So hell-bent was I on disliking Les Associés (having judged it only from the outside) that, upon having my mission thwarted almost the moment I stepped through the door, I toyed with the idea of ditching the review and paying for the meal myself - not a gesture I consider lightly, as my friends will testify.
From the shopfront, nothing about Les Associés suggests fine dining. The restaurant's red-painted exterior, boasting what my mother would call "tart's curtains" (swathes of festooned red gossamer), nestles implausibly in a row of Victorian cottages in Crouch End, north-west London. And the interior lives up to all the saucy promise of the exterior - a long, red, patterned-carpeted room dotted with tables stretches away from you upon entry.
It all put my date, David, and me in mind of a dining room in the sort of twee, privately run Scottish hotel where complimentary shampoo would be an unheard-of luxury. But, as they say, never judge a book by its cover (unless it's one of mine), because, 1980s paint job and Highland decor aside, this is a proper restaurant run by a person who knows and cares about unpretentious, high-quality food.
The menu offers a wide and comfortably predictable variety of French cuisine. David decided to go full-on trad and ordered snails in garlic butter followed by chicken stuffed with morel cream sauce. Meanwhile, I, while not going exactly mad, but choosing a slight swerve away from the conventional, went for grilled Dublin Bay prawns and then pork stuffed with prunes.
The patron, who really is "le patron" and really is French, noting that I wasn't perusing the wine list with the tortured, pinched-mouth expression of a dissatisfied, know- it-all wine buff, gently suggested a Fleurie "just in" from a grower he knows in France. Now, I have had Fleurie plenty of times, but this bottle was unlike any that I had had before. It was so delicious I felt like going down on my knees to him in gratitude.
After that, notwithstanding the homey feel of the place, or maybe because of its total lack of self-consciously modern furnishings, David and I settled right in, both feeling confident that we'd be well looked after and fed. Our starters were very good - not sensational, but then tricksy wasn't what we'd ordered, nor what we were after. The snails, sans shells, were chewy and fresh, while my prawns smacked of sea-salty freshness. The wine slipped down nicely, as well it might, tasting as it did like the nectar of the gods. Much to my delight, there was none of that infuriating constant topping-up of your glass that some waiters do in an effort to get you to knock back nine bottles before pud.
We'd arrived early, and as our main courses were being put before us other groups of diners started to file in. I mention this only because their arrival was met with neither the excited prancing in which maître d's so often indulge, so making one feel instantly prickly, nor with the insouciant nod of someone keen to let you know you're lucky to be there. They were welcomed, as we had been, with exactly the right mix of professionalism and warmth. David's chicken was moist, gooey and reeked of that gorgeous, earthy taste particular to mushrooms. My pork was a teeny bit dry, but the lip-smackingly viscous prunes more than compensated for this - I polished off the lot without any encouragement.
By this time, we'd waved a fond farewell to the bottle of wine, so, throwing caution to the wind, we found ourselves ordering another. I don't know about you, but the perfect wine doesn't come along that often for me, and when it does, well, I cane it.
For dessert, I chose, naturellement, a tarte Tatin with just a soupçon of cream (obviously, my savoir faire with the lingo eased proceedings enormously). David, being a man, irritatingly didn't "feel like pudding". How annoying is a dinner date who casually eschews dessert? I quickly pointed out his faux pas, so he agreed to the "little bit of everything" kindly suggested by our pal, the patron. And who do you think ended up eating it? Yup, I am now happily able to report that not just the tarte Tatin, but the cheesecake, the mousse and the chocolate torte du maison are all pretty damned tasty. See? I fell on my sword for your greater good - why otherwise would I have sampled five puddings?
We staggered out at the end of our meal richer for having made the acquaintance of a great local restaurant (well, local to us, at any rate). Les Associés is a delightful, well-run establishment serving really good food at reasonable prices. Hey, it's just like good French restaurants used to be before everything had to be darkened wood, uncomfortable trendy seats and models for waiters, and I can't think of higher praise than that.
