This week, Le renard argenté (aka Silver Fox) and I celebrate three happy years of being together. During that time, we’ve surpassed expectations of how much fun living as a couple can be, and one of our many great loves is a plate of good food. When we met, I have to admit, he was more inclined to be a take-away than beef tataki kind of guy, but three years of Leila’s home cooking and dining choices have definitely influenced him gastronomically for the better. And he’s the first to admit it!
In September, we’ll be heading off to La Belle France, for a week in the Ardeche Region, in a village just a little away from Vallon-Pont D’Arc. . Graeme’s excited about visiting the gorges, I’m already planning the daily menus (lunch out, and dinner in) . Up until now, France has only meant Paris, which I’ve visited three times. It blew me away with its tastebud-tantalisingly good food. I think the first trip involved eating cheesy bread, fresh fruit, steaks and Berthillon ice cream on a daily basis. The next visit we expanded the repertoire, and the next some more again. The trouble is , everything was so good, you just wanted to eat it repeatedly. And, whoa! I think we aperitifed with Kir Royale each and every night. Sounds a bit decadent, non?
So this trip will be my first to the South of France, the oft-fabled lands of Provence, the Rhone Valley, Lyon, Marseille and Cannes, and no doubt stopping by the pont d’Avignon just so that I can sing the song. The villa with pool and very decent kitchen, not to mention BBQ has been hired, and infinite web-researching has begun…Leila to Google ‘Best markets in South of France’. Search!
In the meantime, we have a few weeks of pre-holiday patience to endure, so as it was 14th Juillet, Wednesday night’s dinner was to be at Daniel’s on Commercial Street in Leith. I only moved to Leith a couple of years ago, and you realise that this ‘regeneration’ thing they’re always going on about is hardly news. Daniel’s arrived at their location in 1996, the first tenants to the strip in the old whisky bonds, which are now home to a superb array of restaurants and bars. Chinese, Mexican and Michelin-starred; Commercial Street has it all.
Daniel’s sits amongst them all, never the most en vogue, but always popular thanks to a guaranteed friendly welcome, variety of dining offers, and essentially good food. For the first time, we were seated in the bricks n mortar, rather than the conservatory half of the restaurant, and it was a much cosier experience for it. A busy night, there were the usual groups and families, and I’m glad to say we weren’t the only smoochy couple in sight! Must have been something about the accordion player that was going round the tables, but we were feeling the romance tonight.
Did I fall in love with the food? Well, just about. We were here on the 5pm deal which is 3 courses for the rather abstract price of £16.85 plus 20% off any bottle of wine. We’re saving for the holidays, and this is nothing short of a bargain. To start I had a summery salade Lyonnaise, with potatoes, bacon lardons and a poached egg, but what set this apart was that each and every ingredient had bags of flavour. In a non-caring kitchen, a salad is too often just a semi colourful combination of foods. Here, we had beautiful sweet onions, ripe tomatoes and a balsamic reduction that would have been lovely on their own, but even better as a means to lighten up the salty bacon and runny egg yolk. Excellent stuff, as was the fella’s French onion soup. Simple fare but packed with savoury taste, just a little sweet, and a some melty cheese over the croutons.
It’s French here like the bread never stops coming, which I think is nice, if a little dangerous for carb addicts. Daniel’s do a great tartiflette (potatoes cheese , more cheese, cream and bacon) , which I often go for, but would have been too similar to the starter, so I had the beef Bourgignon for a change. Rarely does a review of beef stew focus on the carrots, but it made me think their chef must have an amazing veggie supplier. These carrots were so sweet and busting with flavour. With lots of pearl onions, and nice new potatoes, this was hearty stuff and I only left a bit as I’d already clocked isles flottantes on the pudding menu. Graeme had a trio of saucisses in a red wine sauce, and one in particular was the dapper don, so well seasoned, he’s lucky I didn’t do a sneaky move and try to convince him it had only been a ‘duo’ to start with. My mind instantly pings to these markets we HAVE to find on holiday, how large a suitcase to take, and how horrified my personal trainer might be when she sees the effects that a week in France might have on my tummy…
The fella has lusty thoughts for the bread and butter pudding they do here, which I think they make from left-over Viennoiserie pastries. I’ve still never managed to get super-excited about it, maybe it’s a bit too heavy , but then my chosen dessert here is a poached meringue floating in a sea of thin custard. Description-wise, isles flottantes is always a bit of a weird one, I have no idea why I always order it. Something about the methodical decimation of the puffy iceberg with your spoon, the fluffiness dissolving in your mouth? Anyway. It’s my fave and he has his, and it means neither of us have to share which (as double-standards by their nature are) is fine when it suits me.
We left the French hospitality, knowing we’ll be back, the accordion player was still doing his thing. I was humming ‘La Marseillaise’, or was it The Beatles’ ‘All you need is love’? Either way, it suited the evening’s mood just right.
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