Stephen Jackson

Hello there, I was just nosing around the forums and suddenly got thinking about a TV programme I saw, ooh, must have been about 15 years ago, about a restaurant in Japan, where diners sit at the bottom of a beautifully-manicured sloping hill garden, at the top of which is a little pagoda-style building in which noodles are cooked, then dropped into fresh glacial water, which runs straight down bamboo chutes towards the diners. They then pick the ice-cold noodles out of the water and eat them, with various other dishes brought to the table in a more rtraditional way. It looked fantastic. the idea of having fresh glacial water running through a restaurant's exciting enough, but to have noodles whizzing past in it makes my mouth water even now. Did I dream this, or is there anyone out there with any recollection at all of such a place?

http://www.amazon.fr/exec/obidos/ASIN/2732...4991844-6421806 http://www.pierre-gagnaire.com/ I'm very excited about this.

Ooh! Ooh! Yes I do! Restaurant Le 5 Claire, 5 Rue Sainte Claire. http://www.auvergne-centrefrance.com/Resta...ire/default.htm I had a superb meal there last year. Tiny place (10 tables I'd say) great service, brilliant chef (worked with Marcon, Gagnaire amongst others) We talked a lot about Marcon, who we were visiting the following night. My review (somewhere on here - think it's the Courmayeur thread) of the Clos des Cimes will show how much i wished we'd stayed in Clermont for two nights. I'd have gone back to the 5 Claire in a trice. I hear that the Hotel Radio up the hill in Chamalieres is still good. Modern food in an Art Deco hotel.

A malevolent Steak Tartare in Montreux spoilt my trip to Lyon recently, meaning I missed dinner at Leon de Lyon. It hasn't put me off completely, but I shall order more tactically in future, when there isn't a decent meal on the horizon.

I was very upset at the AECDC, and I think a lot of it is because I was looking forward to it so very much. I had followed Marcon's rise to the top of the GaultMillau rankings, and when he was made Chef de l'Annee in 2001 (I think it was 01) we made plans to drive across to Saint-Bonnet from our house near Rodez. We made a trip of it, and stopped in Clermont for a night (having a simply fabulous meal at Le 5 Claire, which was superb from start to finish) before heading up into the Velay. I suppose it's because I was expecting so much that I was disappointed; perhaps a few more details would be helpful here. The bedroom was wonderful, with a great view over a field full of horses to the tree-lined meadows beyond. So far so good. The welcome was warm and friendly. A good afternoon's exploring was had, including a pleasant coffee or two at Marcon's cafe on the square. We walked up for dinner, and sat in the tiny 'holding pen', on what I'm sure are the most uncomfortable chairs in the world. They're those boxy leather banquette chairs that even Elle McPherson would have trouble looking graceful in. Being tall I was either sat with my knees round my ears, or in a slow barely-controlled slide towards the floor. My wife opted for a perching position right on the edge, which was how the other guests were coping. A small matter, but I think some thought for comfort may have been employed here. The room itself is an awful hotch-potch of design styles, with lovely table-settings spoilt by 70's-style chrome lamps and lots of rubber plants and rugs. Not my cup of tea. Again, not important, but certainly made an impression. The menus arrived, and immediately I set about translating for T. One of the dishes was printed differently; the fillet of beef came with all manner of accompaniments, and on my menu it had an oxalis butter, but T's menu stopped short. I asked the Maitre d' (a smarmy bugger) about this, and he simply laughed it off by saying that the Oxalis was for men only. Now, even as a gag that's pretty poor, but he was almost serious about it. We ordered. Amuses were great, starters were great (especially T's signature Brochette Margaridou (sic)). The dining room was also hosting a table of annoying black flies, like small 'regular' flies, but with a spiked proboscis that punctures soft flesh in a most painful way (they annoy us at our house, too. Must be a French thing)) These flies just kept coming, and made my main course a chore rather than a pleasure, which is a shame as it was lovely. The presentation throughout was, for me, a little dated, given that the ingredients were fo the modern genre (wild things, rare 'shrooms etc) Everything was centrally piled, with a pool of sauce below. it all looked a bit samey. A bit of exciting construction wouldn't have hurt, I thought. I know the flies were unavoidable, but the maitre d' seemed not to care at all about one of his diners' discomfort. I saw other people frantically slapping their forearms, so I'm sure I wasn't the only one who felt like a pincushion. The dessert menus appeared, and as I was now hot, bothered, bitten and annoyed by the clown-like Maitre d', I ordered the bouquet of fruits with a woodruff ice-cream cylinder. We also ordered our dessert wines. T chose a dessert which memory fails to recall (she wasn't keen, which is NOT like my wife at all!) and said she'd like a Maury, because she fancied a glass. She was well aware it was the 'wrong' wine but wanted it anyway. The Maitre d', who inexplicably took our wine order, basically said it was the wrong wine, and that she should choose something else. Astonishing. I was by now so irritated with the man, that I just told him to forget the Maury, and bring mine. I should have laid into him here, I know. But it was just too much effort. We would share my wine, and order another if we needed to. No need. my dessert was, frankly, absolute rubbish. The woodruff ice-cream was yummy, but it came on a plate surrounded by the most embarrassing selection of fruit I'd ever seen. It was everything - mango, currants, orange pieces, papaya, strawberries. Thw hole lot just collided in a mess of flavours that actually astonished me. I'm not the world's greatest pastry chef, but I would have *never* chosen to combine those fruits. It was amazing that someone in the kitchen thought this was a good idea. Berries, fine. Tropical fruit fine. But together? A mess. Oh, there was apple in there too. My dessert wine never appeared. By now, I needed a Marlboro badly, and as I don't smoke in Dining Rooms we had to go and scale the North face of the leather torture-chairs again. As I lay at 45 degrees, my feet desperately trying to gain purchase on the stone floor, waiting for my coffee, one of the waiters passed, and I told him about the wine screw-up, and he went to tell the maitre d'. He came over, said he was sorry, and rushed off, presumably to rectify things. I'm sure we never saw him again. Now, I must point out here that the rest of the staff were wonderful, friendly people. The young commis waiters were excellent in demeanour and ability. The big penguin was awful. I don't think I've ever met a man so far up his own arse. I went to bed grumpy and unhappy, and we left early the next morning. I had SO wanted this to be a memorable experience for us both, but things happened that soured the whole experience, and I'm sad that this affects my memories of the good things, like the majority of the meal. I will always remember the cep 'tea' with tansy, though. that was brilliant stuff. Hopefully, it will be different when we go again. But that won't be soon. He's got a lot of work to do to be anywhere near as impressive (all-round) as Gagnaire, Veyrat or our all-time favourite, Michel Bras. Now there, there's a man who never disappoints us. I'm going in October, and I cannot wait. Sorry for hi-jacking this thread, by the way. Very poor form. Apologies.

I had a terrible time at the Auberge et Clos des Cimes. Made to feel terribly unwelcome by a smarmy, aloof and frankly sexist maitre d', the kind of which I thought had ceased to exist in France. The food was extremely average, the desserts terrible, dessert wines were completely forgotten (and by that time I had given up asking) and the dining room was way too hot and filled with nasty biting flies. Such a shame, as Saint-Bonnet-le-Froid is one of the most enchanting villages I've ever seen. I will go back, because I always feel one shouldn't judge a place on one visit alone, but it'll be a while before that happens.

Don't get me started on the Zap Club. One of The Primitives' last gigs, packed to the rafters, running into the sea. Bliss.

Well that IS good news. I'm ashamed to say that I've not been back since, which is bizarre because I think Brighton's just about the coolest place in the UK. I also remember fondly a fantastic pub about halfway between Falmer and Lewes called (snigger) The Juggs. The perfect beer garden; fine ales, decent food. Summer evenings were made for that place.

Ohhhh....Seeing the words 'Brighton' and 'Burger' in close proximity set off a serious Pavlovian reaction in me, and I apologise for hi-jacking the thread so early on. Is it a pure coincidence that Fatboy and Ball's child is named Woody? What a name, eh? Woody Slim; He'll have to change that before he gets to secondary school... I was at Uni in Brighton (a good few years ago now) and for many happy years lived in Hove (Lansdowne Place; very nice it was too). Down the road was the most fantastic burger joint called 'Grubbs'. There was one up Western Road too, and also one in Kemptown I believe. The Hove one had a great creaky paternoster lift that brought the burgers down from the kitchen above, and it was always fun to guess whose greasy brown paper bag was whose as they appeared through the little hole in the ceiling. At the bottom they slid satisfyingly down a steel chute onto the counter below, and were whisked dramatically over to the waiting punter. The burgers were excellent; big fat meaty things loaded with fresh lettuce and thick slices of tomato, and you could choose from oh, about a million toppings. The same toppings applied to the rather toothsome vege-burgers too, and they did really good chips slathered with mayo, as they should be. Many memories of scoffing baconburgers on the beach with friends, juices dripping down to the elbows, with a bottle of red shared into 7-11 waxed-paper cups, and the Hove sunset adding apposite mood lighting... Can someone tell me if Grubb's still exist, and at the risk of making a grown man cry like a baby, can they tell me if they're still as good?

Yes they do, and I had a very pleasant one in France, but I was on a brilliant crisp white, one of our house whites in fact. Like squeezing pink grapefruit juice down your throat. Yummy. We have an extrememly 'Regional French-heavy' list here at the Weavers Shed; I wonder why!

Margaret, (and Bux) - thankyou for your kind words. I'm just passing on information really, like I'd pass on a good book if I thought other people would like it. But for me, this holiday, I've had a 'scales falling from eyes' moment, I think. Yes, I went to two (and just avoided three) very-highly-rated places in the space of four days, but their ratings didn't matter a jot in terms of my memories of the places I went to. Of course, Veyrat was a night at the opera, and the Cour Des Loges was merely a warning not to go into such a place with wide gourmand eyes and accept everything put on my plate. And therein lies my problem. At Veyrat, I was almost too intensely contemplating the food, that I had precious little time to actually 'enjoy' it. Yes, it was delicious, faultless even, but I felt at times, and certainly in retrospect, that I was concentrating on analysis rather than sheer physical emotion. Whereas, at the St. Fleuret, I had no preconceptions, no inkling of the style or content, and perhaps enjoyed the end result as much, if not more so. Heavens, I love it when I get to pour my own wine, no matter how diligently I'm looked after by a sommelier (even Sergio Calderon at Michel Bras, who I now regard as a friend) I think what I'm trying to say here (and forgive me, I'm outside of the best part of two bottles of Cotes de St. Mont!) is that this holiday, I learned to appreciate the moment almost as much as the food. The whole package. The food, the people, the company, the wines, the 'feel'. And when these elements combine effortlessly, it is absolutely magical. Veyrat was hilarious and excellent; a one-off, and the St. Fleuret may or may not be as good ever again. I reckon it will be. I hope it will....

I think it's hard in the UK where we don't have such an ingrained culture of restauration. It's endemic in our society, and I'm still of the opinion that the British don't really like enjoying themselves too much, that it's almost embarrassing for us sometimes, to give in to something as "frivolous" as sheer pleasure. And with that in mind, people (certainly round my way) don't tend to have the opportunity or perhaps willingness to go to a local place once or twice a month and make it their 'local', which is what I'd do if I wasn't here on the other side. I'm becoming less and less bothered with the food guides, to be honest, and more and more intent on making sure I look at the visitors' book every day, and endeavouring to do *my* thing for *my* customers, not the guides. I know too many people who've driven themselves nuts (and seriously ill) by aiming for success beyond their means. That way lies danger.

I wasn't meaning to be at all dismissive, though. But it works well with certain chefs. Ferran Adria - 'Snap, Crackle and Pop'

I was cringingly aware of the length of the damn thing as I wrote it, but there was just so much to mention. Over a dozen courses. So I thought I'd risk it this time. My other reviews are a lot more easy on the eye/mouse.

When I went I had the John Dory 'Retour des Indes', and it was delicious, and a 'pied de cheval' oyster that I thought was going to eat me instead, so huge was it. That was about 6 years ago, though, and I've not heard any reports since. He seems to go for the 'seafood + spices' thing a lot, like Bras and Veyrat do 'ingredient + wild plants' and Gagnaire does '20 things on one plate'.

Thanks, Bux. Yeah, it's a great area if you do some nosing around. We also like 'La Taverne' in Rodez, and had a good meal at 'Gout et Couleur', although that's a bit more upmarket - more like the Vieux Pont in Belcastel, which we also thought excellent. About 20 minutes up the road from us in Polissal (on the 904 between Entraygues and Rodez) is a great little auberge, the Aub. de la Cascade. It does one of the best estofinados in the region, and has a mind-meltingly short menu. Kid with sorrel, confit and a piece of fish for main courses. And that's it. It is brilliant. Mme Bony is a great cook (especially the stofi) and we always leave her our 'leftovers' (unused eggs and vegetables) before we go to the airport. It's places like this that make me wonder why I get so bothered about everything here at my place. These small auberges seem to do fine without the worries of Michelin and the AA. One of these days I'm going to make her an offer she can't refuse, I can feel it.

Auberge Saint-Fleuret, Estaing, Aveyron, France So we’d made it to our house in the southernmost tip of the Auvergne. The weather was glorious, and we decided on the spur of the moment to try a restaurant in one of the nearby villages on the Lot river, Estaing. Billed as one of the most beautiful villages in France, Estaing doesn’t disappoint. Despite the fact that the Rally of The Aveyron was in full swing, with insane Frenchmen in overtooled Renault 5’s pelting through the narrow streets with impudence, we strolled around the village and had drinks by the river before heading up to the Saint-Fleuret. It’s a great little place, bizarrely-decorated in Manet wallpaper of the deppest blues and yellows, but there are large windows that look out through vines to a pretty garden below. GaultMillau gave it a ‘Coup-de-Coeur’ award last year, and it gets a 13/20 in this year’s edition, so we knew we were in for a decent meal. It was fabulous. The place is run by Gilles and Alexandrine Moreau, and in time-honoured fashion he works the kitchen, and she does absolutely everything else. We were seated at a pleasant sunny table, and after ordering, an amuse-bouche arrived. This was brilliant, unbelievably simple, and possibly one of the nicest things I ate all holiday. It was a gazpacho of spinach, topped with a beetroot foam, and a marigold flower. The spinach part tasted so clean and fresh, I presumed it was simply cream, spinach and a little olive oil, maybe a little seasoning. The foam was intensely beetroot-y, and the flower added an extra citrus note. Quite, quite delicious. My first course was foie gras with quince, and came in the form of two enormous pieces of roast liver, with quenelles of quince puree, and a little balsamic-type reduction, and a touch of Szechuan pepper. Perfect foils for each other, and several pieces of bread were used in the mopping of the juices. Dad had three egg cocottes, flavoured with foie gras, Roquefort and snails, and they were brilliant soft, unctuous little bantam eggs, with just enough of each ingredient to blend perfectly. A mille-feuille of snails flavoured with Laguiole cheese and asparagus was also practically faultless. My main course was a superb piece of local Aubrac beef with maniguette pepper (Grains of Paradise), a lightly-creamed jus, runner beans and an excellently-made aligot. Dad had carré of lamb stuffed with Provencal vegetables, served with a brilliant herb-stuffed potato and lots of really good, thick-leaved fleshy spinach. T had an excellent piece of swordfish, served with a cornucopia of leaves, vegetables and little dots of juice and vinaigrettes. For dessert, an excellent nougat glace, a very nice molten chocolate tartlet with chestnut honey ice-cream, and a superb crunchy caramel basket filled with small sweet strawberries and a great caramel ice-cream. Wines: A great selection for a small list, and we chose a great Coteaux du Libron sauvignon blanc, an absolutely excellent Faugeres from Domaine de la Liquiere, and a stunning Gros Manseng dessert wine, the Premieres Grives 2001 from Chateau du Tariquet. Good coffee, excellent service throughout (Mme Moreau introduced us the next day to the wine merchant they use in Rodez, which led to a bit of a spree, I’m afraid), and we went back three days later and enjoyed a fantastic 8-course menu for €48, which is seriously good value. The meal that night, for four, with three bottles of wine, and a few Badoits, came to €269.50, with which we were terribly happy. And full. If you’re tooling around the area (it’s only 10 miles or so from Michel Bras in Laguiole), you’d be very happy with a meal here. A great local find for us, and nice people to know, too. Link: http://perso.wanadoo.fr/auberge.st.fleuret/

Le Cour des Loges, Lyon, France Two days’ semi-fasting in Switzerland after the gargantuan blowout at Marc Veyrat had done the trick, and I was feeling up to another good meal. Now, I have to say that I’ve just scanned the rest of the France board, and notice that it’s rumoured Nicolas le Bec has been fired by the hotel, so I’m not sure whether he was at the helm during my dinner or not. Unimportant really, let’s get down to the details…. Lyon was swelteringly hot, especially the tiny airless alleys of the old silk district where we were staying (La Tour Rose) and eating. We walked the hundred or so yards to the Cour Des Loges, into the impressive atrium which doubles as hotel reception and dining area. It was very hot. Very hot indeed. the whole place had been simmering at Gas Mark 4 all day and we reckoned the architect had forgotten to make the lid at the top of the four storeys open even an inch. There were a few fans blowing warm air from one part of the room to the other, but this heat, I felt, was going to have an effect on the meal. When someone actually noticed us standing in the lobby looking gormless, we were led to our table. It was in a nice spot, beautifully set-up with grey and powder-blue linen, and about the temperature of the surface of Mercury. We ordered, and almost immediately, a little tray of amuses appeared. They comprised: a duck liver and cherry jelly ‘lollipop’ a tiny tartlet of creamed potato and morbier cheese a little wrapped bonbon of salmon and dill They went very well with the champagne we’d ordered, especially the liver lolly. It was a perfect combination of sour cherry and smooth, tasty liver. The bread arrived next – this was truly excellent. Aside from home-baked flutes and country loaves, there were thin, melba-toast style slices of fig and raisin breads. I could have eaten this all night. Delicious stuff. Then, without further ado, our first courses arrived. A bit of a shock not to have an additional amuse-bouche, to be honest, but as the sweat coursed from the temples of every diner, it came as somewhat of a relief. 1) First courses Mum and Dad - Langoustines with Tomato, Piment d’Espelette et Feves a la Menthe Me – Grilled Squid, Rabbit and its Kidney, Eucalyptus Infusion T – Foie Gras with Gentian, Purslane and Dried Physalis The langoustines sat in a pool of the freshest tomato sauce (chilled) I’ve ever tasted – awesome stuff, just spiked with a little Basque pepper, and sprinkled with lightly minted broad beans. T’s foie gras was a large slab of fresh liver, caramelized and served with a little gentian flavouring, the physalis lending a pleasant sweetness. Nice dish. My squid was tender, served in huge flat squares, caramelized, and layered over a kind of confit of rabbit leg, with a tiny roast rabbit kidney, with a few salad leaves, a trace of squid ink sauce and pools of rabbit jus, which was absolutely fantastic. 2) Main Courses Note: Great way of writing the menus, here. The vegetable is listed as the primary ingredient. Makes you look at the food in a different way. Me – Ris de Veau with ‘Crunchy Ears’ and Braised carrots T – Pigeon Steamed in a Cinder Crust, Violet Artichokes Ma – Frogs Legs, Risotto of Wild Garlic Pa – Roast Cote de Porc, Cebette Onions First off, dad’s pork had NO flavour whatsoever, and was cooked way too pink for him (and for me, it has to be said). We were so warm at this stage, that we didn’t bother with complaining. It was just surprising that the pork was so tasteless. However, its marinade/sauce was excellent, and the braised Cebettes were fantastic, but they’re my favourite sweet onions anyway. Mum’s frogs legs came like little lollipops, crunchy and moist within, great flavours, and the risotto was a creamy, buttery delight, infused with drizzles of powerful leafy wild garlic. T’s Pigeon was brought out in its crust, then taken back to be finished off, and when it came it looked fantastic; carved around a huge pile of trimmed artichoke hearts, with a little gamey jus to moisten the dish. My Ris de Veau were very good indeed, crunchy on the outside, moist and tender within, sitting on a pile of caramelized carrots, and soaked with a veal reduction of the highest order. We were all served with a bowl of smooth potato puree, very tasty indeed, covered with olive oil and lots of chives. It accompanied the three meat dishes very well, and Mum was quite happy without. 3) Desserts Me – Brioche with Truffle Honey and Beurre Noisette Ice-Cream Dad – Tulip of redcurrants Mum – Coffee Mousse T – Chocolate Moelleux Good desserts, but my notes didn't leave much in the way of detail, although I can definitely remember mine, which was a dense slab of brioche, covered with a fantastic buttery honey syrup laced with truffle, and a great iced parfait of beurre noisette. It was a remarkable pud, sweet, sticky and the truffle gave it a brilliant musky edge. Wines: An old favourite, Guigal’s Condrieu 2001, and a Madiran from the same year by Dupuy. Both excellent. By now, I reckon I’d sweated off all the weight I’d put on at Marc Veyrat, and we decided to leg it to the lounge for coffees. It was almost as warm, but the change of scenery was nice enough. The Petits-Fours arrived with the coffees, and comprised; Chocolate/praline ‘lumps’ Eggshells filled with Coconut mousse and rich chocolate ganache glazed puff-pastry triangles (extremely buttery) Perfectly made, if a little uninspired. Service at table was excellent, attentive and friendly, if the welcome was a little vacant. So, it was a patchy meal, and the heat certainly didn’t help, but whoever was cooking that night knew his stuff. Some elements of each dish were truly brilliant, but it just wasn’t an excellent meal all round. Merely a good meal. And somewhere deep inside something I ate that night lurked bacteria powerful enough to keep me in the little boy’s room for over 24 hours. In the stifling heat. It was not pleasant. And worst of all, we had to cancel our booking at Leon de Lyon for the following night. A great disappointment, that, as it was my father’s suggestion and he was looking forward to it so much. We have agreed we’ll go back soon. So, I suppose I’d recommend the place as somewhere to go in cooler times, and watch what you order.

L’Auberge de l’Eridan - Marc Veyrat, Veyrier-du-Lac, France Okay, so it’s me, T (my wife) and my parents. It’s the start of a long holiday, eventually ending up at our little house in the Aveyron, but the thing starts with a bang; a night at Marc Veyrat. I’d been about 10 years ago, and it was excellent then, but the rumours were that something had happened in the intervening years, and that this guy was now something a little bit special. Landed in Geneva, collected our hire car, and headed south, into France, towards Annecy. As we pulled into the yard in front of the hotel, out popped one of the staff, in smart beige alpine waistcoat and trousers, complete with standard Veyrat floppy black felt hat. Bags were whisked away, and we were shown to our rooms. T and I were told that we’d been upgraded to a suite (might have been something to do with me being a chef/restaurateur, might have meant they simply had a late cancellation. Or perhaps they knew I was going to post a review at eGullet and got scared….) The suite was magnificent. Since I was last there, they’ve re-decorated, and there’s even more of that lovely alpine chalet-feel to the interiors. The Genevrier suite is split level, huge lounge area, full mini kitchen (Oven, fridge, freezer, washing machine - which prompted all sorts of questions like: Who on earth would come all this way, spend ALL this money, and decide to just open a tin of soup and eat it on the balcony in their underpants?) Ceilings are covered with chicken-wire cages filled with dried nuts and berries and cereals. God help them if they ever get mice in that lot. Upstairs was the bedroom and bathing area, with one of those all-over showers and a Jacuzzi bathtub. Veyrat was ubiquitous; his little hat logo on everything in the room, and I was looking forward to seeing what the hat could do downstairs in the kitchen. It was still almost unbearably hot as we took drinks on the new deck at the front (lakeside) of the building. He has a semi-wild garden there now, and I took the liberty of wandering round sniffing and nibbling at a few of my favourite wild plants before the ‘first course’ arrived. I think it’s better to proceed in list-style from now on, and bear with me, will you? I’m working from a pile of hastily-written notes and illegible text from my PalmV. 1) Some ‘Nibbles’ with our drinks – lichen mousse / provencal vegetables / pepper & goat’s cheese soup with lavender each of us was presented with a large rectangular glass plate, on which sat a small log (yes, log. Bit of tree) which was covered in small flowers, tied with wire and poked into the wood. The first glass contained a thin, fluffy, cool cream made with lichen and Veyrat’s famous all-vegetable stock. It was delicious, refreshing and tantalizing. I wouldn’t say lichen had any particular flavour, but it was certainly redolent of something. Like a walk in a rainy forest. The vegetable nibble came in the form of a tiny pressed pepper, aubergine and tomato tian. It exploded with flavour, everything ripe and balanced perfectly. Finally, the pepper and goat’s cheese glass. This was brilliant stuff. At the bottom of the glass was a rich, smooth red pepper puree, topped with a layer of liquefied goat’s cheese, sharp and creamy, and floating on top was a thin film of intense lavender oil, which seemed to elevate the primary flavours. I was now officially ready to eat. And this alfresco overture was made all the more astonishing by the fact that about 20 of us were now taking drinks on the deck, and we all had an almost identical log in front of us. We all sat there, slurping and glugging. Monsieur Veyrat was prowling around and chatting, and seemed to do little else all evening. This bothers some people. I’m fairly ambivalent. You can’t expect the man to do it all, and as much as I hate going out and pressing the flesh, he’s a damn good frontman. We ordered, chose wine and water, and went to our table. 2) Cometh the Hour, Cometh The Bread Trolley Yoinks. A huge trolley is pulled up to our table, and the pleasant girl invites us to choose from about a dozen types. Throughout the meal we tried a superb saffron bread, excellent Poilane, and a cereal bread so full of flavour I wished I could have bought a few loaves to take home. My father, being as he is, ate the bacon bread all evening. it was delicious. 3) ‘Virtual’ Ravioli of Parmesan, Bouillon, Smoked Twigs a small glass bowl is placed in front of each of us, and in the bottom is a small flat yellow disc. UK readers will know what I mean when I say it’s just like one of those yummy sherbet-filled flying saucer sweeties. To the side, a small pine twig, trimmed to look like a small bottle-brush. It had been smoked, somehow, so it smelt fantastic – like a lovely pine log fire. The waiter came to the table with a jug of steaming vegetable bouillon, and poured it onto our discs, and they started to bubble and melt away. We were encouraged to stir the broth with our twigs, and drink the soupy mess quickly. It was ambrosial. The smoky pine scent, mixed with the pungency of the parmesan and the tasty bouillon left one wanting more. Lots more. I nibbled my twig, too. Pine needles taste quite nice. Not sure I was meant to, though. 4) The first courses: Me – Mallow Jelly with Caviar and Coltsfoot Foam T – ‘Salade Folle’ with Sandwich of Provencal Vegetables and Tastes of the Sea Dad – Foie Gras served Two Ways Mum – Boiled Eggs, Nutmeg Foam, Oxalis My plate contained three medium shot glasses, layered up with a marsh-mallow (guimauve) jelly (mallow extract is a natural setting agent), pearls of caviar, a caviar cream and topped with a vivid green foam made with coltsfoot. It was great stuff; the coltsfoot lent a vegetal note, and the caviar’s saltiness mixed well with the pale flavour of the jelly. T’s salad came as a plate of the Provencal vegetables (sandwiched up like the nibble on the first plate), and sauteed prawns, plus a wooden test-tube holder filled with bouquets of various leaves (I identified shiso, oakleaf and mitsuba). She was also served a ridiculously good panisse, the chick-pea ‘french fry’, which was filled with molten Parmesan and dusted with more of the grated cheese. It was crunchy on the outside, but yielded a smooth, tasty filling full of flavour. Dad’s foie gras came on two plates; four perfect cubes of chilled liver terrine with veins of pureed black fig. Another plate contained a large slab of sautéed liver, sitting in a small pool of cooking juices, with traces of cocoa and orange zest. He loved it to the point of forgetting to offer me any! Mum’s eggs were a sight to behold. In front of her was placed another plate with a log on it, except this was more like part of the base of a tree trunk, with moss and oxalis growing out of it. Along the wood were placed four eggs, with their tops lopped off, brimming over with a warm nutmeg foam. Alongside lay four Hessian-wrapped plastic syringes filled with a warm oxalis cream. The waiter picked each syringe up and blasted the cream straight into the eggs. The egg itself was half-boiled, half-scrambled, which made it more interesting texturally, but I didn’t care for it. It was like a bad scrambled egg, quite lumpy. Still, the flavours worked really well, especially the nutmeg foam. That was magic. Point of Interest: At this point, a party came to a nearby table with a small girl, who held in her arms a real live rabbit, all fat and brown and lovely. Minutes later, a beautifully peeled carrot on a small green plate appeared from the kitchen. Now that’s what I call service… 5) Crayfish with Roquefort and Meadowsweet Another small bowl, with three huge crayfish tails sitting in a powerful fluffy Roquefort cream, and dusted with pretty meadowsweet flowers (I love meadowsweet so much!) It was strange how well it worked, because meadowsweet is really pungent, and the cheese was very strong, too. But somehow it married up brilliantly, the sweet, strong fishiness of the crayfish held its own, making for a most impressive dish. 6) Test-tube of Broad (Fava) Bean Puree with Truffle and ‘Effervescent’ of Truffle Like it says, a test tube was handed to each of us, nestled in a specially carved piece of stone. The lower half was an iridescent green ‘soup’ of broad beans (not especially flavourful), and the upper half was what I presume to have been a truffle bouillon. Into the top of each of the tubes, the waiter dropped a ‘pill’ of fizzy truffle stuff (I have no words here), and it bubbled and fizzed, releasing strong truffly flavour into the tube. School chemistry would have been more exciting like this! I chugged the whole thing as required, and it was like being hit in the face with a massive black truffle. Masses of earthy sweet pungent flavour, and then the calming bean puree to stop you in your tracks. How they made the effervescent is anyone’s guess. But as a bit of theatre, it was most welcome. 7) Gaspacho with Dry Ice A highball-esque glass, quarter-filled with a terrifically sweet tomato gazpacho, and a dried hollow stem of something (I reckon lovage or comfrey) through which to suck it. Oh, and a cube of dry ice, bubbling and fizzing away, sending out clouds of ‘steam’ over the top of the glass. Very Jean-Michel Jarre. I was disappointed with the gazpacho itself, it being way too sugary, which got in the way of the tomato, but it was a nice funny point in the meal. Food should sometimes make you giggle, and we all had a good chuckle at what we were being given here. 8) ‘Cappuccino’ of Potato with Truffle and Chocolate My word, this was good. It was a tiny bowl of super-whipped silky pureed potato, dusted with cocoa, and at the bottom lurked masses of chopped truffle in what I can only describe as liquefied chocolate. It was that simple, or seemed to be so, at any rate. The chocolate was rich and dark, the truffle scented and musty, and the whole thing was superb. 9) Main Courses Me – Pork Cheek with Matafans, Artichokes, Lemon Yoghurt Emulsion, Mugwort and Truffle T – Fera with Vegetable Emulsion and Wood Avens Ma – Omble Chevalier with Poppy and Fromage Blanc Pa – Langoustines with Comfrey ‘Semolina’, Cauliflower and Pine Kernels Kilner Jars of Vegetables My main course was one of the best things I have ever eaten. In a huge copper pan were placed the tenderest pieces of braised pork cheek, interspersed with pieces of truffle, artichoke hearts and the matafans, which are frizzled potato croquettes. The lemon emulsion was incredibly tart, and cut through the unctuous pork and starch potato brilliantly. Finely-shredded mugwort gave the dish a pleasantly spicy note. T’s fish came in large sautéed chunks with a strong sauce of avens (a bit mushroomy in taste) and a few spoonfuls of fluffy vegetable stock emulsion. It was pronounced delicious, although the sauce was a little overpowering, and had to be taken in small amounts with each piece of fish Mum’s fish was quite simply a whole omble chevalier, laying across a beautiful blue glass plate, with a strong whisked sauce made with sharp fromage blanc, and poppy seeds and flower heads. Dad’s langoustines were immense things, laying on a bed of greens, with flicks of a light cauliflower cream, and to one side was a rolled comfrey leaf, filled with a granulated pile of remarkable ‘frozen’ comfrey. It was similar to the frozen foie gras powder I had at El Bulli some time ago, and it melted on the tongue, releasing lovely swet herbal, vegetal flavours. A nice touch, and superb with the rich meaty langoustines Our vegetables came in small sealed jars, opened at the table. It was a few florets of cauliflower, and courgette pices in a lightly-herbed buttery emulsion. I could have done without mine, to be honest. We were all getting full. 10) Cheese Mindful of my stomach’s attempts to crawl away and have a good night’s rest, I opted for a couple of local cheeses, neither of which I can remember, but one was a good peppery goat’s cheese, the other a hard Cantal-style floral cow’s milk effort. I waved the bread trolley away the minute I saw it. The cheese bread selection looked wonderful, but I was determined to get through this without my pants splitting. 11) Pre-desserts Oh God, not more food. But what a selection. A huge plate, decorated with twigs and sprihs of herbs and flowers, upon which were nestled several delicious little sweetmeats. As far as my notes and memory can recall, they were: Little Lemon Beignets Rice Pudding (in tiny shot glasses, with a layer of super-sour blackcurrants (superb)) A cup of "genepi" foam (alpine juniper) with a chocolate syringe to squeeze into it (strong) 3 sorbets (in cornets) and 3 mousses of the same – lime (really tart, superb), serpolet thyme and lemon balm Tiny Blueberry Clafoutis on sticks Nibbling gently on these, I got my second wind, as we say round here, and I was ready for the final push to the summit…. 12) Desserts Me – Asparagus Feuilleté with Warm Asparagus Mayonnaise, Apple Coulis T- Mille-feuille of Chocolate, Cardamom Foam, Peppered Thyme Coulis The folks had given up by now, and who’d blame them? My asparagus (chosen simply for its bizarre-factor) was basically what it said. A small square puff pastry casket filled with baby asparagus tips and a thin creamy warm mayonnaise, with a sharp apple coulis and a cylinder of green apple sorbet. I’m still not sure why I liked it, but I did. It was a bizarre concoction, and the two elements seemed quite disparate, but there was something in it that linked the asparagus and the apple. I suppose it was like a savoury (like I do a warm Eccles cake with Lancashire cheese here at my restaurant). Strange and wonderful. T’s chocolate dessert was a lovely plate of tiny scoops of bitter and white chocolate sorbets, with a feuillete of chocolate mousse layered between rice-crispie chocolate sheets. The peppered serpolet sauce lent the dish a bit of edge to counter all that sugar, and was marvellous. For an accompaniment, I had a lovely local Vin de Paille, and T had her favourite Maury. Both perfect. Coffee was taken back out on the veranda, so Dad could light up a cigar, and we all ordered coffees. The minute we sat down, more desserts arrived! Run for the hills! We were served four tiny crèmes brûlées, flavoured with serpolet, meadowsweet, liquorice and chicory. All delicious, slightly warm, full of herbal flavours. I am loath to say that I ate the lot. Then, with the coffees came the final plate, the petits-fours: A little Tiramisu 5-spice cream pot cumin caramel lollipops They were great, especially the cumin lolly, but we’d all really had enough by then. It had been a gargantuan effort, it had taken about three hours, and as I sipped my coffee and gentian eau-de-vie, I felt as full as an egg. We were all blissfully happy. it had been a memorable meal, generally excellent, with a few dishes not quite to our taste, but all of it cooked to perfection, served with style, wit and amiability, and with a refreshing lack of pretension (the likes of which T and I had suffred last year at the hands of Regis Marcon at the Clos des Cimes in Saint-Bonnet-Le-Froid, not a place I’ll be rushing back to. If anyone wants to hear of my woes there, I’ll be happy to dredge up my notes) Our wines, and I’m afraid I can’t remember the producers or vintage, were an excellent buttery, floral Chignin-Bergeron and a terrifically robust Mondeuse, from a sensible and Savoie-heavy list. I’d not drunk much Savoie wine before, so I left it up to the sommelier, pointing out that I wasn’t going for broke, price-wise. He did the decent thing, and chose wines just off the bottom of the list. Nice man. Prices? Well, I sneaked a look at the only menu with prices on, and all three courses were similarly-priced. They averaged out at about €75 per dish. Some first courses were €105. The rooms cost about €700 each. Breakfast was taken on the deck, and was an excellent selection of hams, cheeses, yoghurts, jams, honey, pastries and breads, with brilliant quince and raspberry juices in old-time rubber-stoppered bottles. Worth it? Well, frankly, yes. It was an evening of pure drama. The place, the food, the service, the treats, the indulgence. It all rolled into one quantifiable whole. Sure, you wouldn’t go there every night, nor would you survive eating that much food for three nights in a row, I expect (perhaps that’s why there’s a kitchen in the suite. If I’d had to eat that much for two nights running, you can bet that on the third night I’d have been the one spooning tinned pasta into my mouth on the balcony. In my pants, naturally) As the (sometimes overpoweringly floral) GaultMillau guide points out, how much does a Prada handbag cost, and does it give as much satisfaction? Can you put a price on such things if they give you what you want from them? Memories. That’s the thing. I’ll remember this meal for decades, whilst the physical remains of it has long passed through the plumbing of Veyrier-du-Lac. We were present as a chef possibly reached his creative peak. It was a show, it was an opera, it was an experience in the broadest sense. It was also a bloody great dinner. We had a whale of a time by the lake, and the next morning we headed for Switzerland, and after that we arrived in Lyon. Which is where my next review begins….

Sounds lovely. I adore tiny restaurants like this. I'd love it if my place had only a dozen tables or so; you can really concentrate on the detail that way. In a similar vein, I can highly recommend 'Le Cinq Claire' in Clermont-Ferrand which is similarly minuscule and cosy - fantastic food (chef worked with Gagnaire and Marcon amongst others) and such a lovely atmosphere. I shall endeavour to try Oxalis this coming holiday (see Nicolas le Bec thread) if my belt (and more importantly wallet) can take the strain.

No need, I shall be in my local Géant in a few weeks' time. Thanks, though!

*pricks up ears* Haven't tried those ones yet. Hmm. Apericube paneer?

Ta, Fresh_a. Hers was one of the first cookbooks I bought ('Cuisine Flamande'), and I've never tried her food. Missed Ledoyen, missed the eponymous place. Ah well, she'll have to go on the Girardet/Robuchon/Loiseau list...

First thing in my trolley when I get to the supermarket near my house in the Auvergne. When I was a student at Bordeaux Uni I lived for about two months on bread, wine and Apericubes. Given the parlous state of the toilets in the hall of residence (*very* downtown Marrakech!), I was glad of the 'binding' effect of the little chaps. I go for a tray of natural, and a rogue tray of whatever flavours are on offer. Sometimes they do limited edition trays with 'wacky' flavours. Different cheeses, seafood, herbs etc. Vive la cube!

Anyone here know where she's cooking now, if she's cooking at all?