Little wonder
The Tartine Lounge brings the ambiance of a small French bistro to the centre of Ripon. Jill Turton enjoys the Gallic flair of a restaurant with just five tables. Pictures by Tony Johnson.
IWAS 20 when I first went to Paris staying in a cheap pension in Montmartre. It’s where I discovered a love of good, simple food. Breakfast was café au lait in a dimpled bowl and fresh baguettes with a fleecy dough and a crust so fragile it shattered at the first bite. Bistros were as cheap as frîtes but still had starched white tablecloths. I can’t remember what we ate, beetroot vinaigrette, some sort of beef stew comes to mind, but I discovered you could eat simply and well for just a few francs.
It’s a romantic notion, Paris isn’t cheap any more, and fast-food has replaced many of the family-run bistros, but the fantasy endures.
They were fantasies reignited in Ripon of all places, at the Tartine Lounge, a delightful little French-inspired bistro on Westgate. It’s in an elegant building of Georgian red brick just off the market square. A doorway (unused) with an impressive portico, is flanked by two large windows. Don’t be confused by the name ‘Vanora’s ‘painted in gold above the window. Until a few months ago it was Vanora’s Bakery with the Tartine Lounge behind. It’s owned by Vanora and Andrew Pearson who, over the last four years have established a loyal following for Vanora’s sourdough, focaccias, spelt, loaves and pastries.
But the 4am starts and all that hand-kneading had begun to take its toll and, to the dismay of their regulars, the Pearsons announced they were closing the bakery. They still bake for long-standing customers on special diets, and for the restaurant, but the bakery is now a cosy bar. Through the lovely glass-panelled doors is the Tartine Lounge, a small room that for 30 years was the walk-in fridge for Mr Swarbrick’s butcher’s shop. The doors I learn later, are in fact new ones designed by Andrew Pearson himself.
He has an eye for design. The dining room is his work too: black panelling and white metro tiles, bentwood chairs, industrial lamps and three, polished leather saddles – who knows, maybe a reference to Ripon’s racecourse – but somehow it all comes together as a convincing French bistro. With just five tables, dressed in either white linen or cotton runners, the menu is commendably short and couldn’t be more French: a plate of charcuterie, moules marinière and chicken liver pâté.
It’s years since I’ve had chicken liver pâté. My friend Liz and I both recall making it from Elizabeth David’s recipe. I don’t know if this was Ms David’s, but it is very good. It comes as a generous slab with a layer of yellow butter on the top. The texture is smooth and velvety with a richness that comes not just from the chicken livers but from the lavish addition of butter and a slosh of booze. Sherry and brandy according to David. And while it is meaty, the flavour is milder than pig, lamb, or ox liver, and when piled thickly on to hot sourdough toast, is immensely satisfying. It comes with the clever companion of sweet onion marmalade and briny gherkins that cut through the richness. If this had been the sum of our lunch, we would have left happy and contented.
But there is more. The choices today are sea bass en papillote, fish quenelle in a lobster bisque or cottage pie topped with puff pastry. It will be different tomorrow and different again the day after. When I look online there is boudin noir with apples, Cornish sardines, roast poussin and beef short rib with pomme purée and gravy. Just the kind of food that would bring me back here time and again.
Cottage Pie’s not French, I hear you say. I thought so too, but the respected writer Jane Grigson, says Hachis Parmentier is the same thing and belongs to France as much as Britain. She rather dismissively calls it “a Monday sort of dish”. Today is Thursday. She also recommends using “mince you have minced yourself”. I think that is what’s been done here because the meat is dark and soft with a rich gravy and is very tender but still has texture. But there is a message from the kitchen. “Chef says he’s messed up the pastry, so he’s topped it with sliced potatoes. He sends his apologies.” I have a scintilla of disappointment at the missing buttery puff pastry or even mash, but
the meat is so good and satisfying served with sweet red cabbage and green beans, it seems churlish to complain.
There are no apologies for the quenelle, though there might have been. The quenelle is a little puffy thing of fish, eggs, cream and butter, so rich, so French. It’s been poached in a bath of water. But a fine skin has formed on the bisque suggesting it might have been left under the heat lamp a touch too long, perhaps while dealing with the pastry crisis. It hasn’t come to much harm, the delicate parcel bathes in a big, bold, and punchy shellfish gravy and is another pleasing dish.
We share a slice of Bakewell tart, from a choice of polenta cake or brownie and settle the ridiculously modest bill – £80 for three courses, two glasses of wine and one coffee
As we chat over coffee, the Pearsons apologise yet again for the missing pastry. They were under pressure they say. A party of 18 is due to arrive in a few hours and they are never busy on a Thursday. “That was Valeria Sykes with her family,” says Vanora, nodding to the corner where a party of four had just left. Valeria Sykes, is the chatelaine of Grantley Hall, the Palladian mansion up the road, transformed from a further education centre to the glitziest of glitzy hotels. The Pearsons supply Grantley Hall with their sourdough. “She’s lovely,” says Vanora, “they always look after us when we go.”
Well there’s a thing. When you own Grantley Hall and have eight dining options to choose from, where do you take your family for lunch? Little Tartine of course. Clearly you can have too much of a good thing. Respect, Valeria I’m with you all the way.
Tartine Lounge, 25 Westgate, Ripon HG4 2BQ, vanorasbakery.co.uk