Cassis Bistro

There's a war on for the soul of French food. It's not a new war, it's a war of attrition; a Somme, not an Agincourt. Every year the debate is rekindled when the 'Michelin Guide to Great Britain & Ireland' is published, this year on Tuesday January 18.

The French food debate goes something like this. ANTI: Michelin only recognises fine-dining French restaurants, and cares more about tablecloths than 'real food'. It knows nothing about world cuisines, and is simply not interested in budget dining.

PRO: Michelin inspectors operate to the highest international standards irrespective of price, and the simple fact is that good restaurants tend to be dear.

ANTI: Because Michelin only recognises one narrow definition of 'fine dining', the company has effectively castrated French cuisine.

PRO: Michelin judges on cooking quality alone, inspections are by trained professionals, and conducted anonymously to ensure integrity.

And so on. In one corner, the defenders of tradition and 'haute cuisine' (usually the restaurateurs and chefs who benefit from stars); in the other, self-appointed 'foodies', the sans-culottes.

So where does somewhere like Cassis fit in? At first glance, it's firmly in the true blue Michelin camp. It's owned by one wealthy patron, Marlon Abela, who collects Michelin-starred restaurants the way the rest of us collect Nectar points.

He owns The Greenhouse, Umu and private club Morton's in London, and a handful of top-rated places in New York and New England.

Cassis has the expensive cutlery, the well-chosen art on the walls, the gracious serving staff, the genuflection towards France, the 'right' location and all the other accoutrements you'd expect in a Michelin-starred place. Abela has very good taste, in a very traditional way.

The food at Cassis is pretty damn good, fairly expensive, and with few surprises. The wine list is stacked full of fantastic wines (France, Italy, Spain) at prices which aren't rapacious, though a sommelier is on hand should you wish to up your game to some of the 700 wines from the longer list.

However, there's a sense of playfulness about the menu that we liked. The 'petit bouchées' (Michelin will love that) gave a knowing wink to 1970s dinner parties. Pastis-flambéed snails, puff pastry and garlic butter were… vol-au-vents. And eggs mimosa - hard-boiled eggs with the yolks mixed and restuffed - would be straight out of a Mike Leigh play, if they weren't so beautifully impregnated with crab mayonnaise.

Some aspects of the meal stood out - the breads were a highlight - while others struggled to make an impact.

The pâtés were perfectly correct but lacked the depth of interest, flavour and verve of the selection of Bar Boulud just down the road (home to London's best charcuterie). Pan-fried red mullet with fregola (Sardinian couscous) would have been a bland dish without the addition of little brown shrimps. Puds include that dish of of the moment, rum baba.

Cassis is less the dark, conservative shade of blue that appeals to Michelin inspectors; it's more that fruitier, purple shade of emperor's robes. Time will tell if it's also the emperor's new clothes.