A faux-French, cult-hit New York brasserie has opened in Neal\u2019s Yard, deep in the hairy armpit of Covent Garden among alleyways where holistic therapy rooms, walk-in back rub spaces, Neal\u2019s Yard Remedies and 26 Grains cafe are its immediate neighbours. The windchimes and the whiff of patchouli part the air round these parts, and the footfall is yoga pant-clad and hungry for hummus. Buvette, meanwhile, has brought a touch of Gallic glam to the neighbourhood, and is clearly aimed at the Emily in Paris generation with its totalement fran\u00e7ais menu featuring croque monsieur with roast mushrooms and gruyere, rillettes de saumon or salade ni\u00e7oise with haricots verts and a mollet egg; there\u2019s also a Macvin champagne and muscadet spritz, pastis on the rocks, warm scones with jam, and almond croissants.<\/p>\n
This is the London arm of Jody Williams\u2019 West Village gastroth\u00e8que, and its menu is a pretty card listing 25 dishes to choose from, none of them above \u00a318. It clearly thinks it\u2019s a hot, fresh, new thing, but I\u2019m not sure it\u2019s anything new at all. We used to call places that looked like this Caf\u00e9 Rouge: that is, recognisably French, and by that I mean recognisable if you have a working GCSE knowledge of La Rochelle cafe life. It\u2019s that version of French dining that won\u2019t scare the horses, or at least the horses that the French haven\u2019t minced coarsely and served in their own gastroduodenal canals with an exemplary homemade moutarde.<\/p>\n
Buvette\u2019s pommes frites come served in a copper pot.<\/p>\n
Buvette\u2019s cute red frontage gives way to something heartstoppingly pretty inside: marble-topped tables, bentwood chairs, a zinc bar, good-looking, chipper staff \u2013 though, let\u2019s be honest, that latter chipper bit would never happen in a lunchtime Paris tourist spot. It\u2019s all very charming and ought to be packed, but on this midweek lunchtime there are plenty of seats to spare in this 80-cover space. In fact, almost all of them are empty. This is Buvette\u2019s second attempt at cracking London \u2013 the first, in Notting Hill in 2020, came and went within four years.<\/p>\n
As I peruse the gorgeous little cut-card menu, 12 northern ladies with pull-along suitcases sit down at the next table, read it, confer briefly and leave sharpish. Mais pourquoi, Julie? This is a quick caf\u00e9 au lait and a freshly squeezed orange juice joint (though they\u2019ve missed a trick not serving Orangina), or a longer saumon grill\u00e9 with betteraves (beetroot salad) on the side and a mousse au chocolat for pudding kind of place. Nobody is being asked to sit a GCSE French oral exam, which is a blessing, because the memory of being dragged into a room in Carlisle in 1991 and being expected to discuss Scottish devolution in French still wakes me at night.<\/p>\n
Buvette\u2019s grilled salmon is \u2018crisped correctly and has clearly been cooked as if someone truly cares\u2019.<\/p>\n
And maybe that\u2019s Buvette\u2019s problem. It\u2019s so coy and cool that it scares away the normals, but it\u2019s not cool enough to ensnare foodies who\u2019d rather be chucking money at Fergus Henderson\u2019s wine bar just across the way; the local yoga brigade, meanwhile, would rather be queuing outside a clandestine juice shack to hand over \u00a328 for juiced turnip and echinacea. Even so, and to make a plaintive case for Buvette, it\u2019s actually rather lovely.\n <\/p>\n
We order the croque madame, which is a classic construction: thick, white toasted bread, melted cheese, all draped in thin ham, snowed over with more grated cheese, topped with a vivid egg yolk and garnished with a flourish of tiny, crunchy cornichons. It is a noble and considered attempt. That grilled salmon comes dressed in sauce ravigote, a sharp, herby, caper-spiked vinaigrette, and with dressed green beans and a petite salade verte alongside. The skin is crisped correctly and the fish moist, and it\u2019s clearly been cooked as if someone downstairs truly cares. We share a copper pan filled with pommes frites and pick at a meaty, sharply dressed salade de poulet. As for those betteraves, these chunky, sweet, glossy roast beets with horseradish creme fraiche are the kind of thing you don\u2019t get as a side any more, and you find yourself wondering why not.<\/p>\n
\u2018Chunky, sweet, glossy\u2019: Buvette\u2019s betteraves, or beetroot salad with horseradish creme fraiche. Photograph: Beca B Jones\/The Guardian<\/p>\n
The set lunch menu at \u00a323 is ridiculous value: salmon, green beans and green salad, or burger, fries and salad, or a croque and two salads, all with a coffee to finish. And this in Covent Garden, where you usually have to sell a kidney to afford a crepe. Buvette isn\u2019t reinventing the wheel, but it\u2019s somewhere to pop in for lunch and end up lingering over pots of fresh mint tea and a rather incongruous offering of warm scones with raspberry jam and cream, or almond croissants hot from the oven. Cafe Rouge lasted for years because it wasn\u2019t terribly French, or terribly hot, but it was fantastically useful. Perhaps Buvette needs to reposition itself as a pit stop rather than an Instagram backdrop. Then more people might want to mange tout.<\/p>\n
Buvette 2 Neal\u2019s Yard, London WC2, 020-3540 4989. Open all week, lunch 11.30am-4pm, dinner 4-9pm (10pm Thurs-Sat). From about \u00a340 head \u00e0 la carte; formule set lunch (main, two sides and coffee) \u00a323, all plus drinks & service<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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