Sometimes you have to bite the bullet and visit somewhere that has been recommended to you, written about to death and generally lived in the culinary fabric of the city for donkey's years. Aubergine of Chelsea is one such place. Or it was. Perhaps the one new thing I can give you with this review is that it no longer exists. Some weeks ago, the other half and I were walking past it but I had to check twice that it was indeed Aubergine. The place had been gutted and was in the process of being re-modelled. An equation sprung to mind: no more Michelin stars = desperate restaurateurs.
Aubergine was unfortunately one of a few London restaurants to lose a star at the beginning of this year. No-starred restaurants in Chelsea are not quite what the doctor ordered, so clearly a shake-up and a strip-down were quickly requested. The end product is the recently re-opened and re-named 11 Park Walk; a rather uninspiring name at best. This sort of thing can work if you're running an upmarket gastropub or bistro in the centre of town, but not in a leafy side street off the Kings Road. Looking at pictures of the new place, it seems they've pawned off the old charm of Aubergine in favour of a more sleek and modern veneer of uplights, stone walls and yellow haze. It's clinical and very dull.
Mind you, I'm only basing that on photography. I haven't eaten there or seen the finished product from the inside. Still, I am sufficiently haughty and experienced enough to make half-judgements, so I shall. It just looks wrong. It's suddenly a restaurant that has been cut adrift in search of a new mooring in London's harbour of foodie ships. If you'll indulge me a final maritime metaphor, the one saving grace is that this new venture is merely a tug towing the good ship A-Z Restaurants. The parent company of 11 Park Walk also owns a host of restaurants throughout the capital. Mainly Italian affairs and quite good too, they are in a similar vein to the D&D group, but with just the one Michelin star to their name now, with Zafferano of Belgravia leading their bill.
When we ate at Aubergine (may it rest in peace), the four of us were fortunate enough to have half off our final bill. The American equivalent of Toptable, Opentable (which recently acquired the all-conquering Toptable from the UK), happened to mention in an e-mail to me that Aubergine were taking 50% off their dinner menu in the week, so we went for it. One final side note before the meal: Opentable is not a particularly impressive website. Lacking all the user-friendly savvy of Toptable, it was more by luck than design that I came across this one. Still, thanks duly go to them for the deal.
We had a wonderful time at Aubergine for three reasons: 1) we did get a very reasonable dinner thanks to the offer; 2) the food is – despite the loss of the Michelin Star – generally very good; and 3) service was attentive, unobtrusive and polite throughout the evening. The place itself, despite not quite needing the cuisine and furniture change it has since undergone, was a little tired. Lots of pale pink everywhere, combined with some rather school-days skylights made for a slightly bizarre surround; as if you were eating in a stunningly-furnished conservatory. So backtracking slightly, I can see why A-Z decided to change things in that sense.
Yet it is this clinging to the old days that really struck a chord with me about Aubergine. Sure, the décor was a bit passé, but that's almost what you want in a former grand-dame of Chelsea's restaurant family. It was reminiscent of the heady days of the past two decades, a subdued lushness that doesn't really sit right, but hey – we're in Chelsea so we'd better sit up straight and enjoy it kind of a feel. There is a lot of pronounced restaurant history within these walls. In 1993, this is where Gordon Ramsay really caught his break. The restaurant was re-opened with him in his first head chef role, under the patronage of Marco Pierre White, where he went on to win his first two Michelin Stars by 1997. The weight of history rests heavy: I recently had a chat with a restauranteur, chef and culinary veteran who was telling me he still remembered every detail of a meal he ate at Aubergine many years ago.
They were still hitting some silky highs when we ate there. The pre-course canapés were a slick combination of spiced carrot purée and tomato with cheese and onion on little crackers. Pre-starters like these can often be irrelevances to the meal, but these just about did the job. Tasty morsels that were beautifully presented (left). Before we got stuck in, the staff showed they were on the ball by offering to turn down the air conditioning as they could see that two of our number were a little chilly. In a near-empty restaurant, this should be a given, but these touches always help.Starters bucked a recent trend in that they weren't quite as good as the rest of the meal. Too many times in recent months I've been wowed by the starter then left a little cold by the following courses. In an ideal world you want all three to be great, but rarely do we get this. Not to say Aubergine's starters were bad though. Some scallops with tomato (or sauce vierge) were fresh enough and whilst unspectacular they did go down well.
Mike and I went for some meatier options. The duck salad Mike ordered was summery in the extreme, littered with fresh vegetables and adorned with tomato. A showy starter for sure but nicely varied, with nearly raw smoked duck combining well with the soft and crispy vegetables. My criticism would be that it was a little muddled, and distinctive flavours were tricky to pick out at times. Duck this good deserves impeccable support.
I opted for something I felt would be right on the mark at Aubergine: marbled foie gras terrine with cherries and brioche (right). The stuff was predictably glorious; as I suspected, whatever has robbed the place of their Michelin star, it ain't the paté. Sharp and sour cherries were a great accompaniment to the rough brioche and smooth terrine. Lovely.Main courses were a better-rounded affair across the board other than the lamb with olives. This is something I've tried a couple of times and perhaps it's just my aversion to olives in general, but I'm of the opinion that the two do not mix. In the event, the stuffed saddle of lamb was a bit of a mess. Haphazardly layered with a couple of display wafers stuck in the top to make it look as if the dish was wearing bunny ears, I wasn't a fan. A shame indeed, because the lamb was deliciously well-cooked.
If lamb, a classic favourite of mine, let us down, something which surprised in no small measure was a divine fillet of seabass, served with tomato concassé (essentially rough-diced and fried tomatoes) and parmesan shortbread (left). Allowing for such absurdly-named fare as parmesan shortbread, the dish was a real winner. Cooked to a fall-apart T, the fish had been combined with its accompaniments to expert standards. I was definitely surprised, but there is so much to be said for great combinations. (Even if they do describe anything as pretentiously as parmesan shortbread.)
Mike and I decided to share something we were certain would bring home the bacon for our main course: a cote de boeuf with bearnaise sauce and vegetables (right). Indeed, the piece of beef was top-notch. Cooked rare, drizzled with a dark jus and all the correct trimmings (though this sort of thing usually comes with chips, I was more than happy with our roasted vegetable sides), we were seriously satisfied. You can't write an awful lot more about something which you expected to be good and it was. Consider it a generous hat-tip for Aubergine to deliver us a classic.
Desserts in a decent French restaurant are always worth the few weeks off the end of your life, so we indulged in more or less the most stereotypical way we could: with a creme brulée, a soufflé and a tarte tatin. All three were lovely. The creme brulée was well-received by the other half, who is nothing short of a creme brulée connoisseur these days (left). One small criticism was that they'd over-sugared the top.
Mike's cherry soufflé was a real winner (right). Served with a scoop of ice cream, the fruit flavours were perfectly complimented by the sweet chill. Perhaps not quite up to Le Gavroche standards a few weeks prior, but we'd never expect that. However, yet another French standard expertly presented.
Finally, my apple tart was quite as it should have been: buttery, crisp and chock full of body-creaking goodness (left). I do love me a good tarte tatin and this was. Dollop of ice cream on the top and the job was most impressively done.Desserts were a fairly accurate representation of the meal: French standards, delivered at a competitively high level. There were two things that struck me about the experience overall: first, that I might have been slightly miffed paying full price, which is never a good sign. Second, that it may well be the simple Gallic cuisine which characterised Aubergine's class for so long is no longer what deserves Michelin stars.
Writing about Aubergine seems not much more than glossy nostalgia at this point, particularly given how much I have written. I'll stand by it though. I was happy to have tried Aubergine whilst it still existed (though there is something of a distant relative in Buckinghamshire) because it is somewhere that stood for quite some time as a constant in London's culinary milieu. Whether 11 Park Walk turns out to be a master stroke or a failure, I'll always think Aubergine went too soon.
11 Park Walk (formerly Aubergine)
On to the business of the meal proper, there were soaring highs and average middles. The starters were two of those said highs. Despite the moderately decadent nature of the restaurant, sometimes there's a lot to be said for simple, seasonal quality. And our first starter was a model of such features. Egg yolk and pea ravioli (one of the former, two of the latter) along with chicken wings and asparagus sounds all over the place. It looked it too, slightly (left). However, the texture and formation of the pasta was perfect, and everything was cooked right. I struggled a little at first, but the final bite, combining all elements of the dish - the fresh peas with the smooth pureé, the in-season asparagus, the salty chicken and the silky yolk - showed how local, seasonal and elegant are a stunning distillation of tastes and ideas.
The second starter, however, was something absolutely opulently French. A richer-than-rich combination of strong, bold and brash flavours, our mousse of chicken with foie gras atop a slice of artichoke, decorated with truffles was heart-stopping in more than just the literal sense (right). The deliciously fluffy and smooth liver mousse was exceptional with the perfectly-cooked artichoke base. Within lurked two slabs of seared foie gras which you could actually pick out amongst the bolder flavours of the dish; no mean combination. Slivers of truffle adorned the dome of mousse along with a rich jus, which eventually slid the whole affair into a gorgeous first course.
Our main courses were leaning towards the slightly more decadent side of things once again. A rare steak with foie gras was just about what you expect: rich, moist, dressed well… and served with crisps (left). Surprising for sure but generally speaking it was good. You can't say a lot more than that, because the individual parts of the dish were less pronounced than the starters and it was less spectacular in general. However, the one area of the plate which pushed the dish into culinary overdrive was the truffled hollandaise sauce: exactly as wonderful as it sounds.
The roast saddle of rabbit with parmesan and potatoes was lovely (right). The rabbit was stunningly well-cooked and combined with the potatoes and other miscellaneous vegetables. I must admit I do love the nature of classic French food in this respect: vegetables are only there to make up the numbers. The strangest parts of the dish were the accompaniments to the rabbit. The potatoes had been strung out, knitted into the thinnest chips you've ever seen and were a deliciously crunchy contrast to the soft rabbit and smooth sauce. The parmesan was crisp-fried into what I can only describe as a hat, which topped off the dish in eccentric but satisfying fashion. It was a dish of the most fanciful comfort food you could wish to eat.
Puddings came in the form of one which was far too complicated and didn't live up to the evening's standards and one which was superb. The former was a dégustation aux framboises or an assortment of raspberries to you and me (left). This sounded impressive but eventually failed to deliver on two fronts. The soufflé was miniature and tasty, the sorbet was fresh and zingy, but the rest wasn't up to snuff. The mille-feuille of chocolate and raspberries was neither luxuriant enough to allow the chocolate to flourish, nor inventive enough to really taste the raspberries. The doughnut served with raspberry sauce was something of a nuisance. They might have been better just giving us a decent-sized raspberry soufflé with sorbet.
Soufflé, it turns out, is one of Le Gavroche's strengths. As well it might be, given how whole-heartedly true to France it is. The passion fruit and white chocolate soufflé made up for more or less any shortcomings with the raspberries (right). Served hot at the table with a fresh passion fruit sauce, then extravagantly topped with a sublime white chocolate ice cream, it was just about the best soufflé I have eaten.
The Sunday lunch the other half and I sampled was, for the most part, lousy. The one shimmering beacon of acceptability was the first course. Oysters were fresh and tasted as they should (left). The expert dissection across the table was indicative that these weren't to be derided, and the glorious plop that was sent my way was good enough for me. I ordered the foie gras with wood pigeon, atop brioche with some dressings. Now, this dish should be magnificent. What I got was not. I don't know how it's possible to make foie gras taste cheap and un-worldly but Criterion managed it. The pigeon wasn't bad in the event, but the sauce (apple and tomato relish) was far too sweet and detracted from the main events. I enjoyed the first bite, doubted the second and was indifferent to the rest.
It's always helpful if you can start a day of eating off with a bang, so when we managed to experience two quick high points at the beginning of the event, things looked good. We immediately headed for a throng of visitors surrounding the 
Whilst all this queueing was going on, we spread the net a little wider to gather another three dishes to start the day with. Trinity was also offering the more standard pork belly (right), which was correctly seasoned, accompanied and served, even though the crackling was a little hard. We also stopped in at 
Having munched our way through a fairly rich set of first courses, we gave our bodies no rest at all and hit 
What followed were two slightly less impressive takes on dishes from a year ago. Again, 
After a short break for a juice cocktail and the nice surprise of bumping into a couple of other friends, we headed for 
As we surveyed the festival and our watches, we realised that we'd eaten just about all we could - in terms of capacity and available funds - so we turned our minds to desserts. We still had room to revisit Theo's delectable cakes and Tom's average Eton Mess as I mentioned earlier, but we also discovered a couple of stunners to see us off. We wandered back past L'Anima to try their Delizia de Limone, which was less the classic lemon tart I'd anticipated and more a delightfully crumbly mess of a dish (right). By no means a pick of the day, but very enjoyable nonetheless, and a classic summer dessert to boot.
We saved two of the best for last. Whilst the 
The burger is not on the Joe Allen menu. But ask and ye shall receive. And what a burger it is too (left). Grilled properly, properly rare, served with pickles, cheese, bacon (if you want it) and onion, this is something that has to be tasted to be believed. You can get great English and European burgers if you look hard enough, but I've not tasted as good an American burger as this since I was in New York. Chips on the side are skin-on, salty and perfect.
Their lunch offer was £20 for three courses, which seemed ludicrously reasonable, and it did not disappoint. Something similar to the goose egg risotto we'd tried before was a poached duck egg with toasted brown bread and truffle sauce (left). And that is a fine way to start any Saturday lunch. The risotto of beef, beetroot and garlic that completed the course was challenging, but very fresh. Not quite as you expect risotto – much lighter and more summery – it did the job nicely.
Dessert was a quite brilliant apple tarte tatin to share (left). Crisp, buttery, sweet and filling, it was nothing short of sublime. In fact, it was the best tatin I've eaten, and that includes some fine efforts in Paris. It was slightly chunkier than the traditional French thinly-sliced apple, but that seemed to make it better. Graciously sliced and served at the table, it was bliss.
If you’re in the West End and you fancy a spot of afternoon tea that isn’t served off paper plates from a St James Park café, check it out (left). At £18 per head for a fair whack of afternoon tea (and whack we did – a thoroughly unnecessary second helping of cakes plonked on at the end) is not a bad shout. And watching droves of tourists traipsing past whilst you feel snooty as anything? You can’t complain about that.
Right, I think I'm done ranting about the place itself, so I might as well get on to the food. Fortunately, as soon as our starters were placed before us, the whirlwind of flustered waiters and chatty diners faded away in the light of a divine trio of oysters. As great as oysters are, I've never been much of a fan. I can eat one and that's enough for me. One O One seems as if it's been listening to me and served us three styles on one plate (left). The yuzu sorbet with vodka was great, the classic shallot vinegar was better, but the tempura-battered oyster took the first prize. Just eating a battered oyster is wonderful in itself; it is like having foie gras and chips.
Our starters proper weren't too shabby either. Some scallops with pork belly and a delightful splurge of quail's egg along with potato was over-sauced but opulent in the extreme. A lobster salad was not quite a salad per se, but it was a vibrant mixture of apple dressings, chilled langoustine-y richness and a bit of stellar presentation to boot (right).
So, back to meat - not what this place is famous for, I remind you - and things were a little better. Well, set to the tune of spring lamb in May, I'll enjoy whatever you put in front of me (left). Good things: the lamb was cooked correctly and beautifully, the parmesan was a sharp spear of salty contrast, and it looked great. Bad things: they had tried to go for colour over taste - there was no need to over-complicate things with the addition of garlic gnocchi (yes, we can see: they're green!) and olives, and the asparagus was slightly over-cooked. Better than the halibut, but not massively.
Desserts were a little muted, given the level of our indulgence up to that point. Some brownies were pretty decent, served with salt caramel and coffee ice cream. Sadly again, the dish had been overdone with ideas and ingredients, because the base part was good but subdued. Fortunately, the day was stolen by a sensational panna cotta served with granny smith apple and blackberry (right). A mixture of hyper-sweet creamy main event with the chilled sour snaps of the sorbet on the side... Take notes, Proyart - this is how you combine ingredients to make them sing.