DEBORAH ROSS
Ha If-term, and a choice. I could try the latest place in Crouch End, as there is always a latest place in Crouch End, and could, as ever, attempt to disguise the fact that I have been to Crouch End (again!) by calling it west Highgate, south Muswell Hill, north Finsbury Park or even Haringey Village, which never fooled anybody but was a stroke of genius nonetheless. On the other hand, though, I could fly to Mauritius, tropical island, jewel of the Indian Ocean, and visit Le Saint Geran, frequently voted one of the most exquisite resorts in the world, and dine at the restaurant there. This is Spoon des Isles, one of Alain Ducasse's gourmet establishments. Alain Ducasse, as you may or may not know, is the French chef who has garnered more Michelin stars than Michael Winner has had hot dinners which, as you must know, is really saying something.
It's a tough call. Haringey Village has a lot going for it, including a family bakery that's proud to have been there for over 100 years but still can't make nice bread, and a W7 bus route that would be second to none if a bus ever came and you didn't have to pay before you got on, which is a great fall and fiddle. Come to think of it, the only thing Haringey Village does have going for it is the fact that it's on the doorstep. I so hate to travel. All that setting off for the airport several decades before departure and still making it with just a minute to spare and then having to walk 768 miles to Gate 4567. (Who gets to leave from Gate 1? The Queen?) In the end, Mauritius has it, I'm not sure why. Something to do with Mark Twain having described it as paradise on earth and the average sea temperature of 77°F. (Sony, can't do Celsius at all. When they say on the radio it's going to be 26 degrees today, I'm out there in a balaclava with snow shovel wondering why everyone else is wearing shorts. Fools. I'm not lending them my de-icer.) So, off to Mauritius then — from gate 6789, inevitably — and Mauritius is paradise on earth: white beaches, warm clear sea, more coconut palms than you can shake a stick at, not that you would ever want to shake a stick at a coconut palm as it can, apparently, fight back by dropping a coconut on your head, which is no joke. (We don't, by the way, have a coconut problem in Haringey Village.) Le Saint Geran is on the west coast, on a private peninsula overlooking a bay, and set in its own tropical garden with an amazing isletdotted swimming pool winding its way through the dining and bar areas. Also, every room not only opens on to the beach but also has a wet-room shower thingy that's bigger than my house and your house and the houses of everybody you know put together. What a trial going to Mauritius is turning out to be, with its F-off showers and warm clear seas and coconut palms. But I suppose I shall just have to grin and bear it.
Anyway, to the restaurant, which is also breathtaking in its eclectic way, with its bloodcoloured walls and decor that ranges from 18th-century church paving through to Philippe Starck couches and bar stools. The kitchen, which is open-plan, has been built in Zimbabwean granite and is stunningly theatrical, with laser lighting effects that change it from turquoise to red to blue to aquamarine to orange. My partner and I are seated at a table next to one occupied by a Premiership footballer and his family. I have to take my partner's word for this, but am pretty sure it is a Premiership footballer as his toddler son is dressed in Burberry shorts and that is certainly enough to convince me. Ducasse also has restaurants in Paris, New York, Monaco, St Tropez, Hong Kong and London (Spoon+ at the Sanderson Hotel) and the menu here is similar to the London one. Not in content — this is a fusion of Mauritian influences, mostly Asian/French with the Indian Ocean's magnificent seafood thrown in — but in its style, in its mix-andmatch approach. You pick a centrepiece (tuna, say) then, from different columns, pick sauces and accompaniments. In London, when I went to Spoon+, this struck me as awfully gimmicky as well as silly — you're the chef, matey boy; you tell me what to have with what! — but here it seems more fitting. Must be the holiday mood.
I'm annoyed, looking at the menu again now, that I didn't choose to start with steamed freshwater prawns served with citronella, ginger, sea urchin coral jus and sweet and sour vegetables mikado. How did I miss that? It sounds wonderful, even though I have no idea what 'mikado' is in cooking terms. Do the prawns sit up and sing, 'Three little prawns from the sea are we, filled to the brim with prawnish glee'? And now I'll never know. Instead, I choose the seasonal Mauritian vegetables cooked in a stew pan and served with seasoned anchovy purée. I can only say I felt very much in a veggie frame of mind at the time and, as it happens, they turned out to be the best veggies I've ever had. Honest. Every item — the green asparagus, red radish, green beans, christophine (a kind of squash) — is cooked beautifully, is allowed to hang on to its individual bite and flavour while simultaneously coming together as a dish. I use the anchovy purée, which arrives in a separate pot, as an occasional dip rather than a pour-on sauce This works tremendously well. I might even get the hang of Mauritius, given time.
Next, I have the local fish of the day served with an aniseed jus. The fish of the day is 'ombrine', a white fish which is quite sea-bassy only better and much less boring. It is juicy as hell with flesh as opalescent as pearls, and it tastes as fresh as if it had been caught a minute ago, which it possibly had. The aniseed jus is subtle, not overpowering, silkily fragrant. My partner has the tuna, largely because he has always strongly argued that tuna is better from a can (I find it hard to disagree; fresh tuna is for ladies who lunch in Conran restaurants and want something bland), and is curious to see if a restaurant with a reputation like this can change his mind. He chooses grilled tuna with a Scillia condiment which, he says, is staggeringly unbelievable, tasting of the sea, so moist it seems to dissolve in the mouth. The restaurant is expensive, around £75–£100 a head including wine, and there are few wines under £50. But it isn't overly snobby. Just before dessert — a cheesecake ice cream sundae and a 'Passion Chocolat' (a dark and black chocolate spread of soft cakes, teeny mousses and a sorbet cornet), both of which were orgasms for the tongue — he made for the gents and tipped our entire table up on his way. The Premiership toddler laughed till his Burberry shorts nearly shot off, but the staff were supremely nice about it, mopping up discreetly, moving us quickly to another table. Still, I know now that my partner cannot be trusted outside Haringey Village, to which we have since returned. It's not the jewel of the Indian Ocean, but it is up there with south Muswell Hill, north Finsbury Park and west Highgate, which counts for something surely.
Spoon des Isles, Le Saint Geran, Mauritius. Ha! As if? Sag tel: (230) 401 1551; fax: (230) 401 1552; web: spoondesiles.com.
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