Two Fat Ladies, Glasgow
A friend who works in Glasgow booked us in here for the earlybird dinner and very glad I was that she did. At £16 for two courses it's not the cheapest offer in town but my grilled sardine fillets were succulent, tasty and fresh, and their pesto dressing was fragrant - though I could have done with a bit more, given the quality of the bread I used to mop it up. Scottish Spice's mushroom tart with goat's cheese was pronounced to be excellent, though I hardly noticed it as I was too interested in my own plate.
The roast breast of chicken in port jus was quite simply the best I have had since the Goods Shed in Canterbury. Tender, full of flavour, perfectly cooked and moist, is how I would have described it if I had not been so busy gobbling it down before shamelessly using my pudding spoon to slurp up all of the posh gravy (OK, jus) which was simply too good to leave on the plate. And the veg was tasty as well - the carrots actually tasted like carrots used to taste when I was a child back before the Black Death.
Scottish Spice was on a diet so did the sensible thing and missed out on a main course, and zoomed straight into pudding with what looked like a pretty tempting take on that weird Scottish staple, cranachan. I passed on the pudding, having wiped my plate with bread to mop up the last tiny drops of the jus/gravy. And very fine bread it was too, all the more toothsome for not receiving a credit on the bill.
Adding on the wine and a bottle of water brought our joint bill up to 47 quid but I was heartened to see that instead of simply charging us for a couple of two-course earlybirds, they had done the decent thing and charged the starter/pudding meal off the a la carte. Without being told to do so. Who says the Scots are mean?
Service was friendly, charming even, helpful and unobtrusive. Though at the time we were there, it was not exactly bustling. But then again I have known places just as quiet, with waiting staff so keen to avoid eye contact that I have almost had to bring them down with a rugby tackle.
When can I go to Glasgow again? It can't be soon enough.
Verdict: value for money - 8/10 service - 9/10 quality of food - 9/10
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Sunday, November 23, 2008
French Leave
November 2008
Le Relais de la Poste, St Hilaire du Harcouët, Manche
The Wednesday market at St Hilaire is more subdued than usual, probably because the town recently hosted its annual St Martin fair, which is the second largest in Normandy and enough to exhaust the entire population, never mind the market traders. It still puts a typical English market to shame and despite the grey and grizzly weather, the stallholders are busy grilling sausages and chops over charcoal fires, so that by the time I have worked my way round to the main road again, my stomach is protesting its emptiness.
The Relais de la Poste is one of those bourgeois, comfortable and unpretentious hotels that are so much a feature of French life and yet apparently unknown in Britain. Monsieur le Patron has been bustling through the dining room ever since I have been going there, meeting and greeting and showing diners to their tables. Two serious youngsters in spotless white shirts serve the food, supervised by a waitress of even more serious mien who makes sure they do it exactly right.
I have the fish soup, which I have had many times before, from a menu priced at just over 18 euros. For a little over 14 euros I could have started with the avocado and prawns, which is always a whole, perfectly ripe avocado, sliced across the plate and amply guarded by an array of small pink prawns, with a couple of larger, whiskery ones still in their shells, and lashings of mayonnaise. The menu du jour starts with warm goat's cheese salad, which looks great as well when my neighbours order it. But as I ate a variation of it the day before I go for the fish soup, with grated gruyere and crispy croutons, and a pot of creme fraiche because this is Normandy and the place is groaning with cream. There is a mini tureen of this soup all for me, with a ladle to spoon it into my bowl and I can't resist having two large helpings. It is a russet brown, satisfyingly fishy and with more than a hint of crabby depth and density.
Also on the menu du jour is pot au feu and this too is popular, great slices of beef with carrots and potatoes served with little pots of sauces to add some piquancy. But on my menu there is fillet of porc with sauce Normande, a creamy, cidery pond in which the slices of perfectly cooked pork jostle each other for room, flanked by slices of caramelised apple. Saute potatoes and a heap of tiny courgette cubes cooked with tomato and red peppers mean that by the end of the plateful I am regretfully having to turn down my favourite pudding, the white and dark chocolate mousse. I have eaten a hell of a lot of chocolate mouse and I think my own is pretty good but this one takes some beating. So does the Tarte Tatin, but there is no way that can be accommodated now. As I only have a kir to start with and no wine, I feel pretty virtuous, and clock up a bill in the mid-twenties.
Verdict: value for money - 9/10 service - 9/10 quality of food - 9/10
The Lion d'Or, Fougerolles du Plessis, Mayenne
At 11 euros for a four-course lunch this has to be the best value anywhere given that the menu has a good choice and the price includes red wine or cider. The first course is a self-service buffet and there is an impressive array of salads, pate and cold meat, and fishy offerings. The trick here is not to over-eat, however tempting it might be to have just one more prawn with a dollop of mayonnaise.
There is usually a good selection of meat dishes with one fish and a pasta, weirdly all served with either chips, green salad or flageolet beans (in the winter. like now) or haricots (in the summer). I say weirdly because watching someone tuck into a dish of lasagne with flageolets on the side looks quite bizarre.
On Thursday the choice was roast pork, salmon fillet, pork chop, lamb chop, lasagne, andouillettes or confit de canard for a small supplement. So no need to dither there, then, as I am a sucker for duck (try saying that ten times after glugging down most of a bottle of cidre bouche and you will soon come unstuck and possibly bleeped out). The confit was rich, tender and dropping off the bone and I was unable to stop myself picking up the latter and nibbling every last vestige off with my teeth, no doubt looking like a mediaeval peasant whilst doing so.
The cheeseboard is left on the table for you to help yourself from half a dozen different cheeses, before you heave up your considerably increased bulk to totter across to the chiller cabinet full of puddings. The chocolate mousse here is a winner as well but today there was none, though there was plenty of other stuff instead, including some rather toothsome coffee profiteroles.
By 12.30 the dining room was full and people had spilled over into the bar. The entire room - and it is a large one - was nimbly served by a couple of waitresses who skipped around the place looking incredibly competent and never getting an order wrong.
Verdict: value for money - 10/10 service - 9/10 quality of food - 8/10
Le Relais de la Poste, St Hilaire du Harcouët, Manche
The Wednesday market at St Hilaire is more subdued than usual, probably because the town recently hosted its annual St Martin fair, which is the second largest in Normandy and enough to exhaust the entire population, never mind the market traders. It still puts a typical English market to shame and despite the grey and grizzly weather, the stallholders are busy grilling sausages and chops over charcoal fires, so that by the time I have worked my way round to the main road again, my stomach is protesting its emptiness.
The Relais de la Poste is one of those bourgeois, comfortable and unpretentious hotels that are so much a feature of French life and yet apparently unknown in Britain. Monsieur le Patron has been bustling through the dining room ever since I have been going there, meeting and greeting and showing diners to their tables. Two serious youngsters in spotless white shirts serve the food, supervised by a waitress of even more serious mien who makes sure they do it exactly right.
I have the fish soup, which I have had many times before, from a menu priced at just over 18 euros. For a little over 14 euros I could have started with the avocado and prawns, which is always a whole, perfectly ripe avocado, sliced across the plate and amply guarded by an array of small pink prawns, with a couple of larger, whiskery ones still in their shells, and lashings of mayonnaise. The menu du jour starts with warm goat's cheese salad, which looks great as well when my neighbours order it. But as I ate a variation of it the day before I go for the fish soup, with grated gruyere and crispy croutons, and a pot of creme fraiche because this is Normandy and the place is groaning with cream. There is a mini tureen of this soup all for me, with a ladle to spoon it into my bowl and I can't resist having two large helpings. It is a russet brown, satisfyingly fishy and with more than a hint of crabby depth and density.
Also on the menu du jour is pot au feu and this too is popular, great slices of beef with carrots and potatoes served with little pots of sauces to add some piquancy. But on my menu there is fillet of porc with sauce Normande, a creamy, cidery pond in which the slices of perfectly cooked pork jostle each other for room, flanked by slices of caramelised apple. Saute potatoes and a heap of tiny courgette cubes cooked with tomato and red peppers mean that by the end of the plateful I am regretfully having to turn down my favourite pudding, the white and dark chocolate mousse. I have eaten a hell of a lot of chocolate mouse and I think my own is pretty good but this one takes some beating. So does the Tarte Tatin, but there is no way that can be accommodated now. As I only have a kir to start with and no wine, I feel pretty virtuous, and clock up a bill in the mid-twenties.
Verdict: value for money - 9/10 service - 9/10 quality of food - 9/10
The Lion d'Or, Fougerolles du Plessis, Mayenne
At 11 euros for a four-course lunch this has to be the best value anywhere given that the menu has a good choice and the price includes red wine or cider. The first course is a self-service buffet and there is an impressive array of salads, pate and cold meat, and fishy offerings. The trick here is not to over-eat, however tempting it might be to have just one more prawn with a dollop of mayonnaise.
There is usually a good selection of meat dishes with one fish and a pasta, weirdly all served with either chips, green salad or flageolet beans (in the winter. like now) or haricots (in the summer). I say weirdly because watching someone tuck into a dish of lasagne with flageolets on the side looks quite bizarre.
On Thursday the choice was roast pork, salmon fillet, pork chop, lamb chop, lasagne, andouillettes or confit de canard for a small supplement. So no need to dither there, then, as I am a sucker for duck (try saying that ten times after glugging down most of a bottle of cidre bouche and you will soon come unstuck and possibly bleeped out). The confit was rich, tender and dropping off the bone and I was unable to stop myself picking up the latter and nibbling every last vestige off with my teeth, no doubt looking like a mediaeval peasant whilst doing so.
The cheeseboard is left on the table for you to help yourself from half a dozen different cheeses, before you heave up your considerably increased bulk to totter across to the chiller cabinet full of puddings. The chocolate mousse here is a winner as well but today there was none, though there was plenty of other stuff instead, including some rather toothsome coffee profiteroles.
By 12.30 the dining room was full and people had spilled over into the bar. The entire room - and it is a large one - was nimbly served by a couple of waitresses who skipped around the place looking incredibly competent and never getting an order wrong.
Verdict: value for money - 10/10 service - 9/10 quality of food - 8/10
Monday, September 29, 2008
Who put the lights out?
Glasgow Malmaison Hotel
It’s that time of year again for standing in the Scottish Exhibition Centre and imagining the varicose veins forming in each leg. At least at the end of the day one can head back into town and a bit of R and R. The Malmaison in Glasgow fancies itself as a posh hotel but the position it occupies on a bus route, for a service that seem to operate for most of the night, leaves something to be desired. And the double glazing does not do its job.
Nevertheless the food is better than most hotel grub and so it should be at the prices they charge. The first night I ate from the local set menu priced at around 13 quid for two courses (no point trying to check on their website as the link to the .pdf never works) and was pleasantly surprised. The warm crusty bread, butter and tapenade were too tempting not to gobble up and by the time the cream of white onion soup arrived, it was all gone and more had to be ordered. The soup was perfectly smooth and comforting but the parmesan crouton was light on the latter – do be a bit more generous when wielding the grater, chef, or you may as well not bother at all.
The main course portion of slow-cooked shoulder of lamb, seemed to me to be on the stingy side but that could have been because the slice that arrived was so delicious in its soft, sweet succulence that it was simply not enough. The Puy lentils were fine, though not necessarily the best pairing possible, but the sauce was so yummy that the last of the bread was employed to sop it up. A bottle of Australian Shizaz was daylight robbery at 28 quid, but went down very nicely nonetheless.
The following night we went for the a la carte and I started with a salad of pan fried duck, with orange and fennel. If the fennel was present it was in hiding, and the orange only put its hand up at the end, but the salad still went down very well. I suspect the duck to have been cooked quite rare, which was not a problem to me, and the skin was of the requisite crispiness that it could be eaten with pleasure. More squeamish diners could have peered at it in vain, as the light in the basement restaurant is so low that Burke and Hare could be prowling round the outer edges waiting to bag an exiting diner, and no-one would spot them. I usually feel it obligatory to eat steak in Scotland just to see what all the fuss is about, and the medium rare rump tasted as though it was just that (though if I could have verified this by sight I would have felt, inexplicably, more pleasure still). The ‘frites’ were advertised as ‘hand cut’ and were crispy enough for one to shoot off the plate and off into the outer darkness a foot away – probably bringing down Burke or Hare or both. The béarnaise sauce was excellent in taste and consistency, with a real flavour of tarragon, but could have done with being slightly warmer – all right, we don’t want scrambled eggs but it was almost stone cold.
Service both at dinner and at breakfast (you would not believe it but 159 quid does not buy you as much as a bacon butty) was a bit hit and miss. The first night it was particularly slow and Colleague was given lamb rather than risotto (someone had “pressed the wrong button”) so I had almost wolfed mine down before hers finally arrived. The first morning at breakfast we almost had to rugby-tackle a waiter to get an order of toast, whilst the next day it arrived almost immediately but was burnt.
Verdict: value for money - 7/10 service - 6/10 quality of food - 8/10
It’s that time of year again for standing in the Scottish Exhibition Centre and imagining the varicose veins forming in each leg. At least at the end of the day one can head back into town and a bit of R and R. The Malmaison in Glasgow fancies itself as a posh hotel but the position it occupies on a bus route, for a service that seem to operate for most of the night, leaves something to be desired. And the double glazing does not do its job.
Nevertheless the food is better than most hotel grub and so it should be at the prices they charge. The first night I ate from the local set menu priced at around 13 quid for two courses (no point trying to check on their website as the link to the .pdf never works) and was pleasantly surprised. The warm crusty bread, butter and tapenade were too tempting not to gobble up and by the time the cream of white onion soup arrived, it was all gone and more had to be ordered. The soup was perfectly smooth and comforting but the parmesan crouton was light on the latter – do be a bit more generous when wielding the grater, chef, or you may as well not bother at all.
The main course portion of slow-cooked shoulder of lamb, seemed to me to be on the stingy side but that could have been because the slice that arrived was so delicious in its soft, sweet succulence that it was simply not enough. The Puy lentils were fine, though not necessarily the best pairing possible, but the sauce was so yummy that the last of the bread was employed to sop it up. A bottle of Australian Shizaz was daylight robbery at 28 quid, but went down very nicely nonetheless.
The following night we went for the a la carte and I started with a salad of pan fried duck, with orange and fennel. If the fennel was present it was in hiding, and the orange only put its hand up at the end, but the salad still went down very well. I suspect the duck to have been cooked quite rare, which was not a problem to me, and the skin was of the requisite crispiness that it could be eaten with pleasure. More squeamish diners could have peered at it in vain, as the light in the basement restaurant is so low that Burke and Hare could be prowling round the outer edges waiting to bag an exiting diner, and no-one would spot them. I usually feel it obligatory to eat steak in Scotland just to see what all the fuss is about, and the medium rare rump tasted as though it was just that (though if I could have verified this by sight I would have felt, inexplicably, more pleasure still). The ‘frites’ were advertised as ‘hand cut’ and were crispy enough for one to shoot off the plate and off into the outer darkness a foot away – probably bringing down Burke or Hare or both. The béarnaise sauce was excellent in taste and consistency, with a real flavour of tarragon, but could have done with being slightly warmer – all right, we don’t want scrambled eggs but it was almost stone cold.
Service both at dinner and at breakfast (you would not believe it but 159 quid does not buy you as much as a bacon butty) was a bit hit and miss. The first night it was particularly slow and Colleague was given lamb rather than risotto (someone had “pressed the wrong button”) so I had almost wolfed mine down before hers finally arrived. The first morning at breakfast we almost had to rugby-tackle a waiter to get an order of toast, whilst the next day it arrived almost immediately but was burnt.
Verdict: value for money - 7/10 service - 6/10 quality of food - 8/10
More of the Great North Road
Aagrah, Doncaster
This branch of the well-known chain is still run by an extended family based in and around Shipley, and has a reputation for consistency. The staff are unfailingly charming and easy on the eye, and the whole place has an air of comfort, confidence and high staff morale that is a winning combination. Not to mention the food, which is pretty damn good. As it has to be for this place to survive, tucked away up the old Great North Road well out of town - and possibly none the worse for that, given that Doncaster centre after dark can resemble a painting by Hieronymus Bosch but with fatter protagonists.
On this autumnal Sunday I was so hungry that I had to go for the buffet (served from 4.30 p.m. only on Sundays - the usual menu is available from 6). At £11.95 there might be cheaper alternatives around but this has to be the best deal in town because of the quality of the spicing and ingredients, not to mention the choice of what is on offer.
Vegetarians might feel themselves short-charged but there is still an option available at every course and plenty of non-meat or fish dishes on the main menu.
The starter choice was onion bhajis (generous semi-circles of crisp onion slices rather than the usual doughy ball), pieces of boneless chicken thigh in a tangy marinade, shami kebabs and fish. As Dervla Kirwan sultrily announces, "This is not just food..." well, this is Aagrah food, and the kebabs are utterly devoid of a hint of grease or gristle, and everything is so gloriously moreish than it is impossible to resist another slightly blackened char-grilled morsel of chicken. The trick here is to arrive right at the start of the buffet so that the food has not been steaming inside covered dishes and the stuff that should be crisp, still is.
Salads are excellent too, in large bowls with yoghurt dressings and chutneys on the side.
Moving on to mains I pass on the Chicken Korma though it is one of the best around and totally unlike the sugary, sickly preparation that passes for the same in most other 'Indian' restaurants. A Lamb Achar is meltingly tender and has enough of the underlying taste of pickle to cut through the richness of the meat. A Chilli Chicken dish is hot without being fiery, and the chicken itself retains some moistness. A rather nondescript dal comes off second-best to a mushroom aloo which packs a punch and has the most delicious waxy new potatoes. Perfectly cooked basmati rice is offered along with slices of pillowy naan bread so of course I help myself to both.
Puddings look tempting but by now I am forced to remind myself of the fate of Mr Creosote so regretfully waddle to the bar to get the bill and complement the lads on their new uniforms (very fetching and a tighter fit than the old ones).
Verdict: value for money - 10/10 service - 9/10 quality of food - 9/10
This branch of the well-known chain is still run by an extended family based in and around Shipley, and has a reputation for consistency. The staff are unfailingly charming and easy on the eye, and the whole place has an air of comfort, confidence and high staff morale that is a winning combination. Not to mention the food, which is pretty damn good. As it has to be for this place to survive, tucked away up the old Great North Road well out of town - and possibly none the worse for that, given that Doncaster centre after dark can resemble a painting by Hieronymus Bosch but with fatter protagonists.
On this autumnal Sunday I was so hungry that I had to go for the buffet (served from 4.30 p.m. only on Sundays - the usual menu is available from 6). At £11.95 there might be cheaper alternatives around but this has to be the best deal in town because of the quality of the spicing and ingredients, not to mention the choice of what is on offer.
Vegetarians might feel themselves short-charged but there is still an option available at every course and plenty of non-meat or fish dishes on the main menu.
The starter choice was onion bhajis (generous semi-circles of crisp onion slices rather than the usual doughy ball), pieces of boneless chicken thigh in a tangy marinade, shami kebabs and fish. As Dervla Kirwan sultrily announces, "This is not just food..." well, this is Aagrah food, and the kebabs are utterly devoid of a hint of grease or gristle, and everything is so gloriously moreish than it is impossible to resist another slightly blackened char-grilled morsel of chicken. The trick here is to arrive right at the start of the buffet so that the food has not been steaming inside covered dishes and the stuff that should be crisp, still is.
Salads are excellent too, in large bowls with yoghurt dressings and chutneys on the side.
Moving on to mains I pass on the Chicken Korma though it is one of the best around and totally unlike the sugary, sickly preparation that passes for the same in most other 'Indian' restaurants. A Lamb Achar is meltingly tender and has enough of the underlying taste of pickle to cut through the richness of the meat. A Chilli Chicken dish is hot without being fiery, and the chicken itself retains some moistness. A rather nondescript dal comes off second-best to a mushroom aloo which packs a punch and has the most delicious waxy new potatoes. Perfectly cooked basmati rice is offered along with slices of pillowy naan bread so of course I help myself to both.
Puddings look tempting but by now I am forced to remind myself of the fate of Mr Creosote so regretfully waddle to the bar to get the bill and complement the lads on their new uniforms (very fetching and a tighter fit than the old ones).
Verdict: value for money - 10/10 service - 9/10 quality of food - 9/10
Plated not slated
Ilkley
Martha and Vincent
There is sometimes a fine line between innovatory taste and daft pretension and I am not quite sure which side of it Martha and Vincent lies. I refer not to the food, which on the day I had lunch there was perfectly acceptable, but by the bizarre idea of serving it on what appeared to be slate roof tiles rather than china. Glass is bad enough, and I always feel sorry for the poor restaurateurs who have made the mistake of investing in stacks of glass plates which inevitably develop chips and cracks around the outside edge. The last time I ate from one of these I found myself searching for slivers of glass in the food and hoping that I was not going to end up in outpatients.
But first the bread rolls, tiny and obviously homemade, arrived on a slate and then my starter of chicken liver parfait was dished up on a larger version. The smooth pate was quite delicious, and the toasted brioche slices cosying up to it were warm, fresh and precisely and evenly browned in a way that gladdened the heart, and made one think of someone watching over the grill for the perfect moment of toastiness to arrive. A portion of compote of figs in a side dish was perhaps a little too generous (leaving one hoping that the remainder did not go back into the jar), but it had the right spicy pungency even though it was a little on the sweet side. The sad little collection of leaves completing the slate were an irrelevance, especially as they were unanointed by any hint of dressing.
Mackerel is not something I order very often, having been disappointed in the past, especially in England. But the fillet of fish which arrived next was fresh, toothsome and perfectly cooked, with not a bone to be seen (the careful soul in the kitchen had been busy with his tweezers). The "veloute froth" was creamy, and light, and well, frothy, and the pile of green beans under the fish were surrounded by tiny confit tomatoes which were a perfectly acidic foil to the richness of the mackerel. Thankfully, it was served on a white china plate.
I ate from the set fixed price lunch which at £13.95 is a bit more than the usual budget eats but this is Ilkley and a prime position on The Grove, so there is bound to be a supplement for snob value.
Overall, a good job well done, Martha or Vince or both. But why not save the slates for roof repairs and nip out to British Home Stores for a budget box of crockery?
Verdict - value for money 8/10 service - 7/10 quality of food 8/10
Martha and Vincent
There is sometimes a fine line between innovatory taste and daft pretension and I am not quite sure which side of it Martha and Vincent lies. I refer not to the food, which on the day I had lunch there was perfectly acceptable, but by the bizarre idea of serving it on what appeared to be slate roof tiles rather than china. Glass is bad enough, and I always feel sorry for the poor restaurateurs who have made the mistake of investing in stacks of glass plates which inevitably develop chips and cracks around the outside edge. The last time I ate from one of these I found myself searching for slivers of glass in the food and hoping that I was not going to end up in outpatients.
But first the bread rolls, tiny and obviously homemade, arrived on a slate and then my starter of chicken liver parfait was dished up on a larger version. The smooth pate was quite delicious, and the toasted brioche slices cosying up to it were warm, fresh and precisely and evenly browned in a way that gladdened the heart, and made one think of someone watching over the grill for the perfect moment of toastiness to arrive. A portion of compote of figs in a side dish was perhaps a little too generous (leaving one hoping that the remainder did not go back into the jar), but it had the right spicy pungency even though it was a little on the sweet side. The sad little collection of leaves completing the slate were an irrelevance, especially as they were unanointed by any hint of dressing.
Mackerel is not something I order very often, having been disappointed in the past, especially in England. But the fillet of fish which arrived next was fresh, toothsome and perfectly cooked, with not a bone to be seen (the careful soul in the kitchen had been busy with his tweezers). The "veloute froth" was creamy, and light, and well, frothy, and the pile of green beans under the fish were surrounded by tiny confit tomatoes which were a perfectly acidic foil to the richness of the mackerel. Thankfully, it was served on a white china plate.
I ate from the set fixed price lunch which at £13.95 is a bit more than the usual budget eats but this is Ilkley and a prime position on The Grove, so there is bound to be a supplement for snob value.
Overall, a good job well done, Martha or Vince or both. But why not save the slates for roof repairs and nip out to British Home Stores for a budget box of crockery?
Verdict - value for money 8/10 service - 7/10 quality of food 8/10
Monday, September 15, 2008
C'est la vie...en Harrogate
Chez La Vie, Harrogate
I recently tried to explain the name of this restaurant to a French dairy farmer and had to give up in the face of utter mystification. In fact, the name only works for an English-speaker and not very well then. But Chez La Vie itself works pretty well as a restaurant and has become a Harrogate stalwart, never surprising or innovative but utterly reliable. It does a fixed price lunch and early bird menu beloved of those eating on a budget and at £9.50 for two courses and £11.50 for three is as budget as it gets and très bon marché at that.
So I knew what would be on offer on the 'easy lunch' menu - exactly the same as on the 'early bird' and most of the choices have featured on both so long that they might as well be written on tablets of stone. The a la carte is similarly unchanging - this is not the place to come for a seasonally-adjusted tasting menu. If CLV was the only game in town, this could get seriously boring but Harrogate has more restaurants than locals can cope with, and the spare is mopped up by the thriving conference trade.
Dark wood, white tablecloths and baskets of sliced baguette feel very French, even though the excellent bread is accompanied, English style, with little pots of butter. The waiters are French as well, though over the Channel they would never be offering us Pinot Grigio as an aperitif.
My French Onion Soup could have been slightly hotter but nevertheless had been flashed for long enough under a grill so that the gruyere on top was thoroughly melted. The soup was intense, dark and satisfying (though possibly very slightly over-seasoned) and the onions had been cooked long enough to melt into sweetness.
The duck leg that followed was crisp on the outside, richly moist on the inside and falling off the bone. Just what a duck leg is meant to be, the epitome of duck leg, in fact, and though the Madeira sauce it was resting on did not particularly taste of Madeira, it was a good sauce. Maybe not the best sauce to serve with a duck leg, but the only one on offer so I used the last of the bread to mop up the plate.
The real weakness of Chez La Vie is its insistence of serving frozen chips and peas with everything. It is possible to order side dishes and most people do, but this somehow spoils the whole effect of being able to eat two courses for under a tenner - the charm of which gladdens the heart of every Yorkshireman and woman, and to which the lunching classes of Harrogate are by no means immune. Is it impossible to have a few saute potatoes on the side, with perhaps a spoonful of some vegetable morsel that is in season - not boiled like a la Anglaise but messed about with in that way the French have - a puree of carrots, for example, or a gratin of courgettes and tomatoes. But at least CLV would never present its diners with that hideous English invention, the 'selection of vegetables' - the horrible kidney-shaped side dish of steamed vegetables that all taste the same (and why - because they have all been boiled beforehand and are fresh from the microwave) and are fit only for the compost heap.
Verdict - value for money 8/10 service 7/10 quality of food 7/10
I recently tried to explain the name of this restaurant to a French dairy farmer and had to give up in the face of utter mystification. In fact, the name only works for an English-speaker and not very well then. But Chez La Vie itself works pretty well as a restaurant and has become a Harrogate stalwart, never surprising or innovative but utterly reliable. It does a fixed price lunch and early bird menu beloved of those eating on a budget and at £9.50 for two courses and £11.50 for three is as budget as it gets and très bon marché at that.
So I knew what would be on offer on the 'easy lunch' menu - exactly the same as on the 'early bird' and most of the choices have featured on both so long that they might as well be written on tablets of stone. The a la carte is similarly unchanging - this is not the place to come for a seasonally-adjusted tasting menu. If CLV was the only game in town, this could get seriously boring but Harrogate has more restaurants than locals can cope with, and the spare is mopped up by the thriving conference trade.
Dark wood, white tablecloths and baskets of sliced baguette feel very French, even though the excellent bread is accompanied, English style, with little pots of butter. The waiters are French as well, though over the Channel they would never be offering us Pinot Grigio as an aperitif.
My French Onion Soup could have been slightly hotter but nevertheless had been flashed for long enough under a grill so that the gruyere on top was thoroughly melted. The soup was intense, dark and satisfying (though possibly very slightly over-seasoned) and the onions had been cooked long enough to melt into sweetness.
The duck leg that followed was crisp on the outside, richly moist on the inside and falling off the bone. Just what a duck leg is meant to be, the epitome of duck leg, in fact, and though the Madeira sauce it was resting on did not particularly taste of Madeira, it was a good sauce. Maybe not the best sauce to serve with a duck leg, but the only one on offer so I used the last of the bread to mop up the plate.
The real weakness of Chez La Vie is its insistence of serving frozen chips and peas with everything. It is possible to order side dishes and most people do, but this somehow spoils the whole effect of being able to eat two courses for under a tenner - the charm of which gladdens the heart of every Yorkshireman and woman, and to which the lunching classes of Harrogate are by no means immune. Is it impossible to have a few saute potatoes on the side, with perhaps a spoonful of some vegetable morsel that is in season - not boiled like a la Anglaise but messed about with in that way the French have - a puree of carrots, for example, or a gratin of courgettes and tomatoes. But at least CLV would never present its diners with that hideous English invention, the 'selection of vegetables' - the horrible kidney-shaped side dish of steamed vegetables that all taste the same (and why - because they have all been boiled beforehand and are fresh from the microwave) and are fit only for the compost heap.
Verdict - value for money 8/10 service 7/10 quality of food 7/10
Tuesday, September 02, 2008
Summer's lease
Well, according to Shakespeare it has "all too short a date", but this year it has been almost non-existent. Clearly, the lease is now up and we are on the brink of autumn, cheated out of even our usual meagre ration of blue sky and sunshine. At the start of what was supposed to be summer, I remember much talk of al fresco eating; we deluded ourselves that we would be sitting outside on sun-drenched pavements, shielded from the heat by bright parasols, sipping chilled white wine and generally living la dolce vita. Outside as I write this, the rain is hammering down yet again and water is running down the lane like a river. The back lawn squelches when I walk on it and the borders look more like the Somme than Yorkshire. My courgettes are rotting on the stems and the slugs have gorged themselves on my French beans.
So now we may as well stop hoping for sunshine and look forward to the cold crisp nights of autumn and the joys of casseroles, soups and comfort food, of wood fires and toasted crumpets.
Speaking of open fires, one great advantage pubs have over restaurants is that very thing. We all dream about finding a country pub with a crackling fire of aromatic wood, with scrubbed wooden tables and welcoming bar staff, and great traditional homely food. Meat pies made with proper shortcrust or suet pastry, silky-smooth, buttery mash, or home-made chips, rich deeply-flavoured gravy; honest substantial food that is a pleasure to eat. And preferably with a border collie lying in front of the fire. One such pub was the Malt Shovel at Brearton, now reinvented as a restaurant in the "Classic French" tradition. That's all very well but what about the classic British tradition? If I want to eat French food I can choose from dozens of restaurants but where am I going to get good pub grub at honest prices (and still be able to play with someone's dog) if not in the British countryside?
Having said that, pubs that are still pubs need to stop trying to be restaurants, or at least, stop charging restaurant prices for food that is definitely not restaurant standard. Last week I was in North Wales for a few days - not an area one associates with high-flying City traders or top earners generally - and every pub I went into was offering food at prices that simply did not represent value for money. A steak and mushroom pie in The Druid at Llanferres cost just under ten pounds (one of the cheapest items on the menu). It arrived in a small dish and consisted of four cubes of stewed steak, with four button mushrooms halves, in a nondescript gravy, topped with a disc of puff pastry. Chucked onto the plate on the side were a few florets of calabrese, overcooked and rather slimy, and some carrot batons. There was also a portion of new potatoes which actually tasted like potatoes and were the best thing about the whole dish. This might have been acceptable (given the great British tradition of putting up with disappointment uncomplainingly) if it had been sensibly priced but the total cost of the ingredients could not have come to more than £1. Where is the sense in that kind of mark-up on a dish that is so easy to prepare and made from cheap ingredients (especially as puff pastry can be bought ready-made from any supermarket)? Several other pubs in the area had menus with identical levels of pricing. What is going on here? Have all the landlords got together to agree how best to fleece the mugs who persist in patronising their hostelries? Or perhaps the legendary Kobe beef has made an appearance in North Wales and I just didn't twig?
Yet only the week before, I went back to Kendell's Bistro in Leeds for another crack at their Pre-Theatre Menu (£12.95 for two courses) - and found complete consistency of quality and service, and great value for money. OK, you might say, but that's a set menu and therefore not comparable. But I could have had a coq au vin from the a la carte menu for nine quid, which still comes in cheaper than my four minuscule cubes of beef.
But I am still hankering after that great pub selling real ale, good wine and traditional pub food to dream about at reasonable prices, which is full of happy customers and their dogs relaxing in front of a blazing fire.
And when I find it again, you can bet that someone comes along, buys it and turns it into a restaurant....
So now we may as well stop hoping for sunshine and look forward to the cold crisp nights of autumn and the joys of casseroles, soups and comfort food, of wood fires and toasted crumpets.
Speaking of open fires, one great advantage pubs have over restaurants is that very thing. We all dream about finding a country pub with a crackling fire of aromatic wood, with scrubbed wooden tables and welcoming bar staff, and great traditional homely food. Meat pies made with proper shortcrust or suet pastry, silky-smooth, buttery mash, or home-made chips, rich deeply-flavoured gravy; honest substantial food that is a pleasure to eat. And preferably with a border collie lying in front of the fire. One such pub was the Malt Shovel at Brearton, now reinvented as a restaurant in the "Classic French" tradition. That's all very well but what about the classic British tradition? If I want to eat French food I can choose from dozens of restaurants but where am I going to get good pub grub at honest prices (and still be able to play with someone's dog) if not in the British countryside?
Having said that, pubs that are still pubs need to stop trying to be restaurants, or at least, stop charging restaurant prices for food that is definitely not restaurant standard. Last week I was in North Wales for a few days - not an area one associates with high-flying City traders or top earners generally - and every pub I went into was offering food at prices that simply did not represent value for money. A steak and mushroom pie in The Druid at Llanferres cost just under ten pounds (one of the cheapest items on the menu). It arrived in a small dish and consisted of four cubes of stewed steak, with four button mushrooms halves, in a nondescript gravy, topped with a disc of puff pastry. Chucked onto the plate on the side were a few florets of calabrese, overcooked and rather slimy, and some carrot batons. There was also a portion of new potatoes which actually tasted like potatoes and were the best thing about the whole dish. This might have been acceptable (given the great British tradition of putting up with disappointment uncomplainingly) if it had been sensibly priced but the total cost of the ingredients could not have come to more than £1. Where is the sense in that kind of mark-up on a dish that is so easy to prepare and made from cheap ingredients (especially as puff pastry can be bought ready-made from any supermarket)? Several other pubs in the area had menus with identical levels of pricing. What is going on here? Have all the landlords got together to agree how best to fleece the mugs who persist in patronising their hostelries? Or perhaps the legendary Kobe beef has made an appearance in North Wales and I just didn't twig?
Yet only the week before, I went back to Kendell's Bistro in Leeds for another crack at their Pre-Theatre Menu (£12.95 for two courses) - and found complete consistency of quality and service, and great value for money. OK, you might say, but that's a set menu and therefore not comparable. But I could have had a coq au vin from the a la carte menu for nine quid, which still comes in cheaper than my four minuscule cubes of beef.
But I am still hankering after that great pub selling real ale, good wine and traditional pub food to dream about at reasonable prices, which is full of happy customers and their dogs relaxing in front of a blazing fire.
And when I find it again, you can bet that someone comes along, buys it and turns it into a restaurant....
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