Restaurant Metropolitan, Avignon; 28 Sep 12

We left the UK by Eurostar on Wednesday morning and then changed to the TGV in Lille to travel on to Avignon. And although the sun shone as we emerged from the tunnel the weather steadily deteriorated as we went south and by the time we got to Avignon it was dreadful.

At dinner time I checked with tripadvisor and found the Metropolitan just 3 minutes walk from our hotel so off we set suitably water proofed. But could we find it? We could not. Its address said that it was number 5 rue Violetta. We found a 3 and a 7 but no evidence of 5 and certainly no sign of a restaurant. So we opted for plan B and ate at the brasserie next to our hotel and it was dreadful.

On Friday I rang the Metropolitan, found out that it only opens in the evenings on Fridays and Saturdays and successfully booked a table. And where number 5 might be thought to be we now found a roller shutter open giving access to a courtyard within the Museum of Contemporary Art in Avignon. And in one corner were tables outside with lots of young French people enjoying champagne and canapés and behind those a small restaurant, the Metropolitan.

The Metropolitan is one of two restaurants in Avignon run by three young Frenchmen, Rudi, Thomas and Olivier, who were at school together and have since independently travelled the world before being reunited. Thomas and Olivier wear chef’s gear whilst Rudi takes care of front of house, not exactly onerous last night since we were the only people there for most of the evening.

The menu is short, just 3 choices for each course and we are told that it’s written depending on what’s available in the market in the morning. But it was a pretty safe menu with me not being stuck for options.

The food was exceptional. I had Fois Gras followed by red tuna which simply melted; Juni had aubergine terrine followed by ombrine. We shared a pannacotta with chestnut chantilly. And to complete the mood there was 60s music discretely in the background. Prefect.

It all went down hill after that when Thomas came over to chat and offered me a cognac. Not exactly France’s finest but the ice cubes made it drinkable. It’s always the last drink that makes the difference. You’d think I’d have learnt by now.