Le Gavroche … perhaps London's most famous French restaurant … is a culinary time machine. Descend its stairs and you're peeling back the decades. Nobody does formality like this any more. Jackets and ties please, gents. Dark, traditional interiors are out. When was the last time you went someplace where only the host got prices on the menu? And didn't menus in French (unless you're in France) go out with your grandmother?
None of that matters here. Put the ladies in bustled gowns and the men in white tie, and we'd be eating at The Ritz in the glory days of chef patron Michel Roux Jr's hero Escoffier. Like so many of the greatest restaurants, the food here is glorious, but it's taken up another level by the surrounding experience. Which includes M. Roux, now probably the best known and loved of all the UK's TV chefs, taking time across the evening to speak to each table. No uncouth table turning here … you're settled in for the night, and enjoying every moment.
The formality might not be everyone's cup of tea, but it's what the food deserves. Because this is the kind of grand, elegant stuff you read about in cooking history books. I started with Artichoke Lucullus,
which I would have ordered based on the name alone, even if I hadn't seen it on TV. Lucullus was a famous Roman politician and epicurean who lived so well (and wrote copiously about it) that his name has come to mean "lavish, luxurious and gourmet." Now there's a life ambition.
Any dish making such a wonderful nod to history deserves to be explored. Roux had used it as one of his classics tests on MasterChef: The Professionals, and I remember dropping my jaw at the complexity of the perfectly prepared artichoke heart, spread with caviar, then topped with foie gras, all encased in a dome of feather-light chicken mousse studded with black truffles, set upon a truffle sauce. No debate: this is the starter I'd want for my last meal on the planet.
On to the roast saddle of rabbit with crispy potatoes and parmesan. Sounds pretty straightforward, right? Out comes a masterpiece. A savoury layer cake of the thinnest, crispiest potato pancakes imaginable, separating layers of moist, succulent rabbit, topped with an almost-translucent parmesan wafer. The accompanying sauce was nectar; as if another serving had been distilled into liquid form.
Dessert here presents a terrible conundrum. Do you go for one of London's most unabashedly French cheese carts, groaning with arcane local specialities? Or do you honour the fact that M. Roux started as a pastry chef and let him work his magic? I did the latter, asking the waiter to guide me to the most chocolately thing on the night's menu. My husband went for the cheese. We swapped tastes. I think I made the right choice. Because I can buy some very nice cheeses to bring home. Never in a million years will my skills equal that dark chocolate truffle studded with crispy, sweet rice, accompanied by little morsels of rum and orange jelly. It's a good thing there's portion control, because I might eat that until my insulin levels went into crisis mode and killed me. My brother-in-law controlled the wine list, as he was also the unlucky man who had the prices on his
menu. (It was a belated 50th birthday present for me.) He picked a stunning Meursault to start, a Burgundian red (can't remember which) for the main and I instructed the sommelier to bring whatever dessert wine worked best with the chocolate. Which turned out to be a Pedro Ximinez. All resolutely classic choices for a classic meal.
My delight increased when M. Roux stopped by the table, and we had a little chat about how he inspired me to do choux pastry at Christmas when we saw him at the BBC food show. I hope I wasn't gushing like a star-struck 12-year-old. But, frankly, it was tough not to. The great man complimented my ambition in tackling a croquembouche on my first choux pastry outing, reminded me that the taste is what matters, and encouraged me to try again. Oui, chef! I will, I promise.
Le Gavroche is not for everyone. Obviously, it's very expensive. (But given the quality of ingredients, the complexity preparation and the levels of service, you can see where your money is going.) The formality could be overbearing if you didn't get into the overall ethos of the place. Even I, sucking up the atmosphere, was frustrated at just how low the light levels were. With food this beautiful, it's a shame we couldn't see more of it. And, frankly, if you're not seriously into your food, this might all seem completely over the top. But if you truly love fine dining … not just eating it, but its provenance, preparation and history … then this is the pinnacle of the classic French experience.
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