9 Knightsbridge Green, London SW1 (020 7225 2238). Meal for two, including wine and service, £110
It's all about context. Almost anywhere else, Chabrot would be big stuff. The chef, Thierry Laborde, has the kind of CV that would make the purring voiceover on MasterChef pant its way towards climax. The operations manager, Yann Chevris, has worked for Nobu and Nahm; the wine man, Philippe Messy, is spoken of in hushed tones in the sort of corners which know about these things. Hell, there is even the involvement of Pascal Lavorel, who is apparently a celebrity florist – the sort of job description that makes me want to punch people until they promise never to utter the two words anywhere near each other ever again.
So, as I say, big. Except that, as it is located across from the Mandarin Oriental Hotel in Knightsbridge, it seems tiny. It becomes the little bistro that could, the boho shack slammed between gastro-skyscrapers. For right now all attention is focused on that hotel and, a few weeks ago, the multi-million opening of its Dinner by Heston Blumenthal, a restaurant event that only those without a pulse could have missed. Be patient, my children – I will be telling you all about it next week.
Chabrot is small and demure, and perfectly slathered in Parisian bistro tropes and clichés. But it is done with such precision and intent and fondness that you can not begrudge it. The tablecloths are white with red stripes. There is a big mirror upon which is written up the specials of the day, and a wine list which has heard of a few places that are not France, but only in passing. And yes, the menu does the classics with no shame. There are snails. There is 45-day aged sirloin with beurre Maitre d'hôtel. It is French with a bloody thick accent, the sort that could only be perfected by a chef from the southwest of the country, where they take these things seriously.
The menu is big on seafood and searing things on the plancha and seasoning liberally. A bowl of crisp baby squid, from a list entitled "Small eats when ready", is greaseless and tender and salty. Better still is a warm, crumbly duck liver, more reminiscent of my Jewish great aunt's way with chopped liver. Unusually, I mean that in a good way – Jewish staples are generally so much ballast – but this was light and soft. It came with what they called a gougère and we'll call an individual Yorkshire pudding. It was still warm and flavoured with Comté cheese. A crunchy salad of red cabbage, apple and hazelnuts was one of those ideas you mentally steal from the table to replicate at home.
Our main courses ranged from the simple – two large prawns seared on the plancha, dressed only with lemon, olive oil and herbs – to another of true French let's-treat-Larousse-Gastronomique-as-the-bible classicism: a Savoy cabbage leaf stuffed with veal, chestnuts, foie gras and ceps. It sounds like an aneurism on a plate, the kind of dish cardiologists queue up to endorse on account of the extra business. Instead it was thrillingly light and fresh and came with a translucent non-sticky jus that was the sum of all of its parts.
And then dessert. Or not – Chabrot does not have a sweet tooth. The special was a bowl of undistinguished curd cheese with fruit compote, which would feel like a defeat if you served it at a dinner party. They list rice pudding, a salad of oranges or cheese. As dessert lists go, it's one huge Gallic shrug. There is just the one distinguished offering: a soft chocolate mousse cake, crusted with sesame, with a slick of something custard-like. In short, Chabrot has just one little black dress in its wardrobe and if you don't like it, you ain't got nowhere else to go.
So for now do not leave space for dessert. Fill up on its bone marrow or seared black pudding or selection of charcuterie. Like so much at little Chabrot, it will not let you down.
Email Jay at jay.rayner@observer.co.uk or visit theguardian.com/profile/jayrayner for all his reviews in one place
