The French House, Soho.
This is an establishment soaked in rich history and bursting at the seams with vivacious character.
Operating as the York Minster since the late 19th century, it was colloquially known as “the French Pub” long before its official name change and following the fall of France during WWII, General Charles de Gaulle is said to have written his rallying cry to the Free French “À tous les Français” in the bar.
This iconic Soho locals institution is an epic throwback to a bygone golden era of eclectic characters, simple pleasures and down to earth hospitality which throws off the 21st century shroud of viral smash burger sensations and neon pink photo booth parlours which threaten to drown out the charm of this historic enclave of central London.
Don’t get me wrong, I love a perfectly crisp juicy smash burger and you’ll often find me gorging myself on a Supernova number, but spots like The French House are why I love Soho.
Downstairs a cozy, old school, wood panelled bar greets the weary traveller, in from the cold and drizzle drenched cobbles. The fug of patrons warms the heart, the regulars indigenous to the area in times gone by. Top hats and dinner jackets, ball gowns and fur shawls the uniform of the locals, coalescing harmoniously with the younger fashions of London’s creative professionals; all comers furnished with a hearty glass of red in one hand and a white in the other.
The bar has an extensive yet balanced wine list (30 by the glass), sells more Ricard than anywhere else in Britain and serves Alsatian Meteor lager and Guinness on tap (half pints or jugs only mind you), alongside bottles of cloudy Norman cider to whet the whistle ready for the culinary joys to behold upstairs.
Take that journey up the stairs and out of the excited hubbub of conversation below and you’ll be greeted by a small number of white clothed tables, endearingly exclusive whilst holding that same accessible character as the bar downstairs.
A compact handwritten menu and chalkboard specials list sketch out the map of your gastronomic adventure to come. The menu, conjured up daily by the chef, proceeds in the best traditions of a classic French bistro, seasonal produce of the highest quality available are combined in a array of simple yet delightful dishes. All of which had me edging off my seat ready to order the whole lot and throw financial caution to the wind.
With what little constraint could be mustered we settled on a balanced selection of dishes hoping to celebrate the whole range of flavours on offer and paired it all with a deep rich and plummy red.
Fresh Irish Rock oysters sparked the fuse on what was an already voracious appetite. What followed was a procession of wonder, each morsel competing to outdo the last in depth of flavour, never seeking to blow your socks off but instead to cradle you into a deep warmth of satisfaction. Goats curd smeared on sourdough toast with a whole bulb of confit garlic, still dripping in the pungent cooking oil and a perfectly seared cut of ox cheek acted as our true introduction into the powers of the chef at the helm. Our star and centre piece was a delicately roasted and perfectly pink breast of duck on a hearty bed of braised lentils, a timeless classic of French cooking, a dish which has stood the test of time for a most deliciously obvious reasons.
It would’ve been rude not to finish with a sweet treat and while The French House’s famous Madeleines (baked fresh to order) sorely tempted us as they were brought out, table after table, it was the light Choux pastry Paris Brest with bitter dark hot chocolate sauce which provided the perfect end to a highlight of my culinary record.
The French House is perfect in so many ways and for so many occasions. A pint after work, a boozy lunch, date night or simply just because you feel like treating yourself. Whatever the reason if you ask me it has to be on everyone’s London bucket list.
