Unbeknown to me, I might have walked into a tourist‑trap restaurant. Part of the Ducasse empire, Allard is an old‑school bistro known for casual French classics. It all sounds good on paper. Unfortunately, I must have ordered the most uninteresting thing on the menu — fish and veg…
I tried to explain myself to the maître d’hôtel: “I’m trying to be healthy today to bring some balance, as I am eating out a lot!” He was probably wondering why La Reine Gourmande came to eat out today and thinking, “Perhaps the truth is she hates eating.” Honestly, this isn’t true; sometimes you need a day or two to lay off the copious amounts of butter, fat, and salt when someone else is cooking your lunch. In hindsight, it might not have been the best time to visit while I was taking a break from all that richness.
Even so, I had to eat somewhere, and even in the simplest, most unexciting dishes, there is always cookery to critique. Always.
I was surrounded by Americans; there were no French, English, or anyone else for that matter. The front‑of‑house team was putting on a show for them. I must admit the service was welcoming and entertaining. I watched discreetly as I sat there with my fish and two veg. I wasn’t a complete bore — I had a slice of bread with Normandy butter and some baby potatoes. I stepped it up a level!
Apart from the plush red‑velvet seating and a 10/10 for atmosphere, we need to talk about the food. Don’t be misled by my downplaying of the fish: it was turbot and should belong in a completely different league. The two small chunks looked measly; I felt sorry for the fish having died for me. Serving it on a silver platter (I exaggerate — it was probably metal) doesn’t disguise that.
The vegetables underneath was another story. I may not get over them for the next year or two. The prep and delivery were amateur and uninspiring.
The side dishes of yes ‘more veg’ were slightly better — the skin had been removed from the tiny tomatoes, but a lazy‑looking shallot or onion had been included with the root still intact. This does not eat well. Vegetables can be delicious — I love them — but the chefs here don’t seem to know how to handle them. Arguably, this is not the place to order something so basic. I should have taken the snails or the frog legs…
I could sense that my host wanted me to eat more. “Would you like a dessert?” he asked. The excuses poured out of me again, squinting and scrunching up my face a little — “Ahh, you know, I don’t know…” Somehow, I was convinced. My bowl of fruit pudding arrived shortly after, with him reassuring me it was the healthiest option on the dessert menu. What was I doing? How was I eating dessert at lunchtime!?
While all this was going on, I watched a waiter pouring lavish amounts of cream over everyone’s desserts at the table opposite. The guests loved it and egged him on for more. I smiled to myself — it was quite amusing.
It was ‘fun’ here for a few hours, but that was about it. I found it touristic. You can often judge the skill of a chef by how they prepare the most basic dishes. A perfectly cooked piece of fish, on or off the bone, says a lot. If you can’t make this nice, how can I trust you with something more extravagant? Escoffier is turning in his grave.
