It’s hard to understate how insanely Gallic La Poule au Pot truly is. The whole place has been festooned with peasanty baskets of dried foliage, wax-covered candlesticks and rickety brasserie furniture. That said, it’s atmospheric as hell and very much a local joint, with the kind of stratospheric pricing in-tune with the Belgravia postcode.
The cooking was mostly very good. The best came first: a starter of scallops, pan-fried and doused with a wicked anise-spiked butter that I’d have drunk by the mugful. It was followed by a beautifully textured foie gras terrine – served with an almost inedibly boozy sauternes jelly – and a decent beef bourguignon, the meat slow-braised into sticky, lardon-studded fireside food.
Less successful was a slab of dover sole, the yielding flesh drowned in a lemon butter sauce redolent of citrus-spiked chicken Bisto. Desserts were fine: a chocolate mousse was light and aerated; bananas à sa façon (that is, split and braised) arrived richly caramel-soaked.
It was all wilfully, gloriously old-school. But at this cost – the scallops were £15.50; the sole £34 – dining at La Poule remains a rarefied experience for those with, er, pots of cash.