DRINKING

BY NICOLE bLAIR

& DINING

Almost half a century on, does Julies still live up to its groovy reputation, I wonder? Our tables upstairs, the owner Tim Herrings voice trails as I pull myself up a banister. Our? Id supposed our polite preprandials had been a verbal hors doeuvre, a rare courtesy afforded by the ever-dwindling ranks of people who run family restaurants in London. Ah brilliant, I croon. So this is what an auditor whose work is supervised by the CEO feels like. Friends who set downstairs up as a restaurant packed up shop after a year. Tims wife and co-owner, Cathy, explains how the place fell into their hands unexpectedly in 1969. Dominating that rare creature (a London piazza; a pedestrianised oasis on Portland Road), Julies is best described as gothic chic. Its whitewashed elven appendage, doilied with ossied foliage, is abutted by low-ceilinged alcoves, brimming with the paraphernalia of home. Both serve to give the impression Tim and Cathy are the love-children or at least spiritual heirs of Augustus Pugin. Its indisputably an institution. Bones of anecdotes about the great and not-so-good trip off the tongue but condentiality is part of the woodwork. It all has the effect of making the review a tad nerve-wracking; if its terrible Ill be the gastronomic equivalent of the chap who pipes up at a Bob Dylan concert to tell the Minnesotan he should end the (never-ending) tour. We hop, skip and jump through a tasting menu. Seared tuna, linecaught, is as pink as my face after Tim shoots down my suggestion of classic, or home, cooking as a synonym for the label comfort food which the manager, Johnny, a better-looking Ainsley Harriott, proffers as a starting point for a conversation about Julies style of cuisine. The accompanying salad is a satisfying mishmash of ginger, spring onion, coriander, radish and red amaranth; far superior to the palate cleanser its sometimes written off as.

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Pugins Palace

The chicken breast with black trufe and white port sauce should be a signature dish but its the steak & kidney pie thats been a house favourite over the years, Cathy reminds me. The restaurant is under persistent pressure to bring it back by popular, or more properly, royal demand. There are many superlatives for well-cooked chicken but what I will say is that the dish reminded me of a happier gastronomic universe in which you didnt have to own a blowtorch and liquid nitrogen to gain your neighbours culinary respect. Julies could be a global haunt almost entirely on the strength of its wines. Ros was unfashionable for a while but it has been making an

The chicken breast with black truffle and white port sauce should be a signature dish
inevitable comeback, and with in mind I politely nod at Tims suggestion that we try Domaine du Jas dEsclans Cotes de Provence (2012). My cynicism is misplaced. It is incredibly rened. Cherry-tinged with a lingering nish, its from one of the few estates in Provence to receive the Cru Classe stamp of approval, and its no surprise that this is the unofcial house. I mention a lack of Malbec on the punchy list of reds before seeing that a late addition, Chateau Bernadotte 2009, should more than make up for this omission. As I walk away I ruminate on Cathys story about how the couple had been forced to run the restaurant in the late 60s and a bit of Plato. Plato?! Yes, it seems that as with the philosopher-king, the best restauranteur is the reluctant one. Henry Hopwood-Phillips Julies, 135 Portland Road, W11 4LW 020 7229 8331; juliesrestaurant.com

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