Les Associés, Crouch End

6/10

£114 for 2.

Arabella Weir, reviewing Les Associés for the Guardian in 2005, asserts 
that despite its rather uninspiring ‘1980s paint job and Highland 
décor,’ its ‘unpretentious, high-quality food’ made it a pugilist able 
to do battle with the finest French restaurants in London. 7 years on, 
is Les Associés still the in its golden age?

Faced with the question of how to spend New Year’s Eve, I decided to 
shun the many options available and simply eat out. My date, Ruth, 
scoured the internet for decent, local restaurants. She stumbled upon 
Les Associés, read several reviews, including the aforementioned one 
and, since its website is rarely updated, called the restaurant to ask 
for more information than opening times and Le Menu du Dimanche. The 
restaurant was offering a competitive £40 (per person) set meal of 4 
courses plus cheeses. Happy with this, she booked a table for 8pm. 8.10 
and we were still looking for the restaurant. A quick look at a mobile 
app told me that we were to leave Crouch End and walk some distance 
along a desolate, and spooky, road. At 8.20, we arrived. Late (if you 
hadn’t worked that out). I had visions of a busy restaurant, a rather 
petulant host rushing to the front, contorting his face into a look of 
disgust at our inability to be punctual and turning us away because 
he’d donated our table to someone else. Instead, we were greeted with a 
smile and, since the restaurant was half full, given a choice of 
tables.

A suitably sweet Kir Royale and half a glass of red wine later, the 
first course arrived. A slab of fois gras with a salad. It was fatty 
and stringy, not smooth and rich in flavour – indications of its low 
quality. I wasn’t surprised given the cheapness of the menu. The 
vinaigrette was rather nice, a mixture of sweet and sour that managed 
to compensate for the little flavour of the fois gras. The second 
course was nearly faultless; a trio of fish, salmon, mackerel and cod 
coated in a creamy but slightly bland sauce. Equally impressive was the 
third course, chicken with a lovely crown of parsnip crisps, which 
provided texture, and a medley of glazed vegetables. The presentation 
was sophisticated and the taste pleasant. I’ve two complaints, though. 
One is much smaller than the other. Let’s begin with the bigger one. 
The dish lacked a rich and thick jus to bring all the flavours 
together. Instead there was a dribble of sauce. Obviously, the chef de 
cuisine is not an Escoffier disciple. This restaurant that purports to 
be a French restaurant deserves eternal condemnation – I say this in 
jest. My other, inconsiderable, complaint is that the chicken was 
slightly overcooked. The dish, nonetheless, was great. The dessert, ice 
cream with a mint infused strawberry coulis, was slightly less 
impressive. The texture of the ice cream was icy, and its honey flavour 
too subtle. However, the flavoursome coulis and the wonderful honey 
pastry parcel easily redeemed the dessert.

The service was attentive, but not overly so. The waiter has mastered 
the skill of surreptitiously hovering, and refilled the bread basket as 
soon as the last roll had been eaten. The proprietor was also on hand 
to help out, a charming presence. It wasn’t very busy. If busier would 
service suffer? Perhaps. The duo felt comfortable seeing to 5 tables. 
Any more and they’d be flustered, panting and sweating. The lack of 
custom is due, in large part, to the unclean state of the restaurant. 
It’s like an extension of the road, dirty and squalid. One expects its 
seedy underbelly to show itself any moment. It’s a terrace house that’s 
been lazily converted into a restaurant. I felt like I was in someone’s 
front room. Defenders may argue that this is part of its charm; one 
goes there for hearty food cooked by a real French matriarch, rather 
than those charlatans working in London kitchens. I disagree.

The atmosphere was gloomy, and the décor did little to enliven it. It 
lacked the gaiety one would expect on New Year’s Eve, merely depressing 
one into submission. Perhaps the drab decorations were a ploy to sell 
more wine. One needed a few glasses to forget where one was.

Les Associés opened in 1989 but sadly it hasn’t moved on. It proclaims 
to be a ‘traditional French restaurant’ yet bears little resemblance to 
the traditional bistros of France. It becomes clear that the word 
‘traditional’ for the proprietor of Les Associés means old and 
established. Others, such as Michel Roux Jr, create new dishes in 
accordance with tradition: ‘The meals remain works of art but they are 
lighter, more modern versions of the classic French haute cuisine that 
Le Gavroche is famous for’ (Le Gavroche website). Les Associés, with 
its grimy interior and filthy loos, is in need of modernisation. The 
fact that it hasn’t improved since Mrs Weir reviewed it suggests that 
it cares little about improvement.

As the ‘traditional’ food was very tasty, I am by no means saying that 
Les Associés should throw in the towel. But it’s equally difficult to 
sing its praises. It languishes in its bronze age.