finally, there was a financier filled with a farce Provençale of tomato, onion and aubergine all caramelised until warm, sweet and earthy. Le Pain: Pain Blanc. There was no choice for bread - simply white was offered - but it was baked on the premises (the dough having been bought raw from a suburban baker). Sel de Guérande - a hand-harvested fleur de sel from Brittany and thought the best of salts - was generously strewn over the smooth and creamy butter that came from Indre-et-Loire, in France’s Centre region. This is the same salt that was first collected in the ninth century and only by women (men were believed too brutish for its delicate farming) to be served only to royalty. Amuse Bouche 2: Saumon Mariné. A simple second snack consisted of wild salmon marinated with lemon juice and olive oil and minimally garnished with thin slices of carrot, potato and sliver of red onion. The fish, clearly very fresh, had good rich, clean taste and smooth, verging on creamy, flesh. The vegetables provided textural contrast, but little else; instead of these, the salmon with some more lemon would have worked just as nicely. Entrée 1: Foie Gras de Canard Poêlé ‘Classique Apicus’, aux Radis Noirs Confits. Pan-fried foie gras of duck, resting on a brunoise bed of carrot, courgette, celery and turnip and hemmed with three wafer-thin cuts of confit black radish and a brace of baby spinach leaves, was drizzled with an aigre-doux sauce. This is one of the restaurant’s specialities - foie is a favourite of Vigato’s and, at Apicius, he serves it in five styles, depending on the season. And indeed, the liver, with a runny middle and faintly crisp coating, was delectably cooked. The sweet-and-sour sauce of sherry, red wine and white wine vinegars, sugar and white peppercorns, was pleasingly powerful. Black radish confit provided some earthy-sweetness and enforced these flavours whilst, the diced vegetables offered a refreshing counter. The fact that the foie had not been deveined, considering how this is one of the chef’s classics, was noted. That said, Vigato is both an advocate of rustic cooking and of not overworking ingredients; maybe that is why the vein remained. Entrée 2: Grenouilles Dorées au Beurre Salé et Soupe de Grenouilles. Arriving elaborately in a perforated porcelain bowl were golden, parsley-speckled frogs’ legs accompanied by a small serving of frog soup. The crunchy, crisp legs were surprisingly succulent and their slightly peppery herb coat, infused with salty butter, contrasted agreeably with their natural subtle sweetness. As testament to the kitchen’s skill, they left not a trace of grease. The adjoining drink was composed of frogs’ calves, their stock, garlic and more parsley. This was warm, light yet creamy and boasted clear, distinct flavours with crispy, meaty bites that had collected at the cup’s bottom. Plat Principal 1: Cabillaud Demi-Sel Cuit à la Vapeur et Laqué, Multitudes d’Herbes en Vinaigrette de Soja. Chunky cod loin, layered with a verdant variety of fresh herbage - mint, flat parsley, coriander, shallots and white onions - and soused in light soy vinaigrette, was served sitting on spinach sprouts and edged with ginger compote. Four rhomboids of tomato at each of the cod’s corners, plus the herby heap on its back, playfully produced the appearance of a turtle. The poached, semi-salted fish was excellent. Perfectly cooked, thick, firm white flakes with subtle, fine taste provided a good foil for the South Asian flavours here. The greens packed a punchy, peppery sourness that, though tamed a little by the moist tomato, enlivened the dish. Soft ginger had clear, lingering warmth. All these elements were well-judged and formed a gentle fusion that cleansed the palate after the stronger-savoured first two courses. Plat Principal 2: Ris de Veau ‘Rôti Nature’, Mijoté d’Abats, Sauce Poulette. Four sturdy cubes of celery root, circled by spirals of jus de veau, supported a roasted veal sweetbread dressed with chives; this plate was partnered by pomme purée with black truffle jus and a soup of veal foot, sweetbread, Paris mushrooms and sauce poulette. The sweetbread was milky and delicate, but its skin, in sharp contrast, was very crisp with an almost barbeque smokiness. If I were to be harsh I could argue that it may have been cooked moments too long and that the caramelised surface had almost started to turn chewier - but this was barely discernible. Dense, coarse celery supplied crunchy substance and the strong jus was a pleasantly spicy addition. The potato had good consistency, but the truffles disappointed. In contrast, the potage was very good, full of flavour and soft, juicy pieces of veal; the mushrooms thickened it and instilled some woodiness and the sauce poulette (basically chicken stock, crème fraîche, lemon and parsely) provided twang and kick. Dessert 1: Fantasie du Pâtissier. A scoop of coconut and quenelle of quince sorbet were matched with meringue threesome, all atop a compote of quince cooked in syrup; tableside, mildly warm nashi pear and coconut milk tapioca was poured into the bowl. The fruity, sweet aromas, of coconut and particularly rose (from the sugar dusted around the rim) were lovely. Both sorbets were excellent, but texturally, very different; coconut was smooth whilst quince, almost airy yet crumbly at once. The crisp and sticky meringues were fresh, whilst the candied cubes of quince beneath were like honey. The tapioca - a rich, milky cream bestrewn with pearly bubbles that twirled around the tongue - was actually terrific. The distinct flavours in this dessert really impressed. Dessert 2: Soufflé au Chocolat et Chantilly sans Sucre. Dark chocolate soufflé, with crusty, dusted top came with sugarless whipped cream and Bourbon vanilla ice cream. The soufflé, straight and standing, seemed well made, and was. Smashing through the dense surface, the mousse-like middle was hot and heavy with cocoa. The Valrhona 70% Guanaja had intensity and long lingering finish. To help mitigate the chocolate’s might, a light, sugarless Chantilly had been administered, as was a very cold and deeply perfumed vanilla ice cream. Petit Fours: Pâtes de Framboises; Nougat Classic; Caramel au Beurre Salé; Tartelette de Praline Rosé; et Tuile de Carambar. A long lunch lasted a little longer thanks to a slate slab of petit fours: raspberry jelly; rustic nougat; salty caramel; rose and nut tartlet; and Carambar tuile. The pâte de fruit had strong savour, but was too firm; nougat was also quite hard, but well-stocked with pistachios, peanuts and hazelnuts; and the caramel was very sticky though nicely salted and melted to touch. The tartelette had a thin, brittle base and thick, again sticky, filling hiding croustillant crumbs; its rose essence came through clearly. The tuile was my favourite. Carambar is a bright, pink caramel children’s sweet from France and here it had been liquefied in the oven and then cooled. It had an addictive burnt toffee and raspberry tartness and was crunchy and did not cling to one’s teeth. The food could not be faulted for its execution or flavour with good ingredients used simply and effectively. What stood out was the distinct taste that each element of a dish had, as did the superb soups that supplemented some of the courses - I can see why this was a theme as these are clearly a strength of the kitchen’s. Vigato’s cooking is noted for the juxtaposition of bistro and haute cuisine traditions and this was evident today from the frogs’ leg and offal. Alongside these however, there was also the almost inapropos Far Eastern-inspired fish dish. After the meal, I asked where the idea for this had came from and was told that the chef enjoys using produce from across the world, but the focus is on the product and not the technique; an admirable philosophy given the common criticism levelled at cooks who try to use foreign methods without the necessary training. Coming away from the meal, I feel that maybe the sweets were better, or personally more enjoyable, than the savouries. The fantasie du pâtissier was, visually, a bit of a mess, but tasted delicious. Although I must admit, I am very fond of quince, rose and coconut, whilst nashi pears are an Achilles’ heel of mine. Chocolate soufflé is chocolate soufflé and always a crowd pleaser. One other detail I rather liked was how the menu dégustation is decided. From the ALC one chooses two entrées, a fish, a meat, cheese then a dessert - or you can substitute cheese for a second dessert if you are as silly as me. I thought this pick’n'mix approach quite a good one. The restaurant itself is beautiful and elegant, whilst the staff were very good. Service was, of course, professional yet laced with friendly humour. All were attentive, polite, obliging and smiling. English was spoken well by everyone, but they took the lead from me as to which language I preferred and when. One of the managers, Christian, who served me was very helpful and pleasant to talk to (having lived a year in London himself, we had plenty to discuss). Emanuèle, who runs the restaurant (I believe), was just as sweet and talkative. I left having enjoyed a very pleasing meal. None of the dishes took my breath away, but all were certainly tasty; the restaurant was welcoming with a warm ambience; and the staff were top quality. At Paris prices, it was good value too. I would return, but were I to, I would go for the whole calf’s head that Vigato ‘proudly’ has carved at the table; that is, he claims, when he can ‘cater to true gourmands who come in for a big feast!’ The problem will be finding five or six others who would want to split a calf’s head…

I was at Le Bristol last May. I thought it disappointing and forgettable, to be honest. It was no better than the meal I had a couple of days before that at Relais Louis XIII (2*).

Hi Margaret, the link to the full article and photographs is in the first post above, but here is a summary to whet your appetite:

I was at Chez l'Ami Jean last month. It was very memorable indeed and I will be sure to return... Dinner at Chez l'Ami Jean

Harden's Article More detail on Juniper in Hardens: "Juniper – the Altrincham restaurant which was for a time the Manchester area’s most prominent – has shut up shop. The establishment was acquired last year by Swiss chef Michael Riemenschneider from Paul Kitching (who has relocated to Edinburgh). Things have not gone well for Riemenschneider, who lost the Michelin star his restaurant in Cornwall had held in the 2009 edition of the tyre company’s guide. And the south western restaurant has apparently also now closed. For further background and information see Crain’s. Back in Manchester, the Evening News reports that Brasserie Blanc – for many years a stalwart of the city-centre dining scene, and arguably the best representative of its group – has also closed. For a critical analysis of the two north western closures, see Manchester Confidential. We expressed the hope in UK Restaurants 2009 that Riemenschneider, who is only 26, was not taking on too much. If the Manchester Confidential view is right, it seems that, sadly, he was: the economic environment may not have helped, but it is suggested that the main problems were more specific."

Does anyone know what the 'prize' is? For whom are they cooking?

Do share...

Kitchen Rat released the possible line-up for GBM09: South East Tristan Welch - head chef, Launceston Place, London Mark Sargeant - head chef, Gordon Ramsay at Claridges, London South West Nathan Outlaw - chef patron, Restaurant Nathan Outlaw at the Marina Hotel, fowey, Cornwall Shaun Rankin - head chef, Bohemia Bar & Restaurant, The Club Hotel & Spa, Jersey. North West Aiden Byrne - chef proprietor, The Church Green, Lymm, Cheshire Nigel Haworth - chef patron, Northcote Manor, Blackburn North East Kenny Atkinson - head chef, Seaham Hall, Seaham, Northumbria Ian Maftin - Executive chef, Manchester Abode, Manchester Midlands Glynn Purnell - chef proprietor, Purnell's, Birmingham Daniel Clifford - chef patron, Midsummer House, Cambridge Scotland Alan Murchison - chef propreitor, L'Ortolan, Shinfield, Berkshire and La Bécasse, Ludlow, Shropshire. Tom Kitchin - chef proprietor, The Kitchin, Leith, Edinburgh, Scotland Wales ??? ???

Here is my take on the meal shared with Ulterior Epicure. For the full post and photographs: Dinner at the River Café This is a snippet: "The food too was excellent. We had twenty-one items off the menu (wow, that many?! pride and shame are awfully hard to tell apart) and, not only was the execution on each and every one faultless, but we enjoyed eating them all. The antipasti were full of flavour; the pasta, delicate and tasty; the mains, hearty; and the formaggi, dolci e gelati, all yummy. For me, the fritto misto, spaghetti, cape sante, rombo and chestnut sorbet were highlights. At the River Café, I always know what to expect - the freshest, choicest ingredients that have been cooked simply and taste great - and it has never failed to deliver. In the middle of December, our plates were awash with colour and filled with flavour. Seasonality and quality are at the centre of the restaurant’s cooking and it shows. The River Café refuses to use any produce that is not of the highest standard, it also refuses to serve anything but the best bits of those items that have managed to even make it into the kitchen - for example, only the thicker, more succulent centre fillets of fish are used, the rest disregarded. Such practices explain the higher prices, but the result is patent on one’s plate. Quality costs, and personally, I am glad to pay for it."

The argument against that is that - give or take not having some ridiculously turbo-charged wood fired oven - I can do most of that at home with a bit of judicious shopping in the right places. Its like I just had a look at petersham nurseries website and noticed they were charging twenty three quid for a bavette with some artichokes. I can nip down to jack o'sheas, get an absolutely honking top notch piece of bavette and DIY? (give or take the nuclear powered wood fired grill). ← But I really love that oven...

I think the River Cafe is so worth it. You get what you pay for: top quality products, simply prepared, well executed and consistently tasty. Staff are excellent too. And the grilled sardine, if that's the one with panzanella, is a great dish and worth it as well. lol

Here is the link to my meal at l'Ambassade: Dinner at l'Ambassade de l'Ile This is an excerpt: In hindsight, we ate enough for four (and spent just as much), but we did not regret the eating it. There were a couple of dishes that fell short of the mark – l’oeuf, le marmite – that we would not have done wrong not ordering, but the high quality of the other courses and excellence of the very best – le canard à la presse – mean that those were almost forgotten. Desserts seem to have always fallen short of savouries here, however, after this visit, it seems that the sweets can now stand toe-to-toe with them (as well as the afters at London’s other restaurants). This should not surprise as the chef de pâtisserie, Pascal Molinès, is a MOF and former World Pastry Champion. Ambassade’s style is classic French, but always with a little improvisation. The food here is rich, powerful and often delicious. The flavours are big and bold and that is what I like. There are also all the hallmarks of haute cuisine; indulgent recipes, luxury ingredients and a little theatre too. And the cooking is exciting – something that cannot always be said of other similarly geared restaurants. Something I have noticed about Ambassade since it opened is its ability to polarise opinions. From what I have seen and heard and read, either one does not like the food here or one really likes it – there does not seem to be a middle ground. Additionally, people’s feelings are often at the more extreme ends of the spectrum; its critics tend to hate it whilst its fans, to love it. I like this too. I want to eat food that elicits some sort of emotional response from me. And that is what one generally gets at Ambassade de l’Ile.

Hi, 'To be fair you did say that "the rest is just tedious waffle and photos anyway"' - Sorry, I was just trying to be humorously self-deprecating. "Yes, there may be the barest crackle on the edge of a chip straight out of the fryer but for all intents and purposes they will be soft buttery flussy inside (moussy? No I disagree) and maybe even a bit squishy and stodgy" - Well, buttery/squishy/moussy/creamy, I don't think are too different (just semantics anyway, I think). I think that the point regarding the 'crackle on the edge of a chip straight out the fryer' is important. I personally like my chips this way - hot and freshly cooked. Of course I understand that it is not necessary easy, fun, economic to cook chips to order, but imagine the difference it would make. And is this nor (arguably) the best in London? "There is an alchemy at work inside that paper wrapping, with its coverings of salt and vinegar, which inevitably gives not only flavour but alsoa slightly buttery and soft consistency" - We were served our chips on a plate. "Fish and chips and Champagne. There is something inherently pleasing about a food and a wine from opposite ends of their respective culinary spectrums finding such a happy union" - Indeed, we agree. The juxtaposition of humble and luxury ingredients can work tremendously well and has long been employed by many chefs. Admittedly I ended my post on a bad note, but I did commend the restaurant on other points, notably the fish. Good fish, like good chips, are not easy to find and the fish here are excellent.

Actually, JMillar, I did. In the FULL review, of which the above is an extract, I wrote: "The hand-cut chips were twice-fried, medium-cut Maris Pipers, but sadly, disappointed. They were neither especially flavoursome nor well-prepared; they had also probably been reheated. The perfect fry ought to be crisp outside, moussy inside; these were pretty squishy all over with only the itty bitty tater scraps bringing crackly comfort." They were also not especially warm, but I forgot to mention that.

Sure thing...I meant it as an unrelated question.

Basically, it means it is very close to gaining an additional star and that it could happen next year.

It's obvious that basically, Americans and Europeans have different views on scallop cooking. At l'Ambroisie, in that dish, do you think the scallops were not required? Or that, maybe, they were an ideal canvas for the other ingredients to express themselves?

Thanks, PhilD. This is the summary (the rest is just tedious waffle and photos anyway): It is said that the secret to really good fish and chips is in the batter and quality of the ingredients. At the Golden Hind, they use a mystery batter mixture and measure the amount of breading to fish meticulously; this leads to a scrumptiously crisp, unusually light and very clean result with virtually no greasy trace. As regards the produce, their purveyors supply them with fresh-caught seafood daily from Grimsby. No freezing is involved and indeed, the food tasted all the better for this. Nevertheless, this shop sells fish and chips, so though the fish maybe first-class, the chips cannot be forgotten. Here it almost felt like that is what had happened. The time had been taken to pick a decent potato and chop them by hand, so it was a letdown that they had not been well looked after, after that. It is notoriously easy to cook a bad chip, which is why good ones are so sought-after and so gratefully received. The pudding was also poor, though I could get over this (bearing in mind where I was). Portions were generous and the rest of the Golden Hind’s dishes - top fish, decent scampi, nice peas with homemade tartare and pleasant Tommy K - set a pretty satisfying standard. It is a shame that the chips could not continue it.

Hi, I had lunch here before Christmas. Basically came away thinking that the fish was very good indeed, but I was disappointed with the chips, which were quite poor. For my full review: Lunch at The Golden Hind

*snicker*

Hear! Hear! edited for stupidity