11111111l1111111lif The Connaught and Au Bon Accueil ,
AS we live increasingly in the world of the designer restaurant and personality chef, I thought it might be instructive to go in search of the ancien regime. More than any- where this is embodied in the dark-panelled dining-room of the Connaught Hotel, where waiters clad in uniforms according to rank attend upon tables with flair and cour- tesy and even, on occasion, appear to cook dishes on spirit burners placed on trolleys beside them. Here, under the direction of Chef Michel Bourdin, the spirit of Escoffier lives on, and it was here that I decided to take Clare Colvin to celebrate the publica- tion of her first novel, A Fatal Season.
As a preliminary a glass of champagne in the cocktail bar seemed indicated, but this was probably a mistake. The bar, tucked. away at the back of the hotel, is no longer what it was, and distinctly lacked clientele at 7.30 in the evening. Despite that, a charmless young waiter demanded to know how many we were and tried to indicate a suitably small table with spindly chairs. These we resisted and we settled, instead, into a sofa and asked for two glasses of fizz. They duly came, and pretty small they were, but where were the olives? Only potato crisps and fatigued cheese biscuits adorned the table, and the olives were pro- duced with little grace. Soon, however, a head waiter offered menus, a sommelier the admirable wine list, and well-being was restored, helped by courteous explanation
of specialities. The meal ordered and champagne drunk, we moved to the restau- rant, having first paid for the drinks. Be warned to do this in the bar, for it will have a 15 per cent 'discretionary service charge' added to it, which will be added once again if it is joined to the main bill. How eccen- tric.
We had decided to take the four-course 'Menu Suggestion', as it contained some attractive-sounding dishes, and at £55 seemed to cost no more than three courses from the carte. I began with Petits Eggs'cel- lents: horrid pun, delicious dish, of quails' eggs resting on scrambled hen's eggs, enclosed in a little pastry boat and sur- mounted by hollandaise sauce adorned with strands of truffle. It was excellent, and so was Clare's pretty pink and white pate of lobster and turbot, though the 'sauce pudeur' that accompanied it looked, and tasted, remarkably like what goes over prawn cocktails. Then came consommé de volaille Prince of Wales, the bowl covered by risen pastry, the intense broth within containing discs of poached chicken breast, diced vegetables and tiny pieces of truffle. The conception was admirable, the execu- tion superb. My main course of mignon de veau Prince Orloff was a splendid brick of perfectly cooked veal, with a covering of cheese and mushrooms — not too much and a dark, much reduced sauce around it: rich, but highly enjoyable. With it came riz
ARAN TOPUT THEPRAT ANIOAVT THE PIcEONS"
Albufera, studded with yet more truffle and flecks of foie gras, and impeccable creamed spinach.
Clare chose the joint from the trolley: roast sirloin of beef. It looked marvellous as it was carved and perfectly rare, but when eaten, though tender, had almost no flavour and a curiously spongy texture. Dis- cussing the causes of this oddity made for diverting conversation, but disappointment was made worse by floppy Yorkshire pud- ding and seriously uncrisp roast potatoes. They do this kind of thing much better at Simpson's, I mused. At least the admirable Connaught equipe made fulsome apologies, promised to take the bad news to the chef and offered another dish as an alternative, though by that time we lacked the energy.
Undaunted by this setback, we turned our attention to the pudding trolley and both chose fraises Romanoff. This truly ancien regime dessert of strawberries and raspber- ries whipped into thick cream laced with port left us suitably comforted, and Clare decided to make up for the beef by having some bread and butter pudding as well: tres comme ii faut. With excellent coffee, dull petits fours and a fine Chateau Cissac '83, rather overpriced at £36, the bill, including the discretionary 15 per cent, came to £178. The room may be gorgeous, the service flawless and the atmosphere delightful, but at such a price even ancien regime cuisine surely needs to be flawless too.
Down in Chelsea, in Elystan Street off Sloane Avenue, Au Bon Accueil has been going for 30 years, since Piero and Paolo left their waiter jobs at nearby Poissonnerie de l'Avenue to set it up. They are pretty ancien regime too, and the elderly ladies from the quartier who patronise them look as if they would be dining at the Connaught if they could only afford it. The menu seems to have remained unchanged in all the years I have been going there, and a recent visit demonstrated that it continues to deliver the goods. The room is comfort- able, the Iberian service solicitous, and the cooking unimpeachable. My financial ana- lyst friend, a notoriously demanding gourmet, and I greatly enjoyed hard-boiled eggs and prawns with perfect mayonnaise, and soft herring roes meuniere, then hal- ibut, also meuniere but with rosemary added, and a totally authentic escalope de veau Holstein (anchovies, capers and a fried egg on top), and finally that most ancien and perfect of puds, vanilla ice cream with very dark, piping hot chocolate sauce, With coffee and a bottle of good Saint Veran '92, the bill came to a mere £47, plus tip. I fancy I shall be returning to Bon Accueil sooner and more often than to the Connaught.
The Connaught, Carlos Place, London WI; tel: 0171 499 7070.
Au Bon Accueil, 19-21 Elystan Street, Lon- don SW3; tel: 0171 589 3718.
David Fingleton
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