48 Greek Street, London W1D 4EF
It is easy to forget that, not so long ago, before we became infatuated and intrigued by hipster tacos, sushi and ceviche, French cuisine was the most highly revered form of cooking. Whether it was the rich haute-cuisine of the bourgeoise, or the more earthy cuisine familiale of the working class, the tradition and technique of French cooking ruled supreme.
However, the belief (most earnestly held by the French themselves) that French cuisine was best led, perhaps, to an arrogance and complacency which meant that, for the better part of a century, French cuisine failed to evolve in any significant way. Indeed, it took the arrival of nouvelle cuisine, in the late 1960s/early 1970s, for French haute cuisine to seek to escape its orthodoxy and, in some cases fussiness. However, that movement’s desired-for simplicity and lightness seemed to morph into a ridiculous exercise in minimalism that, frankly, just left diners hungry.
And so, French restaurants fell out of fashion and largely remain so today. TimeOut’s current (albeit pre-pandemic) list of 100 best restaurants in London includes just two that are decidedly French (Frenchie and Casse-Croute). In that sense, French restaurants have become somewhat – to use the parlance – niche, and thus, almost exotic.
L’Escargot is something of a London institution. Established on its present site in 1927, it took its name – apparently, at the insistence of its customers – from its most famous dish. It is untouched by modern restaurant trends – there is no counter to sit at, no apparent dedication to sustainability or seasonality, and it does not profess to offer healthy eating (au contraire, mon ami!). And yet somehow, the décor of the restaurant is Insta-friendly – walls, carpets, drapes and and furnishings in a palette of deep red, green, ochre and black. Gilt-framed mirrors abound. Table are unusually well-spaced, which is helpful if and when things get a little loud, as they are likely to do with the kind of bon viveur that L’Escargot attracts. Service is surprisingly informal, but nonetheless assured.
The wine list is entirely and unapologetically French, as is the menu. The latter might offer a special or two that appear to be half-hearted attempts at modish dishes – spicy crab and an octopus terrine on our visit – but those aren’t what you should be ordering (we did, piqued by curiosity, and were left completely underwhelmed). No, this is the sort of place where you order foie gras terrine with Sauternes jelly, or perhaps the French onion soup, followed by the Tournedos Rossini or the Chateaubriand with Béarnaise sauce – the sort of rich dishes that encourage you to ease a little deeper into the well-upholstered chairs, and order a second bottle of St. Emilion, because you not going anywhere in a hurry. And of course, you must have the snails in garlic and parsley sauce. I can think of few culinary pleasures greater than dredging a piece of crusty bread through that sauce, and if you really want to do the job properly, spread some cool, salted butter on your bread first.
I understand that not everyone wants to eat this way, or eat this kind of food. But, that’s fine – it means that it’s easier to bag a table at L’Escargot than it should be. And whilst L’Escargot could not be more out of keeping with the contemporary zeitgeist, that makes it a distinctive and idiosyncratic experience. I would argue that L’Escargot’s snail dish is amongst the most thrilling on offer in London today. Most of the writers that have penned a professional review of L’Escargot express a hope that the restaurant will not change what it is, and I suspect that most of its customers feel that way too. The New York restaurateur, Danny Meyer, once said that “A great restaurant is one that just makes you feel like you’re not sure whether you went out or you came home, and confuses you. If it can do both of those things at the same time, you’re hooked”. L’Escargot offers just that combination of familiarity and special occasion.
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