Le Gavroche Earns its Stars

I have been fortunate to eat at several Michelin single-starred restaurants. Each was a magnificent experience. Last week I entered the world of two star dining and learned what I'd really be doing if I won the lottery: eating at places like Le Gavroche once a week, clogging my arteries and killing my liver while having a sinfully good time.

Le Gavroche is one of the grand old establishments of London dining, now celebrating its 40th year. It is very French, very restrained and very luxurious. The food is exquisite, naturally. But the main difference I noted between one star and two was the presentation. This was food as art.

We started with a few delicate canapes laid upon the beautifully laid table. Crisp linens, abundant silver and glass, a different silver sculpture of an animal on each table. (We had a very proud bull staring at us throughout the meal.) Next came the amuse bouche, courtesy of the chef: one perfectly seared prawn on a scoop of mango chutney. Then on to the starter. I couldn't resist the "artichoke Lucullus". After all, I've never been in a restaurant where they featured a dish dedicated to the most famous gastronome of ancient Rome. Had to be done. It was a circle of artichoke heart, topped by thin slices of fois gras, that topped by a dome of chicken liver mouse, dotted around the outside with shavings of black truffle. You have to work mighty hard to integrate that many luxury ingredients into one dish. I was worried that this monument to excess might be a bit too rich, but it was done with an amazingly light touch, and all those intense flavours managed to stay distinct, yet melt together at the same time.

Frankly, I could have stopped there and called it one of the best meals of my life. But the main was still to come. In fine French style, all of our dishes arrived at exactly the same time, covered with gleaming silver domes that were whipped aside with military precision, at exactly the same time. My veal chop with garlic mash and a bit of vegetable on the side sounds simple enough, but the flavours were extraordinary. The meat was so tender it practically fell to pieces on my tongue, and the sauce was so flavourful it had probably been reduced for many hours. The vegetables were so beautiful it was almost painful to eat them. Imagine a small, flat-topped cone that resembled nothing so much as a tiny circus tent. In reality, it was spinach mouse moulded into shape, with perfectly symetrical slices of carrot making the stripes.

Even Lucullus himself might have had difficulty moving on to dessert at this point. Though we passed on a third course, my gracious hostess ordered petit fours with the coffee, so out came an almost guilt free plate of tiny but perfectly formed cakes and cookies. Add the champagne we started with, the white wine with the first course and the superior Burgundy with the second, and I'll admit it ... I was officially useless for the rest of the day. All I really wanted to do was curl up and take a very contented nap.

In addition to the food, I have to mention both the service and the surroundings. The staff are abundant but subtle. They manage to pull off that very difficult balance of being so attentive that you never need anything, but so non-intrusive that they're never a bother. The dining room is like a very luxurious home, with some of the thickest carpets upon which I've ever walked. I suppose this is part of the secret to maintaining quite a low buzz of conversation, despite the crowded room.

And how much did this culinary orgy cost? I have no idea. The combination of a sophisticated hostess (I was being treated by a PR agency) and those sensitive waiters meant that I never saw a menu with prices. The one peek I had across the table showed £45 against one of the entrees, so let us assume that two courses, wine and coffee is probably pushing £100 a person.

Thank God for expense accounts. And let's hope he doesn't let me win the lottery, because doing this regularly just would NOT be good for me.