Wood you dine on rustic French?

This review was first published in September 2001

If Truc Vert reminds you of anything, it will probably be the original Villandry on Marylebone High Street or Clarke's on Kensington Church Street. The 'Villandry Phenomenon' has exerted a subtle yet pervasive influence on the way we eat in London: all that scrubbed wood and rusticity by the shedload has altered the way the gastronomically aware middle classes buy and consume their food. It is an updated Elizabeth David fantasyland, only with an abundance of produce that pioneer of Mediterranean food could never have dreamed existed.

The formula, a sort of idealised grocer's store/delicatessen/traiteur, has now been replicated all over town. From Queen's Park to Brook Green, there can barely be a middle-class suburb which has not got its own version: exotic cheeses, expensive breads and eccentric olives on sale at the front; a small(ish), rough-and-rustic dining room at the back; and a few chairs out on the pavement for those who want to sip coffee, smoke cigarettes and munch on croissants.

More often than not, the operation is nominally French, but in reality it is not so much French as a bourgeois London fantasy of what a southern European delicatessen ought to be like. The fact that many southern European delicatessens are actually far less folklorique than their London alter-egos, and that any southern European shopper would probably suffer a coronary on the spot at London pricing, is entirely irrelevant.

What Truc Vert delivers is a faintly Marie-Antoinette take on rustic dining (this is Mayfair, after all); the rough edges have been sanded down and, in this sense, the place is a minor work of art. Take the drinks. As well as the usual Gallic intoxicants, there are some interesting additions such as Pineau by the glass. For right-on drinkers, there are organic beers and ciders, and for right-on teetotallers, there are organic juices and even organic Sicilian lemonade. However, best among the potables was the Alain Milliat range of drinks (summer pear, quince and apple, etc) which has some of the swankiest packaging around - I've seen XO cognac with poorer-quality labels.

Everything has been carefully thought through. The bread arrives on a wooden palette: a piece of baguette is cut in two, surrounded by slices of some dark bucolic bread; the butter comes in a little disc between two small sheets of greaseproof paper. Very cute and very clever. During the evening, the menu is divided into two: 'From Shop' and 'From Kitchen'. Under the heading 'From Shop' you can buy cheese or charcuterie on a pounds-per-kilo basis, half a chicken from the rotisserie (£8), crab-and-saffron fishcakes (£5.50), or p?t? and cornichon (£5.25). This is glorified picnic food, using the shop to make your own hamper.

However, after appreciating the quite brilliant spelling of my name on the little ticket that reserved my butcher's-block-style table - 'Foulsks' is so wonderful that I might adopt it for good - we ordered off the 'From Kitchen' section. I toyed with the idea of chilled avocado soup, before opting for the bruschetta of ricotta, avocado, marinated c?pes and basil pesto - a fine example. My friend went for the smoked chicken and duck confit with asparagus, red pepper and mango salsa. He pronounced it good and said that it would have been even better if the kitchen had not been so heavy-handed with the mango. However, he managed to wolf the lot down before moving on to a plate of grilled Toulouse sausages with mashed potato and onion gravy. He dispatched that with similar enthusiasm and pronounced it very tasty.

Meanwhile, I had been looking forward to the grilled tuna steak with ni?oise salad. I thought I managed to mask my disappointment rather well when I was informed that the tuna was finished and had been replaced with marlin. When my dish arrived, the two grilled slabs of marlin looked very hearty but, perhaps because my palate had been attuned to the idea of tuna, I thought they did not taste of much, and although there was a pleasant Medusa-like nest of anchovies atop the steaks, the rest of the ni?oise was adequate rather than outstanding.

However, this was the only slight disappointment and perhaps only occurred because I went into the place with higher expectations than were sustainable. Truc Vert pretends to be nothing more than a food shop with tables - a role that it more than accomplishes with style and ease.