11 101 411111 1 11 1 11 11 1111 \
Les Alouettes
FOR us metropolitan types there used to be just two reasons for venturing into the suburbs. The first was to watch football matches, and the second was to commune with the spirit of John Betjeman and laugh at all those net curtains. Now there is a third, and rather surprising reason: we go to the suburbs to eat good food. Chez Max (Surbiton), Partners 23 (Sutton) and Al San Vincenzo (Cheam) are all excellent suburban restaurants, and they all invite that most snobbish of questions: do the deputy managing directors (export) and accounting execs who have these places on their driveways appreciate what they're eating? Do they know how good it is, or just how long the chef has spent overseeing the chopping and shredding of all those baby vegetables for them to burst, spring- like, on the tongue? Wouldn't they really prefer a well-done steak and a glass of Blue Nun in the local Berni?
You will know, however, that I am not that kind of a snob, and so I didn't allow myself to be put off by the marbled wallpaper or the stippling, dragging or rag-rolling on the paintwork (though I think I shall scream if I ever see another paint effect again) nor was my enjoyment marred by the fact that the little Turner prints around the dining room were a) Turner prints and b) twinned with table arrangements provided by pastel-tinted, gyp-filled vases.
The diners at Les Alouettes are in the main locals and in the main, too, hugely appreciative of what they're eating, if my eavesdropping (and I have never heard such detailed exchanges between waiter and diner) is anything to go by. No surprise really: there's much to be appreciated here. Michel Perraud, the doe-eyed and doue chef, late of the Waterside Inn, is among a limited number of Maitres Ouv- riers de Grande Bretagne (and young to be one, at 33) and his Claygate kitchens have recently been awarded a Michelin star.
He calls his cuisine 'traditional French with a hint of modernism', which means roughly the full works but on arty plates. Being Esher, arty plates in turn mean Royal Doulton Carnation range (basic equipment for all those plush pink- upholstered little numbers).
Start with a delicate vegetable broth, amber-coloured and aswim with a dice of tender little vegetables, shredded crab and scallop and flavoured with earthy fresh coriander. I normally disapprove of sup- plements on prix-fixe menus, but an extra £3 is gloriously worth it for the foie gras of duck, just sealed in the pan, and left fatly pink on a plate smeared with a sauce of honey and red wine vinegar reduced to a caramel then further reduced with a ladle- ful of chestnut-gleaming duck stock. Sweet but not syrupy, and given a knife-sharp tang by the vinegar, this sauce alone is worth travelling for.
The sauces on, or more precisely, under, the main courses never quite matched that first example. It was difficult not to be slightly disappointed with the tournedos, the meat itself a butter-soft, bloodied hunk, but its sauce, a shallot and oyster mushroom soused reduction of red wine and good strong stock, was on the saltily assertive side. Better was the veal chop, dotted with torn strips of basil, fruitily preserved in olive oil, and sauced with a pale, slightly spiky reduction of veal stock, with putty-soft slices of artichoke and a latticework of tomato and basil.
Having seen, and smelt, the cheeseboard by someone else's table at the beginning of dinner, I'd intended to do both cheese and pudding, but my resolve flagged by mid- way through the main course. It's a terrible thing to realise that greed has its limits. 'A good appetite', A.J. Liebling once said, 'gives an eater room to turn around in.' But with my shamefully failing appetite, I was labouring under constraints, and cheese was beyond me, though I nobly allowed myself to be talked into a chocolate-veined hot lime soufflé.
The atmosphere of surburban affluence rather corrupted me as I made my choice from the wine list, and I heard myself ordering a half bottle of Taittinger (£19) and a half of rich, velvety Chateau Gis- cours (£16) to follow. No regrets there, though it made the evening rather more expensive than it need have been. The price set-up is £24 for two courses at dinner and £19 for the same (and it is the same, no change of menu) for lunch. With pudding and my flight of extravagance with the wine list, dinner came to £120 for two.
Les Alouettes, High Street, Claygate, Sur- rey; tel 0372 64882. The restaurant will arrange a taxi service if you need one when you book. Nigella Lawson
Previous page
