The food is mostly excellent and occasionally sensational. But always tiny
The fact that it takes superhuman effort to score a booking at Greg Marchand’s foamingly reviewed Frenchie in Paris means that this new arrival coasts in on a wave of feverish anticipation. For some who never bagged a seat at the original, hope beats anew. For others, the anticipation is laced with schadenfreude: other successful overseas names (fellow Parisian sensation Inaki Aizpitarte and Le Chabanais; Hong Kong’s “X-treme chef” Alvin Yeung and Bo London) hit the capital only to crash and burn. Can Marchand buck the trend?
The Frenchie style seems to have swanked up over la Manche. Rather than a bistrot in the grungy garment district, this one is a chic, chilly study in shades of chalky greys in Covent Garden. Staff are in gartered shirtsleeves, braces and bow ties, like a hipster barbershop group, or in sharp suits. There are two floors: ground, where the expensive-cocktail-dispensing bar lives (£12.50 each!), and basement with open kitchen and ravishing, unisex loos. Unlike its parent, this Frenchie does not breathe off-piste and affordable.
Related: Rick Stein, Sandbanks: ‘I’m not buying it’ – restaurant review
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