WHEN the editor asked me to follow in the elegant
footsteps of my predecessor, Nigella Lawson, he thought I should set out my credo for restaurant criticism. First and foremost, I believe that going to a restau- rant should be fun. It should not resemble a religious experience, something to be approached with awe, nor an exercise in one-upmanship, where the establishment's price or exclusivity sets it on a pedestal. On the restaurant's side, whatever the size of the bill, your visit should be greeted with pleasure, it being their privilege to serve you, as well as yours to be there. Even if prices are high they should be fair, and the bill not swollen by hidden extras. Above all, if service has already been added to the bill, the bottom line of your credit-card slip should not be left blank in case you had not noticed. That's trickery. Service itself need not be obsequious — it is better not — but should be attentive, efficient and, above all, friendly. Pleasure can equally be found in elaborate or simple cooking, at high price or low. It is the care with which the cooking is executed that counts, and the imagina- tion that went into compiling the menu. A decent selection of house wine at afford- able prices should always be available: a meal should not be spoiled by inability to afford a grand vintage. Tables should be ready at the time for which they were booked, and it is always a good idea to book, specifying when doing so whether or not you wish to smoke. Non-smoking sec- tions in restaurants are entirely acceptable; a place which allows nobody to smoke is certainly not. As a rule of thumb, if the first remark on your arrival at a restaurant is, `Good evening, how nice to see you', there is a good chance you will enjoy your visit. If it is, 'Have you reserved?' you most proba- bly will not.
In search of such gastronomic pleasure my initial foray was to Oxford, to give lunch to three female classicists celebrating the end of finals. As they also comprised three- sevenths of University College's women's rugby team, I expected the company to be convivial. Our choice was the just-opened Le Petit Blanc, news of whose impending arrival I gave here when writing of Ray- mond Blanc's Le Manoir aux Quat' Saisons in the issue of 24 February. I wrote then that we were awaiting with bated breath this large, Terence Conran-designed brasserie where customers were intended to eat for about f20 per head.
We were not disappointed, and, despite going a la carte — there is a £14 three- course lunch served from noon to 3.30 p.m. — with three courses each, coffee and two bottles of wine, the bill was just £104 for four for a memorable meal. The Conran design leans to the Oriental, with a bar and café area at the front overlooking Walton Street, and a well-lit dining-room to the rear, opening onto a spacious, well- appointed kitchen — the pride and joy of the young head chefs, New Zealander Alex Mackay and Canadian David Hawksworth. The room is simply but pleasingly decorat- ed with round, clothless tables, comfortable chairs in terracotta or gold, and royal blue table napkins. Staff are young and keen, the service attentive, the atmosphere relaxed and the enjoyment quotient high. Le Petit Blanc opens for breakfast at 8 a.m. and continues all day until last dinners at 11 p.m., with teas being served as we left in mid-afternoon.
Clearly it is turnover that will underpin the prices, for those on the large a la carte menu are almost unbelievably modest. To start with, scrum-half Shauna, who has a Chinese mother, went for curried coconut and lime soup with spring vegetables, which she found a highly successful marriage of European and Oriental — like her parents'. Prop-forwards Miranda and Katherine had goat's cheese soufflé with grilled vegetables and a pâté of foie gras and chicken livers respectively. After initial pleasure, Miranda found her soufflé a bit rubbery and reck- oned that her mother does better. Kather- ine was enchanted by her pâté. So was I: it was rich and creamy, full of the flavour of foie gras, and of perfect consistency, gener- ously served. My choice of hors d'oeuvres facon Maman Blanc was in fact crudités six different raw vegetables, plus spicy couscous and egg mayonnaise. A perfect, very French starter, and only £3.80, but then the pâté was an unbelievable £4.50.
Main courses were equally satisfying. I chose roast shoulder of lamb from the set menu, perfectly roasted pink, well herbed and accompanied by garlic potatoes and a splendid parsleyed mix of French and young broad beans. Shauna's rabbit in a mustard and tarragon sauce was much applauded for its precision, Miranda's beautifully char-grilled calves' liver came with small, herby sauté potatoes and white cabbage, and Katherine's sea bream had a wonderfully intense, saffrony bouillabaisse jus. Each dish looked ravishing on the plate. Desserts kept up the standard: a magnificent medley of red summer fruits with kirsch savarin and crème fraiche, an impeccable rhubarb and strawberry gratin — a true French classic — a rich feuillan- tine of chocolate with hazelnut sauce and vanilla ice-cream, and an abundant selec- tion of French and English cheeses, served in slices on the plate rather than from a board. Coffee was excellent, house Chilean chardonnay a snip at £8.95, and a very acceptable Cotes du Roussillon was £10.95. It was such a happy quartet that staggered into Walton Street at teatime that I was almost tempted to play a game of rugger, but we went to see Secrets and Lies instead.
Le Petit Blanc, 71-72 Walton Street, Oxford; tel:• 01865 510999.
David Fingleton
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