Restaurants

Push aside the heavy velvet curtains shielding the entrance door and you enter a lost world. Well-padded gents and their comfortable female consorts, francophiles and francophones alike, come here to revel in the bourgeois French cooking, and the timeless interior and atmosphere. There aren’t many places where you can order calves’ brains cooked with black butter and capers, but you can here; the pale brains are the texture of set custard, but the dressing gives a sharp bite to cut through the rich fat and protein. Main course? More brains: this time as part of a deboned tête de veau. The capers, onion and seasoning of the accompanying ravigote sauce provided a distraction from the odd textures of the calf’s head, just as they are supposed to. It’s not all offal: an escabeche of red mullet was winningly combined with lentils, globe artichoke and little toasts; another dish of baby leeks with a perfectly poached egg balanced on top was almost enough to make us renounce the sins of the flesh. You pay for the privilege of eating here, though – the figures on everything, from the puddings to the wines, feel as though they should be in euros, not pounds.

Time Out Eating & Drinking Guide 2008