You are here: Home

Need Acrobat Reader for PDF documents?

Dinner at La Matelote, Boulogne-sur-Mer

One of the real problems for competent cooks is finding restaurants at which it’s worth eating. Unless one is extremely affluent, the restaurants one can afford are often not worth visiting. These days, unless the meal is truly awful, we have almost as much fun criticising the food and discussing how we would improve it as we do savouring something really excellent. But we still go looking for excellence...

In France I usually start with the Guide Michelin - the fat red annual that lists recommended hotels and restaurants in cities, towns and villages all over the country. Its recommendations carry so much weight that it doesn’t need to publish comments on the establishments - their mere appearance is sufficient recommendation. It tells you how much fixed-price menus and à-la-carte meals cost and uses a simple rating system of from one to five knives-and-forks for comfort (from simple to luxury).

Then, of course, there are the coveted stars. One means ’a very good restaurant in its category’. Two mean ’excellent cooking, worth a detour’. And the awesome three mean ’exceptional cuisine, worth a journey’. To date, I have eaten in two one-star restaurants - first, under the guidance of my little French brother Philippe, at Chez Camille in Arnay-le-Duc (Burgundy), which has since lost its star, and more recently at La Matelote in Boulogne. Both experiences were memorable: beautiful premises, immaculate service and unforgettable food.

Let me tell you about our recent dinner at La Matelote, across the road from Nausicäa, the national marine centre and aquarium in Boulogne-sur-Mer. The chef-patron of La Matelote, Tony Lestienne, also directs the kitchen at the Nausicäa restaurant. You can also visit the restaurant’s own website, which has an English version.

I had wanted to eat at La Matelote for years, but every time Wife Number One and I looked at the carte on the window she announced that she ’didn’t fancy anything’. Bizarre , as our French friends often say...

Pat and I had checked into the Ibis Hotel facing the Liane river on a windy February evening for our last stopover on yet another reluctant return from Normandy to Derby. We began what I’d remembered as a short walk through the bottom of the town to the beach area. On a balmy summer’s evening it may have seemed like a stroll, but tonight, leaning into a damp winter force-7, it seemed a very long way. Partway there, Pat reminded me that it was a Monday - and in France an awful lot of businesses don’t open at all on Mondays. I realised from the tone of her voice that if La Matelote was closed I was going to be in bad trouble. A little further on, she even began to express doubts that the restaurant existed - or that I’d remembered where it was. Then we saw the sign, and shortly afterwards - to my immense relief - lights in the windows. We looked at the mouthwatering carte displayed outside - and the inviting scene inside - for all of twenty seconds before deciding to give it a go.

Only two tables were occupied, so we got a cosy corner location in the window. The place was full of beautifully arranged flowers, the decorations were immaculate, the table-setting elegant,,,perfect. Without looking at the carte des apéritifs , we ordered two kirs royals , which came in very tall flutes, the sparkling wine lightly tinted and subtly sweetened with just enough of a delicately scented crème de cassis (the often-recommended proportions of four parts wine to one of the blackcurrant liqueur make a thoroughly nasty drink on a par with sweet British sherry!). Only later did I notice an artistically-arranged display of empty liqueur bottles in a basket on the windowsill - several from various Burgundian fruit liqueurs. I’m sure we could have had kirs royals aux mûres sauvages (wild blackberries), our favourite appetite-whetter, if I’d thought to ask.

With the aperitifs came the amuse-gueules - two tiny Quiches Lorraines , two delicate tartelettes of spinach and two miniature choux buns containing a cumin-scented filling. We toyed with these while studying the carte . They certainly amused our gueules (the vulgar French for mouth, probably not quite as rude as ’gob’) - the flavours were exquisite and the pastries literally melted as you chewed them, getting the juices flowing without taking the edge off the appetite. The kirs cost 52 francs (about £5.50) each.

We both chose the Menu Saveur de la Mer - a six-course, no-choices marathon at an incredibly reasonable 235 francs (about £24.75 at 9½ francs to the pound). Having frightened ourselves to death with some entries in the carte des vins - bottles at over £300 - we chose our wines from the short recommended list, partly on the basis that half-bottles were available: a 1995 Chablis at 98 francs (just over £10) a half and a 1994 St Emilion Grand Cru Classé from Château Grand Corbin at 135 francs (£14.25) a half - not exactly cheap, but sensibly priced, given that you always pay a premium for half-bottles. I may spend most of my life drinking wine that costs less than a pound a bottle at home, but I don’t mind paying serious money for serious wine with a fine meal in superb surroundings!

La mise-en-bouche du jour was a delicate china coffee cup of intensely-flavoured creamy soup. The flavour was rich and intense - and such a surprise that it fooled us for a minute. Then I recognised, incongruously, kipper. Well, hareng-fumé , anyway. With each cup came two slim puff-pastry straws of a quite miraculous lightness and delicacy. The juices flowed even more freely but the stomach was still no more than delicately teased...

This was followed by the real first course: salade de langoustines tiède - salad of warm langoustines. We each had four slim but succulent langoustines, still in their shells but split lengthways, elegantly arranged round a simple but deliciously dressed salad. Our cutlery was supplemented by a lobster-pick for this course, and lemon-scented finger-bowls were provided.

The next course was cod roasted in its skin, served with a simple but highly concentrated veal jus (a highly reduced translucent gravy), a little oil scented with fresh herbs, and Puy lentils cooked a little more al dente than I would have dared. The thick piece of cod fillet was topped with a paper-thin circular crouton or toast spread thinly with a punget fish paste - anchovy or more smoked herring, or possibly a mixture of the two.

Follow that, we thought. And they did - with a succulent piece of salmon fillet, mi-cuit or lightly-cooked, in a marinière of mussels with other shellfish. The marinière was of dubious authenticity, as it was a thin but rich cream sauce - in Normandy marinière is a sauce based on the liquor from the mussels and white wine or cider: adding cream or crème fraîche gives you moules à la Normande. The other shellfish were dominated by a raw oyster, barely warmed. The salmon was wonderful and the sauce was so delicious that I was glad they gave me extra bread to soak it up, as well as a spoon.

Then came cheese: sensible portions of two cheeses whose names, I’m afraid, I have forgotten. We were told that they were both local cow’s-milk cheeses. One was a very fresh white cheese and the other a yellower, more mature one with an orange rind, the flavour reminiscent of Chaumes but much more delicate - just right after the rich salmon dish. I would be surprised if the cheeses hadn’t come from Phillippe Olivier’s superb shop in the centre of Boulogne.

At this point, my memory-banks must have been over-full. I recall a huge plate containing artistically arranged portions of no less than three desserts, all of them exquisite, together with a dainty little arrangement of fresh exotic fruits. One was a tart filled with a miraculously light white mousse, but beyond that I remember nothing...

Coffee (fragrant, highly concentrated espresso with a dense, golden crema ) was extra at 18 francs (about £1.90) each - a bargain when you consider that it came with a plate of eight superb home-made petits fours and, separately, some exquisite chocolate truffles.

If I have any criticism of this marvellous meal, it is that the courses came in rather rapid succession. We really could have done with a few more minutes to rest our digestion and our taste-buds after each memorable dish.

The service was discreet but attentive, only failing slightly when Pat found what looked like a hair in her salmon dish. Merely glancing over my shoulder brought a young waiter to the table, and he took the hair back to the kitchen. Pat waited for a verdict, and in the end I had to look over my shoulder again. Another waiter then materialised and in response to my enquiry informed us politely that the hair was in fact a fibre from the bag the mussels were packed in. Fine - except that Pat had sat for several minutes, letting this delicious dish grow cool while she waited for her explanation. I hope my slightly haughty ’ Ah bon? ’ (the French equivalent of ’Oh really?’) made it clear that we were less than impressed.

The one aspect I can’t criticise is the bill: 843 francs - £88.75, with the charming footnote ’ Service compris - Le personnel vous remercie ’. We had paid about that much for three meals in the UK over the previous year. Two were excellent, but neither reached the standards of La Matelote in terms of creativity, presentation or sheer deliciousness. The other (at one of the same two restaurants a year later, following extensive - and obviously expensive - refurbishment) was very disappointing.

The walk back to the Ibis, admittedly wind-assisted, was no problem at all. We will return to La Matelote...

Personal site for Paul Marsden: frustrated writer; experimental cook and all-round foodie; amateur wine-importer; former copywriter and press-officer; former teacher, teacher-trainer, educational software developer and documenter; still a professional web-developer but mostly retired.

This site was transferred in June 2005 to the Sites4Doctors Site Management System, and has been developed and maintained there ever since.