Gordo's Bits'n'Bobs: June 2015

Confidentials 3 June 2015

GORDO is off to Paris via that there London. He’s decided to do a bit of a retro trip, revisiting food he remembers from way back when, in a quest to review what we should be looking forward to in the North West. He'll be looking for antidotes to the current crop of chefs who believe they can take classic recipes and ‘give them a twist’. Sometimes the only twists that should be being given, thinks Gordo, is a rope round their necks.

Most top restaurants in France can no longer open at the weekend... this is madness

Gordo arrives with his pal, The Peach, at the rather splendid St Pancras Hotel check-in desk.

“I am sorry Mr. Gordo, we don’t seem to have a room for you," says the receptionist.

“That’ll be Lord Gordo to you, young whippersnapper,” thinks Gordo, as he checks his email to show her who’s boss. The email reads 'The Great Northern Hotel at St Pancras is looking forward to receiving you...'

As Gordo walks down the steps towards a gloomy looking hotel on the other side of the street in the pouring rain, he can feel The Peach's glares boring into his back as the rainwater dribbles down hers.

Not a good start.

'Err... you're over the road Mr. Gordo'

The Great Northern Hotel has a confusing entrance as the deadly, wet duo walk into a bar. Gordo looks round and instantly feels at home as he spots a cheery bunch of like-minded, middle of the afternoon boozers giving the bar a good sorting. The Peach shoves him through into reception. Turns out the place has been refurbished into one of those ‘boutique hotels’.

Benjamin, an out-of-work extra from the Harry Potter movies, welcomes us at the desk. Great he was too, though I fear he wouldn’t last long if the group opened a hotel in Salford. One visit to the Crescent pub would probably do for him.

Turns out the Great Northern Hotel made the Condé Nast hot list; and what a lovely stay it was. The rooms are bright, breezy, comfortable and well equipped. At the end of the corridors is a kitchen equipped with snacks, tea and coffee making facilities, whilst the breakfast, which was taken in the rather hip Plum and Spilt Milk restaurant, would have easily made it into the Manchester Best Breakfasts list.

It’s a huge pity these operators didn’t get to the old Midland Bank on King Street before the current keepers, who, through poor advice by strange people who made no enquiries into Manchester, had made it a laughing stock.

That night's dinner was at Wiltons in SW1; established in 1742, it’s one of the last great restaurant and oyster bars. Gordo was a regular when he lived in Knightsbridge in the early eighties. Dinner was retro; the chef, David Kent, knows his produce and how to cook it properly. It’s all in the video below...

Take a look at the turbot below. It’s all about the very best quality ingredients, and sourcing these is about hard work and tenacity with an eagle eye for detail. Then it’s the Coco Chanel little black dress principal - take a look at what you're about to go out in and remove something.

You pay for these ingredients, but the dinner was an outstanding success. Wild turbot, poached with freshly made hollandaise sauce and peas, all guarded by buttered jersey royals was an outstanding success (£49). The Lemon sole was exquisite.

“Ooh, it's all a bit rich,” says The Peach.

“Bugger me,” thinks Gordo. “Wait till you get to L’Ambroisie in Paris…”

Prince and Princess Michael of Kent sat at the table opposite. She secretly wants Gordo.

Turbot at Wiltons

In the afternoon, by the way, Gordo took tea in Fortnum and Mason’s lovely Fountain restaurant, another regular for Gordo back in the day. Adam Faith, one of the most charted pop stars of the sixties, used to use one of the corner tables to conduct his business in the eighties. He used to mistake Gordo for someone he had met, weirdly giving The Fat One financial tips every time he spotted him.

Jay Rayner, the fully paid-up member of the guillotine squad writing in The Grauniad was cruel about the place in everything but the food. He misses the whole point. The scones blew Peachey’s skirt up.

TO PARIS...

The following morning found Gordo playing the James Bond theme loudly in the first class compartment of The Eurostar as it glided out of St. Pancras station on it’s way to Paris. He can’t say if the other travellers were that impressed, but a once every two years trip had to be celebrated properly. Gordo was looked after by one of Eurostar’s finest, Fadile L’Amie. She was fantastic.

Looking onto the Table at The Lancaster garden

The golden couple stayed at The Lancaster Hotel in Paris, just off the Champs Elysées. This is a gentle five star hotel, reviously owned and operated by The Savoy Group when Gordo lived there in the late-eighties. Since 2012 it has been owned privately by Pierre and Marie Laure Esnée. This couple are a safe pair of hands as the place has been gently polished and maintained, with all the museum-quality furnishings looking superb.

The beds and linen make very gentle love to you, whispering sweet nothings all night. Then, in the morning, the price of breakfast wakes you up with a stab from a rusty knife through the heart. €42.

Mind you, the chef, who has been there a good number of years, does deliver a good dinner these days. Julien Roucheteau has hoisted the place from pretty good to a two-star Michelin restaurant; it’s certainly worth a visit. We didn’t get to eat there this time, but Gordo had dinner with one of his best pals there a couple of years ago, the remarkable dancer, author and shoe-botherer Angela Gilltrap. It had one star at the time and was a cracking meal.

Take a Martini in the bar. Arguably the best in Europe, made on the day by Thibaud.

Best Vodka Martini in Europe?

Fouquet’s, the world-renowned brasserie on the Champs Elysée, is another heart stopper. It’s expensive and touristy. No traffic jam of children buggies here. Two croque monsieur’s and (really, really good) chunky chips with a couple of drinks took Gordo’s breath away at €120. Great for people watching, get a table outside and watch the world go by. But only once in a lifetime. The Peach went for a second time on her own, but she’s loaded. It was 'a bit rich' apparently.

€120 Croque Monsieur... ouch

The highlight of the trip was dinner at L’Ambroisie, a three star Michelin situated in the magical Place des Vosges, next door to the house where the Morrissey of his day, Victor Hugo, another manic-depressive, used to live. It is an utterly magical place, with three rooms on the ground floor furnished and decorated to such a standard to make eighteenth century aristocracy feel at home.

Immaculate service. Gordo is writing a separate review to appear shortly.

“Oooh, it’s a bit rich”, declares The Peach. Gordo slipped a sharp knife into his trouser pocket.

He doesn’t, however, believe places like this will survive the next ten years if France doesn’t grow up with regard to its social contract. People want a four-day week; the effects of this can be seen in the microeconomics of restaurants. L’Ambroisie was no exception by all accounts on its prices. Gordo’s bill was an eye watering €880 for two, with two unremarkable half bottles of wine. The gin and tonics were €25 each.

Most top restaurants in France can no longer open at the weekend. They are not allowed to have people working more than 35 hours a week. An extra five can be offered, but at a higher hourly price. This is madness. Today, you can book in any three star table in France with one week's notice. Twenty years ago, you needed three months.

L'Ambroisie Interior

The following day found Gordo staring at a small birdhouse in the flower market near Notre Dame. The Peach was thinking of buying it for her father. It was small, square, with the front panel, having had a hole cut out of it, attached with hinges and a latch that allowed it to be opened fully.

Gordo at this point didn’t quite believe what he heard.

"Err, can you ask me that one more time please Kate," says Porky.

“Yes,” replies the Peach. “I think this would be great for Dad, but I’m worried that the birds won’t be able to lift the heavy latch to get in…”

Gordo shook his head and headed for the café.

Which was where he ordered a dozen snails, with crunchy bread to mop up the garlicky butter, sinking a glass of Rhone to help them down. Bliss.

Snails

The original Taillevent is a two star Michelin restaurant; it’s very old, been around since the late forties and earned three stars later in life. It dropped a star when the owner, Jean-Claude Vrinat, was suffering from lung cancer in 2007. Jean Claude died of the disease a few months later.

The group has one of the best wine sales operations in the world. Gordo fancied tasting a few and decided to visit Taillevent 110, their latest venture, which in Gordo’s opinion cooks at one star levels with a short and very French menu. The cool thing is the way the wine is offered. There are 110 of them, all offered by the glass; each course being matched to four different examples from one of the world’s greatest cellars.

The fit out is ultra-chic as only the French can deliver. All burnished milk chocolate wood, comfy and lit with style. The food is classic French; on the evening Gordo tried the lobster with a Russian salad, which was terrific, if a little too chilled. Gordo likes his at room temperature; a bit difficult in restaurants it has to be said. A T-Bone of veal (€39) sang quietly with a deep velvety voice, the carrot purée it sat on matched the tones and raised them slightly with its creamy sweetness.

T Bone of Veal at 110 Taillevent

Outstanding cheese, you only get one choice a day and this was the best Comté of Fatty's career. Nutty, burnt butter and slightly sweet, creamy finish. Gordo had a glass of Chateau Haut Brion ’04 with this. Not the best year, but truly fabulous to be able to order a glass of the old, hairy first growth claret.

If any of you big, fat, dandy restaurateurs want to see what would set Mancunian balls on fire, this gaff is the one. Go. Copy. There’s nowt wrong with a bit of copying, as Picasso will tell you from his grave when he saw his latest painting sell for $160 million. It was, by his own admission, homage to his pal and Gordo’s favourite artist, Matisse.

Now, the real daddy of this lot was a visit to Brasserie Lipp. A battle cruiser which has been on a true Parisian street corner for over a hundred years. Come to this place if you want to eat real French food cooked well. You will also get wonderfully rude waiters, who on the face of it couldn’t give a merde but finish up getting the food to table with great élan. Don’t let them intimidate you; give as good as you get.

The herrings and boiled spuds are superstars, whilst if you want to show just how hard you are order choucroute, an Alsacienne dish with cojones; it comes with a ham hock, full of creamy fat and pink juicy tender meat; a dish that would have kept the busiest whore in the area well fuelled. The Millefueille is made of pastry, crisp, a little background of burnt sugar and a vanilla filling that breaks hearts.

Another good reason to go to Lipp is if you are lucky, you'll get to sit next to American Tourists. They leave feeling like they have been to Mars. Neither the food nor the service agrees with them at all. Gordo loves it.

Lipp's Millefeuille

France and its food have a huge history. It was a terrific trip; The Peach was a good sport and the people along the way made it special. But they are all in for a shock. There is no place in this post-recession world for four day weeks in the food industry. Spain and Italy are getting there with their cooking, with, in many instances, better produce. There are plenty of chefs here in the UK who can play the Ducasses at their own game.

Wake up guys and smell the café. You’re too fat, lazy and overpriced. Sort it out.

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