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Now that the winter season is under way – and mindful of this blog’s title – I think it’s about time I indulged in some proper alpine eating as well as just Geneva haunts.
After a day’s cold and cloudy skiing in Chamonix last weekend, my companions and I found ourselves in La Calèche, a warm, woody and shamelessly touristy town centre restaurant where the pine-clad walls are festooned with pots, pans, old typewriters and telephones – I think I even spotted a ceramic sheep on the floor.
A particularly nice touch was the shelf by the loo from which patrons can take their pick of perfumes and aftershaves, although I’m afraid the Issey Miyake was empty. Not that a scented squirt would have made much difference against the heavy smell of cheese that pervades a place specialising in fondue and yodelling – this latter tradition thankfully relegated to Tuesdays.
Our two friends opted for onion soup topped with an enormous cheesy crouton to start, while Monsieur Gourmand went for garlicky escargots and I tried the goat’s cheese salad. Sun dried tomatoes and pine kernels added taste and texture but I thought the bacon slightly unnecessary, an overpowering addition to the melting chèvre.
To accompany the delicious St Estèphe wine, the obvious choice for main course was raw meat served with a stone slab on which to cook it. The beef wasn’t particularly tender (although that might have been Monsieur Gourmand’s cooking technique) and the three non-descript sauces didn’t make up for the lack of seasoning; however the creamy, crispy-on-top potato dauphinoise was a delicious antidote to a hard day on the slopes.
Amazingly, we managed to find room for dessert, which turned out to be a disappointing reflection of the dreamy-sounding descriptions. The apple pie lacked any crumbly rustic charm while its accompanying cinnamon ice cream was nothing more than vanilla with a dash of colouring and a soupçon of spice. And I devoured enough white chocolate and passion fruit crème brûlée to conclude that this classic dish should not be complicated by unnecessary flavours.
I almost forgot to mention the mechanical polar bear in the entrance hall – a cheesy but charming feature of this adequate yet unremarkable alpine eatery.
La Calèche, 18 Rue Paccard, 74403 Chamonix. +33 (0)450 559468
www.restaurant-caleche.com
I could focus on the failings of L’Armoire – dull décor, snooty clientele and of course slow service – but such trivialities can be overlooked when the food is this fabulous.
The restaurant’s design is hardly cutting edge with blackboards, library-style lampshades, dark wood and burgundy banquettes, however it does bring to mind warmth, comfort and red meat, which is just as well because carnivorous cuisine is L’Armoire’s forte.
Neither Monsieur Gourmand nor I could resist the pan fried foie gras to start, a fiendish luxury I hadn’t allowed myself for at least six months. It was a guilty pleasure worth waiting for, the meat’s rich flavour in heavenly harmony with the balsamic and raspberry reduction.
My companion continued the foie gras frenzy, ordering pavé de boeuf with jus de foie gras for his main course, served with a flourish of frites poking out of a glass. My ‘tataki de thon rouge’ was equally enticing, the red tuna flesh having been seared for mere seconds to lightly singe the sesame seeds. With sides of oriental spinach, basmati rice, soy sauce and wasabi, my appetite was certainly sated, yet I still felt virtuous enough to allow myself a peek at the dessert menu.
So divine was the chocolate mousse that three days later I am still salivating at the memory. It might even have been the best chocolate mousse I’ve ever had, the deep chocolatey flavour enhanced by the subtle scent and texture of hazelnuts, and tempered by a chunk of mint sorbet. Be warned though, it is denser than most mousses, not to mention enormous, so definitely one for sharing.
Poncey patrons and lazy waiters aside, L’Armoire hasn’t lost sight of the idea that food should be the raison d’être of any restaurant. I look forward to coming back for more meaty, moussey indulgences in 2010.
L’Armoire, Vieille Ville; www.l-armoire.ch; +41 (0)22 311 3724
Our dinner at Brasserie Lipp started on an irritating note when Monsieur Gourmand and I were met with the usual shock and disbelief at not having made a reservation.
Of course, as if by magic, a table was soon conjured up and they managed to squeeze us in. ‘Squeeze’ being the operative word as we were cast out into the middle of the brightly lit brasserie on a table barely big enough for one enthusiastic eater, let alone two.
The comprehensive menu seemed to be full of things I had never heard of and I had a feeling that the apron-wearing waiters would think me a food philistine if I dared enquire about the provenance of a paillard or the content of a quenelle. Consequently, I chose to play it safe with moules frites while Monsieur Gourmand went for a stab in the dark and ordered a choucroute.
As the growing pile of paraphernalia arrived at our tiny table – a mini gas stove, candle-heated hotplates, ladles – we began to wonder what we had let ourselves in for. It turns out that the stove was to warm my moules which, although a bit puny, were served in a tasty creamy sauce and accompanied by first class frites.
The choucroute looked a little heavy and hearty for my tastes but Monsieur Gourmand was delighted with it. Peppercorns embedded among the strands of sauerkraut added a spicy edge to the vinegary vegetables while heightening the fine flavours of a humble yet heavenly frankfurter and another deliciously seasoned sausage packed with pistachios.
It was a shame that Monsieur Gourmand was too stuffed to contemplate a dessert because this is where Brasserie Lipp truly triumphs. I was sorely tempted by the mille-feuille aux marrons and the artisan ice creams but my Sergent Lipp – blood orange sorbet in a glass of campari – proved to be the perfect combination of dessert and digestif. A refreshing finale to a meal only marred by the discomfort of a too-small table.
Brasserie Lipp, Confédération Centre www.brasserielipp.ch
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