Only 10pm, and the bars were spilling out with lads and lasses in all their booze-soaked glory, flashing their arses and pole dancing on the lampposts. My partner and I took solace within a quaint bistro on King Street, sat in the front window, watching the children of the night for entertainment. If it weren’t for the occasional holler of ‘Beckeh, ‘ave lost me shoowuz!’, I’d have thought we’d been transported to the south of France as we lapped up the candlelight, the creaky wooden floors, and the shelves of fresh food.
We began with a lovely, medium-bodied Pinot noir – a 2013 La Boussole (£19.50/bottle) from the Ardeche valley. There was something clean and light about it for a red, which proved dangerously moreish. We didn’t want to end up like the train-wrecks outside, so got started on the food. We went for the menu gastronomique – three courses for £27.90. Swiftly after we ordered, the table was blessed with bread – a bleddy welcome rarity.
For starters, I had the moules au vin blanc – whole, fresh mussels steamed in a broth. Garlic, parsley, shallot and cream, to be precise. So tasty. Really salty mussels, and the broth almost had a buttery element to it. I couldn’t help but mop it up. My partner had the salade oceane, which was absolutely gorgeous, but I still won our game of ‘Starters’. The salad came with smoked salmon, calamari, and peppered mackerel, atop a bed of mixed leaves and drizzled with virgin olive oil, garlic, and sherry vinegar. Delicious.
There was no messing about with the mains. I had the cassoulet toulousain; a big pot of thick, tomato-smothered white lingo beans, carrots and Toulouse sausage with fall-apart duck confit and bread crumbs topping the lot. The dish was so rich I found it quite hard to finish, but it was nothing the mixed salad couldn’t balance out. My partner chose the chevreuil aux myrtilles – Scottish venison medallions, cooked beautifully pink and doused in red wine and blueberry sauce. With a gratin dauphinoise side, the whole thing was ridiculously indulgent, but with meat so perfectly tender, it would be a crime to sit counting calories.
With that in mind, both the sexual creme brulee a la vanilla bourbon and the dense parfait a l’orange, decked out with boozy Grand Marnier and iced orange, and topped with the most to-die-for Grand Marnier caramel, were a yes.
In all, a heavy evening that left us with no room left to breathe, but with food that good, who needs oxygen? Bridie Squires
27 King St, NG1 2AY. 0115 958 5885 French Living website
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