Crowd pleasing isn’t always a pleasure

There’s something of a disconnect between the way Café François presents itself to the world and the way it actually is. The website’s swirling line art and opinionated fonts give off an irreverently youthful vibe. Step through the doors of its railway arch Borough Market premises though, and it’s largely middle-aged pre-theatre diners interspersed with London Bridge office bores touching each’s other base before retreating to the Home Counties. And I say this as someone soon to be body slamming their way through middle age.

Perhaps the marketing guff doesn’t line up with reality because the marketers always knew it wouldn’t, but went ahead anyway ‘cos it actualised the brand equity or somesuch. Or perhaps this is just merely yet another case of being unable to choose the customers you want.

As its name cunningly alludes to, Café François is supposed to be a French brasserie. It’s certainly cavernously large, decked out with polished brass and wood. And yet I found myself thoroughly unconvinced by the whole affair.

Template for chain rollout? nothing any half-serious London restaurant botherer hasn’t seen before.

Starters at Café François

Much like my last lover, the onion soup was pale, meek and lacking in vigour. The bread crust was paltry in size and soggy in texture, while the soup tasted of little. There wasn’t enough cheese – what little there was lacking in both taste and gooeyness.

Moules flatbread felt similar to the carby fare once available nearby at the now closed Flor. The contrast between the briney, fleshy mussels and the elastic yet chewily soft base was eminently pleasing.

Whether intentional or a sign of consistency issues in the kitchen, the flatbread used in Café Francois’ take on croque monsieur was somewhat stiffer than the one above, but still chewy enough to be edible. The congealed cheese and meat layers slid off its surface, almost as if it were made of Teflon. This was a shame as the cheese added a thick creaminess and lactic tang to the bread. Although shaved a touch too thin, the ham was salty and moreish.

Steak tartare was bland and excessively soft to the point of formlessness. Even the capers were dull.

Although I’d have personally preferred more aspic in the proffered slice of pate en croute, this was my only complaint. The pastry was light and tightly crumbed, while the meaty package was cool and chunky. Having saucisson and ham on the side could’ve been a bit excessive, but the slices of the former were complimentary in their dense fattiness, while the latter had plenty of umami.

Although the anchovies used here weren’t as potent as the best Cantabrian anchovies, they still had enough salt and umami in their fleshy, fishy little bodies. But these qualities were easily drowned out by the gaudy spice mix of the vajazzled Cafe de Paris-esque butter and the spongy stodge of the stale-seeming brioche toast soldiers.

The umami of the Bayonne ham was as deep and satisfying as any jamon iberico or Parma ham. The optional remoulade is what most coleslaws dream about becoming once they grow up. The firm julienned veg had, thankfully, been only lightly creamed and also had a light sharpness, even before the tangy capers kicked in.

Main courses at Café François

Much like modern mainstream France itself, Café Francois has one or two tokenistic nods to the diaspora/ethnic minority communities living within the metropole, such as the soft shell crab banh mi. The bread probably wasn’t made from rice flour, but it did have some crunchy crispness to it, with a soft follow through. Perhaps the crabs used were emaciated juveniles, as they barely had any presence to speak of. At least the batter was mostly crisp, while there was some pleasing contrast between the tangy hoi sin-like sauce, the creamy mayo and the light sharpness of the pickled onions.

An English muffin filled with foie gras, bearnaise sauce, bacon and egg should be the extravagantly sensual breakfast-themed sandwich of my unspeakably sordid dreams. The mundane reality spoke of cost cutting and compromise. The filling was mostly egg which, despite what the photo below might have you think, was lacking in rich runniness. Both foie gras and crispy American-style belly bacon were present only as scabby flecks. The former was unforgivably insipid, as was the bearnaise. Whatever this sandwich is for, it’s not for eating.

A curry of monkfish and mussels started out well enough, with fish that avoided excessive softness. The mussels were lacking in both numbers and taste though, while the curry sauce had a one-dimensional umami, with no depth of spice to fall back on.

Trout had been cooked just so, with earthy heartiness evident in every flake. The richness of the milky butter was neatly offset by the distinctive taste of dill and the briney sweet juiciness of the cucumbers. It could’ve done with some textural variation though, as in the fish dishes at Josephine Bouchon.

It takes gumption to serve steak mere metres away from a branch of Hawksmoor, but prime rib had been neatly browned with a toothsome crust in places. The occasional seam of quivering connective tissue added even more textural variation, while the flesh itself was moreish and juicy.

Although the chicken wasn’t up to the standards of a good backstreet Parisian rotisserie, it was respectable enough, from the tender and reasonably moist chook to the supple skin. Sharp herbs contrasted well with the sticky, mildly moreish sauce. An optional addition of merguez was, in a similar vein, not exemplary but still largely satisfactory – smoky, lightly spiced and somewhat coarse.

I would willingly give one of my reproductive organs in exchange for a supply of credible porchetta outside of Italy. Having tasted the attempt at Café Francois, it seems I’ll be hanging on to my gonads for a while longer. The drab, lifeless pork was sliced too thickly. Plus, some slices were far too hard. The overbearing umami of the sticky sauce overwhelmed whatever herbiness may have been present.

Side dishes at Café François

Truffled frites were crisp and free of excess grease, although I suspect the scent was courtesy of synthetically-produced oil. Eau de Fungivore, if you will.

‘Rotisserie’ potatoes were firm and lightly smoky. A fine alternative to the frites, if you’re inexplicably not in the mood for deep-fried potatoes.

Desserts at Café François

A pistachio éclair only just managed to taste of the nut, more or less, while the pastry was a poor example of the genre.

Pistachio shortbread ice cream was somewhat more successful than the éclair in evoking the nut, even if it depended on a cumulative shovelling of biscuit into gob for that effect to take hold. The inconsequential ice cream wasn’t worth the stabbing motions required to break its icy form.

Café Francois’ vanilla mille feuille was not a traditional mille feuille, but a milquetoast vanilla ice cream topped with a caramel almost as dreary and some shortbread crumbs.

The effortlessly smooth and light crème caramel came doused in a lightly tangy caramel sauce.

If there is a deity for pastry, then I expect them to smite the pastry chef at Café Francois. The thin, crumbly and grainy pastry bottom of the citrus tart, ringed by white chocolate, was an unholy transgression. The filling was far less offensive. Its citrusy tang and astringency was refreshing and almost made me forgive the pastry. Almost, but not quite.

The same abominable pastry made an unwelcome repeat appearance in the ginger rhubarb ‘gateau’. The technicolour sponge had a faint taste of ginger. Although the rhubarb pieces were squidgy and firm, they tasted dull and were few in number. Thanks, but no thanks.

The kitchen can knock out a half-decent(ish) bit of pastry when it wants to, as the blood orange tart demonstrates. Here, the pastry was dense and dotted with blood orange bits. Sadly, the latter did little to enhance the disappointingly barren slices of blood orange posing as the topping.

The Paris Brest was another step forwards in the redemption of Café Francois’ pastry-making abilities. Gently chewy, then soft and bready, it was a decent companion to the hazelnut cream filling which was reasonably true to the nut.

The coarse and chunky, yet tightly crumbed biscuit base of the apple tart cradled a layered and coiled fruit filling – that startlingly resembled an onion ladled with gravy. Thankfully, the cooking apple had a light fruity tartness to it, rather than any alliumesque sharpness.

Coconut and lime ‘vacherin’ ice cream was a bit like a virgin pina colada, but even less fun and even more watered down.

The Verdict

At the risk of making a thunderous cultural faux pas, the problem with Cafe Francois is that this French restaurant isn’t French enough. In terms of representation, the starters were the most Gallic, but the main courses were an oddly incoherent grabbag. In terms of quality, while there was some joy to be had here, it’s relatively few and far between. The dishes worth eating were outnumbered by a motley collection of jaw-numbing mediocrity – especially so when it came to the desserts.

It’d be tempting to put this down to an armchair diagnosis of collective cross-Channel miasma, where we want to embrace the rich food culture of our southern neighbour, but are unable to do so because of some national neurosis. But it’s probably more likely due to the mundane logistics of shifting huge numbers of plates everyday, volumes high enough where maintaining quality day-after-day just becomes too difficult. Or perhaps the generalised mediocrity is deliberate as part of a template for a chain rollout.

Perhaps Café François’ website should replace its current aspirational art with a portrait of Napoleon. Not Napoleon I, the victor of Austerlitz. But Napoleon III, the deadweight of Sedan. It’d give people who don’t read this review a much more accurate taste of what they can expect.

Name: Café François

Address: 14-16 Stoney Street, London SE1 9AD

Phone: 0203 988 5770

Web: https://www.cafefrancois.london

Opening Hours: seven days a week 19.00 – 23.00 (allegedly). 

Reservations: essential

Average cost for one person including soft drinks: £63-75 approx. 

Rating: ★★★☆☆