A Little bit of Lyon in Chelsea

The menu de canut at Joséphine Bouchon

On the Wednesday of the RHS Chelsea Flower Show, having spent my third morning there and feeling in need of restoration, I went to Joséphine Bouchon on the Fulham Road to meet an old friend for lunch. And being Chelsea week, it was full (but I had booked well in advance) and, indeed, a woman at the next table turned out to be a fellow of the RHS, no less. She and her luncheon companion were discussing how St Mary’s, Calne and St Mary’s, Ascot (if you know, you know) measure up for teenage equestrian daughters. The former charges almost £55k per annum, the later over £60k, so these days such schools are only for the very rich.

Anyway, you might imagine – having heard this – that Josephine is as expensive as Claude Bosi’s other restaurant, not far away, Bibendum (where Simon Hopkinson did wonderful things back in the 1980s and 1990s). The 3-course set lunch there is £95, 3 courses at dinner weigh in at £165. At Josephine, you can have the plat du jour for £16.50 but, on Wednesday it’s blade of beef slow-cooked in red wine and it was a hot day. We by-passed that and such delights as the rabbit in mustard and tarragon sauce for two (£68), and fell upon the menu de canut which offers two courses for £24.50, three for £29.50.

The canuts of Lyon were the clothworkers who enjoyed the hearty cusine of the city’s bouchons. They were thought, no doubt unfairly, to be not very bright and a delicious dip made with cottage cheese, tarragon vinegar and other lovely things has long been known as cervelles de canut.

The menu de canut read like a fillip for the gastric juices. I mean, there was pike mousse with langoustine sauce and dandelion salad with bacon and poached egg, saucisson brioche (A hefty slice of brioche with morteau susage in the middle lying in a poor of glossy, dark, reduced Beaujolais), and andouillette, the tripe sausage that comes from – let’s face it – the wrong end of the pig. This was the only element to invite sudden anorexia, thanks to… er… potently faecal memories.

But we chose the other dishes on this menu: there was jambon persillé from the brilliant charcutier, Georges Jephson up in Newington Green, presented in its cast iron pot, then a slice presented in the centre of a white plate with cornichons and Dijon mustard on the side. It was exuberantly meaty, the parsley element providing both colour and a contrasting texture, the whole lot bound together with a robust jelly of which there was a shallow layer at the top.

The other starter was the absolute classic oeuf meurette, garniture Grand-Mère, an egg poached in red wine sitting in a pool of a red wine reduction with bacon and mushroom. This was mopped up, to the last drop, with good, crusty baguette.

This was also employed to good effect in dealing with pièd de porc pané, sauce aux herbes. The pig’s trotter had been deconstructed and very finely chopped, then formed into a cushion and encased in a crisp shell. Splendidly rich and sticky within, the foil was a potently mustardy sauce of very finely chopped herbs.

Boudin noir aux deux pommes was an intensely rich and very black black pudding, slightly sticky within and utterly delicious, served with a big and thoroughly caramelised chunk of apple and an elegantly piped dose of the most buttery and creamy mashed potato that you can imagine.

Desserts were simply but excellent, bugnes Lyonnaise, the traditional Lyon beignets (think doughnuts but more elegant and angular) with unapologetically rich and intense chocolate sauce; and oeuf à la neige, prâline rose: yes, a floating island of gossamer light poached soft meringue enriched with tiny nuggets of praline and dried rose petals sitting in a custard of the same. It’s a close run thing, but I think this may have been the dish of the lunch.

A bottle of Côtes du Rhône Village 2020 from the serious Domaine Les Aphillantes was £67, a glass of Bugey Montaignieu Traditionelle Brut was £11, and one of Arbois Chardonnay (which included a warning from the excellent sommelier that this is a deliberately oxidised style, “not like Burgundy!” was a tenner.

The vins de maison here are all from Rhône grapes, white, rosé and red, and cost £7 a glass or £27 a bottle. They sell them sur metre, bringing you a bottle and measuring how much you have consumed at the end. I have no doubt that they are very decent and may well try one with a plat du jour. I shall try to make it a Thursday when it’s the traditional Lyon sausage of pork and pistachio with mustard sauce.

Finally, a word about the room. The main part is bright high-ceilinged and airy and you enter it through heavy, red velvet curtains which suggest a sense of occasion. The darker, panelled part of the dining room, at the back, is more intimate but as one London reviewer has said, there are no bad tables here.

Most importantly, the staff are absolutely delightful, the greetings are warm and sincere, they stand on only the appropriate amount of ceremony and are most attentive. Oh, and if you’re nice, they will bring you more grattons, the Lyon version of pork scratchings which I strongly recommend.