LE GAVROCHE
43 UPPER BROOK ST
LONDON
Years ago we could hardly pronounce the name ‘Le Gavroche’, as the name itself didn’t resonate with any of the better known French words we used.
These days’ names of new restaurants are often just ‘sounds’ rather than actual words, and the dining crowd accept they need to know how to pronounce these words/sounds regardless of their meaning.
Tucked on the right hand side of Upper Brook St Le Gavroche somehow it seemed hard to find in a building that looked like an apartment black or offices.
Where was the valet?
Where was the grand entrance? A bar upstairs that descended into a basement dining room?
Who would ‘fine dine’ underground in W1?
Now days the building is worth a fortune, it’s in the heart of Mayfair, anyone can get down those stairs and everyone can pronounce the name perfectly.
‘Le Gavroche’ means ‘the newsboy’ in English and that poor scruffy Les Miserable looking starving child icon is less uncomfortably associated with the best French food.
We have come to accept the paradox of the two extremes of our world and live alongside without asking ‘why’?
Across the road in Hyde Park are a new wave of homeless Romanians all encamped on the Marble Arch roundabout, overlooking Mayfair, sleeping rough and no one can seem to move them.
Mayfair looks back with their property prices ticking upwards as fast as the national debt so contributing to an absurd world of extreme contrasts that we are too willing to accept. Quite bizarre.
The younger generation of the Roux family, especially Michael Roux Jnr, has taken to TV, social media, books like a carre d’agneau in jus.
I met him and he had a generous smile, a lot of charm, great ease and none of the intense nervousness of a great chef. He was a delightful surprise
His cute and charming daughter Emily has trained under Paul Bocuse and Alain Ducasse and will offer the family business another new wave of vitality one day.
Her grandfather, the famous Albert Roux, and his brother Michael Snr have become legends in their own lifetimes, way before ordinary people started worshiping celebrity chefs. Apparently there is link between the fall of a culture, decadence and chef worship, but I don’t think the Roux family needs to concern themselves.
The restaurant looked closed on a snowy February morning as the front door was locked, so I rang the doorbell and was greeted by a gentile petite young lady who was warm and courteous; a bit like the sister you wished you had.
“Ah the upstairs bar, how comfortable” It was a weak comment but honestly I never remembered this room and I don’t know why. It was like meeting an auntie who immediately says “do you remember me?” but you don’t have a clue she is.
I saw dark green, gold framed prints on walls, long fringes under upholstered arm chairs, a large thick bamboo strip around the walls painted in another green, and a splash of tartan and red. I couldn’t get my head around the decor but I could see it had not changed since the original conception.
“Yes, we have kept the old world charm as I customers like that” she said in a wise way and beyond her years.
Recalling the old saying ‘don’t fix it until it’s broke’ perhaps was the philosophy here.
So many fabulous quality interiors have been ripped out to create grey, steel, glass faceless, bland restaurant interiors-I call the “Terminal 5 look” and often the change has obliterated a loyal customer base.
“I would be very interested to know the conditions of their lease or if they owned the premises?” I asked myself, as that would account for keeping the original decoration but this was none of my business.
I remember descending those stairs on my first visit so many years ago and being a mere child amongst the sophisticated cliental. I held a huge oversized menu; searched desperately for a word describing a food I recognized, sat up right and never said a word. My host ordered for me, the morsels of food were unrecognizable (except for the soufflé) and it was very tiring.
I do remember their famous soufflé. They are known for it and have probably made more soufflés than anywhere in Europe; after all we can all pronounce soufflé and they are fun. It was so rich and filling you don’t need many following courses and I bet the regulars didn’t eat much more than that.
Fascinatingly, she explained how she opened the telephone booking line 3 months in advance for the days lunch orders which are sold out within a couple of hours each day. Lunch is around £52.00 including petit fours, half a bottle of wine and coffee, which is a good deal. I never know where I will be in three months time or whom to invite…I could end up sitting alone!
“What about the ‘no shows’?” I asked and she explained they call customers to confirm and might take card details.
I had sat in Le Gavroche awe, because a fine French dining room was a rare thing and the closet experience to something palatial and mysterious beyond our daily world.
Most European restaurants had hanging fisherman’s nets, loud music, dripping candles stuck in bottles and waiters with thin hips and greasy hair. We thought it was very exotic.
This was classic old school, a superb wine cellar, chefs who were legends and awards covering the walls.
The empty room was spellbinding, expectant, calm, and perfect like a famous West End stage but waiting to host the next round of eager diners.
I didn’t want to leave, but I didn’t want to share the room either.
“See you again,” said the pretty girl as I reluctantly opened the heavy front door.
Had I been Mr. Roux I might have locked the door and kept the magic to myself, but had Mr. Roux been me, no one could have experienced his sublime soufflé….
----------