When Marco Pierre White walked away from cooking I walked away from his restaurants. It wasn't a big thing, but they'd diminished in some way in my mind and there were way more restaurants than I had time to eat in. Had I really assumed that that perfect black risotto at Criterion had been ministered too by MPW himself? Or that he was beavering away behind the scenes when I was at Quo Vadis? Nah. I know that since the Harvey's days the chance of getting anything touched by the hand of God were slim, but still I expected his presence would have been missed. So for several years MPW and I have been estranged. Then recently I picked up his White Slave autobiography. It's not particularly in his voice, as a quick comparison of his restaurant reviews in Waitrose Food Illustrated and the authorial voice in the book will confirm, but the anecdotes are interesting, as much for what they contradict about the legend as for what they confirm. Thus inspired I sort of planned to check out an MPW venue, probably Mirabelle, in the near future.
Which brings me to last night. I'd intended to pop into Criterion for a pre-theatre (I was actually off to see Ozzy Osbourne at Wembley Arena) but when I arrived they were closed for a private party. So I hauled up to Quo Vadis, but the menu looked like Cafe Pasta to me. No problem, round the corner to L'Escargot we go.
No problem getting in, I'd say that the dinning room at 6pm was probably 60% full (about 40 covers I'm guessing, when full). Right up to sitting down I'd really planned on having the very reasonably priced pre-theatre menu (available 6-7pm, £18 for three courses). But then that menu! Having just been reading The Soul of A Chef by Michael Ruhlman there was no way I could pass on a ballotine of ham hock and foie gras and once converted to the a la carte there were no second thoughts.
I asked my waiter, a very young Frenchman, what a ballotine was. It's round meat, served cold, he explained. I hoped not - that would make it a gallotine, which is cold, whereas a ballotine is hot. When it arrived it was, well, warm, which seemed perfect, the foie gras just lightly shined with melted fat where it had been heated. It was utterly delicious, the coarse ham the perfect contrast to the buttery smooth foie.
A chop of lamb served with petit pois puree and roast potato cubes followed. The lamb was probably the finest I've had in London; sweet, tender and perfectly cooked. I was a little over faced by the huge portion of peas, but I manfully ate most of them.
Desert of chocolate tart was perfect. Perhaps because it was early in service the torte had a light, just out of the oven consistency and deep flavourful tastes that perfectly balance bitter and sweet over a dark chocolate biscuit base.
Service overall was very good. Front of house made me feel very welcome and the service, though sprightly in the pre-theatre hours, was never pushy. The décor was pleasant, with Miro on the walls in the main room (and a rather cheesy selection of nude photography in the men's room). Prices were very fair: £8.50 for starters; £12.95-14.95 for mains; £6.95 for desert (£8.95 for cheese). Perhaps I'll go for the upstairs Picasso Room instead of that trip to Mirabelle.
Which brings me to last night. I'd intended to pop into Criterion for a pre-theatre (I was actually off to see Ozzy Osbourne at Wembley Arena) but when I arrived they were closed for a private party. So I hauled up to Quo Vadis, but the menu looked like Cafe Pasta to me. No problem, round the corner to L'Escargot we go.
No problem getting in, I'd say that the dinning room at 6pm was probably 60% full (about 40 covers I'm guessing, when full). Right up to sitting down I'd really planned on having the very reasonably priced pre-theatre menu (available 6-7pm, £18 for three courses). But then that menu! Having just been reading The Soul of A Chef by Michael Ruhlman there was no way I could pass on a ballotine of ham hock and foie gras and once converted to the a la carte there were no second thoughts.
I asked my waiter, a very young Frenchman, what a ballotine was. It's round meat, served cold, he explained. I hoped not - that would make it a gallotine, which is cold, whereas a ballotine is hot. When it arrived it was, well, warm, which seemed perfect, the foie gras just lightly shined with melted fat where it had been heated. It was utterly delicious, the coarse ham the perfect contrast to the buttery smooth foie.
A chop of lamb served with petit pois puree and roast potato cubes followed. The lamb was probably the finest I've had in London; sweet, tender and perfectly cooked. I was a little over faced by the huge portion of peas, but I manfully ate most of them.
Desert of chocolate tart was perfect. Perhaps because it was early in service the torte had a light, just out of the oven consistency and deep flavourful tastes that perfectly balance bitter and sweet over a dark chocolate biscuit base.
Service overall was very good. Front of house made me feel very welcome and the service, though sprightly in the pre-theatre hours, was never pushy. The décor was pleasant, with Miro on the walls in the main room (and a rather cheesy selection of nude photography in the men's room). Prices were very fair: £8.50 for starters; £12.95-14.95 for mains; £6.95 for desert (£8.95 for cheese). Perhaps I'll go for the upstairs Picasso Room instead of that trip to Mirabelle.
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