www.lausanne-palace.com
Today I flew into Geneva, almost on a whim, and after a quick walk down by the lake in the city centre, I met Mirta and Farid, who drove us over to Lausanne, a city I had never visited before. Forty minutes later, we were sitting in the Beau Rivage hotel on the banks of Lac Léman, sipping caipirinhas and muscatel – perhaps the only patrons under pensionable age, but enjoying the opulence nonetheless.
Later that evening, we decided it’d be a good idea to visit the city centre. It didn’t look far on the map. Nothing ever does. And I guess it really wasn’t all that far – it’s just that most of it was vertical, with angles of about 65° once we reached the older quarters. By the time we reached the top of the hill and the centre of town – one and the same – we were ready for refreshment at Restaurant Louis, which had come highly recommended by Farid. Unfortunately, we hadn’t known that Louis would be taking some time out from feeding urban mountaineers, and was actually closed that night.
Behind us, a couple of streets away, we saw a large attractive building, with crimson canopies over each window and lit up like a beacon of hope and restauration. This was the Lausanne Palace and Spa Hotel. Visiting their website later, I found they had numerous bars and restaurants inside, but we headed for the first one we saw, which was their brasserie. Now, I can’t really tell the difference between a French brasserie and a Swiss Romande brasserie. Perhaps it’s like those theme Irish bars you find in every city from Anchorage to Auckland – you’re never sure how authentic it is, but it looks attractive enough to the untrained eye. This brasserie seemed to me to be straight out of Lyon (not, of course, a million miles from Lausanne anyway) – so familiarity always being a great enticement, we walked to the nearest waiter and asked for a table. None available. The positive side about such establishments, however, is that you can eat au comptoir – which I actually prefer, as you can relax so much more easily. Our waiter offered us this option so pleasantly that I knew instantly that while the decor may have looked Gare-du-Nord template French, the welcome was much more inviting.
Kruno was doing his usual trick of considering a weekend to be a few hours either side of midnight on Saturday/ Sunday, and so had not arrived yet. Mirta and I took our places at the bar, ordered a couple of cokes for both of us and a soupe de poisons for me. As we took in the action in the restaurant from our fulcrum at the bar, I took charge of the soup. It was pleasant, and given my hunger, it was much appreciated. However, the rouille that came with it was lacking in taste, the soup itself would have benefited from greater seasoning and a lesser ground texture, and overall it was not of the standard that one would find down at the Vieux Port in Marseilles. Yet my original definition of it stands: it was pleasant.
Kruno finally arrived, and he and I both ordered steak tartare, with Mirta opting for a vegetarian lasagne. Her pasta seemed – what’s the word again? Oh yes, pleasant. But the thing is, you can get this sort of dish anywhere. A steak tartare,
however, is a rarity in Ireland, and I crave it the minute I set foot on francophone territory. Ours came with the obligatory three dots of reduced balsamic vinegar, yet sans the traditional quail’s egg on top. This was replaced by some capers and a large anchovy, which were nice – though I would have liked the egg as well. The meat pieces were larger than I would have expected – in France, the consistency is often nearly that of a paste – but very tasty along with the toast that was brought alongside, and the enormous basket of chips that sat in the vicinity and remained half-untouched, due to sheer volume. Steak tartare is a dish I love, even though it always conjures up images of Mr. Bean for me. We used to eat this in Luxembourg, in baguettes for lunch; Lebanese restaurants cater for my taste perfectly with their kibbeh; and I often take the fusion cousin – tuna tartare – when in restaurants elsewhere. That choice is directly influenced by experience of the meat variety, and this evening’s dish serves to reinforce that preference for me.
Earlier in the evening, I had seen an oblong plate of profiteroles and ice cream transported to a nearby table, and had been keeping that thought in mind throughout the evening. When I ordered it, though, the waiter told us that they stopped making that dessert at 22:30, and so we were 45 minutes past the deadline. Look, it’s a French-type place; they don’t change their minds on this sort of thing. Instead, I was invited to select a dessert from a revolving glass carousel: from a choice that included crème brûlée, tarte aux fraises and rhum baba, I set eyes on a towering chocolate mousse, and had it brought to me. Lovely and rich, and much larger than I had judged from the other side of the display glass, this mousse was topped with a white chocolate room, and a couple of rolled wafers. It was satisfyingly substantial without being heavy, and tasted of chocolate rather than cocoa, which is always a plus – and one which is not universally guaranteed.
The meal over, we decided to hit the nightlife of Lausanne until the early hours. No, wait: that’s what we would have done if we were just a few years younger. What really happened is that we took a bus to our hotel and went to bed immediately. At least it was on a full stomach, and after a good meal. I’d recommend this restaurant for future visitors to Lausanne: Mirta wanted to give it 4.0; Kruno was a little grouchier at 3.0. If I knew what was good for me, I would side with the princess - but I'm going to split the difference this time. It's 3.5.
Total TBC
_________________
The Score
4.0 Food and Drink
3.0 Service
4.0 Décor
3.5 Ambience
3.0 Value
3.5 Overall Rating
Later that evening, we decided it’d be a good idea to visit the city centre. It didn’t look far on the map. Nothing ever does. And I guess it really wasn’t all that far – it’s just that most of it was vertical, with angles of about 65° once we reached the older quarters. By the time we reached the top of the hill and the centre of town – one and the same – we were ready for refreshment at Restaurant Louis, which had come highly recommended by Farid. Unfortunately, we hadn’t known that Louis would be taking some time out from feeding urban mountaineers, and was actually closed that night.
Behind us, a couple of streets away, we saw a large attractive building, with crimson canopies over each window and lit up like a beacon of hope and restauration. This was the Lausanne Palace and Spa Hotel. Visiting their website later, I found they had numerous bars and restaurants inside, but we headed for the first one we saw, which was their brasserie. Now, I can’t really tell the difference between a French brasserie and a Swiss Romande brasserie. Perhaps it’s like those theme Irish bars you find in every city from Anchorage to Auckland – you’re never sure how authentic it is, but it looks attractive enough to the untrained eye. This brasserie seemed to me to be straight out of Lyon (not, of course, a million miles from Lausanne anyway) – so familiarity always being a great enticement, we walked to the nearest waiter and asked for a table. None available. The positive side about such establishments, however, is that you can eat au comptoir – which I actually prefer, as you can relax so much more easily. Our waiter offered us this option so pleasantly that I knew instantly that while the decor may have looked Gare-du-Nord template French, the welcome was much more inviting.
Kruno was doing his usual trick of considering a weekend to be a few hours either side of midnight on Saturday/ Sunday, and so had not arrived yet. Mirta and I took our places at the bar, ordered a couple of cokes for both of us and a soupe de poisons for me. As we took in the action in the restaurant from our fulcrum at the bar, I took charge of the soup. It was pleasant, and given my hunger, it was much appreciated. However, the rouille that came with it was lacking in taste, the soup itself would have benefited from greater seasoning and a lesser ground texture, and overall it was not of the standard that one would find down at the Vieux Port in Marseilles. Yet my original definition of it stands: it was pleasant.Kruno finally arrived, and he and I both ordered steak tartare, with Mirta opting for a vegetarian lasagne. Her pasta seemed – what’s the word again? Oh yes, pleasant. But the thing is, you can get this sort of dish anywhere. A steak tartare,
however, is a rarity in Ireland, and I crave it the minute I set foot on francophone territory. Ours came with the obligatory three dots of reduced balsamic vinegar, yet sans the traditional quail’s egg on top. This was replaced by some capers and a large anchovy, which were nice – though I would have liked the egg as well. The meat pieces were larger than I would have expected – in France, the consistency is often nearly that of a paste – but very tasty along with the toast that was brought alongside, and the enormous basket of chips that sat in the vicinity and remained half-untouched, due to sheer volume. Steak tartare is a dish I love, even though it always conjures up images of Mr. Bean for me. We used to eat this in Luxembourg, in baguettes for lunch; Lebanese restaurants cater for my taste perfectly with their kibbeh; and I often take the fusion cousin – tuna tartare – when in restaurants elsewhere. That choice is directly influenced by experience of the meat variety, and this evening’s dish serves to reinforce that preference for me.
Earlier in the evening, I had seen an oblong plate of profiteroles and ice cream transported to a nearby table, and had been keeping that thought in mind throughout the evening. When I ordered it, though, the waiter told us that they stopped making that dessert at 22:30, and so we were 45 minutes past the deadline. Look, it’s a French-type place; they don’t change their minds on this sort of thing. Instead, I was invited to select a dessert from a revolving glass carousel: from a choice that included crème brûlée, tarte aux fraises and rhum baba, I set eyes on a towering chocolate mousse, and had it brought to me. Lovely and rich, and much larger than I had judged from the other side of the display glass, this mousse was topped with a white chocolate room, and a couple of rolled wafers. It was satisfyingly substantial without being heavy, and tasted of chocolate rather than cocoa, which is always a plus – and one which is not universally guaranteed.The meal over, we decided to hit the nightlife of Lausanne until the early hours. No, wait: that’s what we would have done if we were just a few years younger. What really happened is that we took a bus to our hotel and went to bed immediately. At least it was on a full stomach, and after a good meal. I’d recommend this restaurant for future visitors to Lausanne: Mirta wanted to give it 4.0; Kruno was a little grouchier at 3.0. If I knew what was good for me, I would side with the princess - but I'm going to split the difference this time. It's 3.5.
_________________
The Damage (CHF)
- TBC Soupe de Poissons
- TBC Vegetarian Lasagne
- TBC Steak Tartare *2
- TBC Chocolate Mousse
- TBC Coke * 2
- TBC San Pellegrino (75cl)
Total TBC
_________________
The Score
4.0 Food and Drink
3.0 Service
4.0 Décor
3.5 Ambience
3.0 Value
3.5 Overall Rating
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