This wine bar attached to the feted Club Gascon of foie gras fame is a bit like a virgin visit to France after seeing loads of nouvelle vague films. It’s as smart, swish and chic as you expect, with the odd seemingly familiar thing that turns out to be not quite what you think.

So there we were, the estimable Meemalee, Chris and myself, perched at a high table in an almost empty bar eyeing the specials speculatively. I, for one, was feeling terribly decadent. This is not the sort of place I usually head for a Friday lunch. And it all seemed rather good, in a cool Alain Delon kind of way. (more…)