Butchering the Art of French Cooking:
Aubergine at the Compleat Angler
Fundamentally, when innate instincts kick in the human being is a very simplistic creature; most women will agree that in dire moments of tragedy and heartbreak, we won’t be craving prune parfait with an armagnac ice cream.
Inevitably, the salve of choice would be a milk-choc Hobnob or a massive block of Cadbury’s Dairy Milk –it could be Galaxy, if that’s what you’re into - and a good strong brew; It’s that fabulous British mentality that a cup of tea can solve any problem whatsoever, and that is the difference –apparently- between us and the French.
French cuisine never fails to baffle me –watching Amy Adams ‘confronting the duck’ in order to bone it and finally en Croûte it in Julie & Julia is enough to dissuade me from indulging any natural curiosity that I might have to experiment -or should I say battle- with traditional French cooking at home (Not convinced? See Mastering the Art of French Cooking by Julia Child – It’s not for beginners!)
Not that I believe that all French cuisine is completely unattainable, because in essence, provincial French cooking is about simple flavours. A classic example being sole meunière; the success of which relies on a fresh piece of fish, simply pan-fried in butter with a squeeze of fresh lemon and some chopped parsley.
Rick Stein, the man to trust when preparing fish, understands that sole meunière is a reigning favourite for fish lovers and lists it at the very top -and as one of the best-loved dishes- of his menu at the Sea Food restaurant in Padstow. It just goes to show that the result of the tiniest amount of preparation can be an absolute dream, and the same concept of flavour and simplicity can be easily applied to create delicious home-cooked meals.
But we all know that dining out is very, very different to enjoying those comforting signature masterpieces at home, that we know how to prepare down to specific measurements. In a fine French restaurant for instance - were it a complex menu or not- I would certainly expect the food to be of a superb quality and I would be prepared to pay for it.
But I am not so sure that I want to pay for flamboyant tablecloths, silver service or jerkily-awkward Stepford waiters in their stiffly-starched apparel. I feel that it is not so much the cultural cuisine of France that is questionable for its pomposity, rather, it may be the pervasive big-city trend for fine –might I add, pretentious- dining that is to blame for my lack of enthusiasm.
It is the companion who turns to me and says ‘It’s not that I don’t love this type of food every so often, but given the choice I would still prefer a home-made beef and ale pie at a relaxed country pub’.
That is when it occurs to me how ‘London’ this fine country restaurant actually is – the penny drops as I read that Aubergine is part of the London Fine Dining group, who have a scattering of ostentatious, ‘boutique’ restaurants, mainly within London charging an arm and a leg for a -supposedly designer- rump of steak. And, who’s to be sure that said steak bottom is going to be better there then at a good country pub, sans the extortionate rates and stuffy host.
Go to a local market in Provence for instance, and taste some of the sweetest tomatoes or those miniscule but exquisite sunshine plums that make your taste-buds sing, ask a native how they cook and most often the produce is fresh and local, garlic and parsley is used in abundance and true Provencal cuisine if simply executed and tastes perfect.
Dining out in Aix en Provence, you can often find that a traditional dining room bistro will often only serve one main meal -and as a matter of course- deliver a carafe of wine to the table with the bread basket as soon as the party arrives. It’s a simple as that, no flounce involved!
At Aubergine however, there is something in the food, the atmosphere and in the air of the wait persons that incites indescribable inertia in both the companion and myself. We are not reserved or insecure by nature, we are accustomed to eating out in lovely restaurants and I certainly have no qualms about requesting what I want and how I want it in any dining establishment -my mentality being, if I’m going to pay through the nose for it, then I want to enjoy it when I eat it! – But there is almost a tangible awkwardness that centres around an artificial contrivance; it’s as displaced as a snowball in hell and truth be told it makes for a rather disagreeable experience.
Having said that, the food itself is mostly very agreeable; we are pleasantly surprised by a squint-to-see –it amuse-gueule of arancini with arrabiata sauce, a Barbie doll’s fillet of lamb with horseradish cream, a goat’s cheese stuffed cherry tomato in pesto sauce and a cooling Gazpachio with horseradish foam and sesame bread; they are all fine, but none particularly astound either of us.
I am however in raptures about my Lyme Bay hand-dived seared scallops with pea puree and pea shoots; the scallops are juicy and tender and the savoury note of the peas compliment the sweetness of the scallops beautifully.
Tasting the fillet of beef is a tense moment though, as we both are keen to assess its worthiness to demand mega funds for the privilege of consuming it’s delicacy. It is nicely pink in a red wine and shallot sauce with a dollop of horseradish cream – note the horseradish-y theme- though the meat itself is void of much flavour but the texture is buttery and tender. I can say – hand on heart- my father has made me considerable amounts of superior roast beef and Yorkshire pud over the years.
‘Essentially, that’s what this is,’ the companion chimes in again, ‘it’s glorified roast with bells on top. It’s fine, but that’s all!’ Needless to say, the Devonshire lad knows what he likes! Though, come dessert we both eagerly plunge into mounds of creamy strawberry fromage-frais sorbet with a summer-berry coulis, it’s cooling, light and satisfying. There’s a smile on his face now!
It is fair to say that the food was mostly quite enjoyable and I would recommend it, however certainly do expect to pay considerably – and for months to come- for it! And do expect the ‘designer’ up-tight flourishes of a stiffly whipped and beribboned meringue.
But is that what you truly want? I believe that all the fuss of the ‘boutique’ restaurant takes something away from the rustic charm and romantic abandon of traditional French food. At Aubergine, you should get posh French nosh, but if you want authenticity and traditional French fare then ignore the dressed-up British version and hop the channel for a real experience.
