Bunny Broilers

It lay in a pool of blood like a serial murderer’s last supper, a delicacy we were told, all 60 euros of it, the slice of rabbit terrine mocking our English palates.

All it needed was some chianti and we’d be there. My brother-in-law gave it his best shot, well he had to for that kind of money, but said it was like eating gritty mince and gave up mournfully.

That was in Paris at Christmas but the memory hadn’t left him so we were surprised when he ordered the wild rabbit Provencale with so much enthusiasm: “There’s still a rabbit out there with my name on it somewhere,” he added determinedly.

It was in the kitchen at No 1 Folly Bridge, as it turned out, where we had booked a table in the blinding heatwave at the end of May believing then that we would be able to dine resplendently on their pontoon overlooking the river, clinking glasses in the fading sunlight as the rowers slid silently by, shaded by the vast thick white cotton parasols.

As it was we did use an umbrella, but only to keep out the rain. Despondence would have crept in at this point had it not been for the delicious scent of enticing French food drifting out of the kitchen and some wonderful swing jazz that surrounded us, drawing us down the steps into the light, airy, gentle, charming riverside restaurant that greeted us on this dismal Saturday night.

Said rabbit appeared bound and stuffed with fennel, with smoked pork belly, potato mousseline (£14), and it was sublime. The cod came wrapped in Serrano ham with a wild mushroom broth and tagliatelle – another enormous success which disappeared instantly, Mr Greedy acknowledging that the extra chips he’d ordered, just in case, were surplus to requirements.

The cannelloni with purple sprouting broccoli, spinach and sorrel, béchamel and pistou, (£12) which looked so good in print, was less of a success. The large tubes were indistinguishable from the rest, meaning it was more of a lasagne and a very bland one at that. The chef agreed apparently and said as it was only day two of the new menu and the first one he’d made, it needed tweaking. The bouillabaise (£15) split its audience, but it disappeared nonetheless.

This lack of seasoning was a common theme throughout our meal, the hollandaise served with the new season asparagus (£7) lacking depth, the moules marinieres (£6) needing more garlic and the vinaigrette missing strength, but the Nicoise salad with home-smoked trout (£10) was good and apart from the odd twist of salt and pepper and a pinch of seasoning, No 1 Folly Bridge had a really exciting menu and was a delight to dine in.

So we were happy but not ecstatic by the time we came to dessert, and were expecting more of the same – lovely food, slightly off kilter.

However, the entire eating experience then altered dramatically with the first bite, because pudding is obviously this chef’s forte, and his Parisian heart lies in the light plumpness of his crème brulee, the smooth, subtle dexterity of the banana mousse, the dark richness of the flourless chocolate orange cake, and the sticky tanginess of the rhubarb tarte tatin. Absolutely sensational.

“That was the best dessert I think I’ve ever had,” Mr Greedy said, licking his spoon thoughtfully, after consuming the tarte tatin (£6), as the rest of our stunned table sat there in equal states of abandon, smears of cream and chocolate around our mouths, our flushed faces giving the game away, like small children caught eating sweets in the cupboard-under-the-stairs.

And as the jazz continued to drift past, we sat back in the wonderfully relaxed surroundings, triumphant. It was the perfect ending to a wonderful evening and gave us hope that summer might be just around the corner after all. Just think how good it would be with a few rays of sunshine thrown in for good measure.

The Folly, 1 Folly Bridge Oxford, OX14JU. 01865 201293.
no1-folly-bridge.co.uk