In November 2018 a new restaurant called Pompette opened its doors on the northern outskirts of Oxford. It quickly gained a reputation for being a welcome addition to the city’s food scene.
The terrace at Pompette
Pompette translates as tipsy, tiddly or squiffy – not drunk in an unseemly sort of way, but the rather charming state of a maiden aunt who has enjoyed an unaccustomed glass of champagne.
The restaurant looks and feels authentically French, but this is no slavish pastiche of a Paris bistro. The menu features Italian as well as French influences.
Most impressive is the eye for detail in what emerges from the kitchen; French bread can so often be a let-down. The Pompette Baguette & Burgundy butter is a thing of simple, crusty, sourdough beauty.
The charming waiting staff are friendly and efficient. You can tell they’re smiling behind their masks.
Friendly & efficient staff
We started with a salad of Roquefort, gem lettuce, celery & apple, perked up by spiced walnuts, and a flûte of Crémant d’Alsace.
Roquefort & spicy walnut salad
I chose Burrata & caponata with a glass of Vouvray, which trod a balance between richness and acidity that worked with the discreetly sweet and savoury notes of the aubergine dish and the luxuriously creamy cheese.
Burrata & caponata
For mains, Courgette, pea & broad bean risotto, mascarpone, lemon, pine nuts & mint was a comforting taste of summer on an unseasonably grey day.
Courgette, pea & broad bean risotto
I wouldn’t usually order beef at lunchtime, but this was to be my main meal of the day. Roast sirloin of Hereford beef was a thick slice, cooked to perfect rosy pink tenderness.
‘Duck fat potatoes’ were sliced wafer-thin, then moulded into thick ingots, fried or roasted to lovely softness, with a crisp golden crust. Watercress, shallots and a generous bowl of glorious Béarnaise completed the plate.
Roast sirloin, Bearnaise & duck fat potatoes
I asked for a carafe of Austrian Blaufrankisch to go with the beef, and was impressed that my order was taken without having to repeat it, or point out the wine on the list.
Blaufrankisch, Weingut Judith Beck, 2019
The set lunch is very good value, 2 courses for £26 or 3 for £32.
The wine selection is inventive, and with around 25 wines offered by the glass or carafe, you can afford to be adventurous.
Parking on the street outside is free for up to two hours; there’s also parking for a dozen cars behind the restaurant. It’s through a narrow archway which you might find challenging to negotiate after lunch, especially if you’re ‘un peu Pompette’.
Red gingham is a bit of a cliché, the ubiquitous table covering of an unpretentious traditional bistro in provincial France. Or so I thought.
In 2013 I came across Ristorante Tromlin in the hills overlooking the Italian city of Turin.
Torino was the capital of the Kingdom of Savoy, which also ruled Nizza, now better known as the French city of Nice.
I developed a theory that perhaps the red-and-white check entered French culture through this historical back door.
Ristorante Tromlin
The bistros of Paris were opened by people from the countryside who migrated to the city, and classic dishes from the French regions, notably Beaujolais, Alsace, and (not forgetting) Savoie became staples.
One of my favourites is La Fontaine de Mars, where the menu is firmly rooted in the French Southwest. Jambon de Bayonne is freshly cut on the red enamel slicer that gleams at you as you’re shown to your table, to nibble as you decide whether to choose cassoulet or confit de canard.
La Fontaine de Mars
Last time we were there we startled our waiter by asking if we could have a green salad with the cheese course.
‘Une salade avec du fromage? Vraiement?(shrugs)
Vive la difference!’
(The tablecloths are red and white gingham in my memory, but when I found this photo I realised they are actually pink. Perhaps the effect of a glass too many of their finest Cahors).
Then there’s Polidor, the restaurant that time forgot. The blackboard proclaims that ‘we haven’t accepted cheques since 1873’.
Woody Allen chose it as a location for ‘Midnight in Paris’, when the lead character accepts a lift by a stranger’s car which transports him back to the literary heyday of the 1920’s, where he encounters F. Scott Fitzgerald and Ernest Hemingway in the restaurant.
‘We haven’t accepted cheques since 1873’
I remembered a visit to Mamma Mia, an Italian restaurant in Dublin.
No mistake this time, the tablecloths are proudly chequered.
Mamma Mia
Maybe there’s something in my theory after all.
Savoie to Paris, by way of Dublin?
I look forward to resuming the necessary research.
A seriously good cup of coffee is one of life’s great pleasures for me, and they don’t get much better than at Robert’s Coffee, in the Saluhall market, Stockholm.
The cinnamon buns are a bonus. (They take cards only, not cash, so you won’t even have to bother buying kronor).
Osteria al Ponte del Diavolo on the island of Torcello; all the better for being unexpected.
Torcello is about an hour from Venice; you can reach it on a scheduled service, changing at Burano, using your vaporetto pass.
Osteria al Ponte del Diavolo, Torcello
The ancient basilica on Torcello predates the city of Venice. To reach it from the quay, you walk along the side of a canal. The most famous restaurant on the island is the Locanda Cipriani nearby, but you pass three others on the way.
We weren’t looking for a grand lunch, but something to fortify us for the basilica.
The first place looked fun, but was packed with families queuing for pizza.
The second was a fairly standard Trattoria. We walked on.
The third had a big dining room with a covered terrace at the back, opening onto a garden. The menu looked as if we could find something suitable, so we went in and were greeted with smiles and shown to a table.
It was a good decision, even the bread basket was exceptional. We had a pretty antipasto of colourful steamed vegetables, all tasting intensely of themselves, served warm to bring out the fruitiness of the olive oil dressing.
Then black squid ink pasta, with crab, samphire and rosemary; orecchiette with turbot and cherry tomatoes.
We drank Arneis, a white from Piemonte.
After lunch we wandered round the garden and may have dropped off on a bench in the pergola. Just for a moment….
Osteria al Ponte del Diavolo is open for lunch Tuesday to Sunday, and dinner on Friday and Saturday.
Honourable mention for the Sweetbreads at Frenchie’s Wine Bar, Paris.
So good, I ate them twice.
https://wp.me/p7AW4i-Kh
‘Everything, I want to eat everything’
Caffé Toscanini in Amsterdamfor the whole experience of food and hospitality; a perfect aperitif followed by an accomplished Italian meal, delivered with good humour and expertise.
https://wp.me/p7AW4i-Kh
The bar at Caffe Toscanini, Amserdam
The prize goes to A.G. for the best steak of 2019.I’ll be lucky to find one as good in 2020.
Most of the tables were occupied by groups of men sharing massive steaks.
There were also a few couples on date nights, sharing massive steaks.
‘Vegetarians, look away now’.
https://wp.me/p7AW4i-Oh
A.G. – ‘vegetarians, look away now’
TV Show: Remarkable places to eat, Episode 1, in which chef Angela Hartnett takes Maitre d’ Fred Siriex to her favourites in Venice.
It’s a full hour of television, so they have time to show you the dedication and hard work that goes into delivering the best ingredients and food experiences in the city. These are not cynical tourist traps. Nothing is done without effort: wading chest deep in the lagoon to harvest seafood; delivering vegetables by boat and trolley to Bruno Gavagnin, the quietly spoken but demanding chef at Alle Testiere; walking half a kilometre over bridges carrying boxes of perfect patisserie to Caffe Florian, from their production kitchen to Piazza San Marco – several times throughout the day.
At the time of writing it’s not available on BBC iPlayer, but it’s sure to turn up on your TV sooner or later.
We like to mark our evening of arrival in Paris with dinner at La Fontaine de Mars. You know you’re in Paris from the moment you step through the door.
This time I’d left it too late to make a reservation, so we gave Le Bistrot d’Eléonore et Maxence a call.
A sunny afternoon at Le Bistrot
Le Maitre d’ greeted us when we arrived, and explained apologetically that our table wasn’t quite ready – ‘may I offer you une coupe de champagne while you’re waiting?’
It was a busy Saturday evening, the heavens had opened outside, and the diners were clearly in no hurry to vacate our table.
Le Maitre d’ apologised again, ‘I will pour you champagne, champagne, champagne until your table is ready’.
A poached egg on summer veg – “one egg is un oeuf”
As it turned out, he was as good as his word, so we were quite mellow when we went to our table about 40 minutes later, after browsing the menu
Highlights from our meal included a starter of a poached egg on green summer vegetables, dressed with pesto; tuna tataki as a main (it would have fed three people!) and a tartare of hand cut Charolais veal.
Veal tartare avec son garniture
It’s a small, lively restaurant in a residential area. The staff are friendly and attentive, even on a busy Saturday evening, and the food coming out of the tiny open kitchen was très bon.
Playlist: Parisien.
Le Bistrot d’Eléonore et Maxence www.le-bem.com
It was a real find, I wish it had an equivalent where I live.
(Actually, it does. If you live in west London you could save the price of the Eurostar ticket by booking a table at Le Petit Citron in Shepherds Bush).
We were able to revisit La Fontaine later in the week. It’s one of those reassuring places that never changes; even the waiters seem to sign up for life.
The menus are laminated, and there’s a classic every day. ‘It’s Sunday, so it must be poulet roti, pommes de terre puree’. Evidemment.
They bring a blackboard to your table with daily specials (there’s always cassoulet) and my starter of asparagus and poached egg with foie gras sauce didn’t disappoint.
The FT’s restaurant critic recently wrote something like ‘it couldn’t be more French than Piaf singing La Marseillaise with a string of onions round her neck’. He wasn’t wrong.
129, Rue Saint-Dominique, Paris 75007 0033 (0)1 47 05 46 44
La Fontaine de Mars
Asparagus, egg, foie gras
D’chez eux
On the day of departure it made sense to have lunch locally. “Our” apartment in the 7th is in a residential neighbourhood, and there aren’t many restaurants on the doorstep.
We booked d’chez eux, which very roughly translates as ‘from their home’.
It was Mothers’ day, so there were several tables of three….
The menu is on the pricey side, and we weren’t looking for the full ‘Français’ before taking the train home, so we went for the prix fixe, choosing oeufs russes followed by the seabass, which was beautifully cooked, and a glass of Aligoté.
Seabass, endive and vegetables
We’re not big on puddings, but this was our main meal of the day, so a crème caramel seemed appropriate, as did something that looked like Irish coffee on the menu, and turned out to be a plate with dark chocolate mousse, a scoop of vanilla ice cream, a profiterole, and an espresso on the side.
where the best produce attracts the longest queue….
“Greengrocer number 5, please”
I’ve always been amused by the expression ‘French breakfast radish’
Breakfast. Just add butter and salt
It’s more than a food market, and everything is in season.
Summer chapeaux
The Ladies of the 7th go out in force with their trolleys
Chariot at the ready
Food shopping recommendations on rue Cler & avenue de Saxe– https://wp.me/p7AW4i-k5
Lunch on rue Cler, where it had been a long day for the fishmongers
Le Petit Cler is a café owned by La Fontaine de Mars. We pitched up for a late lunch, and it was filling up fast; we didn’t have a reservation, but the manager was charming, and promised to seat us – he had a booking who hadn’t turned up yet; he would give them another five minutes, then he would give us their table.
On the dot of the fifth minute they arrived, but shortly afterwards we had secured a table outside, and felt very smug as a queue formed on the street.
As we tucked into our croque monsieur and tartine de chevre, it became obvious that the fishmongers opposite at La Sablaise had had a long and busy day; closing the shop was a laborious process. Quantities of ice were being shovelled into the gutter outside to be flushed into the drain.
They too were in need of refreshment.
A waiter from nearby Café Roussillon delivered a big bowl of frites, and a tray laden with beers, a glass of wine and an Aperol spritz.
Outside a couple of passing children invented a new street game; ‘Breaking the Ice’.
Breaking the ice on rue Cler
Shortly afterwards one of the mongers took the tray back to the café, and returned with another round of drinks.
And more frites. Naturellement, comme d’habitude….
Frenchie Restaurant in Paris opened on rue du Nil in 2015, and quickly became a hot ticket. We tried to book a table for dinner in May this year, but they still fill the restaurant months ahead.
Frenchie Wine Bar opposite doesn’t take reservations; it opens at 6.30pm, and the advice is to turn up early. We were first in line when the door opened. ‘Table for two?’
There are two small rooms, one with a view of the kitchen, the other of the bar. You sit on bar stools at shared tables.
We elected to sit right next to the glass partition looking into the kitchen, where we could watch every dish being prepared. It’s a tiny space, ruthlessly organised, where five staff were producing all the food: one male chef at the stove, two girls meticulously assembling cold mains and desserts, a female chef on the pass, and a washer-up.
‘Everything. I want to eat everything’
The friendly, helpful and informative waiting staff wear T shirts printed with the legend ‘Everything. I want to eat everything’, and reading the menu I began to see what they meant. Dishes are served when they’re ready, so we started by sharing three cold dishes.
Frenchie Wine Bar
An assembly of home made Ricotta, crumbled with confit Meyer lemon, fresh fava beans and peas, buckwheat for crunch and earthiness, and chive flowers, was a beautiful celebration of early summer – outstanding, one of the best dishes I’ve eaten this year (so far).
Ricotta, AKA summer in a bowl
Green lentil falafel came with smoky harissa, and pickled cucumber for sharpness and texture.
Green lentil falafel
A gutsy terrine with piccalilli and mustard seeds balanced textures and flavours, with sharp accents from the pickle. (It was so good, I failed to take a picture. Oh, the pressure).
Garnishing is precise, pretty and delicate; the chefs each carry tweezers clipped to their aprons, which they use to place herbs on each plate.
The sommelier wore a similar shirt to the waiters:
‘Everything, I want to drink everything’
Wines by the glass are poured at the table. We chose a petillant Montlouis from the Loire as an aperitif; gentle bubbles, golden colour.
A Cotes Catalanes rosé was a good match for our first dishes, with strawberry fruit and fresh acidity.
Then we went our separate ways. Pappardelle pasta for her, with lamb ragout, Kalamata olives and lemon confit. And another glass of rosé.
I picked crispy sweetbread nuggets with gribiche sauce. Two juicy morsels of moist tender veal arrived in a thick coat of crunchy batter perfection. Gribiche is a mayonnaise-style emulsion of hard-boiled egg yolks and mustard, finished with chopped cornichons, capers and herbs.
Crispy sweetbread nuggets, sauce gribiche
And a glass of red Saumur Champigny 2017, poured from a magnum; unusually intense and dark for the Appellation, a ‘fruit bomb’ of berries and herbs.
Be careful what you wish for
The owner and head chef is Gregory Marchand, the eponymous Frenchie. He earned the nickname working in the kitchen at Jamie Oliver’s restaurant Fifteen in London.
The London influence shows, there’s English wine on the list, and cheeses are from Neal’s Yard Dairy.
Gregory dropped in to observe the chefs at work and chat to them. I asked the waiter if I could say hello, if he wasn’t too busy – I met him last year at a panel discussion in London, where he has a restaurant in Covent Garden – and he came over to our table.
The sweetbreads were so good, I said I could eat another portion for dessert….
(I was joking).
A few minutes later, the waiter reappeared at the table with another plateful; he nodded towards the window behind me. There was Gregory outside, grinning, with his thumbs up to check I approved.
They were just as amazing the second time.
Frenchie
We resolved to go back next year and book ahead for the restaurant, but I have a sneaking suspicion that the wine bar is more fun, where you can arrive at 6.30 and stay as long as you want. There are clearly two sittings in the restaurant: 6.30 and 9.
Frenchie Restaurant
Playlist in the wine bar: high energy hip-hop, cool, funky and fun, much like Frenchie’s. It’s just on the right side of loud on arrival. As the evening progresses they either turn it down, or the clientele drown it out as the wine bar fills up.
Rue du Nil is a tiny street. As well as the restaurant and wine bar, there’s Frenchie To Go, and Frenchie’s wine shop.
Marchand’s energy has attracted a community of small and perfectly formed retailers to the street: a butcher, a fishmonger, a bakery, a greengrocer, a coffee roaster. A ‘bean to bar’ chocolate shop will open shortly.
Word was circulating that a new bakery is producing the best croissants in Paris. On a visit to the city in May, naturally I went to investigate rue Oberkampf, looking for No 61. The 11th Arrondissement is roughly equivalent to London’s Shoreditch, with little independent shops, a market, and tattoo parlours.
rue Oberkampf & the market on Boulevard Richard Lenoir
Arriving at the shop, I explained to the young man behind the counter (in my best French) that je suis escrivain d’un blog, and asked if I could take some photos.
‘Would you prefer to speak in English or in French? I’m English’ he replied (in French). ‘English’ I said, ‘it’s probably safer’.
The patient Englishman
Between customers, he was able to answer some of my questions. One of the first was how the bakery found its name.
It’s called ‘The French Bastards’
The business was founded in January 2019 by friends Julien, Emmanuel and David. Julien had worked in Australia, where his colleagues called him ‘the French bastard’, and back in Paris the friends decided to use the nickname for their shop.
The French Bastards put out their shingle
The counter display comprised neat ranks of colourful pastry: red fruit tarts, black fruit tarts with dark chocolate….
Black fruit tart with dark chocolate
….lemon meringue eclairs, alongside the usual chocolate and coffee.
Lemon meringue eclairs
Then there were three kinds of sandwich piled high for the lunchtime trade; admittedly expensive at €7.90, but each looked as if it would feed a small family (my eye was caught by the 36 month Iberico ham, with sun dried tomato & mizuna salad).
And viennoisserie, row upon sticky row of flaky bronze pastry, including all the classics, and more creative offerings like the Babka, made to a Polish recipe – chocolate brioche, purposely undercooked for ooze; and the Cruffin, a croissant crossed with a muffin, filled with raspberry purée.
Babka (centre) and Cruffin (right)
There was a coffee machine, and I decided we should try out the simplest emblem of the French patissier’s art, the humble croissant.
We sat at the table at the back of the shop, where behind a glass screen we could watch four bakers going about their useful work.
Croissants: their useful work before
…and after
The coffee was the best we’ve had in Paris (they use Peruvian beans)….
and as for the croissant….
It wasn’t too big, with a darker colour than is usual, apparently derived from the rich butter they use. It was very flaky and light, but still had substance, a rich taste, the merest hint of caramel from the butter, and not at all greasy in the fingers.
…and during
A baker came out of the kitchen and introduced himself as Emmanuel, one of the business partners. He asked what we had tried, and agreed the croissant was a good choice. ‘It’s like choosing spaghetti with tomato sauce in an Italian place; if it’s good, you know you’re in safe hands’.
Although they’ve only been open a few months, they’re already looking for more sites. The first shop is close to Le Marais and the Picasso museum, on rue Oberkampf, close to a busy street market on Boulevard Richard Lenoir.
As well as pastries they make very good bread, from Le Tradition (the baguette) to a Pain de Campagne with honey, turmeric and Corinth grapes, ‘yellower than your gilet’.
Bread at The French Bastards
Before leaving, I had to admit to another motive. While it had been worth crossing Paris for the croissant, I couldn’t resist making it known that I have another occupation.
As an English longbow archer, I had wanted to come and take a look at the French Bastards.
‘Maison Fondee Hier’ (founded yesterday)
The FRENCH BASTARDS, 61, rue Oberkampf, Paris 11eme. (The Bastards take ‘Thursday Off’)
Nearest Metro Filles de Calvaire
Playlist: mellow. As well as the table, there’s a battered leather sofa.
Your sofa awaits
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