Buvette, London WC2: ‘It’s actually rather lovely’ – restaurant review | Grace Dent on restaurants

A faux-French, cult-hit New York brasserie has opened in Neal’s Yard, deep in the hairy armpit of Covent Garden among alleyways where holistic therapy rooms, walk-in back rub spaces, Neal’s Yard Remedies and 26 Grains cafe are its immediate neighbours. The windchimes and the whiff of patchouli part the air round these parts, and the footfall is yoga pant-clad and hungry for hummus. Buvette, meanwhile, has brought a touch of Gallic glam to the neighbourhood, and is clearly aimed at the Emily in Paris generation with its totalement français menu featuring croque monsieur with roast mushrooms and gruyere, rillettes de saumon or salade niçoise with haricots verts and a mollet egg; there’s also a Macvin champagne and muscadet spritz, pastis on the rocks, warm scones with jam, and almond croissants.

This is the London arm of Jody Williams’ West Village gastrothèque, and its menu is a pretty card listing 25 dishes to choose from, none of them above £18. It clearly thinks it’s a hot, fresh, new thing, but I’m not sure it’s anything new at all. We used to call places that looked like this Café Rouge: that is, recognisably French, and by that I mean recognisable if you have a working GCSE knowledge of La Rochelle cafe life. It’s that version of French dining that won’t scare the horses, or at least the horses that the French haven’t minced coarsely and served in their own gastroduodenal canals with an exemplary homemade moutarde.

Buvette’s cute red frontage gives way to something heartstoppingly pretty inside: marble-topped tables, bentwood chairs, a zinc bar, good-looking, chipper staff – though, let’s be honest, that latter chipper bit would never happen in a lunchtime Paris tourist spot. It’s all very charming and ought to be packed, but on this midweek lunchtime there are plenty of seats to spare in this 80-cover space. In fact, almost all of them are empty. This is Buvette’s second attempt at cracking London – the first, in Notting Hill in 2020, came and went within four years.

As I peruse the gorgeous little cut-card menu, 12 northern ladies with pull-along suitcases sit down at the next table, read it, confer briefly and leave sharpish. Mais pourquoi, Julie? This is a quick café au lait and a freshly squeezed orange juice joint (though they’ve missed a trick not serving Orangina), or a longer saumon grillé with betteraves (beetroot salad) on the side and a mousse au chocolat for pudding kind of place. Nobody is being asked to sit a GCSE French oral exam, which is a blessing, because the memory of being dragged into a room in Carlisle in 1991 and being expected to discuss Scottish devolution in French still wakes me at night.

And maybe that’s Buvette’s problem. It’s so coy and cool that it scares away the normals, but it’s not cool enough to ensnare foodies who’d rather be chucking money at Fergus Henderson’s wine bar just across the way; the local yoga brigade, meanwhile, would rather be queuing outside a clandestine juice shack to hand over £28 for juiced turnip and echinacea. Even so, and to make a plaintive case for Buvette, it’s actually rather lovely.

We order the croque madame, which is a classic construction: thick, white toasted bread, melted cheese, all draped in thin ham, snowed over with more grated cheese, topped with a vivid egg yolk and garnished with a flourish of tiny, crunchy cornichons. It is a noble and considered attempt. That grilled salmon comes dressed in sauce ravigote, a sharp, herby, caper-spiked vinaigrette, and with dressed green beans and a petite salade verte alongside. The skin is crisped correctly and the fish moist, and it’s clearly been cooked as if someone downstairs truly cares. We share a copper pan filled with pommes frites and pick at a meaty, sharply dressed salade de poulet. As for those betteraves, these chunky, sweet, glossy roast beets with horseradish creme fraiche are the kind of thing you don’t get as a side any more, and you find yourself wondering why not.

The set lunch menu at £23 is ridiculous value: salmon, green beans and green salad, or burger, fries and salad, or a croque and two salads, all with a coffee to finish. And this in Covent Garden, where you usually have to sell a kidney to afford a crepe. Buvette isn’t reinventing the wheel, but it’s somewhere to pop in for lunch and end up lingering over pots of fresh mint tea and a rather incongruous offering of warm scones with raspberry jam and cream, or almond croissants hot from the oven. Cafe Rouge lasted for years because it wasn’t terribly French, or terribly hot, but it was fantastically useful. Perhaps Buvette needs to reposition itself as a pit stop rather than an Instagram backdrop. Then more people might want to mange tout.

• Buvette 2 Neal’s Yard, London WC2, 020-3540 4989. Open all week, lunch 11.30am-4pm, dinner 4-9pm (10pm Thurs-Sat). From about £40 head à la carte; formule set lunch (main, two sides and coffee) £23, all plus drinks & service