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LA BASTILLE: Corporation Street, Birmingham
12.10.09
LA BASTILLE: Corporation Street, Birmingham

Oct 11 2009

by Lorne Jackson, Sunday Mercury

No French

love affair

WHAT is the big deal with French cooking?

Anyone interested in the culinary arts is meant to bow down in reverence whenever some dish that originated in a Parisian kitchen is mentioned.

Watch Professional Masterchef on TV and you’ll see what I mean.

Young chefs are tested on their skills in classical cooking – classical meaning French.

The show is presented by ‘legendary’ English-born French cook, Michel Roux Jr. I wonder if he’d still be a legend if his name was Mickey Roberts Jr. Somehow I doubt it.

I suppose the French have to be good at something.

They’re rubbish at fighting, after all. Which is why the greatest boxer of all time was Muhammad Ali – not Muhammad Oo-la-la-li.

I’m not impressed with French women, either. Pretty enough, though not a single one of them has discovered the delights of the Gillette Ladyshave.

Their armpits are lush with exotic vegetation – like Kew Gardens in the springtime.

But what about their cocksure cuisine? Is it as good as the French boast?

Well, I’ve been to many French restaurants. Enjoyed myself as well. Though no more than when I eat Italian, Indian, Chinese and Spanish food.

I’m partial to fish and chips, too.

So I’ve never been converted to the idea that the French are the Yoda-like masters of bunging stuff in ovens, then plonking it on plates.

Perhaps La Bastille would chance my mind.

I was certainly impressed by the unpretentious decor – a blend of wood floorboards, rough paint, well-stocked bar, blackboards and mirrors.

Some French restaurants are spoiled by smug serving staff, waiters who enjoy putting their noses in the air so much that they should swap them for periscopes. Not at La Bastille, though, where the staff are friendly and approachable.

And the food?

Well, the menu is French with a capital F, and includes starters of frogs legs and snails.

I had a large helping of each, of course… yeah, right.

I’m not that sophisticated a chap. I’d rather nibble a French bird’s armpit than put a frog anywhere near my gob.

Instead, I had mussels (£6.50), which were a real taste of the seashore. In fact, I couldn’t have ordered a dish more seashore-ish if I’d requested a boil-in-the-bag beach.

Lobster was my main course (£11.50).

Now, I’ve never got the idea of lobster. It’s meant to be the swankiest dish on any menu, yet the hideous critter looks as appetising as the monster from Alien.

The flavour doesn’t blow me away, either.

For me, it’s always a bit blah. As big a disappointment as watching a magician swagger on stage, inform his audience he’s the next Derren Brown, then bore them silly with a smattering of clumsy card tricks.

Yet again, lobster failed to tease my tastebuds, though this one was no worse than any I’ve tackled in the past, and better than most.

For pudding there was cheesecake (£4.25). A bona-fide wodge of stodge. No bad way to end a meal.

A visit to La Bastille didn’t change my mind about French cuisine. However, this friendly, unpretentious restaurant is worth visiting.

Don’t give it the French kiss-off, by any means.

LORNE JACKSON