Roasted Duck with Puy Lentils

It was absolutely hammering it down yesterday. Winds howled, rain lashed against the windows and I was bravely battling my way to the shops. Though we're almost in Spring, this kind of weather calls for something warming and hearty to eat while slurping a robust red wine, feet in fluffy slippers. I rather like a Sunday of intense cooking or preparation as I have so little time to do so during the week, but yesterday was all about wanging a few bits and pieces into a casserole dish and letting it do its thing in the oven while I slumped on the couch.

The result astonished me - so little effort reaped great reward. The duck was crisp-skinned - let's, er, ignore that tiny burnt patch shall we? I'm still getting used to the electric hob. - and tender, absorbing the fragrant star anise and flavouring the lentils with its delicious fat. Amongst the lentils cubes of butternut squash sweetened the dish and gave the dreary brown some colour. Nothing more than than a lemony fennel salad was needed to wash down that richness.

Roasted Duck & Puy Lentils

Serves 2

2 duck legs

80gr puy (pronounced 'pwee') lentils

1 onion

4 fat cloves of garlic

1 scant tsp smoked paprika

A large pinch of fennel seeds

1 chicken stock cube

1 star anise

3 tbsp Oloroso sherry

A small glass of red wine

1 small butternut squash, peeled and cubed

1 small courgette, cubed

2 large tomatoes, quartered

A large handful of flat leaf parsley

Firstly, simmer the lentils for 10 - 15 minutes and drain. In a dry non stick frying pan, gently fry the duck legs skin side down from a cold pan (this helps render the fat out more effectively and crisp the skin up). This will take 10 - 15 minutes on a low heat. Don't be tempted to turn the heat up like I did... Turn the legs over and cook for a further 3 minutes.

Preheat the oven to 150 degrees C. Slice the onion into half moons and mince the garlic. Remove the duck legs from the pan and remove most of the fat, keeping 1 tbsp. Fry the onions and garlic slowly in this till soft. Add the smoked paprika and the pinch of fennel seeds, then add the sherry. Simmer until halved in volume, then add the red wine and do the same. Season generously with salt and pepper. Combine with the drained lentils in a casserole dish.

Add the cubed butternut squash to the lentils and mix well. Sit the duck legs on top. Dissolve the stock cube in 150ml water and pour this over the lentils, though this shouldn't go on the duck leg skin, just to the flesh. Nestle a star anise in between the duck legs and the tomato quarters in the lentils and put the lid on. Bake for 1 hour, then remove the lid and add the courgette within the lentils. This may need some jiggery pokery. Turn the heat up to 160 degrees C and roast uncovered for a further 40 minutes, checking that the lentils are wet enough that they don't stick and burn.

To serve, scatter with chopped parsley and accompanied by shaved raw fennel dressed with lemon juice.

Le Gavroche

Le Gavroche is one of those places that I never thought I'd visit. Michel Roux Jr.'s 2 Michelin starred place aint cheap; especially for the tasting menu with matching wines. So when American Express offered to treat me to a meal there I, naturally, jumped at the chance. So if you've got an American Express card, you can also book a table here and at many others via Top Treats, which earns you lots of lovely rewards and points when booking through them.

The dining room, in the basement of the building is heavily upholstered and seemed vaguely Scottish to me. Red and green were the dominant colours, and we slotted ourselves into our table to begin the feast. A glass of Champagne relaxed our work-weary shoulders. First up, teriyaki cod came with bonito flakes lightly waving as our plates were set down. A rice cake, flavoured with curry was stabbed with the crunchiest piece of cod skin. The fish flaked apart beautifully, the sweet sauce deeply tinged with soy. A tangle of leaves hid impossibly thin slices of crisp beetroot.

Next, a scallop dish was garnished with lemon zest at the table. Squid ink-stained tapioca almost fooled us into thinking it was caviar, while a parsley puree brought out the flavours of the sea.

I am a huge fan of sweetcorn but you don't often see it on high-end menus. It came with grilled langoustine and crispy chicken wing; a gorgeous balance of sweet and salty flavours. Buttery lemon sauce lubricated each mouthful well.

Double cheese souffle cooked in double cream. WOW. When I first saw it on the menu my eyes widened; they did again as soon as I took a bite. Each mouthful was like biting into a cheesy cloud. We were gleeful. So rich, so cheesy, so creamy and yet so light. I woke up the next day and subsequently spent much of my time thinking about this.

A slab of foie gras was accompanied by confit duck leg stuffed into a pancake, dusted with icing sugar and with a cinnamon sauce. While my foie gras was cooked perfectly with a gorgeous crust and smooth, creamy innards, my companion didn't fare so well; her foie gras was mealy. This was mega rich and needed something tart to lift it. A sweet Banyuls wine helped things along.

Red leg partridge was well cooked, but I find it difficult to be blown away by the bird - it just tastes like chicken to me. Sorry. The little leg hiding behind the breast was beautifully crisp and succulent though.

A huge cheese trolley was wheeled out and our knowledgable waitress chose well for us. We had to ask for more sturdy receptacles though as the wafer-thin slices offered to us crumbled upon impact.

Finally, a tart tatin terrified us; we were imagining huge dishes of pastry drenched in caramel, but this little number was just the right size. Buttery flaky pastry had softened slices of apple nestled within.

I'd love to be able to tell you all about the wines, but I'm afraid my memory isn't that good. Our neighbouring table sent us a bottle of wine to enjoy as well - apparently stockbrokers are very generous - which only served to add to the wine haze. But I do remember they all worked very well indeed.

We staggered off into the night, fearful of our over-extended bellies. Halfway to the tube station we decided we couldn't take it; a cab was flagged and we flopped ourselves in, windows open, eyes rolling to head home south east. It was an epic experience; no one should be deprived of that cheese souffle.

Le Gavroche

43 Upper Brook Street
London W1K 7QR

Tel: 020 7408 0881

Alain Ducasse at The Dorchester

What a lucky little cow I am. Two meals in 3 Michelin-starred restaurants in almost as many weeks. Invited to dine at the Table Lumiere by their PR, we were treated to their Autumn Menu. This time though, it was not to be a booze-free meal; I leapt lightly off the wagon a few hours short of my two week hiatus. It ws Alain Ducasse at The Dorchester after all.

Before service really kicked off we were taken around their calm and austere kitchen. Cheesy gougeres kept us going and they were as addictive as crack. Or as I'd imagine crack to be. We were seated at a table in the restaurant shielded by a fibre optic curtain, which later lit up prettily.

Sourdough bread was served with not only butter but also a whippy light mousse-like cream cheese. Bacon and onion fougasse though was actively disgusting. After my first mouthful I tried it again to make sure but it tasted of old stale pork fat. I'm not the type to shy away from pork fat but I rejected this.

The menu stared off with scallops topped with Kristal caviar. The scallop slices were silky smooth, the creamy citrus-tinged sauce beneath bringing out the flavour of the shellfish. Salty bursts from the caviar seasoned each mouthful. The matching wine was a 2009 Saint-Joseph; deliciously honeyed, working well with the dish.

Next up, a hearty slab of foie gras was caramelised on the outside and silky smooth within. The essence of autumn on a plate, the ceps were earthy, and pillowy light gnocchi soaked up the sauce nicely.

Roasted Scottish lobster with apple and quince was a bit of an odd one. The chunks of quince were overly tart while the heavily reduced sauce drowned out any delicate flavour of the lobster so that the flesh was just a texture on the plate. It was quite disappointing.

In another case of over-saucing, the cream sauce on the turbot dish had a strong flavour of wine, and I could have done with about half the amount. Otherwise, the attention to detail was impressive as the mushrooms were cut prettily. The turbot was cooked expertly.

At this point, we were given the option of having a beef or grouse. I've only tried grouse once and I disliked it, so I ordered it again in the hope it could change my mind. Thankfully it did - not too gamey but cooked till pink and juicy inside, it had the whiff of moorland about it. Around the table, my fellow diners struggled to finish another massive slab of foie gras that their beef fillet was served with.

A slice of truffled brie was gorgeously creamy, the tangle of leaves well dressed. Smeared on hazelnut bread, this was an ample portion.

We were given the dessert menu to peruse and as there were five of us and six choices, we decided to order them all except the lime souffle. They sent us one anyway, and I'm pretty glad too as it was the best on the table. Served with Sichuan pepper ice cream, the souffle rose beautifully and was devoured in minutes. The kitchen obviously have a sterling pastry chef; macarons were spot on, and little chocolate truffles were decadent and lovely. However, a pear dessert was served in a martini glass and was covered in some sort of foam of which there was too much of it and it reminded me of spit. Finishing off with a chocolate mint tea snipped from the branches of a living plant wheeled to our table was a perfect way to end the meal. Refreshing and reviving, I woke up the next day craving one.

The private dining Table Lumiere was very impressive. The problem sometimes with private dining is that you can feel too cut off from the rest of the restaurant, but with the fibre optic curtain you still get your privacy with the atmosphere. I was suprised about the food though; with the kind of reputation it has as a 3 Michelin starred place, there were too many misses to justify the £180 price tag for the seasonal menu. When I thought back on the meal, I struggled to remember many courses - no, it wasn't the booze, but nothing stunned me enough. I reckon their £45 lunch menu (3 courses and half a bottle of wine) is a better bet.

Alain Ducasse at The Dorchester

Park Lane
London W1K 1QA

Tel: 020 7629 8866

A Lobster Bisque

Last week we dispatched some lobsters. I'd like to say we did it humanely, but we dropped them straight into that bubbling pan. Sorry.


The meat was delicious. Sweet and tender, dipped into home made mayonnaise I preferred it to the clarified butter. Little legs were sucked of any meat within and we sprayed ourselves with viscera extracting every morsel. Hunks of bread were also slathered with mayonnaise and we pondered over what lucky sods we were.


None of it should go to waste though; any juices lost on pulling out the meat was collected in a baking tray. The leftover shells went into a huge stock pot with the juices and along with carrot, onion, celery, bay and herbs this was simmered for a few hours, to be turned into a light bisque. The resultant soup, finished off with cream had a strong hit of the seaside. Heavy on the lobster flavour, it was the perfect use for what is usually just destined for the bin. Had we had any lobster meat leftover it would have been good to add that too, but really - who has leftover lobster meat?


Lobster Bisque

Serves 4

The shells of 3 lobsters
1 onion
2 carrots
2 sticks of celery
A few peppercorns
2 bay leaves
A handful of parsley
A few sprigs of thyme
Enough water to cover the above
2 tbsp tomato puree
1 potato, diced (optional)
70ml double cream
A good glug of brandy

Get all the aromatics in the pot with the lobster shells and bring to the simmer. Simmer for a good few hours with the lid off, topping up with more water to cover half way through. After about 3 hours, strain it and then reduce by at least half - taste every so often and when it's deep enough in flavour, it's done. If you like a thicker soup, add the potato 30 minutes before you finish and then puree the soup.

Turn it on low, add the tomato puree stirring well, and then add the brandy. Simmer off the alcohol and then add the cream, stirring well. Garnish with a few leaves of parsley (I also added some slivered leeks but that's optional) and serve.

Aubergine & Tomato Galette

I always thought a galette was a pancake made out of buckwheat flour, but like many terms in food, it also means something else. Wikipedia says it's a general French term for any kind of flat, round or freeform cakes. This one is very freeform indeed.

I first saw the galette on this blog and knew I had to try it immediately, and of course with my favourite vegetable with the aubergine. The crust, made with sour cream was flaky, crumbly and light; the cream is definitely an inspired addition. Soft melting vegetables, fresh aniseedy flavours of basil and with a nice cheesy hit, a slice of this with a dressed green bean salad made a filling but summery dinner.

Aubergine and Tomato Galette

Feeds 4

1 large or two medium aubergines
6 large ripe tomatoes
A handful of basil leaves
1 tub of ricotta
1 ball of mozzerella
50gr Parmesan
2 cloves of garlic

200gr plain flour
115gr butter, very cold cut into a dice
4 tbsp water
4 tbsp sour cream
A large pinch of salt
A squeeze of lemon juice
1 egg yolk

Slice the aubergine to about a finger's thickness and fry in hot oil on both sides until browned. Set to one side. Slice the tomatoes to a similar thickness, drizzle with oil. Mince the two cloves of garlic and scatter on top, seasoning with salt and pepper. Place under a medium grill for about 15 minutes.

Drain the mozerella ball and place in a sieve with a plate on top, and a tin of beans on the plate to squeeze some water out. Add the flour and salt to a big bowl. Add the butter and rub into the flour, working quickly. In a separate bowl, mix the water, sour cream and lemon juice until it's all incorporated and add it to the flour. Mix with your hands until it forms a dough and then stop immediately. Wrap in clingfilm and put in the fridge for an hour.

Preheat the oven to 200 degrees C. Grease a large sheet of greaseproof paper and place on a baking tray. Roll the pastry out into a rectangle to a half inch thickness. Leaving about a 3 inch gap, spread the ricotta over the pastry. Place a row of tomato slices (these should be thick, messy and gloopy), then a row of aubergine slices, slightly overlapping until you get to the other side. Scatter the basil leaves on top, reserving about 3 or 4. Slice the mozerella ball roughly and place the slices evenly on top, then repeat with the tomato and aubergine. Grate the Parmesan on top.

Glaze the pastry with the egg yolk and place in the oven for 30 to 40 minutes, until it's all bubbly and lovely and the pastry is browned. Leave to stand for 10 minutes, then slice the remaining basil leaves into slivers and scatter on top before serving.

Haddock with Braised Lettuce

A common Chinese dish is cooked lettuce; it has a great juicy and crunchy, yet soft quality to it. The Chinese rarely eat raw vegetables, and an early memory of mine is of my dad serving my grandmother a tuna salad he'd made - she promptly headed off to the kitchen to give it a good stir-frying.

The Chinese aren't the only ones to cook lettuce though. Typically a French dish, it reminds me of rustic country farm houses, sun shining in the garden, a big bowlful with a crusty hunk of bread to dunk in the sauce while chugging back a glass of the palest pink rosé. When I shut my eyes (and possibly my ears) as I sat on my balcony bang smack in the middle of New Cross Gate, I could almost imagine I was there. Until the police sirens wailed and the buses honked their horns.


Haddock with Braised Lettuce

Serves 2

2 heads of Little Gem lettuce
1 large haddock fillet
2 eggs
200gr frozen peas
100gr pancetta or bacon lardons
2 cloves of garlic
200 ml chicken stock
4 spring onions
4 tbsp plain flour
1 large knob of butter

Halve the lettuces lengthways, so that they still hold their shape. In a large pan, add the butter and the bacon lardons. Mince the garlic and throw that in too. Next, fry the lettuce on both sides, cut side down first, until they are browned on each side. Add in the stock until it comes up to half way up the lettuces, and with the cut side down, place the lid on and turn the heat down low.

Meanwhile, place the eggs in a cold pan of water, bring to the boil and then take off the heat. Leave them in there for 3 minutes and then remove and run under cold water.

Heat up another non-stick pan with plenty of vegetable oil. Shake the flour out onto a plate and season well with salt and pepper. Take the haddock fillet and dredge in the flour, and fry skin side down first and then turn them over. Remove from the heat.

By now the lettuces should have been braising for at least 10 minutes. Cut the spring onions on the diagonal and throw them in along with the peas into the stock and simmer vigorously for 3 minutes or so, until the peas are tender. To serve, place 2 halves of the lettuce in a deep bowl, and spoon the peas and cooking liqour around it. Peel the egg, halve it and then place chunks of the fried fish on top. Serve with bread, though I found it filling enough as it is.

A Sort-Of Béarnaise Sauce

I've had a steak craving for quite some time. Normally I'd satisfy this craving with a trip to Hawksmoor but I recently bought a ticket to Nicaragua to see a friend and have since been on a budgetary lock down. But no matter; off I trotted to the butcher to get my hands on a juicy rib-eye. Charred on a super-hot griddle, the only accompaniment I could think of making was Béarnaise. Or should it be anchovy butter? I couldn't decide, so I combined the two. Anchovies might seem a weird option, but they go incredibly well with beef. It's a rich sauce, scented and lightened with tarragon and lemon.

Triple-cooked chips, made with this recipe (which, by the way, were amazing - I can't believe I haven't made them before), completed the holy trinity of a heart attack on a plate and stank my flat out for hours.

Béarnaise Sauce with Anchovy

Makes enough for two greedy girls

4 anchovy fillets
2 egg yolks
120gr unsalted butter
1 tbsp lemon juice
2 heaped tbsp tarragon
1.5 tbsp white wine vinegar
2 tbsp vermouth
2 shallots

In a small pan, heat the butter, add the anchovies chopped finely and cook until foaming. Take off the heat and skim the white impurities that are at the surface to clarify it. Chop the shallots and the tarragon finely. In a small saucepan add the shallots and 1tbsp of the tarragon. Add the vinegar, vermouth and 2 tbsp of water and simmer until the liquid has reduced to half. Season liberally.

Whisk the egg yolks and add to the shallot mixture. Heat slowly, whisking as you go until the sauce has thickened and emulsified. Don't allow to boil. Take off the heat and whisk the butter into it, whisking all the while and incorporating the butter before you add any more. Push the sauce through a sieve, then add the rest of the tarragon and the lemon juice. Keep warm with a foil lid in a very low oven until serving.

Terroirs Wine Bar

If you saw my Christmas post, you may have deduced that I come from a family of food lovers. Ma and Pops didn't tolerate fussiness and when we were kids, they were liberal in taking us out to restaurants. I remember several occasions of sitting in a restaurant called Spices in Repulse Bay, Hong Kong, while my mum had business lunches. Satay chicken was a favourite, and the green minty-tipped toothpicks excited me. My sister and I were also covertly taken to Singapore on another business trip; we feasted on chilli crabs every evening and blew Mum's cover by wandering into her conference, dripping wet from the pool, having mislaid our hotel key.

Another sticking memory was of dinner with my parents and their friends, where I had my first steak tartare (I think I was 8) and was upset when Mum insisted I shared it with my sister. A darkened pub at a late hour, aged about 11 was where I sampled the finest bowl of Irish stew in memory. My love of restaurants (and pubs...) obviously stemmed from my childhood.

It is with this that I go out for meals with my parents with some trepidation. I suggested we meet at Terroirs Wine Bar; the wine list, mainly comprising of natural wines, looked really interesting - my teetotal mum was enthused by the menu - and it was well located for all of us to head home after.

We were seated downstairs and at 6:30pm there was only one other table seated. Duck scratchings were crisp, salty and (of course) ducky. A glass of 2008 Boisson Rouge Pet Nat was a delicious sparkling companion. The menu is simple and having spotted quite a few dishes I wanted to try, I convinced the table to share a selection of dishes.

The charcuterie selection had slices of saucisson 'Noir de Bigorre', duck rillettes and a slice of pork and pistachio terrine. The rillettes oozed fat and spread unctuously across the bread, while the green-studded terrine went very well with the cornichons and were porkily good.

Squid with aioli was beautifully cooked; the squid was buttery soft though I thought the aioli could do with a more garlicky hit. This may have been the fault of the clams though. Bathed in parsley-stringed buttery juices with strips of cured ham, thin transparent slices of raw garlic decorated the dish. A dried chilli provided a building punchy background. Simple, but stunningly good.

My favourite dish of the night was the Cantabrian anchovies with shallots and butter. Toasted bread, smeared with the butter, piled with the shallots and topped with an anchovy was a lesson in great ingredients. The anchovies weren't too salty but were plump and silky. The shallots added freshness and counteracted the richness of the butter well. I found it a real struggle to share this dish.

By this time, the restaurant was packed to the rafters and there was a lively buzz emanating throughout the restaurant. Service never slipped, and our bottles of tap water were replenished regularly. Dishes (and two baskets of bread) finished, we contemplated ordering a main to share but decided that was overkill and dived straight into the cheeses.

Soumaintrain was served apologetically fridge cold but after leaving it as long as we could to warm up (oh, about a minute) it was pungent, slightly sweet and intense. The Fourme d'Ambert was very blue indeed, but I preferred the stinkier former and Pops hoovered up most of this.

To finish, a refreshing glass of Moscato d'Asti, tasting of pear drops and springtime, was matched with my prune and Armagnac parfait. The parfait was served very simply, with just the right amount of booze in it - Mum made a face on tasting it. The texture was as light as a mousse, with the prunes giving it just enough sweetness.

Dinner was near perfect. I found the cheese servings a little stingy for £3.50 each, but that was my only complaint. Service was sweet and our server valiantly stepped up to the challenge with a a fortified red Banyuls when Pops voiced doubts over whether there were any dessert wines to go with his bitter chocolate pot. We left vowing to come back; after all, there are the main courses to try. A sign of a brilliant find.

Terroirs Wine Bar

5 William IV Street
London WC2N 4DW

Tel: 0207 036 0660

Our bill came to £130 with service

The Giaconda Dining Room

Sometimes I can be a bad friend. You know, the unreliable type. "Yes, let's definitely go for dinner", said I, earlier that week. A client lunch got in the way and I ended up boozing in the most excellent bar at Hix, and I dragged my poor friend there to join me. We both went home, pissed and hungry.

Luckily my friend gave me another chance and we rebooked our dinner at Giaconda Dining Room. Nestled among guitar shops, I knew already that it was a small place with only 32 covers, but I was still surprised when I walked in. The place is tiny; tables are close together and I was worried I'd be too loud.

For a £1 cover charge, we were brought some decent, crusty bread and some standard olives. As we perused the menu, I found it really difficult to decide what to choose, which is pretty standard for me. I contemplated having a raw, beefy meal with the carpaccio to start and the steak tartare for main, but it was a cold night and I needed something a little more nourishing.

The ceviche of salmon and seabass was buried under a mound of thinly sliced fennel, cucumber and chives. Dressed with lime and the merest hint of chilli, the fish was fresh and firm. The fennel was surprisingly tame in it's aniseed flavour and worked well with the cucumber. It was a refreshing start to the meal and left me wanting more.

My companion wrinkled his nose when I announced I would be having the braised tripe with chorizo and butter beans (top). It came in an earthenware dish with a comedy large spoon; the tripe was slippery with a bit of bite, and well flavoured by the chorizo and paprika. Butter beans bulked the dish out and added creaminess. The dish was the perfect size and was homely.

We decided to share a dessert of Crème Brulée as we were both verging on full. The top was perfectly crisp, not too thick and was pleasing when you cracked your spoon into it. The custard beneath was rich and orange flavoured. I wondered if I would finish my half but on first taste, I wolfed it up.

Service was sweet and unobtrusive. When we left I realised we'd been there for three hours, which is a fair bit longer than I'd usually spend on a weeknight dinner. I never felt I was being rushed, even when people were turned away as the restaurant was full. It might be testament to the excellent company, but it flew by.

All in all, good solid cooking. The menu has quite a few options I'd like to try out, so I will definitely be back. At £35 a head including service and wine, it's great value for this part of town.

The Giaconda Dining Room

9 Denmark Street
London WC2H 8LS

Tel: 0207 240 3334

Roussillon

A friend alerted me to what looked like a brilliant lunch deal at Roussillon, a Michelin-starred French restaurant in the depths of Sloane Square. For £35, they were offering a 3 course lunch inclusive of half a bottle of wine. I booked the day off work and we booked a table.


When I arrived, my friend was already seated. A quick glance around the light and airy dining room showed the restaurant was populated by mainly businessmen, unsurprising for the area. Having looked at the menu, we were tempted to go for the vegetarian option as Roussillon is said to be famous for doing vegetables well, but we eventually came to our senses and ordered meaty courses. A little plate of amuses arrived - hot sticks made with chickpea mash to dip in mustard, and little pink slivers of pork atop a cube of pear. A slate plate of butter arrived - the salted had a pretty line of pink Himilayan salt across it to denote the difference. Bread rolls were plentiful, though fumbled by a lack of the server's dexterity with a fork and spoon but were fresh, warm and delicious.

The next amuse bouche arrived, and when it was placed before us I glanced at my friend; he looked aghast. For one panicked second we thought these were our starters, which while pretty, were miniscule. Perfectly roasted sea bream atop a sweet, creamy parsnip puree, ofset by the hint of iron of the winter greens. So far, so good.

For my proper starter, a vol au vent of veal sweetbreads, turnips and morels were moistened by the beef jus. The pastry was light and buttery. The sweetbreads were pillow-like, while the morels added earthiness and texture.

My main was far more impressive. Roasted Highland venison was perfectly cooked; ruby red with just a millimetre of brown around the edges. It was pungent, gamey and cut like butter. Wild mushrooms completed the autumnal theme, while celeriac was refreshing and soaked up the juices well. I loved this dish and could have eaten it twice.

A pre-dessert of an exotic fruit tuile, vanilla-flecked custard, coconut and blackberry paved the way for the desserts. The tuile was brittle and tasted of mangoes and pineapple, the coconut bringing it all together. It also cleansed the palate and made way for the final course.

I chose the fresh pineapple roll with green tea ice cream. The ice cream was well made without a hint of bitterness that green tea-flavoured ice creams can be. I wasn't sure how well it went with the pineapple roll, which had a great balance of acidity and sweetness. It was crunchy and a light end to the meal. The restaurant were kind enough to allow my friend to have their famous Louis XV - Croustillant de Praline dessert from their a la carte menu for no extra charge.

Alexis Gauthier, the head chef, apparently trained at Louis XV in Monte Carlo, where he learned this recipe. It was a thing of great beauty, which my photo doesn't really do justice of. It was so glossy you could almost see your reflection in it, and the gold leaf was a pretty touch. I had a taste of it and it was fantastic; the ganache encased a cold chocolate cream, which sat on a base of biscuit and praline. "Well, it's... nice" my friend commented of my dessert after having tried his own, which led to a fit of tear-inducing laughter. The pitiful pineapple roll stood no chance and it paled in comparison.

Petit fours were a bit uninspiring, though I rather liked the coffee marshmallow. Roussillon must have one of the best lunch deals around; we shared a half bottle of white wine and half a red, which complemented our courses well. Other places I've tried had only two or three choices on the menu, all far less appealing than the a la carte but it wasn't the case at Roussillon; it felt like rather than berudgingly having a cheaper set menu, they relished it. Along with not one but two amuses and a pre-dessert, it makes the £40 each including service an absolute bargain.

A note on the service. I had a niggling doubt about it when the head waiter commented that my friend was "running around like he owned the place" just because he stepped outside to take an important phone call. Though in a light-hearted tone, it seemed a bit of a strange thing to say; it was a Friday lunchtime, and better than taking the call mid-meal in the restaurant. My niggles were compounded when I realised the sommelier refused to even look at me when explaining the wine; he steadfastly spoke only to my friend, and then had him taste both wines. I know it's very formal French service, but I am a bit of a feminist and a bit of recognition, or even a glance in my direction would have been appreciated. It is the 21st century, after all.

Full Flickr set here.

Roussillon

16 St Barnabas Street
London SW1W 8PB

Tel: 0207 730 5550