I am a sucker for a French accent. For me, after even the most basic greeting is made I am immediately transported to the streets of Paris, my appetite has leapt to attention, and I am dreaming of foie gras and fromage. Therefore, Cedric, the charming manager who welcomed us to Brompton Bar & Grill, had me at “Bonsoir”.
The venue is the baby of Chef Francois O’Neill and replaces the space where Brasserie St Quentin used to be. Located a stones throw from The Victoria & Albert Museum and a fashionable stroll from Harrods and Harvey Nichols, it makes an ideal spot to refuel no matter if your activity of choice is shopping or culture.
The French accent does not stop with Cedric. Despite calling itself a Bar & Grill, the space is decidedly bistro. There is nothing too fancy going on here but the small, intimate tables are laid with crisp white linens and simple but solid cutlery, and candles twinkle on each one. There are funky, almost 50’s inspired low hanging silver lights dotted around the dining room which cast a warm glow over diners. It may sound fussy, but I am a stickler for lighting, and Brompton Bar & Grill has it pretty much spot on; diners look relaxed, at home, and the murmured conversations are dotted with peals of laughter.
That being said, my favourite part of the décor is the wall art, a collection of dozens of eclectic cartoons and modern art, all handsomely framed in simple black. They create a sense of whimsy to the space without coming across as twee. I hoped for several to be for sale for my own home; alas, no luck.
We were welcomed into the dining room by an equally Gallic waiter who took our coats and showed us to a cosy table for two in the window. It was intimate without being isolating and we could happily “regard les gens passer”, (a typical French past time also known on these shores as “people watching”). Our menus and wine list were promptly presented and we dove right in.
There are no stark surprises here, which is always okay with me. I’m as culinary adventurous as anyone but prefer when a restaurant focuses more on the quality of the food than the uniqueness of it. It being a grill, they of course have several cuts of steak ranging from porterhouse to rib eye, including the classic steak tartare, with a selection of sauces which, along with the classics, unusually included bone marrow. For the pescetarians out there, there is a reassuring selection, such as a Fish Stew that must be perfect for these colder
autumn days.
Before narrowing down our dinner selection we dissected the wine list.
While it leaned heavily on the French side we decided on an Argentinian Malbec, which went down almost too smoothly. The wine list is refreshingly priced, ranging from £16.00 to £99.00, and also has a small selection of reserve bottles.
Despite planning to stick to the wine, curiosity got the better of me and I asked to see the cocktail list. I now know where I’m requesting to meet a girlfriend for drinks next time. Like the dinner menu, the cocktail selection is classic but with a twist (no pun intended). Manhattans, Amaretto Sours, and dirty martinis accompany the Brompton Lychee Sour Green Martini (vodka, lime, juice, fresh kiwi, something that I bet 007 never envisaged). They also have an intriguing but deadly sounding Absinthe cocktail list including the Death In The Afternoon, a concoction of champagne and Absinthe Angelique. The zinc topped bar is class itself, stretching almost the entire length of the restaurant and my companion pointed out that the space is equally as appropriate for a business lunch as it is for ladies who lunch. There is a downstairs bar that is a bit more lounge-like, almost like a well-dressed friend’s living room (and is available for
private hire for up to 32 people).
After much debate we committed to our orders. Whilst the appetizer selection throws a few curve balls (think Morcilla Black Pudding in a piquant tomato sauce and a fried egg, or celeriac and apple soup with blue cheese straws), we kept our choices simple. I opted for snails on toast with smoked bacon, bone marrow, and garlic butter (garlic butter is my weakness, diet be damned) and my companion a classic foie gras terrine with quince chutney and brioche.
Is there such a thing as too much garlic butter? If you are of the “yes” camp, perhaps this dish is not for you as the snails and toast are dripping in it. However, I am of camp “no” and was therefore delighted with what was served to me. The bacon gave a smokiness I hadn’t experienced before in a dish involving snails, but worked perfectly. I asked (almost begged) my companion for a sample of his foie gras which was rich and smooth and almost had no need for the accompanying chutney. I longed to ask for another morsel but the gusto with which he was tucking in made me suspect he might smack my hand away.
Both starters were beautiful, but heavy, and I worried slightly I would not give proper attention to my main course (perhaps, for me next time, the tuna carpaccio as an appetizer). However, when my entrée arrived, all concerns went out the window. Luckily for me, one of my favourite fish, skate, had been offered as a special and I’d leapt to it. It was served, unusually, in a mustard sauce with lentils, pancetta, and roasted cherry tomatoes. I normally prefer fish done simply, letting the seafood speak for itself, but I love lentils, I love pancetta, and I love cherry tomatoes; how bad could the sauce be I reasoned? And it was beautiful, all flavours and textures worked in harmony, even the punchy graininess of the mustard. (And points to the waiter; when I asked if I’d need any sides his opinion was that I wouldn’t due to the quantity of lentils and tomatoes, but he would speed up an order should I change my mind. A pet peeve of mine is waiters to try to flog unnecessary orders.) My companion, unusually for a man at a grill, had ordered the vegetarian option, roasted pumpkin cannelloni with rosemary, parmesan, and roasted almond butter. It was a jolly orange colour when it arrived, reflecting the season outside, and was a simple, comforting dish.
By the time we finished our mains the restaurant has filled up considerably, a positive sign for a restaurant on a soggy Monday evening. The clientele is a slightly older generation, but all seemed relaxed and I think I could safely assume they had enjoyed their meal as much as we had. Despite being able to happily roll myself home then and there, the waiter managed to tempt me with dessert, reasoning that “there is always room for something sweet”. The dessert selection is surprisingly British (and is actually called Pudding on the menu), with classics such as sticky toffee pudding, and a “Coupe de Churchill”. I went for an Apple Crumble with Vanilla Custard. Whilst the custard could have been thicker, the crumble was both gloriously gooey and crunchy at the same time, and the apples the perfect side of tart. Not being as glutinous as I, my companion merely had a port and watched me tuck in yet a third time.
Before I did manage to roll myself home, Cedric kindly came over to see how our meal had been. Between his accent and the bistro-like surroundings, and the fantastic meal we had just enjoyed, I couldn’t resist it; I kissed him once on each cheek, comme les Français, and vowed to be back.
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