le restaurant de PAUL, covent garden - review

World domination can be achieved by the simple and time honoured act of baking, it turns out. Just take a look at PAUL bakery; few other brands are so synonymous with quality bread at such an international scale. 

From humble beginnings in 1889 as a small boulangerie in Croix near Lille, the business-turned-global-empire remains family-run, having passed through five generations in its 125 years, and can now be found in over 25 countries. I’ve witnessed first hand in Tokyo how the Japanese go mad for a crusty pain de campagne. But then, who doesn’t.

It is therefore probably safe to say the people behind PAUL know a thing or two about what goes with their daily-baked loaves. And so, at the back of the Covent Garden branch on Bedford Street, le restaurant de PAUL opened in July, serving traditional French cooking to compliment these breads. 

The space is a continuation of the bakery, styled with the theme of 'French antiques' complete with velvet chairs, marble-topped tables, ornate lighting fixtures and murals adorning the walls. You’ll find the classics that would be nothing less than sacrilege to omit on a menu traditionnel, including saucisses de Toulouse, soupe à l'oignon, baked Camembert, pâté de campagne, and andouillette for the adventurous. 

Then there are the likes of tomatoes stuffed with sausage and peppers stuffed with vegetables and rice, two weights of entrecôte, calves flank, roast chicken with tarragon, and baked salmon with vegetables.

No-cook plates such as the charcuterie ride on the success of the quality of ingredients. Here you’ll find a board laden with saucisson, jambon cru, coppa, rosette, terrine, pickled baby onions, cornichons and of course, PAUL bread. A joyous assembly. And the Camembert, relinquishing its molten innards at the de-robing of the milky white jacket, was as good as it always is straight from the oven (£5.95).

A cast-iron pot presented the coq au vin; fishing in its murky depths will reveal tender chicken and pancetta, served with a chunky buttery mash (£10.50). Confit de canard, with its crisp skin on the leg, had meat that was easy to shred, and came with more buttery potatoes, a red wine sauce with piquant black olives (£10.50).

For desserts, there are all manner of delights from their patisserie that are equally at home with a coffee in the pitstop between one shop and the next during a West End splurge. Think tartelettes, macarons, millefeuille, and éclairs.

The dark chocolate cake is made on site, like a great indulgent slice of very good brownie (£3.55). You can also get a decadent slice of brioche French bread (coated in sugared egg and fried), doused with a creme anglaise, apricot coulis or warm chocolate sauce. Bit hard to ignore, that one (£3.95).

Breakfast is served from 7am - noon and is essentially a list of oeufs every which way possible; brioche oeuf cocotte (baked with yoghurt), a la coque (boiled with soldiers), Bénédicte (bacon and hollandaise), Royale (smoked salmon and hollandaise), Florentine (spinach and hollandaise), pochés ou au plat (poached with tomatoes and bread), brouillés (scrambled), omelette. Along with entries from Croque Monsieur and Croque Madame, naturellement.

Le restaurant de PAUL is a new dining offering worthy of attention. When the hankering is for traditional French food and some vin rouge, at a reasonable price point in the thick of London’s tourist district, it’s good to know there’s a familiar name you can turn to.

Liked lots: the execution of French classics with un-fussed competence; the all French wine list
Liked less: there's little not to like when there's good bread around
Good for: relying on a familiar household name; solid and satisfying French food

My rating: 3.5/5

Afiyet olsun.

Note: I was invited as a guest to this restaurant.

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brasserie chavot, mayfair - review

I love a good brasserie. Particularly the ones of my mind, which play to the romantic idyll of how I envisage dining in France to be everywhere, all of the time.

In them, waiting staff in white shirts and black waistcoats glide around guests taking languorous lunches longer than the morning they spent in the office. The evenings host a convivial atmosphere with rotund diners wallowing in the digestive juices that follow rich French classics, lots of vin rouge and not quite enough l’eu du minerale. 

There should be a lot of French gesticulating and arm throwing, along with great gorgeous bowls and plates piled high with all the things you would expect to find in a good brasserie. And let’s throw in a bit of Édith Piaf on the wireless for good measure.

We’re lucky to have some good brasseries in London. Bistrot Bruno Loubet I’m yet to try, but I hear good things. Brasserie Zedel ticks a lot of the above, although I suspect it’s the very splendid setting (typical to a Corbin and King enterprise) and the competitive double-take prices that draw in the clientele more than the food. 

A great leap up from this and you’ll find Brasserie Chavot, a Mayfair restaurant only recently wandering into my London dining periphery, despite being open since March 2013 and gaining a Michelin star just a few months later.

The classic interiors are chic and elegant without feeling dated; how you might have expected Coco Chanel to design a commercial dining space if doing so were part of her repertoire. Glinting tear-drop chandeliers and intricate coving adorn the high ceilings. There’s red leather, dark wood, stately structural columns, and an open kitchen. The whole room is adjoined to the Westbury Hotel, whilst maintaining its own street entrance.

Eric Chavot – the gregarious Executive Chef with his name above the door – hails from Bordeaux in France. The back catalogue of his culinary career include stints with a host of highly acclaimed kitchens including Le Manoir au Quat’ Saisons, Michelin star-studded London-based solo ventures, and holding two stars as Head Chef of The Capital Restaurant for a laudable ten years. 

He is a chef to the core, with unbridled passion for his craft. Eric revelled in the opportunity to cook a group of us some dishes off menu, landing heavily laden wooden boards and brimming steel pots at the centre of our tables with the flamboyant gesture of a showman proud of his work. And rightly so.

The heirloom tomato salad with Parmesan and pesto was as fragrant as it was a pure pleasure to eat. There was a zippy Strasbourgeoise salad with soft potatoes, the heat of mustard and slices of sausage, as well as a dish of flaking sea bream fillets with raita. Tender octopus with the last of the summer pea and broad bean bounty was especially wonderful with the glass of Portuguese Vinho Verde "Mica". As was the acclaimed signature dish of deep fried soft shell crab with whipped aioli, the crisp and light white cutting through the fattiness of the crab; a continuation of the superb starter theme.

Then there was a fish soup with crab claws, octopus, olives, a deep burnt-orange bisque, hunks of chorizo with smoky heat, and saturated but still well textured crusts of bread. Lamb cutlets with Merguez sausages were unveiled from under the cone lid of a tagine, whilst tender pork and duck arrived with fat and creamy butter beans and exceptionally garlicky - and therefore fantastic - bread.

It all wrapped up with an impeccably boozy rum baba with chantilly cream, a lemon tart and Eric’s take on an Eton mess. And a glass of Pink Moscato; like drinking fizzy fresh raspberries. 

“This one is only 5%” Head Sommelier, Andreas, informed us as he filled our flutes with a knowing smile. It takes one of experience to recognise that dessert for this lot requires a toned down alcohol content, considering the copious glasses of Torrontéz, Crozes-Hermitage and more that went before it.

The dishes seemed to taste elevated from what you would expect based on the look and descriptions alone, which meant a stream of coo-ing from one to the next. The whole meal – food, wine and service - was a series of small thrills, which together made for a fabulous experience. And despite some dishes often associated with the heaviness of rich French food and the onset of gout, there was a lightness running throughout.

Eric and his kitchen are turning out refined yet generous and hearty plates of French abundance that feel like a glimpse into what his mamma might have cooked him. It’s not prissy and doesn’t feel contrived, yet is set in impressive surroundings at a very reasonable price point for this part of town. 

Despite the accolade, this isn’t typical Michelin fine-dining. That expression ‘cooked with love’ seems to fit here; there’s a side of Eric’s personality with every plate. And a combination like that in London feels quite special.

Liked lots: Eric's showmanship and love for his trade, opulent interiors with accessible and beautiful food, appealing price point for this part of town
Liked less: I'll get back to you..
Good for: impressing dining companions without the need to break the bank; French food that doesn't require a digestion nap after

My rating: 4.5/5

Find the menu on Zomato.

Afiyet olsun.

Note: I was invited as a guest to this restaurant.

belmond le manoir aux quat'saisons, oxford - review

There are some restaurants that need little introduction. In the UK, in my mind, these are The Fat Duck and Le Manoir. Part of the reason for these two is because I’ve had a glimpse into both of these kitchens through TV shows; a Masterchef episode where contestants got to cook in Bray, and Raymond Blanc’s: How to Cook Well respectively, the latter of which I tuned into religiously. There’s nothing quite like seeing a restaurant’s behind-the-scenes engine room at work to make you want to eat there.

Since long before then, Le Manoir has been high on my restaurant list. I bumped into Blanc himself at London Cocktail Club a while back (he mentored the two barmen who launched it), and experienced first hand his energy and zeal as we chatted about food and cooking over a couple of pisco sours. Granted, the French accent got thicker and more indecipherable as the drinks flowed, but I more than got the jist of what was being said.

There are two other reasons Le Manoir always stood out for me. One is it’s highly commendable longevity; Les Quat’Saisons opened in 1977 and has maintained two Michelin stars for a staggering 29 years - only a handful of other restaurants can boast a similar achievement. The second, which more than appeals to me as a big advocate of growing-your-own, are the vast kitchen gardens. Seventy traditional and exotic herbs call it home, there's a two-acre plot producing over 90 types of vegetables, an orchard with pears, apples and quinces, even whole greenhouses dedicated to micro herbs. It’s top-shelf allotment pornography of the highest caliber. 

Le Manoir is as grand and stately as you expect it to be. A handsome and stylish manor that despite its size, manages to feel comfortable and familiar. What’s particularly pleasing about the whole experience - the building, food, service and atmosphere - is that it’s not at all stuffy. Despite its formidable reputation, and the level of dining you experience (with the prices to match), the haughty air you might expect with that is not present at all, which is great. 

Everyone is relaxed and at ease, with the babble of convivial chatter and laughter coming from all the tables. You’ll even find (well behaved) children amongst the guests, who are welcomed with their own menu rather than shunned. Diners are well turned out but not to the point of jackets and pearls. The room we were seated in - I believe a newer extension in the expansion a while back - was like a very smartly furnished conservatory with walls and ceilings of glass letting in lots of light and creating space. 

Service is impeccable, nay, faultless. Just the right amount of attention whilst remaining mostly invisible. There is a copy of the days menu on your table in order to negate the need for those lengthy descriptions of every course on delivery, if you don’t want it. I quite like that though, so allowed them to indulge me. 

There’s a lot of ‘madame et monsieur’ which is all fine, lay it on as thick as you like. And you don’t order at the table, you decide what you want to eat in the foyer as you peruse over the menu with your hors d'oeuvres and a glass of champagne if you’re feeling extravagant. So once you’re seated, service is a series of flowing movements by the staff with little to no questioning or interruption.

I quietly sneezed at one point. Before I could reach into my handbag for a tissue, an outstretched arm with a box of them at the end of it appeared from the side of me. Exactly what I needed the moment I needed it - I was duly impressed.

The food was very good and in terms of value, the only real option is the seven course tasting menu. There was a little salad of Devonshire crab with grapefruit, mango and celery, then a confit of cod cooked to the exact point it just turns opaque, with limpid globules of pale green olive oil jelly sliding intact across the plate, the very youngest of basil leaves, firm white cocoa beans, smoky potatoes and tiny cubes of salty chorizo.

A take on green eggs had a spinach and watercress puree, the crunch of hazelnuts and crisped-up posh Spanish ham - that was very good. Then a picture perfect plate of different parts of a piglet - shoulder, succulent slices of leg, sensational black pudding, a Catherine Wheel spiral of crisp bacon (but without the sparks), and a neat cube of scored and browned belly. With it, cabbage, spinach, green beans, apple and onion pureé - a plate full of oink and joy.

Then there was a Comté served at three stages of maturation, 12, 24 and 36 months. A gradual increase in tang and crystallised saltiness, served with a complimentary glass of Vin Jaune 2006 (for those of you who can’t recall your GCSE French, that’s ‘yellow wine’), like a dry Fino sherry. The whole course was entirely typical of Blanc’s native region in the east of France, I loved it. 

Dessert began as an espresso cup housing a mousse with tart soft raspberries and cubes of what was a sort of spongy coconut meringue, the latter of which had little flavour or point. But it was topped with a kimono silk thin disk of chocolate with a speck of gold leaf which was fun to break through with the spoon. It ended with a sensational and intensely tart blackberry sorbet with disintegrating meringue, and a violet mousseux. Oh, and a birthday candle. A triumphant plate.

My partner swapped the final course in exchange for the cheese platter (for a charge of £15), and so we revelled in the theatre of one of the most handsome cheese trolleys I’ve seen wheeled out to us, the glorious honk of all that sweating dairy assaulting our noses before it made it round the corner. The cheese man (pardon me for not knowing the correct term for this member of staff - I’m sure there is one), was great and full of love for this magnificent spread. 

What you need to know is that the portion is huge - he will put a lot of cheese onto your plate. There’s even a tub of Stilton from which quenelles of the stuff are scraped up and shaped for your pleasure. I asked him to write down the ones we had, so as to identify them and purchase next time I’m at a posh cheese counter. For your knowledge too, they were: Blue - Colston Basset Stilton and Fourme d'Ambert; goat - Charolais and Sharpham Cremet; soft and ripened - Coulommiers; washed rind - Moelleux du Revard; hard - tommette de Savoie. We couldn’t finish it between the two of us, but what we did manage was nothing short of sublime.

It was at this point we walked about the estate before retiring to the lounge for coffee. We were at Le Manoir for a total of five hours and it was a glorious, languorous, lavish lunch.

My one point, and there really is only one, is that it is expensive. It’s in fact one of the most expensive restaurants in the UK, particularly when dining from the a la carte, with starters coming in at a hefty £40. The seven course tasting menu was £125. Add to that wine and coffee, and the bill soon mounts up. 

The focus of Le Manoir is on seasonality, expertly executed dishes, impeccable service and glorious surroundings. There are restaurants in London that can tick at least three of those four criteria with some confidence, and do so at a more agreeable price point. Whilst the food was all very good, it didn’t feel overly innovative or ‘current’ for use of a better term, something you might associate with such price tags. What it does do are classic dishes that aren’t too complicated, very well. And there’s certainly nothing wrong with that.

What’s particularly unusual, is they do not add service to the bill; Blanc’s note on the menu states they don’t want diners to feel as though they need to leave anything, but they can if they wish. I’m almost certain most do, and I do wonder if prices are a little inflated to compensate for this. 

Yes, you will pay handsomely for this dream ticket for out-of-town extravagance, as it remains the blueprint for the perfect luxury restaurant. I’m pleased I’ve ticked it off my bucket list, and I enjoyed the whole day immensely, but the price point will probably prevent me from passing through those grand gates again.

Liked lots: it's all rather faultless really; they give those active with them on Twitter a gift of a cookery book which is a nice touch
Likes less: it is pricey
Good for: very special occasions; experiencing cooking from a kitchen that has remained consistently excellent for years; a good reason to get out of London for the day

My rating: 4.5/5

Afiyet olsun.

le relais de venise l'entrecôte, canary wharf - review

A jack of all trades, or a master of one; the latter has always been a draw for me. A person or place that can do one thing very well is an attractive quality, be that whittling wood, playing an instrument or a restaurant serving up little else but steak and chips with a closely-guarded and very secret sauce.

Sure, they could tells us what makes up the brown-green gravy lacquered over the meat, but they would almost certainly have to kill us.

Some would argue the international chain of Le Relais de Venise L’Entrecôte was ahead of its time, fashionable beyond its years. Before it was on-trend for restaurants to specialise in a singular food offering (noticeably burgers, hot dogs and fried chicken these days), l’Entrecote Porte-Maillot - the inaugural opening by founder Paul Gineste de Saurs in what was an Italian restaurant he purchased near Porte-Maillot in Paris, called Le Relais de Venise - was offering just that when it opened in 1959.  

A green salad with walnuts dressed with mustard vinaigrette, followed by steak frites. And that is the full range of the main menu’s intent. Oh, and some sliced baguette.

Almost 60 years later, and with an expansion that’s reached London and New York, the intention for the additional branches has been for all aspects of the original Parisian dining experience to be faithfully maintained; from the classic French brasserie interiors and paintings of Venetian market scenes, to mirrored walls and the closely spaced tables that help lend to the romantic idyll of a bustling French bistro.

‘Faithfully maintained’ could be an understatement. At the request of two staples at any French table - butter for the bread and mayonnaise for the frites - we were told they don’t serve these and that the dijon mustard provided was a very good substitute for chip-dipping. Not in the original Paris restaurant? Then don’t expect it here. We cried 'sacré bleu!' in our best French accents when packets of butter were delivered with the crackers on the cheese plate at dessert. But whatever.

The only question you'll be asked prior to dessert is how you like your steak. Medium-rare? Medium-well? Forget it - this dining experience is not a democracy. You’ll have your steak blue, rare, medium or well done - with no deviations - and you'll be grateful for any choice at all. Want to make a reservation? They were ahead of their time on this too - queue up (at peak times) and wait until a table becomes free. Want sides? Tough, there are none.

Dictatorship jibes aside, the food is simple, solid and very easy to clear. And at £23 for the salad and steak frites combination, it’s easy to see why the three London branches (Marylebone, The City and Canary Wharf) are packed each evening.

Salad leaves are crisp and well-dressed. Beef is British, grass fed and aged for a minimum of four weeks. The frites are hand-chipped each day to the exact dimensions of the original Parisian format. Both the chips and steak are delivered in two servings - half a portion each time - to ensure you’re eating it hot and as freshly cooked as possible; clever, I thought. The meat was glorious - a spot-on medium pink, yielding, and a real pleasure between the molars.

The sauce is really something. It’s herby, likely with more than one - perhaps thyme, parsley and tarragon. The base is probably a bearnaise with egg yolks and a lot of butter. There’s likely green peppercorns to give that chartreuse tinge, dijon mustard, probably some garlic. Some speak of chicken livers. The truth is, no one really knows. But what most can agree on is it’s very good and would probably be bottled and sold if it wasn’t a requirement to list the ingredients.

You can ask (as we did), but no one in the restaurants know what's in it - the sauce is supplied to the branches directly from the Godillot family. It's a lucrative mystery that no doubt helps pack out the branches.

Whether it’s an attempt to compensate for the absence of choice in the first half of the meal, or to showcase the in-house patisserie skills, the dessert options fill a whole page and range from £5 - £7. There’s gâteau and cheese platters, ice creams and tartelettes, and the profiteroles, chocolate sauce, crème brûlée and meringues are made on-site. We were many, and so most of the list was ordered with a criss-cross of outstretched arms dipping spoons across the table. My favourite, the profiteroles with light choux and the wanton pool of thick chocolate sauce they sat in (£5.95).

L’Entrecote appeals to me greatly. Inexpensive places where consistency is guaranteed - that don't require the gift of foresight to secure a table, serve really good house reds by the glass, carafe or bottle (Le Relais de Venise - Cotes de Bordeaux), and leave you feeling full - are what busy lives in busy cities need more often than we probably realise.

I'll be back, when the week has been long and the need to make a decision feels like too much hard work.

Liked lots: quality beef cooked to the exact specification; secret sauce; the fact dinner is delivered in two sittings to ensure it's hot and fresh; the wonderful heavily-accented staff in their French maid uniforms and red lipstick; no opportunity for 'food envy'; no need to begrudgingly allow dining companions to sample your dish - you're all eating the same
Liked less: not having butter or mayonnaise is a bit extreme
Good for: spontaneous eating; value dining; when you fancy a nice bit of beef; testing the palate to decipher the secrets of the sauce - good luck.

My rating: 3.5/5

Afiyet olsun.

Note: I was invited as a guest to review this restaurant.

brasserie zédel, soho - review

Under the interminable throngs of West End slow-walkers and shops hawking tourist tat, beneath the beguiling facade of the ground-level ZL coffee bar on Sherwood Street, you can find a capacious slice of 1940’s Paris that I don’t think everyone knows about.

Hands up, I didn’t.

Brasserie Zédel is a grand dining room and just one part of the sprawling subterranean entertainment offering that occupies this space; it was previously the basement of the former Regent Palace Hotel built in 1915 as the largest in Europe. Behind the venture is Chris Corbin and Jeremy King, famed for their work on the baroque beauties that are The Wolseley and The Delaunay.

There’s also the café, a cabaret room (The Crazy Coqs) and an American bar serving classic cocktails surrounded by splendid gilded and panelled art deco luxe. The latter is straight from a Michael Curtiz film set; I fully expected a slick-haired and bow-tied Humphrey Bogart to sidle on over muttering something about gin joints with a thin cigarette precariously waggling between his lips.

I spent around half an hour in here after having to push back the reservation for my held-up companion. Myself and one other lonely soul flanked opposing ends of the dimly lit bar to a background of swing jazz. 

Perhaps we were both waiting for another, perhaps not. He looked wistfully into his bourbon, drawing circles with the glass to the sound of gently clinking ice. I was sipping a negroni and penning some thoughts. The desire to engage was strong, conversation felt imminent.

But any developing force of attraction was severed by the expert timing of my friend's arrival, and that was that. I don’t doubt many a new relationship is forged at that bar over stolen glances and strong spirits.

Straight out of a film, I’m telling you.

The brasserie itself is an ode to the romantic bourgeois ideals we all have of Paris; perhaps sauntering along the Left Bank in trench coats with upturned collars, discussing 19th century French literature, and following it with languorous hours of cassoulet, conversation and vin rouge.

As you descend down the staircase and towards the room, the fading of technology through quickly waning phone reception adds to the feel of transportation to a time passed. It’s an ample space that can seat 220, all marbled and gilded, with lofty ceilings, waiters in waistcoats, and a great statuesque clock at the far end. The menu is traditionally and unashamedly French - escargot, haché, soupe à l’oignon, steak frites, confit de canard, bœuf Bourguignon, crème brûlée, tarte tatin and almost every other dish you would expect to find under the dictionary entry of ‘classic French fare’. 

The atmosphere is hugely appealing. Conversation is nicely camouflaged by a din that doesn’t dip much below the rumble you’d expect from a sporting event, without having to shout. There’s no rush to turn tables - the space between our starters and mains was vast because we grazed on them so slowly. 

And whilst Edith Piaf herself wouldn’t be out of place serenading the room by the piano with La Vie en Rose and some rolling uvular trills, you get the next best thing in the form of live music each evening. We were treated to a captivating quartet with a horn, clarinet, double bass and an enchanting voice. 

And the food? It’s as authentic to a Parisian brasserie as I’ve ever experienced in that it didn't set off any fireworks (Parisian brasseries rarely do), but was solid, consistent, tasty and the price points for such prime real estate are nothing but applaudable. 

There was a salad with thin slivers of ruby beetroot, a generous round of browned and warm goat’s cheese and fresh walnuts (£5.25). The chicken liver paté was silky and flecked with crystals of sea salt, served with caramelised red onions and great smashed onto the slices of baguette (£5.95). Steak tartare - whilst not hand chopped - had a good texture, was well seasoned and more than pleasant wrapped between torn bits of the crisp lettuce it arrived with (£8.95).

The Mecredi plat du jour - saucisson and mashed potato served in a metal platter with a good dark gravy - was as satisfying as one could hope from such simple but well executed components (£13.50). And the bœuf bourguignon - a little higher up the price scale - was reflective in its portion size; unfussed, rustic, good (£19.50).

We were within those vaults for a total of five hours, and spent £60 each. Had we not ordered a slightly pricey bottle of wine and stuck to the prix fixe menu of three courses for £11.75, we would have spent a lot less. We retired back to the American Bar where I took my remaining wine and where my dining partner closed the evening with an Old Fashioned. 

Brasserie Zédel has only been there for a couple of years, yet has an old-world charm that places it decades before. When you want to dine out, don’t want to spend a load, quite fancy some live music, and didn’t have the foresight to reserve a hot table elsewhere two weeks in advance (they have a lot of scope for walk-ins), this is such a good option.

Don’t do what I’ve done all this time and dismiss the retro red signage and just-off-Piccadilly-Circus location as West End fodder to please the masses. I’m not sure there are many other places in London that can offer such uninterrupted late-night leisure - with that holy trinity of good food, good drink and great surroundings - at such value.

Next time I’ll try not to lose track of time so easily and end up missing the last tube home. Easily done at Brasserie Zédel.

Liked lots: value, surroundings, free live music, the flexibility to start in the bar and carry the tab over to the brasserie, late-night hours, 
Liked less: the food isn't sensational, but more than adequate to make for an all round very good experience
Good for: spontaneous dining, taking your time over dinner, dining out and not having to spend a small fortune doing so (unless you want to)

My rating: 3.5/5

Afiyet olsun.

la sophia, notting hill - review

I know first hand how difficult it can be indulging in particular cuisines when dining out with someone who does not consume alcohol.

My partner does not drink. Not that unusual, and power to him for getting by all these years without the lubricant so many of us feel we need in social situations. But for no reason other than I think he enjoys being a bit of a diva, he will also not eat anything that contains it.

I can't put wine in the ragu, he's never had tiramisu, we've never 'gone for a drink'. He follows no religion, he has no allergies, there were no issues with alcohol in his upbringing. It's just the decision he made many years ago as a child and not a drop has knowingly ever passed his lips.

I actually have little, if any problem with this. The sheer stubbornness alone has its merits and he has no issues with me drinking (and I'm rather skilled at enjoying a few glasses of wine). The only area that sometimes poses difficulties is dining out; at French, Italian and Spanish restaurants he has to check if a dish contains alcohol and request if it can be made without. Often, it's already included and so he misses out. Indian and Middle Eastern food tend to be the safer bets.

For all of the above reasons, a French restaurant claiming to be the only in London with a fully halal menu is unique enough for me to journey to neighbourhood restaurant La Sophia in Notting Hill to investigate. I asked two friends to join me me; a big-eater Muslim along with a lactose-intolerant vegetarian, just to help up their game.

A stone's throw from Portobello Road, the restaurant opened in the summer of 2010 and presents a Mediterranean and French menu with classics from the latter cooked with no presence of alcohol (think confit de canard and escargots de Bourgogne). Not to mention all the meat is halal (which includes what can be eaten and how it is sacrificed and prepared). Halal snails and foie gras? Who even knew there were such things.

It’s certainly the first time I’ve had a response of, “Would you like the real wine?” when asking for the wine list in a restaurant. They have non-alcoholic options sourced from Kevser Tabak and whilst I struggle with the concept of non-alcoholic wine, I wish I had tried some - they look like they know what they’re about.

Lamb shoulder croquettes with herbs and fat slices of garlic within were soft and appealing, if a touch dry. Sweet cherry tomatoes, buttery lambs lettuce and slashes of garlic aioli contrasting against the slate made for a pretty plate. Slices of grilled aubergine wrapped around golden halloumi sported a flourish of sprightly chilli and tomato salsa and a pecan and parsley pesto. The exact sort of thing you would want with a rough dry white at the tail end of a day under Mediterranean sunshine.
The poached smoked haddock main was very competent. Well cooked fish breaking off into meaty flakes topped by a perfectly poached egg lacquered in Benedict sauce, with a cascading yolk pooling around ratatouille and batons of savoury and deep red beef chorizo. Someone should get this on a brunch menu. The wild mushroom risotto with shaved artichokes and truffle oil had a good consistency and depth of earthy flavour.

Bright yellow miniature pansies brightened the plates of well-presented chocolate fondants with surfaces ready to breech at any sudden movement of the plate. They were decadent and dark, although needed a minute longer in the oven for a greater sponge-to-gooey-middle ratio.

La Sophia is a very capable local restaurant with merits beyond their unique halal-French offering. Our Friday night visit included an acoustic guitarist strumming by the entrance and a full restaurant of around 28 jubilant (if not a tad loud) diners. A la carte might seem a little pricey, but the three courses for £25 set-menu is a good deal. Whether you require a halal menu or not, it’s certainly worth a visit if you’re in the area. If it didn’t take so long for me to get to, this would likely become a regular that the other half would also approve of.

Liked lots: beef chorizo with runny yolk Likes less: nothing was unpleasant Good for: those with halal requirements getting the chance to sample French food; a local regular; trying non-alcoholic wine if that takes your fancy

My rating: 3.5/5

Afiyet olsun.

chef franck raymond masterclass at augustine kitchen - event

January can be a bleak month. Meals are dry, Mondays are blue, the need for an ark seems more pressing, and it’s an eternity until payday. When thinking of dinner options during this dreary time of year, salads tend to feature low on the list - after macaroni cheese, roast chicken, linguine carbonara, dauphinois and cake.

When the wet and grey has us following our noses towards every hot carb-based dish wafting past like a police bloodhound at an abandoned warehouse rave, the revitalising qualities a fresh and vibrant salad can provide is a welcome interjection against a sorry month of overeating, 5:2 fasting or paleo preoccupation. 

An evening hosted by Chef Franck Raymond at his recently-opened French restaurant Augustine Kitchen in Battersea shared the secrets to a handful of salad recipes with a group of snap-happy food bloggers eager to sample the results. Cast aside preconceptions of limp lettuce and dull dressings, these were salads I would consider over a hunk of flaky slow-cooked meat (maybe), with recipes involving scallop ceviche, duck, puy lentils, Thai flavours, and more.

Franck talked us through anecdotal stories from his yesteryears whilst demonstrating some leafy handiwork; children always make salad dressings in French households, a true Nicoise only has raw vegetables, and his mother used a wooden spoon to combine her dressings and therefore, so does Franck. 

Life is all about balance, and what better way to highlight the light and rejuvenating qualities of a vitamin-packed salad than by contrasting it against glasses of bubbly and an oven dish heavy with gooey cheese-covered potatoes and bacon - the Alpine wonder that is a tartiflette. The sort of dish a day of hard exertion on the slopes would earn; I had been strenuously sitting at a desk. 

Served piping-hot, it is savoury and hearty and utterly comforting - the type of food tongues are burnt on because it is just too much to ask to wait for it to cool. 

Augustine understand the need for such plated pleasures for when the nights are dark and long - luckily for us they’re running Tartiflette Tuesday’s during the month of February which includes a hefty helping of this ski resort classic along with a green salad and the house aperitif of sparkling rosé for £14.95.

In the meantime and if Tuesday is just too far away, you'll find the recipe below to have a go yourself.

Chef Franck Raymond's Tartiflette

Serves 6

450g potatoes, cubed
160g smoked bacon, diced
200g onions, diced
300ml dry white wine
30g butter 
220g Reblochon cheese, rind removed and cubed
250ml crème fraîche
750ml semi-skimmed milk
2g chicken bouillon granules
Salt and pepper 

Keep the chopped potatoes in water until you're ready to cook them to prevent discolouration. Boil in fresh water until al dente, and drain. Add a pinch of salt during their last 2 minutes of cooking.

In the meantime, sauté the onions in the butter in a frying pan until softened. Add the white whine and cook further until the liquid has reduced to a syrupy consistency.

In a separate pan, fry the bacon - there is no need to add any fat. When it's cooked, slowly add it to the onions, combine well and allow to rest.

Preheat the oven to 200C.

Heat the milk and crème fraîche in a saucepan and add the cheese - keep some of the cheese aside to use later. Continue to heat until the cheese has melted and the liquid has reduced by half. Add a pinch of salt and the bouillon.

In the same frying pan you cooked the bacon, sauté the potatoes in a little butter or oil until lightly browned. Add to this the onions and bacon and combine well. Pour this mix into a baking dish, and pour the cheese sauce over the top to cover evenly. Top with the remaining cheese you kept aside. 

Cook in the oven for 10 minutes until golden brown.

Be prepared for the onset of hibernation almost certain to follow.

Afiyet olsun.