Things could have been worse. My host was determined to lunch al fresco, and after all it was late June. Yet this is England and as everyone knows, even D-Day had to be postponed for 24 hours. In the event, we were fine. The elements were kindly. The temperature did not fall below 60, the rain held off, we more or less managed to forget about politics and it would have been hard to improve on the setting. Saint Jacques, a restaurant which I have often praised, always deservedly, has a courtyard and is next to Berry Bros: so this is a sophisticatedly bacchanalian quartier.
The rain held off, we forgot about politics and it would have been hard to improve on the setting
The sophistication may be recent. Behind St James’s Street and Pall Mall there are nooks, crannies and lanes, including Crown Passage. It is now home to a fine pub, the Red Lion, and an excellent Italian restaurant, Il Vicolo, another favourite of this column. But in earlier days, Crown Passage may have been a play on words. St James’s Palace is just over the road. Some monarchs and courtiers were on for a full bacchanalian romp with a certain tickling of passages et al. Even before Berry’s were in business, the St James’s equivalents of Mistress Quickly and Doll Tearsheet may well have been plying their trade. No longer, however: all is respectable.
My host was Alan Eisner, a v. bon oeuf. Alan was a successful hedgie and forex trader but he always intended to do more with his life. His parents were Jewish: his father, a refugee from the Mordor of Nazism. They always felt that they owed the country which had rescued them a lifelong debt of gratitude and thanksgiving, an inheritance which they instilled in their children.
So Alan was determined to put something back. A wonderful girl called Maggie Keswick Jencks fought back against her cancer. In her memory, friends set up centres which could succour the victims and their relatives. Alan became chairman and expanded the operations. A lot of stricken patients and families owe a great deal to his quiet ministrations. That is a truly good work. But over many years, he also backed restaurants. One such was the Avenue in St James’s Street, which I remember with affection and nostalgia. He has now moved on to Saint Jacques. Alan has also involved himself in high-tech ventures. I have rarely met anyone with a more diverse intellectual and social curiosity: truly a life-enhancing fellow.
When we sat down at Saint Jacques, we were instantly transported to France. Steak tartare – as good as I have known it; turbot; a serious cheese board; a soufflé; oh – and a few rock oysters to start off proceedings. As an aperitif and with the oysters, we drank an excellent 2022 Bourgogne blanc from Patrick Javillier, Cuvée Oligocène. Ready, ideal for drinking young, crisp, delightfully fresh, full of minerality, it was a perfect palate-enhancer. It was suggested that this bottle combines a Meursault’s fruit with a Puligny’s steeliness. That might seem to be a high claim. I thought it was fully justified. The Javillier clan know how to make wine.
We were joined by Michael Saunders of Coterie Holdings, an adornment of oenophilia and the British wine trade. He produced some Meursault – which stood up to the Oligocène – and a Marsannay. I shall return to his wines and that superb provider on a later date.
For a red, we concentrated on a Ch. Fonbel St Emilion ’16, an excellent wine. It is owned by the Vauthier family of Château Ausone. To my regret, I have not drunk it often: a fact which is explained by the price. But it deservedly keeps its status. The Fonbel is excellent value and will last. As for its own status, Saint Jacques deserves a Michelin rosette. It can provide a repast to cheer up a couple of Tories on a gloomy June day – some doing.
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