Food falling short

Making the most of an unseasonably warm evening, Monsieur Gourmand, a couple of friends and I strolled along rue du Rhône towards a cluster of bars and restaurants. We planned to enjoy dinner al fresco on the cobbled quayside, watching the lit-up logos of luxury brands reflecting off the water.

One place was prohibitively pricey, another too formal, and one – in an attempt to look Ibiza-like – had thrown dirty-looking towels all over their sofas. So we settled for the mellow lighting and faux-wicker furniture of Enoteca.  

Having chosen a Chilean wine, we ordered mixed antipasti of artichokes, sun-dried tomatoes and a couple of tapenades. Moreish they may have been, but eating them proved a challenge as we only had one knife between us and the meagre bread basket contained just four sad-looking slices of stale baguette. Crusty, rustic loaves with olives or walnuts may have better suited the Mediterranean mood.

The bread wasn’t the only thing that seemed out of place; the middle-aged, oriental waitress was a sight to behold in a buckled leather jacket, floaty skirt and electric blue eye shadow, shuffling around in the kind of outdoorsy sandals you go rafting in and cackling maniacally when we asked for anything.

By the time our bread supply had been replenished, I had already started my main course. The chicken brochette seemed a bit genetically modified and nugget-like in texture, while the supposed massala sauce tasted too generic. Our friend’s chicken wings weren’t much better, but Monsieur Gourmand’s burger proved to be the highlight of an otherwise mediocre meal: a delicious and juicy feast of flavoursome beef, melted cheese, egg and bacon, served with chunky chips.

Notwithstanding this last tasty triumph, Enoteca should probably just stick to being a wine bar.

Enoteca, 19 rue du Rhône, 1204 Geneva

+41 (0)22 789 0189; winebargeneva.com

Tasty but hasty

A friend from England came to stay last weekend while Monsieur Gourmand was away on business. Transforming myself into a tour guide, I devised an all-encompassing itinerary for us, relishing the prospect of using Geneva's free bike rental scheme. But nothing is ever simple in Switzerland...

My UK driving licence wasn’t official enough as a form of ID so I had to go back to the apartment for my passport. Then there weren’t any bikes available at the Villereuse office so we went to Place du Molard, only to find an empty prefab. The staff there told us there were two bikes at Bains de Pâquis, so across the water we went, arriving two seconds after a trout-pouted glamour puss, who promptly nabbed one of the last two bikes.

Luckily we didn’t have to wait long for a replacement and we spent the afternoon happily whizzing around town, from the botanical gardens and the UN to Carouge and the Jet d’eau.

In the absence of Monsieur Gourmand, I seized the opportunity to enjoy a Lebanese feast in the evening. But, having become engrossed – at my friend’s insistence – in a certain TV talent show, we didn’t sit down to eat at Le Diwane until 10pm. As with the pernickety passport incident earlier in the day, we were about to be reminded that spontaneity in Switzerland is a contradiction in terms.     
 

The waiter implored us to try a glass each of an open wine rather than the bottle of Lebanese white that we requested, presumably because he was worried we might take too long to drink it. The fact that the bottle would cost considerably more was by-the-by. Needless to say, his efforts were in vain and our hard-won bottle arrived with some very appetising mezze.

All too accustomed to shop-bought vine leaves, I had forgotten how soft and moist they can be until I tried these ones, while the dreamy, creamy houmous was offset by the healthy tasting and tangy tabbouleh.

Our main course – a mixed grill of marinated chicken and lamb – should have been a delight, but I couldn’t enjoy it. Feeling rather rushed and made to feel guilty for daring to eat so late – let’s not forget this was Saturday night in the liveliest area of a European city – I wolfed down the mezze in a flash and barely chewed the scrumptious chunks of meat.

At 11 o’clock on the dot, the restaurant lights were turned off, music muted and the tables and chairs quickly chained up. Taking the hint, we glugged down the last of our wine and hit the surrounding streets for a walk on Geneva’s wild side. Unfortunately the punters of Pâquis seemed to have us confused with the other kind of streetwalker, so we soon beat a hasty houmous-fuelled retreat towards home.

 Le Diwane, rue de Zurich 6, 1201 Geneva
+41 (0)22 732 73 91

Season's eatings

As I bask lizard-like on a lakeside rock, I realise that this may well be one of this year’s final opportunities to soak up the sun.
 

Geneva really is quite fabulous in the summer time, with seemingly ceaseless sunshine and a large body of fresh water in which to cool off. (I won’t dwell on the notable annoyances of itchy insects and spotty youths, the male contingent of which seems to have adopted this summer’s inexplicable trend for wearing boxer shorts underneath their swimming shorts).

Just as fondue is best suited to cosy alpine settings in the depths of winter, some of this region’s restaurants simply have to be sampled in the summer months. Thank goodness, then, that Monsieur Gourmand and I found the time to dine at Brasserie Parc des Eaux-Vives this week.

With its manicured plants and immaculately mown lawn – beyond which lies a lovely lake view – the setting couldn’t have been more perfect, until the sun went down and a chilly breeze began to waft through the window. We didn’t ask to close it though as the resulting reflection on the glass would have doubled the dazzling effect of the bare light bulbs protruding from an ill-fitting lampshade overhead.


Fortunately Monsieur Gourmand chose a suitably hearty meal to warm him from the inside, starting with casareccia pasta with chicken chunks and fresh rocket leaves. I went for a more summery starter of King Crab, the rich meat pleasantly offset by a light and fluffy cucumber gazpacho, ‘icy mint’ and tangy red berries.


Monsieur Gourmand’s steak was superb; tender and rare, served with perfectly rectangular chunky chips and a light béarnaise. By contrast, my lamb brochettes were a bit disappointing - I'm sure the menu mentioned something North African. That’s not to say it wasn’t tasty, however, and I was pleased to find the lamb perfectly pink in the middle.


Before braving the nippy night-time temperatures on the walk home, we indulged in a chocolatey concoction with whipped walnut, delicate wafer and coconut ice cream. Maybe it’s not such a bad thing that this year’s bikini days are numbered.


Brasserie Parc des Eaux-Vives, Quai Gustave Ador 82, 1207 Geneva
+41 (0)22 849 7575; www.parcdeseauxvives.ch

Plane tasty

The older I get, the more mortal I feel; I have even started feeling nervous when flying. Milling around Heathrow the other evening, I was relieved not to be boarding the flight to Auckland – which doesn’t bode well when Monsieur Gourmand and I have our hearts set on honeymooning in Bora Bora.

Such aviation anxiety is quite unexpected for someone who has always enjoyed taking to the air, whether by jumbo or gyrocopter (okay, the second one isn’t entirely true but I have been known to jump out of small planes and soar through the skies in a glider).

Perhaps my passion for planes is why I like Le Thermomètre, an unpretentious eatery in the centre of Geneva, whose decked outdoor area looks onto the window of a model shop selling everything from remote control Cessnas and Spitfires to scale model 747s and A380s. And if planes don’t float your boat, there are plenty of yachts, cars and trains to distract you from the discomfort of the plasticky chairs while you wait to be served.

Talking of trains, the restaurant’s long, narrow interior reminds me of a railway restaurant carriage, only without the Swiss mountain scenery and with the addition of over-attentive staff. Unless it’s pouring with rain or icy cold, I would stay outside.

We started by sharing some smooth and flavoursome foie gras, served with dainty toasts and a soupçon of sweet sauce on the side. This was just enough decadence to awaken my appetite for what was to follow – a deliciously rare and tender steak.

Monsieur Gourmand strayed from the menu’s mainstays of steak and perches du lac and instead went for thin slices of beef with a herby, garlicky sauce. Despite the thinness of the slices, the meat remained rare, while the sensational sauce was tangy but not overpowering. Both dishes came with Le Thermomètre’s must-have matchstick frites, and of course we quaffed a carafe of local red wine.

I can’t think of anywhere better for a bit of unpretentious mid-week eating with some people watching and plane spotting thrown in. Just be sure to sit outside.

 Le Thermomètre, 22 rue Neuve du Molard, 1204 Genève
+41 (0)22 310 2535

Sweet surrender

While I disapprove of stingy establishments that charge for petits fours, the fabulous Rasoi goes to the other extreme. After an otherwise exquisite and surprisingly light meal, I completely overdosed on dessert: an entire mango kulfi – the best I’ve ever tasted – pistachio crème brûlée and melon. (These were served as one dish, in case anyone is thinking I’m a complete glutton.)

As a result, I felt utterly stuffed and very grateful for the walk home. 

We happened to visit during a promotional evening for a local kaftan and sarong seller, but it would take more than a succession of slinky models in floaty frocks to distract me – if not Monsieur Gourmand – from the show stopping degustation menu.

A duo of home-made chutneys and dainty poppadoms were enjoyed with an apéritif before some subtly spicy and herby naan bread arrived. A chilled lentil and tomato soup ensued, before two volaille kebabs – one full flavoured and tangy, the other much milder – were served with a salad of modish micro leaves.


As I savoured the red, orange and green cuisine, the main course of Masala cod and saffron mash brought on the first feelings of fullness. It was delicious nonetheless, the moist, meaty flakes complemented by fresh and firm peas and asparagus.


On this occasion I was weak-willed when faced with delicious-looking creamy kulfi, and powerless to resist the heavenly convergence of pistachio and crème brûlée, (two of my favourite things). If I can stomach the prohibitive prices for a future visit, I vow to allow the sensational savoury flavours to linger longer.


Rasoi, Mandarin Oriental Hotel, Quai Turrettini, 1201 Genève
+41 (0)22 909 0006 www.rasoi.ch

Pizza penalty shootout

Judging by their less-than-stellar performance so far, Italy won’t be World Cup holders for much longer. But even if they no longer rule the fickle world of football, Italians can at least take consolation in being the nation that brought us seductive language, timeless fashion and pizza.

I love pizza so much that it would be my final meal on death row. But knowing my luck, the prison warden would dash to Domino’s and present me with a cheesy lump of pre-prepared dough scattered with offensive tasting peppers. Would they let me have another one from a preferable purveyor of pizza, I wonder, or would my final hours be wiled away in a seething strop?

Being a bastion of human rights, of course there is nothing as barbaric as the death penalty in Geneva. But there are a good many pizzerias.

To mark Italy’s last days as world champions, here is the Alpine Eating (admittedly Eaux-Vives centric and rather limited) pizza league.

Failed to qualify

Quirinale – crammed full of preppy playboys quaffing Champagne, Quirinale has no place in this competition simply because nobody should have to pay 30 francs for a pizza. Ever. Even if it does have truffles on it.

Rue de la Rôtisserie 6; 022 748 4848; www.quirinale.ch

First round failure

Molino – I was horrified to hear a friend proclaim Molino the best pizza in Geneva. To be fair, this chain restaurant does pizza better than it does anything else – gristly vitello tonnato, dried out salmon, puny prawns – but tinned ingredients and the soggy consistency are a let down.

Place du Molard 7; 022 310 9988; www.molino.ch

Game of two halves

Chez Marino – what Chez Marino lacks in culinary finesse, it more than makes up for in atmosphere. Be sure to sit at one of the tables on the right when you come in; this is where you can watch the pizzaiolo at work while waiters whizz to and fro. Marino himself sometimes takes to the floor for a song or two, which may not be to everyone’s taste...

Rue Muzy 22, Eaux-Vives; 022 736 4516; www.chez-marino.ch

Runner-up

Cinecittà – stuffed with cinema memorabilia from the glamorous golden era of Sofia Loren and Roberto Rossellini, families, young couples and groups alike frequent this Eaux-Vives eaterie. Despite the ravishing range of pizzas on offer, Monsieur Gourmand swears by the Margherita.

Rue de Montchoisy 17, Eaux-Vives; 022 736 4959; www.pizzeria-cinecitta.ch

Champion

Da Paolo – the fact that it’s always full to bursting says a lot. As well as the standard selection of pizzas, this hidden-away haunt offers a number of sensational specials. And if pizza’s not your preference, this authentic Italian offers meat, fish and pasta aplenty.

Rue du Lac 3, Eaux-Vives; 022 736 3049; www.dapaolo.ch

Chocolate salvation

Everything in my life was hunky dory until recently, when an incompetent and irresponsible person – who shall remain nameless – ruined everything.

As a so-called professional, he could have been expected to do his job properly. Surely if you’re good at one thing in life, it should be your job. It is, after all, what you spend most of your waking hours doing, and it is how you describe yourself when meeting people for the first time.

The same goes for restaurants, particularly if they claim to serve a ‘speciality’; customers expect it to be good.

I had fancied a bite at Bistrot du Boucher in Eaux-Vives for quite a while; not only is it always reassuringly full, but the bovine motif on the window and the butcher reference in the name suggest a superior steak.

The meaty theme continues inside where waiters dash from table to table in fetching cow-print ties, while a quick peer into the men’s loos reveals a fascinating photo of a bull’s testicles. (No udders in the ladies’ though, I’m afraid.)

After such a promising prelude, the tough, tasteless entrecôte came as a bit of a shock. Normally a steak needs nothing more than a little moutarde, but this one really required something more to lift the lacklustre flavour – what a shame the three bland sauces all tasted the same...

It was only when the devilish display of desserts was wheeled to our table that we realised Bistrot du Boucher’s true forte. Having shunned both the tasty-looking tarte tatin and pear pastry, Monsieur Gourmand opted for a chunk of chocolatey decadence with an intense depth of flavour and a smooth, buttery consistency. I cursed the calories in each fiendish forkful but couldn’t resist devouring more and more.

Nevertheless, despite this mouthwateringly memorable finale – not to mention unusually efficient service and apéritifs on the house – the fact remains that a delicious dessert does not a good steak make.

Bistrot du Boucher, 15 Avenue Pictet de Rochemont, 1205 Genève

022 736 5636