The words ‘cordon bleu’ seem to speak to a bygone world of culinary experience in Britain now, something that seems to have passed away along with Keith Floyd, crepes suzette and boring men smirkingly ordering martinis “shaken, not stirred”. (Don’t, it bruises the alcohol and makes the cocktail less appealing.) Yet it’s an education to learn that Le Cordon Bleu might be celebrating its 130th anniversary next year, but still remains a vital going concern in the world’s gastronomic horizons.
To quote its own publicity, it is “the largest network of culinary and hospitality schools in the world with more than 35 institutes in 20 countries and 20,000 students of over 100 nationalities are trained every year.” C’est impressive. Yet what does the only restaurant in London that is attached to the institution offer that its peers don’t?
Heading to Cord, situated in what used to be Terence Conran’s middling brasserie Lutyens, is an education. It’s on Fleet Street but the entrance is so discreet that both my dining companion and I manage to miss it, separately, which doesn’t exactly suggest that they’re clamouring to get the passing trade in. Yet that’s not the point of Cord, which has set out to offer something unfashionable but vital in contemporary London gastronomy, namely old-school, utterly committed cooking, courtesy of chef Karl O’Dell.
When you walk into the comfortable, well-appointed and decidedly unflashy dining room, you face onto a transparent window, where the kitchen brigade are at their work, without any drama or fuss. If you’re expecting Boiling Point, you’re going to be disappointed. This is a place where everyone working here is wholly on top of their game, and is committed to producing something that may be unfashionable in London right now, but shouldn’t be: classical French cuisine, executed to the highest imaginable standard, served with just the right of professionalism and aplomb (take a bow, Florent and l’equipe) and accompanied by the sorts of wines that feel as if they’re the best imaginable pairing for all occasions. Well, if they’re coming from a cellar of 300 vintages, they ought to be.
As we sip a couple of fine cocktails, their takes on an Old Fashioned and a margarita alike, we decide upon a plan of action. There’s a tempting a la carte, but you’ll be politely (if firmly) nudged towards the tasting menu, a nine-course extravaganza that allows O’Dell to pull out all the stops over a carefully paced two and a half hours or so, just the right amount of time to savour the flavours and textures on offer without feeling overwhelmed.
We begin with a couple of small but perfectly formed courses – bites, almost – of chalk stream trout and Cornish crab, accompanied by a very fine 2023 Savatiano Old Vine white, which stayed in place for the more substantial dish that came next, an unctuous combination of asparagus, morels and Alsace bacon that kept the richness in check through the mineral acidity of the wine.
Then it was onto a Chardonnay, the Savigny les Beaune 2020, for the next course, a daringly rich black truffle dish that had some of the overpowering qualities of foie gras without the fattiness (or the ethical quandaries.) This was the most full-on thing that we ate all evening, and it was delicious, but I did find myself hoping that the food would become slightly lighter thereafter if I was to make it out of here in one piece.
My hopes were not in vain. The next course, of barbecued monkfish, was not only served with the Savigny once again, but its use of avocado and date molasses was every bit as innovative and delicious as the fine monkfish that I thrilled to in Lyon’s recently. Every tasting menu needs a meat course, and the Challans quail, accompanied by duck and pink peppercorn, was a suitably carnivorous pitstop towards the end of the meal, and the Wente California 2019 brought over by a beaming Florent handled it beautifully. Had the meal concluded here, I would merrily have left Fleet Street with a song in my heart and the realisation that this was one of the best experiences I’d had all year.
But there was more to come, thankfully. There was an amusingly deconstructed pre-dessert of ‘gin and tonic’, in which molecular wizardry enabled a rather tasty gin and tonic to be presented in a bubble that popped open in the mouth, and then a new dish added to the tasting menu for a treat, a strawberry concoction that looked and tasted not unlike a very upmarket ice lolly, and with a wonderful freshness – paired with a fine Rose d’Anjou – that left the palette tingling and clean.
A grand finale came in the form of a banoffee souffle, paired, in a welcome touch of theatricality, with a glass of 20-year old tawny port, and then, finallement, the meal was over. No need for coffees, digestifs or anything similar; we were replete in every single way.
It was all we could do to bid fond farewells and walk out into the (still light, unbelievably) evening, giddy and flushed with both the quality of everything we ate and drank and the sheer joyfulness of the experience. It’s not always a given that going somewhere serving serious food of this standard will be fun, but for sheer entertainment, head to Cord. There can be few places more deserving of your money or your time.
Cord, 85 Fleet Street, London, EC4Y 1AE. For more information, including details of the tasting menu, and for bookings, please visit www.cordrestaurant.co.uk.
Photos by Steven Joyce
