She says...
As with many popular high-end restaurants Les Trois Garcons has two distinct sittings - the 'panic dash from work' early one, and the 'I'm not hungry now, because I had to have a snack to keep me going' late one. We went for 6:45pm, and I was keenly reminded that they would need the table back by 8:45pm sharp. I was 15 minutes late. Arghh! We've now only got one hour 45 minutes to complete six courses! Quick, where's the starter?
The first thing to arrive was the ubiquitous amuse bouche - a warm swirl of pasta with a mushroomy froth. I (in stark contrast to what Matt says below) found it fresh and full of flavour. A good start; the conversation and the yummy Argentinian Malbec (a reasonable £28 find from a long and varied wine list) started flowing.
The following dishes though, failed to break through our chatter. The starter proper, two styles of fois gras, lacked imagination. I couldn't help comparing it unfavourably to a meal we'd enjoyed with the same couple, at
Odettes, in Primrose Hill. There the fois gras was teamed with roasted wood pigeon, pickled cherries, chocolate and vanilla salt - a sensational concoction that bounced around the mouth.
Back to The Three Frenchmen and the razor clam with melted cheese raised an approving ooooo from me, but the accompanying monkfish and strangely crunchy lump of potato had no zing. The venison course that came afterwards was tastless and lukewarm, with no tongue-pleasing combination of flavours. Perhaps foodie burglars had stolen the seasoning from the kitchen?
Oh no, clearly all the salt had been wasted on the square potato croquet nestling under the meat. Blurghh, so saline I had to immediately gulp some water. Even the chocolate dessert failed to live up to its decadent promise. The sweet red wine (a
Maury from the Pyrenees) the waitress suggested as an accompaniment was intriguing, but underwhelming as well.
Despite the alert service, always on hand with refills of tap water, there's something a bit lacklustre about the restaurant and its food. The room is still beautifully quirky, with more handbags hanging from the ceiling than chandeliers, and one of the owners actually walked through the restaurant early on with the real life dalmatians that are immortalised in the giant portrait on the wall (
interview with Les Trois Garcons).
But it now feels like a dusty antique shop in need of a spring clean. I guess we should have been wary of the hint of desperation that putting offers on a voucher site gives off, and I left feeling mighty glad we hadn't paid the normal £60 for the tasting menu. However, we hadn't in actual fact
had the normal tasting menu, and we hadn't really had six courses! One of the three fish/meat courses advertised on the website was missing. In its place we'd had a slim plate of petit fours.
Bit of a swizz really, rescued only by great company. The fact we discussed everything else - from holidays in Nicaragua and copyright law to the recent rise in the motorway speed limit - rather than the food, is telling I think! On the plus side, after all the emphasis on clock-watching, we never felt rushed, and were still at the table at 9:10pm being asked if we wanted coffee. The room was more than half empty by now, clearly not over-subscribed; but then it was a Monday night.
So not quite the dining outing I'd hoped for, and, as an experience is always judged against expectations, I'm not sure it justified the final bill of £56 each (wine, coffee and service were added to the prepaid £30 food offer).
Restaurant #3 = 5/10
He says...
As we were taken to our table, I noticed a tiger wearing a crown towering over a dining couple, while nearby a monkey was sat happily displaying his genitalia to the well-heeled guests of Hassan, Michel and Stefan - les trois garcons themselves.
The three restaurateurs have been bringing their brand of quirky dishevelled glamour to diners for over ten years, having built a loyal fanbase with signature French-influenced dishes and Alice in Wonderland decor.
But it could have been that Monday evening vibe (or that the redirected Heathrow flights had woken Kat and I too early that morning), but there was a tiredness to the proceedings.
The first discovery was that our grubby little vouchers proffered to the maitre d’ bought us a special tasting menu – not the one I eagerly noted on the website that featured Gressingham duck breast and Nori crusted Scottish scallops. No, this was a tasting menu that sadly lacked taste.
The pasta amuse bouche was vaguely mushroomy. Very vaguely. The Venison with red fruity sauce and two pretty girolle mushrooms was also surprisingly flavourless.
Even the slab of milk and white chocolate smeared with melted chocolate sauce – which should have elicited wild pronouncements of adoration – only got a mention at our table because the accompanying biscuit contained the
popping candy that the kids at my school used to throw on the floor and then jump on to create loud crackling noises.
But the fois gras - both as pate and smokily pan-fried in Sauternes - collided well with the Argentinian Malbec. And the cube of monkfish fillet was meatily satisfying, although its accompanying razor clam with cheese let the side down.
A tasting menu should be something that surprises, delights and sparks discussion, but sadly my bouche was not amused.
Apparently either Hassan, Michel or Stefan passed by our table at one point, but I failed to notice, perhaps still mesmerised by the flashing monkey. Either that, or these trois garcons have become part of the furniture.
Time to follow the monkey, and show some bollocks?
Restaurant #3 = 7/10
