AA Gill : Table Talk
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Five stars: Holiday in the sun Four stars: Bank holiday Three stars: Package holiday Two stars: Busman’s holiday One star: Holiday camp

There are £20 grouse at the butchers. Like cuckoos heralding spring, dead game in the window, with its hirsute legs wrapped round its vent, is a harbinger of autumn. The children can finally be prised out of their revolting Abercrombie & Fitch sweatshirts, marinated in the effluvia of adolescence, and the suitcases can go back to the spare-bedroom cupboard.
Cases are the archeology of ordinary people. You find strange hotel keys in the pockets of rucksacks, little toddler’s collections of shells and seaworn glass, ticket stubs for seaside specials and Italian toothpaste that tastes of wormwood. There are forgotten Caribbean antibiotics for crusty ears and French homeopathic hangover pills, weird-pronged plug adaptors, holiday thongs curled up like dead woodlice and, in the farthest corner, a teaspoon of grit that is prosaically, but properly, the sands of time.
What shoes are to chick-lit heroines, suitcases are to me. They represent a deferred wanderlust, an out-of-here readiness. I’m particularly powerless against carry-on bags. The Blonde is losing patience with the colonies of leather and canvas that collect in the less-visited corners of the house like discarded swallows’ nests – I think she sees it as a passive threat of desertion. Actually, it’s quite the opposite: all their little labels point homeward.
It has not been the best summer. All the places you want to go have been peed on from a great height. The places that baked were generally ghastly, like Greece, which choked in a hot fog of bushfires that barely missed Athens. I nearly got a cheap flight just to go and blow. Thousands of us have returned home with a sour, sad taste in our mouths. The food wasn’t all we expected or remembered. Then we remembered that it never is. We came back to find Jamie and Rick discovering delicious pigs and figs on the telly: they live in another world of celebrity manna.
The best things I ate this summer were cooked in a truck-driver’s home in Tuscany. The first was a mushroom soup: glossy and thick as a mink muff, and darkly cunning with the mulchy, crepuscular flavours of the wood. Fungi have the most complex and dissembling tastes. Born of corruption, they are smooth and pale and pristine, but always a hair’s breadth away from gut-twisting murder. These ones were wild ceps, gathered from secret places and damp clefts.
And then there was penne, lacquered with tomatoes from a vine that grew like a hedge at the back door, with fruit the size of inflamed bull’s testicles: thick, corpulent flesh with barely a seed, and that miraculous gift of tomatoes – intense sweetness without sentimental sugariness. Pomodoro is a much more onomatopoeic word than tomato for the flavour of being in love in the sun.
I’ve just received the following letter, which perfectly conveys the aspiration and unintentional truth of the English eating abroad. It is the most superbly Pooterish piece of writing. I’ve changed the name to protect the guilty.
“Dear Mr Gill, I thought I should bring to your attention a real gem – nothing to do with me – that we visited on holiday. If any expats or sunseekers are in the mood for a treat, then they should know where to go, as should you, if you are ever passing.
“The restaurant is called La Fourchette Folle, in Roubia, which is in the Minervois region of France. Roubia has a population of 500 during the holiday season, falling to a population of two old ladies and a stray dog in the winter. If you drive through it, then don’t blink – you’ll miss it. Typical of a French village.
“La Fourchette has a scruffy bar on one street and a postage-stamp-sized deck for diners on another, as well as a tiny indoor eating area. The decor is plain and simple and comfortable. Lucy, one of the owners, by contrast, is neither plain nor simple, and instantly makes you feel comfortable with both her ample charm and her ample assets. She’s English, by the way, and after two weeks of trying to order in my pigeon [sic] French – and often ending up with a French pigeon – it was great to relax.
“Two adults and two teenagers ordered foie gras, a prawn cocktail and crab ravioli. The poor goose was served with a kiwi jelly (and quite pretentiously served on a plate of slate), but was to die for. My son demolished the two-inch prawns with relish, and Mrs and Miss Smith couldn’t get enough of the deep-fried ravioli parcels. This had been preceded by an amuse-bouche of a mussel served with chocolate, tequila and Mexican flavours.
“Three of us had duck for the main, and the girl opted for the seafood risotto, which was accompanied by asparagus and goat’s cheese foam. The duck was finer than any duck – or steak – I have previously had.
“For pudding, the girls had a strawberry pavlova item, which, in the words of the wife, had been injected with strawberry flavouring (a compliment), and the boy had a chocolate mousse, with me opting for a quartet of local cheeses. All was great, and at £20 a head, including drinks, very, very reasonable in a country that’s not known for its low-cost dining. I have never written to a food critic before, but if you are in the area, it would be a shame – for you and for them – if you were to miss it.
“Yours sincerely, G Smith.” Mr Smith, thank you. No, really, thank you. Back to London, and dinner at the Oxo Tower. (Can any other five words fill you with such low expectation? Such a grim name, Oxo – like calling pâté Swine-err or Duck-uh.) On the second floor is Bincho, a yakitori restaurant. If you get a window, it has a lovely view over the gold-lamé river to the ossified St Paul’s.
The waitress began by asking if we’d ever eaten here before, a phrase that actually trumps dinner at the Oxo Tower. Yakitori is essentially Japanese tapas – things to eat while getting drunk, so that salarymen can lurch into lap-dancing clubs with their fingers smelling of barbecue sauce. It doesn’t have the inscrutable cultural vanity of sushi. It’s pretty much the stuff that Uzbeks and Turks eat – grilled slivers with goo – and this place does it very well. You can have skewers of chicken skin or gizzard (“other duck parts are available on request”) and there’s a soup of pig’s tripe.
The problem is how much to order. The Blonde and I have a long-standing and intractable difference of opinion about communal ordering. She underorders; I overorder. She abhors waste; I have a perfectly reasonable fear that we might miss something brilliant. Anyway, we had a pathetically intense silent row made up of looks of withering blame and inhalations of hissing fury. As ever, we ate sufficiently, but not gluttonously.
As an act of vindictive one-upmanship, I slipped in a late order under the Blonde’s embargo. And, lo, we got the best dish of the day: a splendid ochazuke – rice with pickles and green tea. It’s much better than it sounds (which might be Japan’s national motto).
By the way, can anyone tell me why Japanese restaurants always look like Ikea works canteens lit by manic depressives?
Bincho Yakitori: Oxo Tower Wharf, Barge House Street, SE1; 020 7803 0858. Mon-Fri, noon-3pm, 5-11.30pm; Sat, 11am-11.30pm; Sun, 11am-10.30pm
AA Gill is a features writer and restaurant critic for The Sunday Times and he writes regular travel pieces for The Sunday Times Magazine, for which he has won two Glenfiddich Awards
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The bar at la fourchette folle may be a little scruffy but i particularly like the inside of the restaurant which was built by English builders I beleive.Food very nice and the whole place vey welcoming.Keep up the good work.
geoff Harding, Mancheter,
As a rock and roll singer who travels the world, sleeping and eating in all the so called [ BEST PLACES} I decided to drop my anchor in a picturesque village just along the cut from Roubia.I have been very fortunate to have been blessed with an immenseley healthy appitite,for all things which are supposed to be bad for me.So one beautiful,Languedoc afternoon,as i tied my old tub to a plane tree, disturbing an old sailer chap who was catching some rays,after{ as he told me over a refreshing glass of his favourite local ub40} he had just enjoyed the plat de jour in the bar at the La Forchette Folle. All i can say is, I wandered up the hill to this enchanting establishment, and have never looked back{in anger} since.
JOHNNY MARSHALL, Liverpool, UK
As a resident of Paraza I would like to make certain observations regarding the previous comments,
1)Eve may be American but her observations were spot on with regards to La Forchette Folle
2)The establishment was not on the market for any length of time prior to the present owners becoming resident
3)La Forchette is admirably defended by the current barman who works in the most successful part of this establishment.An obvious choice for the Languedoc Fox and assorted characters from the less salubrious Olonzac area.
4)The Cafe Du Port in my village of Paraza has no pretensions to be something it is not,other than being very good value.The ex-pats referred to are presumably only supposed to eat in the privacy of their homes and not venture out to eat and support their local establishments,though in this case they would be in the company of the Mairie and his village council who eat there regularly.
In conclusion I would suggest AA Gill saves his 1p(Ryanair) flight for a trip to Paraza.
Patrick Williams, Paraza,Aude, France
Dear Mr Gill, We would like to say many thanks to you for letting people 'Have their say'. We never thought that our restaurant, in the south of France would cause such a stir. Also, thanks to everyone else for taking the time to leave feedback on our restaurant and bar. It is very much appreciated.
We are genuinely sorry that Eve felt the need to write such an
unconstructive letter about our restaurant, which we feel was neither helpful nor necessary. Fair enough you didn't enjoy your meal, and for that we are sorry. But, for you to suggest that we would write our own review for self promotional purposes, we think you took it a little too far, don't you?
Did we do something personally to upset you? Generally speaking, we try not to upset our clients, maybe you were just having a bad day!
Thanks again everybody, especially Mr Smith & Mrs Smith.
Eddie & Lucy Hope, Roubia, France
A.A.
have to say that your own scribbles have a certain pooterish quality to them
John, Durban,
Hello again Eve, perhaps we should start a pen friendship or whatever.
I hear what you say about the British country-folk, too right! dreadful eating habbits. But as I visit the US at least twice a year and have many family and friends there, I have to say, on average the larger propertion - & I use 'larger' with a little trepidation as larger seems the operative word there - of Americans seem obeise - yes and you're right England's not far behind, but you will find, at least it's been my experience, that La Fourchette Folle certainly produces home-made, calorie considered fayre.
Continue your good work in the US of supporting those who are calorie conscious and promoting that diet.
Joyce, Tavistock, England
Maybe I visited on an off night (everyone has one) but hey, to each his/her own, I say. A food critic I am not nor make claim to be. Pastry, however I do know (classic European quite intimately). And, Juan of Nottingham, since you have chosen to throw down the oven mitt and sling mud , I suggest you get the insult correct â thatâs PILLSBURY. And if the doughs used by La Fourchette are handmade, I will be happy to eat my blue ribbon credentials (with a side of homemade coulis). As for your derision of âAmericansâ, do you limit to the North continent (of which the U.S. is but one of three countries) or can we include Central and South? (Juan is probably one of those narrow minded Brits that views Africa as one country as well) Maybe Juan needs to get out of the provinces and visit the likes of New York, Chicago or Los Angeles. And while you are busy making broad assumptions, I did visit the newly converted restaurant - lovely but still empty, which is not a good sign.
Eve, New York/New York, USA
Sorry Joyce but...? Your comment about Eve. Like someone living in America can't comment because many ppl there love fast food. It really sounds like you have no other explanation for whatever you are talking about, as you see I didn't bother reading it, as I saw the Eve part first and didn't think your opiion was of much worth. Thats what will happen if you generalise cultures from sterotypes, your coment will be rendered much less useful.. that is what it seemed you were doing
Clara, Brighton,
P.S. Dear Joyce of Tavistock, whilst admittedly there are many US citizens that enjoy their fast food, to say âmostâ is a rather grand supposition. I would be careful about pointing fingers, considering the not so healthy eating habits of your fellow countrymen, women and children.
Eve, New York/New York, USA
I'm the bar manager at La Fourchette Folle, and i can tell you from first hand experience that none of my French, Belgian, German, Dutch, Spanish, or British customers have any complaints at all. We combine the best of an english pub with a typical french bar. and scruffy, I'll take that as a compliment!!!
james Price, Roubia, France
Having discovered La Fourchette Folle by chance on a visit to the Minervois region of France some 18th months ago and having appreciated the high standard of French cuisine they they offered, I was excitted by my subsequent visits to that area this year to discover that La Fourchette Folle again didn't disapoint me. Well done the young couple who have been brave enough to take on a restaurant that had been up for sale for awhile prior to their purchasing it. You're doing a great job, exciting fayre, beautifully presented, exactly the right amount and delivered by a charming hostess. Keep up the good work and I, my family and friends will continue to support you and spread the good news of La Fourchette Folle in Roubia. Oh how sad Eve from New York sounds. But then as most Americans frequent and support their 1000's of fast food 'joints' with such regularity, how can they possibly be in a position to comment on excellent French cuisine?
Joyce, Tavistock, Devon
I'm the bar manager at La Fourchette Folle in Roubia. In regards to this thankyou for your views in general, its not often that a restaurant in rural France makes the national papers!Before this bar opened I used to work in the restuarant and i can tell you that for the crab there wasn't a can opener in sight. All our products are fresh local produce put together in a creative and original style (or as you would have read on the menu: tous les produits terroir, frais et fabrique a la maison avec soin). I hope that one day you may give us another chance to prove our worth as an English business trying to compete in a tough French industry.
james Price La Fourchette Folle, Roubia, France
The reasons why Japanese restaurants look like "Ikea" is, possible, Ikea designers may be copying from "Japanese restaurants"? Going Yakitori bar is the easiest and cheapest why to learn Japanese culture. And we are the nation fascinated to the light.
Yoshi, Somerset, UK
Mr Smith's letter makes interwesting reading. When I visited the La Fourchette Folle last year, Lucy certainly made me feel comfortable with her ample charm. However, apparently in contrast to the lucky Mr Smith, she entirely neglected to make me feel comfortable with her ample assets. I didnât even realise that service was on offer. Devastated!
Martin, Douglas, Isle of Man
The review by Eve from New York is about as far from the truth as anyone could get. I've dined there, been in the kitchen, checked it out and quizzed the chef. All the ingredients are fresh and locally sourced. I even found out where he trained in the UK - and believe me, training like that doesn't get any better. Did Eve stick around long enough to try out the Tournedos Rossini, or the baked cheesecake with raspberry coulis or the tarte tatin? Thought not, Eve is probably a pastry chef specialising in cooking Pilsbury dough. This is one 'worth a visit' restaurant (and I've eaten in some of the best) - oh and Eve forgot to mention the stunning new restaurant in the converted barn - probably missed it in a narrow minded American sort of way. The other restaurant she mentioned isn't a patch on La Forchette Folle - I've tried it. Americans, no wonder Michelin have only just started up over there - probably couldn't find enough restaurants to fill the first page!
Juan Carr, Nottingham, United Kingdom
I've eaten at La Fourchette Folle loads of times, and most meals I've had there have been superb. Personally I think some of the portions are too big (I've told them that), but apparently it's because the French like their meat. And it shows how good the restaurant is that the French locals eat there, unlike the other place Eve mentioned, which is the haunt of the ex-pats. I also had the meal that Eve complained about and it was lovely - the risotto was great. I don't eat puddings, but my wife is an expert on chocolate puddings, and she says the ones at La Fourchette Folle are fantastic . The cheeses are fantastic - lots of choice, and beautifully presented. You should try it Mr Gill.
LanguedocFox, Ventenac en Minervois, France
I have eaten at La Fourchette Folle on more than one occasion and found the food to be of a consistently excellent standard, and more innovative than the many restaurants in the region that dish up the same old fayre year on year. The couple running it are also lovely! Highly recommended.
Jessica, London,
I have eaten at La Fourchette Folle on more than one occasion and I have found the food to be of a consistently high quality, and way more innovative than the same old fayre served by tourist trap restaurants throughout the region. The couple who run it are also lovely, and it is great to see the spirit of entrepreneurship alive in rural France! Highly recommended.
Jessica, London,
Yakitori is Japanese for grilled chicken on a stick - nothing to do with tapas...
Tom, Oxford,
The "review" of La Forchette Folle in Roubia is so off base the French government may ban the English from cooking in La Belle France. Having dined there last week, I suspect "Mr. Smith" is one of La Forchette's owners trying recoupe investment & attract business to the empty dining space. I, too, had the crab "ravioli"- no resemblance except for the square shape - canned crabmeat deep fried between two store-bought pastry sheets and served with a red sauce available at any Chinese restaurant. My friend could eat only a spoon of the salty lettuce mint soup. Next came a bland pesto (how is that possible?), fried prawns and a risotto that tasted like and was as gooey as a package of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. As I am a pastry chef, words fail to describe the mess served as desserts (a lumpy, gritty chocolate cream & more fried pastry with strawberries). Thank goodness for the bread, Mr. Puy's wine & reservations at Cafe du Port in Paraza 2 km away (English chef but French trained)
Eve, New York, USA
Our local Co-Op is selling a sweet called "Merry Misteltoe Kisses", a milk chocolate facsimilie (made by Galaxy) of a misteltoe sprig, complete with Christmassy picture. Given that today's date is 2nd September, could this be a record for getting Christmas going? Do either Co-Op or Galaxy have the slightest notion of when Christmas is? Is it these companies' avowed intent to ensure that the celebrations are total ennui by the 25th December?
Budgi Sargent, Walters Ash, Bucks