Picture: Civilian London
I’ve been trying – nay, straining – to think of something amusing to say about Green Man & French Horn, but nothing’s coming. Entertaining restaurant reviews illustrate a perfect inversion of Thumper’s mantra: “If you can’t find somethin’ nice to say…” … well, then that’ll make for more engaging reading, won’t it? Good reviews are boring, possibly because we all still expect “good” to be a restaurant’s default setting. Silly us. Still, bad reviews are a thrilling blood sport. I have no idea how much they paid David Chipperfield to refurbish the Ten Room at the Café Royal, but it’s been worth every penny for the entertainment we’ve got from each steel toe-capped kick it’s taken. “Uh oh! Here comes Adrian Gill. And that paywall won’t protect you.”
But, as is the way of most restaurant reviews these days, I digress.
Until Florence Knight left the space above the French House last year, Polpetto was my most frequented West End dining room. It was casual, humanely priced, the food was fantastic – usually simple but with surprising and exciting quirks – and I could reserve a table. When it closed, I felt adrift. There was a Polpetto-shaped hole left in the West End. That hole has now been filled by Green Man & French Horn.
It all comes on those faddish sort-of-Willow Pattern plates that suggest you’re in some old dear’s kitchen, where the china and flatware consist of generations of mismatched family heirlooms
The team behind Terroirs and Brawn (and something called Soif which I’ve never been to because it’s south of the river) have taken over an old pub in Covent Garden and created a brick-walled, wooden furniture-filled wine bar with a menu of rustic, muscular French cooking. I know nothing of the Loire apart from the fact that it’s in France, but this is a taste of the region, apparently – from cooking style to wine list. It’s all what you’d call “hearty”, with little to please a vegetarian. It’s St John in a beret, with some onions around its neck. There’s fish and game and offal, and it all comes on those faddish sort-of-Willow Pattern plates that suggest you’re in some old dear’s kitchen, where the china and flatware consist of generations of mismatched family heirlooms. Yes, it’s contrived, but nicely so.
You can come here and have a glass of wine and the plate of the day for a tenner. I keep meaning to do just that when I’m solo and killing an hour at lunchtime in WC2, but haven’t yet. After all, why go to Wagamama – the coward’s option for dining alone if ever there was one – when you can sit at the bar here with some sardines, something red and a newspaper?
Every time I visit for dinner I have the same thing – rillons with endive and mustard. It’s the kind of plate that has your arteries waving a white flag. The pork belly has been cooked in duck fat, so it’s extra crispy on the outside, super-soft inside. The mustard is eye watering, the endive is crisp and fresh and the meat is the most delicious thing on any menu in Theatreland. The Vendée Ham – which was my first love here – has disappeared from the menu, and I hope it returns. It represents the best £10 I spent on food last year. It was a feast in itself, on a bed of comforting white stewed beans. When I can’t have it, I often order lemon sole with seaweed butter as a main but on my last visit they had tête de veau in ravigote sauce, so I went for that instead and it was great – unctuous, meaty, with a delicate flavour. I’ve never experienced a dud dish here. Sometimes I finish up with a cheese plate, sometimes the pear with salted butter caramel and sable biscuit. Sometimes both. And always I order a Domaine du Moulin Gamay and Pinot Noir blend, whose bright acidity cuts through the mustard of the rillons.
So, is there anything cutting or witty to say about Green Man & French Horn? Or is it, in fact, the perfect restaurant? Well, on my last visit there was a bit of a Gallic shrug when I asked to move tables to somewhere nearer the back of the restaurant. But again, that’s nothing to write home about. And they moved me. Also, I’ve never been able to book without being negotiated up or down by about half an hour. But lord love ’em, at least they can be arsed to run a reservations system. I tried to go for dinner at 10 Greek Street the other night and was told the wait would be “just over two hours”. Yeah, right. I won’t be eating there any time soon (and that’s not because I’ll be waiting my turn outside). I don’t organise my meal times around when a restaurant has a seat – and I don’t believe most grown ups do either. Thank goodness for Green Man & French Horn, then. A restaurant that feels like it’s run for the customer’s pleasure, not for the profit margins, is as rare as hen’s teeth in London these days.
Green Man & French Horn, 54 St Martin’s Lane, London WC2
020-7836 2645; greenmanfrenchhorn.co