Mercury 2 Food: French are so small-minded; EATING OUT PARIS RESTAURANT, The Mailbox, Birmingham.
LAST week the British nation found itself squeezed between Chirac and a hard place.Well, not so much a hard place as a hard meal to swallow.
Jacques Chirac decided to enjoy a huffy Gallic strop about our yucky UK slop.
The pompous, preening, terrapin-faced French President ridiculed our culinary cunning, claiming only the Finns consumed more distasteful dishes.
There was minimal bristling from the Brits.
After all, we'd rather have our chips stuffed in yesterday's newspapers than balanced on our shoulders.
And clearly Jacques Le Jerk was just living in the past.
True, there was a time when the most complicated recipe in a British cook's repertoire consisted of the three-point plan: 1. Buy can of Spam. 2. Open can of Spam. 3. Serve.
However, these days our chefs are considered unbeatable.
Talents such as Gordon Ramsay snaffle up Michelin Stars like geeky teenage boys collecting Star Trek memorabilia.
Yet for many people, French cooking still represents the pinnacle of fine dining. Why?
I decided to find out by popping into Paris at lunchtime.
Not the city, of course. That would be far too expensive.
Instead, Riki and I took a stroll to the restaurant of the same name, based in Birmingham's Mailbox.
A quick glance at the prices made me realise it would have been just as cost-effective booking a train for the Eurotunnel.
Main courses were pounds 20-plus! Luckily, there was a slightly cheaper lunch menu.
Or, to be more precise, a slightly cheaper LUNCHEON menu - it was that sort of place.
Inside, the decor was claustrophobic. Chocolate-coloured walls and carpet and impressionistic paintings bore down from all angles.
There were also no windows, which meant the only convenient escape root was the front door. Then again, we could have dug our way out with soup spoons and fish knives.
I almost attempted such a gambit when two waiters approached.
Impeccably groomed, they made me feel like a tramp caught glugging Toilet Duck under Spaghetti Junction. Each suit must have cost as much as my complete wardrobe.
(Ah, who am I kidding? I only have one suit: a hand-me-down... and out, originally worn by great-great-grandpa, and now held together by thread and faith.) Clearly Paris isn't the type of restaurant to visit unless you're dressed up - and clued up about tricky table manners.
Even buttering my bread roll had mein a cold sweat. Luckily, the food proved rewarding, although portions were pitiable.
My gravadlax with oyster beignet starter was sharp and succulent, even if the salmon was a tad salty.
Riki's ham hock tortellini and smoked pea veloutA was the smallest chunk of pasta either of us had ever encountered - but big on flavour.
For mains, Riki's Cornish lamb with vegetables was cooked to perfection. My sea bream was triumphantly crisp on the outside, with a centre that dissolved on the tongue in a perfect puff of fishiness.
Dessert was presented with imagination and flair although, once again, much of the plate was an Alaska of emptiness.
However, my vanilla panna cotta with caramel sauce was pin-point perfect.
Riki's raspberry clafoutis and raspberry coulis was simple, yet simply sensational.
Clearly French food is fab (although far too costly and pretentious).
However, Paris is a French restaurant in the heart of England.
Which means you don't have to go to Chirac's backyard for a great meal.
So my advice to you, Jacques: Want to stuff yourself on the finest French cooking? Try the West Midlands.
Alternatively, just get stuffed
Total Bill: (Three-course lunchpounds 21.50 each, plus service charge and soft drinks): pounds 52.
PARIS RESTAURANT, 109-111 WHARFSIDE STREET, THE MAILBOX, BIRMINGHAM 0121 632 1489
CAPTION(S):
DARK SECRETS: Paris serves up small portions of delicious food
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