Bistrot Bruno Loubet, Clerkenwell

You'll often hear it said that service in London restaurants isn't up to the standard of the USA, particularly New York. It seems natural to compare these two cities - both hugely important, with vibrant food cultures and each with a smattering of internationally influential restaurants and chefs - and it's fun contrasting the strengths and weaknesses of each; London for its South Asian cuisine and gastropubs, New York for its delis and sushi. But service is a tricky one. I'm all for good service of course; it can make the difference between a good meal and a terrible one, and I suppose the standard of service in New York is objectively higher - as you'd expect for the massive amount extra you pay for it. But it's perhaps because of this premium in New York that I often get the impression staff are trying a little bit too hard for their tips. I don't just mean in the completely over-the-top TGI Friday's "I'm your best friend for the next two hours" style, which is of course hugely embarrassing for all concerned - I also dislike the false joviality and over-attentiveness of staff in many more salubrious restaurants, being badgered to report back on the meal before I've barely taken a mouthful, or - as happened in one New York hotel restaurant a couple of years back - being told to "cheer up, it may never happen" as I tried to order.


And it was, sadly, that forced joviality and over-attentiveness from the staff at Bistrot Bruno Loubet that was really the only downside to a meal which was otherwise very good. It started as soon as we arrived, when the maître d', dressed like a stage hypnotist in a shiny black jacket and slicked David Copperfield haircut, cracked bizarre and unfunny jokes and attempted to engage us in "banter" instead of showing us to our table. Once eventually seated, we were subjected to the dreaded "how is everything" a few mouthfuls in, and various other pointless and irritating interjections occurred throughout the evening. If it sounds like I'm being oversensitive, then perhaps I am, but if it's enough to distract me from my food then something's wrong somewhere. Only the sommelier was a picture of professionalism, and matched my courses with some fine French reds by the glass without simultaneously trying his hand at stand-up comedy.


The food, then. My starter of snails and meatballs showed exactly why this place had been getting such rave reviews since it opened a few months back. A delicately constructed and earthily rich mushroom mousse sat surrounded by a handful of dense, porky meatballs and robustly flavoured snails. It was all dressed with some kind of pesto, which added acidity and lovely herby notes. The shapes and textures in this dish were deliciously addictive, and made a very satisfying start to the meal.


It's not often you see pigeon breast as a main course, perhaps because a single pigeon wouldn't make a very generous portion. I'm guessing two or three birds went into this dish, dressed with thinly-sliced cauliflower florets and toasted almonds. The jus was intensely flavoured and the pigeon itself gamey and moist and well seasoned. It was another good example of the use of contrasting textures to produce a satisfying whole, and in fact brought to mind the equally gorgeous rabbit and panchetta salad from Zucca a couple of weeks back.


Savoury courses were so generous and rich that we skipped desserts and instead ordered a minimalist cheese course of Cachel Blue and an Epoisses. Both were unfortunately fridge-fresh but still managed to punch above their temperature and were happily devoured. I do have an issue though with the toasted sourdough bread that came with the cheeses - I just don't think bread should be served with any cheese course; either serve plain crackers or nothing at all. If your cheese is good enough, you shouldn't need such distractions.

It's solely as a testament to Bruno Loubet's talents in the kitchen that we left his eponymous Bistrot very happy, but I couldn't help thinking that if the staff managed to turn the mateyness and quirkiness down a few notches we would have enjoyed ourselves far more. The arrival in London of New York levels of service is a thing to be applauded - as is this kind of restaurant (just look at Bar Boulud) - but perhaps it's the style of service that won't travel so well. So, a memo to the waiting staff of London: I'm not your best mate, I don't want to be "entertained" and if there's a problem with my dinner I'll be sure to tell you, there should be no need to ask. In the meantime, show me quietly and quickly to my table, bring me tap water by default and then stick to the shadows until needed. I promise you'll still get your tip.

7/10

This review was supported by restaurantvouchers.co.uk. Restaurant vouchers bring together all those handy printable discounts including Pizza Express vouchers, Toby Carvery Vouchers, Zizzi Vouchers, and many more.

Meat is Murder (Tasty, Tasty Murder)

The Guardian's Word of Mouth comment section, like many popular topical internet message boards that allow the rationally-challenged to hold forth on issues way outside of their sphere of understanding, is a hotbed of vitriol and hyperbole. I should know, I'm a frequent contributor myself. And given the nature of the passions on both sides, it's perhaps not surprising that the issues surrounding the dispatch and preparation of animals for consumption should be a regular flashpoint. But it has been increasingly alarming just how far vegetarians (for it is mainly vegetarians, and their even more rabid cousins, the vegans) will go to find offense. I can just about understand how people who choose not to eat meat would be squeamish towards the slaughter and butchery of a cute little baby cow or a fluffy wild bunny, but when the cooking and eating of snails and crabs becomes an issue for the Animal Rights League you know all sense of perspective has gone completely out of the window. Take this gem, which appeared beneath Tim Hayward's excellent Giant African Land Snail adventure:

They're responsive, emotional and very sweet creatures. You can tell if they're in a "good mood" by how much they let you handle them, when they're very "happy" you can stroke them down their back and they move their eyestalks in happiness

[...]

Award winning writer? Was it a nice big heavy award that he can murder more things with?

It's. A. Snail. If you think a 5-inch gastropod is responsive and emotional, you should meet my ex-girlfriend. Convincing yourself you're receiving valuable feedback from an animal whose two main functions on this planet are to move very slowly and eat lettuce is desperately worrying - do you think maybe you're confusing "the moving of the eyestalks in happiness" with "the being of a snail"? Just a thought.

What's irritating, however, is that chefs and foodies are willing to make concessions to these sentimental extremists by going through ludicrous preparatory hoops to convince them that the animals in question have been "ethically" killed. Take crabs, for example. Essentially a nervous system in a shell, with what can only be loosely described as a "brain" so small you can barely see it, there's no more reason why you should care if a crab is "ethically" put to rest (whatever that means) than the troublesome ants nest in your back garden or the cockroach in your bread bin. And after all, edible snails and crabs can also be considered vermin in most cases. But in countless recipes on the web and in timid populist celebrity chef books, we are advised to put the animals in the freezer for half an hour to slow its metabolism down, then "ethically" jab a sharp knife in between its eyes to mangle its brain. Similarly for lobster - a sharp stab through the head is apparently the preferred method here, because if you omitted this pointless stage between the catching and the eating, PETA would bash your front door in and set fire to your children.

But I think I know why - jealousy. Given that we don't (generally) eat ants or beetles or mice or rats, the veggies are quite happy to turn a blind eye to pest control. But once they see us taking pleasure from eating something, suddenly the rules change and we're cruel and bloodthirsty carnivores who are only eating crabs and snails to make them mad. And if we are determined to eat the defenceless little things then the least we can do is feel guilty about it and be very sorry and admit we're just following a sordid and shameful urge for live flesh and don't deserve to enjoy it.

Well, the fightback starts here. We can concede, as omnivores, that an animal with big brown eyes and hooves should be treated with respect during its final moments, given that its brain is just about big enough to make such an effort worthwhile. But there's no way on earth we should feel guilty about the passing of crustaceans and molluscs and gastropods. Next time you get hold of a nice fresh lobster or Dorset brown crab, make sure it's still alive and kicking when you drop it into the pot. It won't make the blindest bit of difference to you or the animal, but it will serve the very important purpose of pissing the vegetarians off.

Edit: Photo courtesy of The Springfield Files