Some good friends took us to L'Ecrivain last week - I fear the Michelin starred restaurant was wasted on me. It started with the Starters. Of the five on offer I couldn't eat four: Rabbit, Pigeon, Foie Gras and Scallops. The fifth was Hake which I love. But my portion when it arrived was more a flake than a fillet - a two inch square, succulent but slight. For my main course I ordered saddle of lamb - it sounded comfortingly substantial (plus sea-weed tapenade and other esoteric flourishes). I noticed that none of us who selected the lamb (it was popular) was asked how it should be cooked. Cowed by the precious ambience I failed to address this omission. When it arrived I was disappointed on two counts. It was a two inch cube of bloody meat with some slight attendant folderols. I like my meat medium, pink not red. My own bloody fault for not specifying. But the size of the portion (price €41) was the major problem - a couple of good bites and it was gone. Where's the bread? All the while this was going on, the short ass blonde sommelier (with a rictus smile) was relentlessly filling our glasses whenever we paused for breath. The contrast between the brimming beakers of wine and the paltry fare on the plates could not have been more extreme.
The company was great and the chat flowed as abundantly as the drink. But I had a cheese sandwich when I got home.