I THINK this is the first time a piece of
advice from a complete stranger has re- sulted in a column: I have a fellow-diner at Le Muscadet to thank for putting me on to Chez Max (399 2365) in Surbiton. Not only had I never been to a restaurant in Surbi- ton before, but I had never actually been to Surbiton, butt of numberless jokes, and sneer-inducing symbol of all that is truly, dralonly suburban. It may not be the sort of place Greta Garbo would want to be alone in, but it has its distinctions: men- tioned in official records from 1179 (and parts of the district, Tolworth and Ches- sington, are referred to in the Domesday Book); the Lord Mayor of London, some 150 years ago, hailed it as the Queen of the Suburbs (well may Ealing squeal); in 1969 the local Tory MP, Nigel Fisher, was criticised by constituency members for holding liberal views; The Good Life is set there; and a poll has shown that, per capita, Surbiton has more lawn mowers, private pools, garden gnomes, deep- freezes, videos, barbecues, patios, two-car families, bridge fanatics, old colonials and retired officers than anywhere else in Britain.
I don't know what sort of restaurant I expected of Surbiton, but Chez Max was a surprise, and a pleasant one. It is named not after the Daphne du Maurier hero (though who would complain of the con- notations?) but its Armenian chef/patron, Max Makarian, who moved here four years ago after eight years as Prue Leith's head chef. His menu is, in his words, half classic, half nouvelle: in other words, modish restaurant fare, but distinctive here for its avoidance of the more overtly contrived, showing a sympathetic talent rather than submission to trend.
The restaurant looks tiny from the out- side; inside, the over-brightly lit green walls reveal a capacious dining room, though a disappointing decor, all of a piece and magazine-pastel. But it is comfortable and you are, at any rate, in good hands.
The menu, £16 for two courses (pud- dings are on a luxuriously supplementary menu) with five starters and five main courses to choose from, changes every six to eight weeks. Unfortunately, I went on the tail end of the old menu so I can't say exactly what you can expect, except I imagine it will be good. When I went I was won over by the lobster and fish terrine with a tomato coulis, a rectangular slab in Garrick-tie stripes, golden-pink minced lobster, salmon and scallop-coral and monkfish mottled green by pistacchios, lying in a tomato coulis that an Italian couldn't find fault with and adorned with the fashionable frill, wild asparagus or samphire; also, the duck liver mousse with lime sauce — the duck liver liquidised with onion, celery, egg white and milk, cooked in a mould and served warm on a sauce of duck stock reduced with fresh lime and lemon juice, a bit of zest, caramel, madeira and a dash of lime cordial, really so, with a drop of butter whisked in at the last minute. Exquisitely light and rich in the best way, this was a real delight, though not, Mr Makarian said, popular with the locals.
Next we had the medallions of monkfish `Chez Max' — a cuisine minceur dish of monkfish slices topped with a dill- flavoured salmon mousse, covered with a spinach leaf, steamed and swimming in another, gloriously thyme-speckled, toma- to coulis — and, my favourite, the guinea fowl in a raisin and muscat sauce. The breast is sliced off and steamed gently along with the meat from the legs which is minced with' cream and rolled into a sausage and, when cooked, cut into slices and arranged, like coins, around the fan- ned breast, in a sauce of its own stock reduced with raisins, muscat wine and madeira — all burnished golds and cop- pers, a gorgeous triumph.
Puddings are not cheap at an average of £3, but the exotic fruit salad (of not entirely exotic fruits — kiwi, paw-paw, fig, mango, strawberry and blackberry) with coconut sorbet was the most delicious still-life and the tulipe, a flower-shaped cup of almond pastry filled with fruits in a blend of creme chantilly and sabayon, would not shame Anton Mosimann.
The wine list is long, though again on the expensive side. One of their house wines, the cotes de Duras, was marvellous, though £7.50 a bottle is well over the odds. And with a drink before, a beaume de Venise with pudding, coffee and friandises the bill for the above was, with service, £56. The affluent of Surbiton, or well- heeled outsiders with a taste for adventure, are in for a treat.
Nigella Lawson
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