by Gareth Groves
I hadn’t had a decent lunch in ages. I mean a proper lunch, one with three courses and red wine and at least the possibility of some cheese. In fact, it had been months: Christmas, January credit card bills and the cold had been getting in the way of serious eating.
That all changed with one absent minded click that took me from a random tweet to the menu at Bistrot Bruno Loubet. Fifteen minutes later the table was booked. Who can resist a menu that contains words such as Lyonniase salad, hare royale, daube and crepes suzette?
Loubet first hit my radar last autumn when he was cooking with Pierre Koffman at the latter’s eponymous pop up at Selfridges. Koffmann’s other guests included the likes of Toms Aiken and Kitchin and ex-The Capital chef Eric Chavot. However, Loubet’s name didn’t ring a bell. It turns out his fame predates my fine dining career and that he had spent the last eight years cooking on Australia’s Gold Coast. A few chats with my elders and betters revealed his pedigree, as tales of dinners at the Four Seasons and L’Odeon were recounted by glassy eyed gourmets with long memories. The boy, they said, can cook.
Loubet’s new home is the boutique Zetter hotel in Clerkenwell and the heart of one of London’s foody quarters. Smithfield Market is a bone’s throw away as are the Eastside Inn, St John, Vinoteca, the Modern Pantry and countless others. If he forgets to do the orders there will be plenty of neighbours from whom to borrow a cup of sugar.
The room is bright, airy and light. The food is not. The food is gutsy, bold and rich. Classic bistro dishes with the flavours writ large upon the plates. Our starters comprised a fabulously fishy potted shrimp and mackerel and Loubet’s revised Lyonnaise Salad. The revision came in the form of two oblong croquettes of gelatinous trotter which added an extra porcine bite to the bacon, egg and leaves. The salad’s Beaujolais dressing was the only quibble, a tiny dice of shallot presumably soaked in Gamay that was fine without adding much to the overall effect.
Round two brought the hare royale and the rose veal dish of the day. The hare was dark, gamey and rich, the meat flaking under the weight of a fork. Underneath was a pumpkin puree seasoned with dried mandarin, the subtle orange flavours giving lift and zest to a dish that was well suited to a sub zero London Sunday. The veal was just the sort of food I like to eat: robust, slow cooked meat with the depth of flavour that only comes from a long spell in a low oven. The veal breast has been rolled and stuffed with a herby veal (?) forcemeat and sat on top of a rustic puree of the braising vegetables. Why chuck them out when they have soaked up so much meaty flavour? Waste not, want not. Some baby carrots and Jerusalem artichokes added bite and prettiness on the side.
The veal went well with a small carafe of gutsy, unrefined St Chinian – a bruising Southern French bistro red to go with proper bistro cooking. That was all we drank. Mrs G was having a dry lunch and I was on my best behaviour. A quick glance through the list though revealed a wide ranging, eclectic mix from some of London’s better suppliers, Bibendum included. It was particularly good to see my old favourite Champagne Bruno Paillard listed by the glass – and more than one table enjoying it immensely.
Desserts were fun, the star being a rice pudding pannacotta with marmalade coming served with two fluffy, eggy madeleines. Apple and quince mille feuilles showed a dab hand with the pastry and came with London’s poshest and booziest squirty cream, albeit described on the menu as ‘chilled orange blossom sabayon’.
Throw in a (fresh) mint tea, a (very drinkable) macchiato and service and the bill came to something around the £85 mark. A very acceptable number for a fantastic winter lunch.
Welcome back, Bruno.
http://www.thezetter.com/en/Restaurant
Tags: Restaurant Review, Restaurants