Herald rating: * * * 1/2
Address: 479 New North Rd, Kingsland
Phone: (09) 845 1680
Open: Dinner 7 days, lunch from 11am, brunch Sat-Sun 9am-2pm
Cuisine: French creperie and bistro
From the menu: Eye fillet steak served with new potatoes, field mushroom and port sauce, $31.50; Provencale galettes fish fillet, tomatoes, onions, herbs and red wine, $16.50; Crepes Suzette flamed with Grand Marnier, $12.50
Vegetarian: yes, hooray
Wine: the French stuff with corks
KEY POINTS:
I was off to Paris in a matter of days. Many of you may know this given that I'd become a travel bore, telling anyone who vaguely inquired if I'd be busy on such-and-such-a-day: "I'd love to come, but I'll be in Paris."
So, I figured I needed to get in the mood. Oh, and Ewan, Viva's resident restaurant critic, had taken off to Italy two days earlier, and someone had to keep the Auckland restaurants honest as he scoffs - sorry dines - his way around Tuscany.
Being a vegetarian in France is not easy. French cuisine is astonishing for its ability to work as many different parts of as many different animals into a single dish as possible.
The French probably have a recipe for "roast vegetarian" not dissimilar to Euro's "restaurant critic's testicles" dish. You can therefore appreciate, for that reason I wasn't looking forward to Bouchon, but Kingsland's resident creperie had at least one thing I knew I could eat - the mushroom and cream galette.
Besides, it was pouring and all Jonathan and I really wanted to do was watch Project Runway with a cup of hot chocolate.
The place had changed hands of late and there had been some talk of it going downhill since Alex Roux decamped to Pastis.
The arrival of les petites tartines (dips and baguette) didn't do much to lighten the mood at first glance. It looked like something you'd get at a suburban 40th birthday party. The olives are best not mentioned. Oh, all right then, they had a tinny aftertaste, but the hummus was good, home-made, garlicky stuff and there was a fight over the red pepper dip. Things started looking up, especially as our lovely, efficient waitress was most obliging as the go-between in finding out just what I could and couldn't eat.
Bouchon is an unassuming place. What you see is what you get. You probably get to see too much of the kitchen though. The crepe-maker was obsessed with wrapping his newly tattooed right arm in clingfilm and showing it to the rest of the kitchen.
Still, he managed to get my forestiere galette to me in good time. A lot of baby button mushrooms had given their lives for this. It was worth it. The simple pleasure of cream, white wine and mushrooms should never be underestimated, and Bouchon know to keep it simple.
Jonathan calculated the mahi mahi in his fish of the day had been jumping about not long before it was served on a bed of new potatoes, with snowpeas, creamed endive and vine tomatoes.
Normally side dishes are a disappointment _ mostly a virtuous afterthought about eating one's greens. Not here. The beans, snowpeas, courgettes and spinach had a hint of garlic and oil and were so crisp they could only technically be called sauteed. We ate the lot and were tempted to ask for more on the basis of the spinach which was, miraculously, somewhere between raw and wilted.
Then we saw the creme brulee at the next table and knew what to do. We'd have that and a lemon and sugar crepe to share. The creme brulee was rich and pretty damn good with a gentle Grand Marnier flavour. But it was the simple pleasure of the crepe's soft pillowy texture, made tangy with the lemon that made us glad we'd come out on a bitterly cold night.
I'm hoping to find a crepe half as good as that in Paris.
