London’s perfect Paris brasserie

We order some French things better in London — often, admittedly, with French help. A grenouille friend recently took me to lunch at the Beaujolais Club just off Charing Cross Road. He said that it overwhelmed him with nostalgia. As a child, living in Paris, if the family were in town for the weekend, it was just the sort of brasserie in which they would have Sunday lunch (cook’s day off). Traditional dishes; proper bourgeois cooking; wine, no premiers crus, but solid, dependable bottles from solid, dependable growers — who were often friends or relatives of the owners. The children demonstrated their command of table manners and served an apprenticeship in gastronomy.

In Paris these days, such places are harder to find. Sometimes, the proprietors have been seduced by vaulting ambition and tried an Icarus-style ascent towards Michelin stardom. There is also the problem of the 35-hour week and women’s emancipation.