In this part of town, I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised. Roussillon is in Pimlico, that lush, moneyed enclave stretching between Sloane Square and the designer shops of Knightsbridge. With its elegant Edwardian architecture and quiet, twisting side streets, I always feel that I've dropped into a scene in an Oscar Wilde play. The restaurant is tucked on a quiet residential street and is small and discrete. I don't remember seeing more than 12 tables.
(We were sitting at the round one in the centre of the photo at right.)It was a business dinner and we were shamelessly indulged by our host with the 7 course chef's menu, matched with the sommelier's choice of wines for each course. It won't surprise you that with that level of indulgence and complexity I don't remember all the details, but the overall result left me with a warm glow of contentment that lasted well throughout the next day.
The company and conversation only enhanced this mood. And here I have to give a special nod to the wisdom of my host and his decision to break tradition. The accepted etiquette is, of course, that you don't discuss business until dessert. Whoever came up with this rule clearly wasn't thinking about 7 course meals. Dragging yourself back to business in the late stages of debauchery is hard work. Our host wisely covered business topics over the first three courses. We got a lot done and ran through meaningful topics while we were still alert, allowing us to slide, guilt free, into wider conversational waters as the later courses came on.
The menu, as I remember it, was as follows. First, a tablespoon-sized dollop of fish mousse, with a sweet topping that might have been quince jam, surrounded by a delicate and richly aromatic cream of potato soup. The wine that went with this was the most floral I've ever nosed; it's as if they managed to liquefy and bottle a bouquet. Next, a two-inch square slice of grilled sardine laid atop two small crayfish tails, surrounded by a chopped, stewed vegetable that might have been turnips. The tastes were very intense, and were perfectly complemented by a sherry so bone dry I'd call it astringent. I don't think I would have liked either the food or the wine on its own, but the combination brought out the best in both. A triumph for the cheerful German sommelier who talked us through his every selection in detail. Next, risotto with white truffle, perfectly al dente and rich with earthy mellowness.
Time to switch to red wine ... a particularly lovely pinot noir ... to accompany four wafer-thin slices of rare venison, a bit of poached pear and a swirl of mashed potatoes. The cheese course was a pleasant surprise, bringing a white cheese souffle rather than the customary cheese tray. And then that magic phrase: "for your FIRST dessert..." My taste buds may have been fading at this point, because I couldn't really identify what dessert No. 1 was, other than it was creamy, white and might possibly have involved apples. Or perhaps it just paled too far into insignificance behind dessert No. 2, a small, round stack of praline biscuits enrobed in a decadently dark chocolate and decorated with a little flourish of gold leaf. (I always feel horrifically wasteful eating gold leaf. But it did look good.) Both sweets matched well with their dessert wines, one glass an unusual chestnut-based liqueur that might have been my alcoholic favourite of the meal.
My eyes were beyond glazed by the time the meal-ending plate of bon bons came out along with the after dinner drinks. The sommelier was having great fun with us at this point, giving us blind tastings and challenging us to come up with identifications. One stumped all three of us and ended up being, amazingly, a boutique-produced Rum. A testament to the transformations that can be achieved by the distillers art.
This was one of the most perfectly balanced meals I've ever had. Though it reads like an enormous amount of food, all the servings were quite small, the combinations delicate and everything well paced. Thus you emerge pleasantly full, but not stuffed to the gills. I'm not sure I could, or would, have ever put together all those combinations for myself. That's the beauty of a chef's menu. Give yourself into the chef's hands and you have a chance to really understand why cooking can, at its highest levels, be part art and part magic.
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