There is good food to be found in Britain but I still get a warm glow when I think of the Channel tunnel. To suggest – as did one misguided food-guest on Dorinda Hafner’s TV feast recently – that we now take ideas, ingredients, and dishes from “abroad”, and simply “do them all better” is perhaps the most ignorant statement I have heard for some time. The surfeit of over-designed mini-chain establishments financed by City money – the recent takeover of The Ivy and The Caprice by the Belgo group surprised everyone – really bothers me. At least in Paris, Jean-Paul Bucher – the Alsatian entrepreneur whose group, Flo Prestige, owns an empire of brasseries – balances a love for finance with a passion for a decently cooked andouillette. I doubt the sharp-suited Brits have even heard of an andouillette – let alone smelt one grilling.
Then there is the growing breed of the ego-driven chef; one in particular who seems more interested in a relationship with the press than with making froth in a small cup. The recent fiasco between Gordon Ramsay and AA Gill is one of the saddest moments in the history of British gastronomy. Apart from the fact that Gill knows what actually tastes good, to be used as part of a shoddy publicity stunt smacks of bad taste – especially from someone who has a delicate hand with a blender stick.
It’s enough to make you want to buy your first single Eurostar ticket.You see, in continental restaurants, mostly family-owned, where the stoves are old and worn, the food is prepared with little blast, lambaste or pain They just get on with it. And they know it’s good without having to be informed in the tabloid press.In these places, it is understood that you are hungry, or you would not have decided to eat in the first place In general, the British are not good at eating out. Even with our countless trips to Europe and our tales of the perfect aubergine a la creme enjoyed at a little auberge in the Auvergne, even though it is now (supposedly) understood that the finest Spanish serrano [ham] is “better than anything Italy can produce” (as one learned gourmand proclaimed recently), the average Wasp has never learnt to eat simply because it is the right time of day.So it is with fondness and familiarity that I now embark upon a potted tour of my affair with continental eating. With restaurants, I favour the places that survive on convention and habit – monotony at its most exhilarating. If it is simply a dish under discussion, it will be indigenous, traditional and nothing new. Familiarity breeds content.I now eat in places where I know I will be looked after, recognised as a regular and as someone who clearly enjoys eating well.With this in mind, I would be happy to have my last lunch – and it would be lunch – chez L’Ami Louis, in Paris, off the rue Turbigo in the third arrondissement. This place is just so far away from that bloody seared- tuna-and-a-bit-of-rocket that it makes me want to take all the clowny- trousered chefs in London to lunch here with me It would cost me a small fortune, but it would be worth it.
L’Ami Louis is not, how shall we say, cheap, but I would rather eat the snails and roast chicken here than almost any other dish I have eaten in my life The composed desserts, however, are quite dreadful. The sensible option is either framboises or fraises des bois – and a large vessel of creme fraiche au lait cru. I remain chuffed to have introduced Albert Roux to L’Ami Louis.FranceEscargots a la Bourguignonne, serves 224 tinned snails, with shells for the garlic butter:250g unsalted butter, softened to room temperature25g peeled garlic cloves – as fresh as possible – finely chopped40g parsley leaves, finely chopped15g dry breadcrumbs1tbsp Pernod (not optional, as it makes the dish)1 level tsp salta generous grinding of pepper4 good shakes TabascoNote: if you cook this dish, one assumes you have the appropriate snail dishes and implements to hand. However nicely tinned the snails are, I always re-heat them with more aromatics – a little chopped onion and carrot, a splash of white wine, a squeeze of lemon juice, a little salt, pepper, bay and thyme. Simmer gently for 20 minutes and cool.To make the butter, mix the eight ingredients together in a bowl, using a sturdy whisk.
If you do it in a food processor, fit a plain mixing paddle rather than the cutting blade – the chopped ingredients should not end up as a mush. Put into a bowl and chill.Pre-heat the oven to 425F/220C/gas mark 7. First, press a little bit of butter into the shells and push well inside the housing. Now insert a snail, pointy bit uppermost, and also push well in, leaving room for a further cap of butter. Fill with a generous thumbful of the butter, smear the opening well, and seal neatly. Place the shells in the dish – their apertures as horizontal as is possible – and bake for at least 10 minutes, or until they are all bubbling angrily, smelling impossibly good and seemingly too hot to eat.