Resto 10 Gazette, South Ken

View from inside for a change – you can’t really see Gazette from the street.

Well rested from both lunch and The Damned by a spell in the V&A (whose café never fails to present a flâneur’s fill of fascinating personalities) I strolled up to the Institut Français for a rendez-vous with the final episode of Kieslowski’s Three Colours. Having some time to kill I popped my head into the bar only to find it completely transformed since my last visit (to see Paul Smith introduce A Bout de Souffle in December).

And transformed in a good way. The room has had a good makeover of Frenchness just the right side of kitsch with mustard pots, LPs, and on this occasion 80s pop that was unfamiliar to my fairly cultured oreilles. The barman told me they’d been open for a few days so they were just finding their feet. His colleague Olly, a fresh faced enthusiast who reminded me of my eldest, was charm itself as he poured me a glass of house white and left me to wait with my book.

The film was thought-provoking (it continues to be the day after) but not quite on a par with Blue. But few films are that. Thanks to KK’s skill with a script and a camera he packs more emotion, surprise and action into 97 minutes than the Marvel ‘universe’ would ever manage in its interminable bore-fest of three hour bangathons. Which meant we had time to get a planche in Gazette with a bit of wine afterwards and still be home for bedtime.

For food I upgraded to a creamy Sauvignon Blanc on the wine side (from memory a very reasonable sub-£30). Olly very kindly provided us with our very own wine table for the bucket since there promised not to be room for it on the table once the planche was delivered. We tucked into the charcuterie. This came in the form of three types of thin raw meat, two spread meats in jars, a slaver of onion jam (not a fan, others may love it I’m sure) with a bit of salad and cornichons for garnish. On the side we also had a bowl of delicious small green olives. I liked that. Restaurants nowadays seem to be competing with each other on how giant they can get olives. And it’s true they’re tasty enough but so are the small ones if you’re choosing for quality. We demolished the whole lot with the unlimited bread that kept coming our way.

Bt what’s this on our table? A pail of crayons. And what is our table? A willing slate for childers or mildly pished adults to create what they would. Inspired by the excellent Berger in Red, we’d reflected during dinner on how would we react if we ran over a dog. Probably take its bleeding lump (and here Jacob showed a remarkable dog carrying ability) directly to a vet rather than deviate via its owner on the way.

And this inspired doggy art of a Mrs PigWoof lying bloody-gutted from a running over (with tennis ball both pre-stomach already swallowed) on this side of the table, while on the other side there was a more psychedelic beast, multi-coloured and fizzing energy. We looked around mystified at the lack of dog (or any) art on our fellow diners’ tables and decided that they mustn’t be artists of any variety. Which being mostly French seemed une honte nationale. Mind you, I don’t think anyone’s going to be hanging up photographs of our efforts so maybe they’d retired from Sysiphean duties for the evening.

We resolved to go back to Gazette for future food, it’s a very happy-making place.

Spiky-delic woof.
Happy go lucky tennis ball woof-pig.


To see where else I’ve been click on the google map below.

Film Food London Museums Restaurants

f1insburyparker View All →

Blue Badge guide to London and academic specialising in early twentieth century history. Blogging on history, academia, and food and culture in the capital (and occasionally elsewhere).

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