Chez Bruce, 2 Bellevue Road, London SW17 (020 8672 0114). Meal for two, including wine and service, £110
My mother telephoned recently to say she was worried about me. 'You've been eating so many horrible meals,' she said. On one level I was pleased. It meant she'd been taking an interest in this column, rather than just frittering away my inheritance down the local casino as usual, knocking back the whisky sours and irritating the other punters by smoking her pipe over the blackjack table. But she also made me feel very sorry for myself. Putting aside that nice bit of seafood in Chieveley two weeks back, it really has been a dismal summer: gristly pig's ear, fat-drenched dim sum, uncooked black pudding and carrot soup that smells like dinner party dishwater. I was beginning to lose my faith. Britain's gastronomic revolution? From where I am sitting it seems we are barely at the Molotov cocktail-throwing stage.
And then, praise be, the newspapers were filled with reports that a new restaurant had been voted London's favourite. The Ivy had dropped to second place in a poll, voted for by readers of the Harden's Guide. In at number one comes Chez Bruce in Wandsworth, which speaks volumes for the good taste of the electorate. With the Ivy, there was always the suspicion that it was winning because of the celebrity quotient. But Chez Bruce has none of that. It's just a very good, very reliable neighbourhood place serving the sort of food you really want to eat. And if anybody deserved to go there surely it had to be me?
In the late Eighties the venue was called Harvey's and Marco Pierre White was the chef, winning stars and swearing at the customers. When White left, consummate restaurateur Nigel Platts-Martin (who also co-owns the Square, La Trompette, the Ledbury and the Glasshouse) installed Bruce Poole in the kitchen, where he has been for over 10 years. He is a partner in the business and has more than made the place his own. In 1999 he won a Michelin star but it is worn exceptionally lightly. There are no prissy amuse-bouche served at Chez Bruce. The room, overlooking Wandsworth Common, is simple, with a little, unimposing modern art. Subtle lighting makes it look cosy. Subtle mirrors give it a little space. It is populated by nice waiters who know what they are doing. In any dictionary, a picture of the dining room here would suffice for the definition of the word 'restaurant'.
The food is French bourgeois without being showy. Nothing tricksy: it is just solid stuff, executed very, very well. A starter of an oxtail parmentier a la bourguignonne is the kind of thing I actually want to be eating when I find myself being pelted with bad Portuguese tapas. In the centre of the plate was a dark tian of slow-cooked and unctuous oxtail, mixed through with button mushrooms and shards of crisp bacon, surrounded by caramelised shallots - the bourguignonne bit - topped with light mashed potato - the parmentier bit. Sprinkled with breadcrumbs for crunch and surrounded by a deep red wine jus, it is, quite simply, a fantastic starter.
A second starter of a grilled lamb cutlet with imam bayildi - slow-cooked aubergine - with a spiced lamb pastilla and Greek yogurt showed the kitchen's mastery of a different culinary grammar. The aubergine was rich and aromatic and the pastilla was crisp and moreish, as well as Moorish. The exemplary lamb chop had been left to be itself against all these loud voices, so the meat wasn't bullying the accompaniments, or vice versa.
The main courses had the same visceral heft. Stupidly tender pork belly, rendered of its fat, came topped with pieces of crackling, alongside a few silky slices of pork fillet, some creamed polenta and a few sauteed girolles. Veal turned up two ways, as the roasted rump and as a slow-braised, dark and intensely flavoured chunk - as a daube, according to the menu - which spoke of a day's attention at the stove. The accompanying saffron risotto, with gossamer shavings of Parmesan, turned this into a witty riff on osso bucco. For my pudding, a caramel and walnut mousse, with a tile of Valrhona chocolate surrounded by pebbles of honeycomb. For her, a plate of lemon and blueberry desserts which included a fine lemon cream and a dinky blueberry sponge.
The price for these three courses was £35, which is not cheap - the entire bill came to £110 - but for the quality, and compared to the stupidities that this sort of money often buys in London, it feels entirely right. It should be said that Chez Bruce also has one of the very best wine lists in Britain, full of terrific wines at modest mark-ups.
Recently a reader emailed to say they were planning to open a restaurant and wanted to know what I thought made for a good one. Well, here's the advice, and for free: find someone who knows how to cook and has great taste. Put them in the kitchen with some equally skilled cooks. Fill a dining room with tables and chairs, send the food out from the kitchen, and charge a fair amount of money for it. Get this right and you will be full every night of the week - and you will keep being named everyone's favourite, as Chez Bruce is. Really, it isn't rocket science.
