Playing the game at Rules

10 April 2012

This review was first published in November 2001

The restaurant business is jittery at the moment. Some industry insiders (particularly those with hotels to worry about) will tell you that the free-spending tide of Americans which peaks reliably every autumn has been cut to a trickle in the aftermath of 11 September, and that, as a consequence, business is bleak indeed.

Others will curse the newly risen cost of taking a black cab home after dinner, now a luxury reserved for expense-account wallahs. A third contingent is keeping pretty quiet. Whisper it, but a significant number of London restaurants are doing very well - record business, in fact - and, for once, the winners in the marketplace are not necessarily the brash, much-hyped newcomers.

You are more likely to find a smiling accountant at a well-established restaurant, or at an unpretentious neighbourhood restaurant, or at a restaurant where there is undeniable talent in the kitchen. Before long this trend may leave a lot of the young, over-priced, over-designed, over-fashionable eateries in deep trouble.

As for our American cousins, those who are visiting and venture out to eat are to be congratulated on getting the timing just right. November in London means game. Just untangle game from all the issues of class and privilege and view it through the eyes of a chef - this is a free-range, low-fat, high-protein, distinctively flavoured ingredient. What could be better?

One way to get an instant feel for any restaurant is to shut your eyes. Don't be swayed by the designer's wiles, or the appearance of your fellow diners. Don't even consider the food, just listen to the restaurant itself. This really works. A good restaurant purrs along, a lively place sounds lively, a stuffy place sounds stuffy.

As you subside into the red plush and shut your eyes, the audio-track of Rules sounds a bit smug. There's no music but instead you'll hear plummy, contented, out-of-town voices; sleek, acerbic metropolitan tones; plus a smattering of American and French accents (the latter not exclusively the waiters). The whole picture is overlaid with bustle and a muted clatter.

This is a busy place, but the diners sound contented. Rules comes into its own when game dominates the menu. Call the roll and you'll see red deer, roe deer, fallow deer, wild duck, hare, pheasant, partridge, grouse, even snipe. Dishes vary from the traditional - whole roast grouse with game chips, bread sauce, crisp bacon, game jus and Brussels sprouts - to wilder flights of fancy such as fillet of red deer in a green chartreuse sauce, but they tend to be well presented and portions are substantial.

Among the starters, the venison carpaccio is something of a banker - slivers of dark red, intensely flavoured venison, the meat dry and pleasantly chewy. The warm salad of smoked grouse, pheasant, duck and partridge with a poached egg and watercress dressing is a successful marriage of flavours, even if the only element that is actually "warm" is the poached egg. Or, you can turn to an old friend like potted shrimps, or Stilton-and-celery soup, or scrambled egg and smoked salmon.

These simple dishes seem old-fashioned because they have held their place on menus for a great many years. One reason for such longevity is that they are very good to eat. As is the game pie to be found among the maincourse dishes. It arrives at table standing tall on a plate surrounded by a small sea of superfluous jus (cut into your pie and the gravy gushes out to mingle with the other gravy on the plate, a less than perfect arrangement). The pie itself is a winner. Good thin, shortcrust pastry with that delicious "freshly baked" smell and, inside, three or four different meats, all delicious.

Another blast from the past is the jugged hare. Various chefs have had a crack at this dish in recent years, but they've usually concentrated their efforts on deconstructing it - at one establishment a small cake of shredded hare meat came with a pool of sauce. The Rules jugged hare is the genuine article. Cooked on the bone (and what a lot of bones hares have), it comes with plenty of sauce that is thick, dark and so rich as to be almost chocolaty like a Mexican molÈ. This is a fine dish.

Puddings range from a nutty pistachio creme brulee to a resolutely traditional treacle sponge pudding with custard. If you have worked your way through a surfeit of game, you will need unusual stamina to do them justice.

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