RECESSION DINING: HÉLÈNE DARROZE

OUTGROWING DUCASSE | August 1st 2008

Maybourne Hotel Group

From the wood-panelled dining room at the Connaught, where Hélène Darroze has set up shop in the kitchen, Bruce Palling observes signs of an economic downturn (the restaurant is full, which means diners aren't away in Tuscany). But the hand-caught baby squid is no small consolation prize ...

Special to MORE INTELLIGENT LIFE

London taxi drivers have a rock-solid formula for gauging when the economy is on the skids. It has to do with how many customers they drop off at Le Gavroche, the venerable Mayfair restaurant, during the holiday months. The more booked up they are on late summer evenings, the more clients there are who are unable to afford their annual holiday to Tuscany or the Cote d'Azur. By this standard, we're in for a depression, not just a recession. When I called to reserve at Hélène Darroze, the Connaught's new flagship restaurant a stones throw away from the Gavroche, the only slots available were at 6:30pm or after nine--on a Monday night.

The Connaught is still the best discreetly grand hotel in London--especially after a recent £70m ($140m) face-lift, prompted by serious competition from the Dorchester around the corner. Rooms have been tarted up, and plans are afoot for a pool and spa. The feel is a bit like the Titanic on dry land. A couple of decades ago the Connaught was impossibly snobbish, and took great delight in turning people away unless they were former guests--a form of genteel suicide. Back then the last of the great Anglo-French chefs, Michel Bourdin, presided over the dining room. (His party trick after the main course was to roll a fresh linen tablecloth on without spilling the salt or disrupting the cutlery.) More recently, the new owners of the Connaught went on a culinary talent hunt, deciding on Hélène Darroze, a two-star Paris-based chef.

Hailing from the south-west Landes region, Chef Darroze began as an associate of Alain Ducasse. She has charmed Paris with her two-star establishment, and was awarded chef of the year by Gilles Pudlowski, the most serious competitor to the Michelin Red Guide. Her style is what I would term "haute-rustique"--peerless raw ingredients set off against Indian and Chinese spices with artful techniques.

As it is her first month in this kitchen, not everything dazzles. But there is a consistency of purpose which bodes well for the future. It is slightly exasperating that every two- or three-star establishment I have been to recently insists on starting the meal with little cheesy puffballs and ultra-thin slices of Parma or Serrano ham. Darroze takes this a couple steps further--an antique hand-cranked slicer shaves off rare Bigorre pig from Gascony. But tiny pieces of rind are left on, making it either the ultimate foodie quest for authenticity or merely a bungled job. It is hard to know whether the polite thing to do is to shut up and swallow or disgrace yourself by placing it back on the empty plate. At least it is a delicious dilemma. On this occasion, there was also a thimbleful of Gazpacho, which was another indication that this was a kitchen firing on all cylinders.

The Connaught dining room still oozes boardroom gravitas. Wood panelling virtually creeps to the ceiling and the armchairs were probably rescued from the Titanic's art deco bar. As for the guests, they are close enough to type: plutocratic, with girths and jewellery befitting their status. At present, the all-male staff seems plucked straight from Paris, with the occasional, familiar face--defectors from another London culinary temple.

We opted for the nine-course tasting menu, which began with Le Caviar d'Aquitaine: a raw oyster in black jelly with a velouté of haricot beans, sprinkled with caviar farmed near Bordeaux. Although there was certainly a pleasing maritime taste, it failed to reach the heights of Philip Legendre's version once served at Le Cinq in Paris. Darroze was on better form with her foie gras de canard des Landes with toasted rustic bread and a variety of oriental spices and jam, though the recommended Jurançon La Magendia de Lapeyre '04 didn't do it for me.

Where it all became slightly unstuck for me was with le homard bleu, a chunk of lobster in ravioli with tandoori spices and a tarragon reduction plus some stunning carrot purée. Sadly, this was actually more like a steamed Chinese dumpling with rather rubbery pasta and a sweet lobster sensation that was almost blanked out by the spices. Thankfully, this was all background chatter compared with the next dish, les chipirons de ligne, hand-caught baby squid sautéed with chorizo and tomato confit, surrounded by two-year-old black rice and then swamped with Parmigiano Reggiano foam. It sounds a disgusting mess of pretentious contradictions, but believe me, this was the most exciting dish I have eaten in London for quite some time. The Parmigiano exuded that rotten, durian-like stench that I adore and the rice was almost as intense as black truffles--it was a totally unique combination.

Roller coasters must go down after they go up. It was so with le porc Basque de la Vallee des Aldudes (actually Pork chunks with pineapple cubes). The menu also talks of black pudding and andouillette, but they were miniscule enough as to escape my detection. Instead, this was like pork sweet and sour from a Chinese restaurant with nouvelle cuisine tendencies. However, just as great wine should never be followed by non-vintage, I can only assume that I was so numbed by the squid that what followed reeked inevitably of anti-climax.

The three cheeses that followed, Morbier, Ossau Iraty and Stilton (no choice), were ripe and well presented, though the first two were too similar in taste (sweaty sock) even though they were from different mammals--diners should have the right to choose what they like.

The puddings were impressive, especially the lemon jelly with strawberry sorbet and panna cotta, and the 100% chocolates, both brimming with terroir-driven flavour. I didn't try out the wine list in any great depth, as I was dining with my teenage son. But from the glasses I had, the '04 Potel Puligny-Montrachet was refined and refreshing while the '05 Gevrey-Chambertin from Heresztyn was not very profound. Better to try the longer wine list, which appeared formidable because of the preponderance of older bottles.

I haven't bothered to lecture anybody about the cost of it all--yes, it is £95 per head for the nine-course tasting menu and okay, the wine isn't exactly bargain basement either. However, compared with what you get for a similar amount in France, it is rather good value. I recently had a shockingly unimpressive ris de veau dish at Bernard Loiseau, which alone cost £100.

Overall, this is a very stylish debut: I suspect Darroze will pick up a single Michelin star next time round and then continue to climb. In her London debut Darroze draws a subtle comparison with the restaurant of her mentor, Ducasse, over at the Dorchester. Here, there is soul and a certain Ducassian philosophy--produce is king--while at the Dorchester, the food is overly intellectual and processed. In the Connaught you can sense Darroze's heart, whereas at the Dorchester, you merely get a print-out of the Ducasse brain. In the future, I hope it will be possible to drop by and simply have the chipirons, though I would hate to imagine which wine (if any) could ever complement this exotic complexity.

Even if those apocryphal taxi drivers are correct, I'll take a summer in the city, especially if Darroze stays in the kitchen.

(Bruce Palling spent 30 years as a foreign correspondent in Asia and Africa, including a posting as the first South Asia correspondent of The Independent. He lives now in London, where he writes about food, wine and travel, and is working on a history of regime change. His last story for More Intelligent Life was "Glass Warfare".)