Les Associés — Restaurant in London

The interior is like someone's front room. The wardrobe for coats is both one you swear you had as a child and one you swear was at that flat you rented a few years ago. The Christmas decorations aren't sparing, but they're the same tinsel and paper mobiles your family put up in the 90s. The colour scheme is yellow and red and doesn't seem to have changed since then either. The lighting is low. The clientele all seem to be some flavour of nerd, and they all know Marc. Who's Marc? He's the restaurant, of course, although he's been magnanimous enough to name the place after his regulars, of which I suppose I'm one, as I'm writing this after my sixth visit. Proud, sharp, witty, a little morose in the most admirable way, and a consummate restaurateur; he employs seemingly no staff, handling cooking, waitering and front of house all by himself. The first time I visited, I was concerned at the noises he made about closing some day soon, and was adamant that someone should continue Les Associés after he retires or dies, whichever is easier, but now I have changed my mind. The restaurant is him and he is it, and when he leaves it shall leave too. It's the way it has to be. Whether anyone else maintains a restaurant which has this ambiance, this perfect emulsion of Parisian bistrot and 1990s London, after it is gone is another matter, and it is with a sense of the singularity of this experience along with the overwhelming feeling of wellbeing experienced after leaving that I return with compulsive regularity despite now living on the exact opposite side of the city. There is simply no better restaurant experience in London, for me; this is less lightning in a bottle than a particularly jaunty wooden ship. Tonight I looked up from my upholstered schoolroom chair through one of the few panes in the front door that wasn't frosted like panes in the doors of both my and my partner's childhood homes, and saw the sign on the health centre opposite: 'Active Wellbeing', reflecting with enormous glee on the precisely converse nature of la belle vie found where I sat.

The food? Oh, I usually have the guineafowl with prunes, but my partner wanted that this time, so I had the pheasant, whose own sauce was inscrutably delicious, and whose garnish of luscious dauphinoise was unvarying from its alternative. I chose the fish soup rather than the onion this time; I chose his frozen nougat as dessert. Both were perfect, of course. Next time I come, I'll probably get the onion soup. I might go back to the guineafowl. I'll probably try his creme brulee. I'll look at those photocopied handwritten menus with his time-honoured classics, his repertoire inked in the same way as it was the first time, and I might change a detail of my order here and there, but I'll definitely get at least one thing I've had before, and I'll chat to Marc about recent food discoveries I've had in the same garrulous way I always do, and I'll have the same experience I have every time I come here, which is the point you know, to have the same experience, to relive this idyll, this impossible transportation thirty to forty years into a past that doesn't, that couldn't exist anywhere else in this city. Further, even; I wasn't alive in the 1970s, and yet, craning my neck to gaze at the bar and its array of liqueurs, I could swear I've ended up in them. And before I can gaze too long, Marc will be there, buzzing to each table with an assiduity you simply wouldn't credit a one-man band with. It's an illusion; it must be. Nobody could be constantly at each table, chatting merrily to every client, even as he cooks their dinner. It is impossible, it is magic. Yet disbelief suspends at Les Associés. For the mark of the very best restaurants is not astonishment. It is a simplicity of logic; ah, it must be like this, it has always been like this, and it may not always be like this, so best come as often as is reasonable. There is so much to be said for visiting a restaurant in search of surprise. Somehow there is even more for the sublimity of...

Went on a Friday night at 7.30pm and the place was quiet, ended up being only us and one more table of two in there all night. Not their fault but made me wonder how busy they are. This of course really impacted the ambience of the place. In general the place is quaint in an oldy woldy kind of way.

It’s a two-man show; husband is out front and he is attentive, I like his French manner about him, and his wife is in the kitchen.

They only have one house red by the glass/carafe, which is a pity although the one they had was good.

We ordered the duck pate which was fresh and roughly ground. I’d give this one a 6/10 it lacked a bit of flavour. We then ordered two mains to share the duck breast with fig sauce was nice, although the centre of the breast was very pink and cool and the skin was not crispy, it was slightly but more chewy fatty vibes and it was served with steamed greens that I couldn’t tell had any butter or anything on them, and delicious potato wedges - I’d give this a 6/10. The beef rib was the star of the show, cooked for 5 hours so it melted off the bone and it was succulent and divine, rich in flavours but not sickly rich, and served with divine crispy potato wedges - I’d give that a 9/10. Lastly we had creme brûlée and chocolate mousse for dessert; the crème brûlée was not nice, the consistency was far to runny and had liquid floating in it although the taste was nice the balance of sweetness was not there - 4/10; and the chocolate mousse had an interestingly thick almost bready consistency, and I found it much to dark and bitter for my liking but I think many would love it (I prefer a light, airy more milk chocolate mousse) - so I’d give this a 6/10. All dishes in my view were not presented well enough, which is why I took a point off for each so if that does fuss you much ok.

In general my friend and I had a wonderful time here, we were engrossed in conversation and we enjoyed the food accepting the situation and food for what it is. However I’m not sure I would return as it’s expensive and...

Outstanding all round experience. The M&S of the restaurant world in that you pay a little more but you get a whole lot more! Indeed the décor is somewhat faded but I think this added to the atmosphere. You felt like you were at someone's home. This is a one man show and all that they do they do so well. The food was perhaps the most flavoursome we have had. What adds to the experience is that the owner (waiter/chief) evidently has a passion for food. You feel like you are having a gourmet event, a celebration of fine dinning. There doesn't appear to be a fixed menu and what you are given is a sheet of paper with the dishes of the day based on what fresh ingredients were available. There were options for all tastes. The wine was reasonably priced. The space is intimate with perhaps 8 tables and due to the joy of the food and atmosphere, guests were chatting between themselves about the experience. At one point the owner/chief brought a sample of some new pate recipe he was testing that he had researched about in some historic French recipe book. This was truly a fantastic restaurant, worth that little extra....