I've always had amour for Bistrot Pierre, harking back to the days it was Pierre Victoire. Traditional French cuisine, efficient service and pleasing-on-the-eye Parisian surroundings just a stone’s throw from Viccy Centre made it rather charming.
Over the last 28 years I’ve had enough lively birthdays, leaving dos and festive celebrations as well as romantic meals for two to be able to say it ranked highly in my list of recommendations. And the excellent value-for-money prix fixe lunch that had diners queuing out the door into Milton Street was unbeatable.
It was a Nottingham institution, starting here in the city, long before it grew into a chain with restaurants around the country and for me it always seemed to retain the passion and calibre of an independent. Food was of a high standard, no matter whether it was a comforting boeuf bourguignon or the creamiest crème brûlée, and, importantly, it never waivered. The consistency was always there.
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Even the home delivery we had during the pandemic was spot on. A three-course dinner of chicken liver parfait, poulet-roti Forestiere and tarte au citron couldn't be faulted. In fact in the review I wrote last year I said: "One of the outstanding features of Bistrot Pierre is I've eaten there many times over the years and have never had a bad meal." Me and my big mouth.
However, it was around that time that cracks began to appear. The chain was sold in a pre-pack administration with the closure of six restaurants in other parts of the country. To be honest it hadn't crossed my mind that it had changed hands when we decided we were due a visit.
It was a rainy Friday night but there was a reasonable turn-out when we arrived for our booking but not all the tables were taken. At first glance the restaurant looked exactly the same with red leather seating, parquet floor and sparkling glass lampshades.
We were seated away from the throng of the diners at a cosy table for two. But before we'd ordered our drinks - we had to ask for a drinks menu - a lone man was seated right next to us which instantly killed any romantic vibe. With just my handbag separating us, it all felt rather awkward. I hope he didn't feel like a gooseberry.
Anyway, our waitress was pleasant enough and kindly helped me how to pronounce Viognier correctly as I attempted to order a glass of wine, a refreshing and fragrant wine from the Rhone Valley. Previously, I'm sure the bread basket was complementary but now it's £1.95. A sign of the times I guess.
Our starters didn't take long to arrive. A sizeable chunk of chicken liver parfait for my husband with nowhere near enough bread to spread it on (good job we splashed out £1.95 on the baguette and butter) and, for me, one of the specials: scallops noisette, which translates as scallops with smoked bacon and hazelnut butter.
What arrived was a handful of haphazard salad burying two of the three scallops. I checked to see they were all there before tucking in. The scallops were juicy with an attractive golden sear and smothered in nutty butter with whole crunchy hazelnuts. The bacon was missing... it was all very slapdash, none of the usual flair and panache.
I mentioned the lack of bacon to a waiter - at £10.95 I was damned sure I was going to have the completed dish - and within minutes he returned with a dish of bacon bits. Mistakes happen, I told myself, and it was rectified quickly.
After a top up of drinks, the main courses arrived. The decision had been a tough call. Chicken chasseur, poulet-roti and roast pork belly all sounded enticing but I settled upon a new dish of confit duck leg. Apart from steak it was the most expensive dish on the menu at £16.95 so I had high expectations.
As soon as the plate appeared my heart sank. Whoever was plating up could do with a masterclass in presentation. The duck leg looked paltry... or perhaps it was the excessive amount of unattractive cabbage that made it look that way. The meat was OK, nothing to rave about even with the blackberry jus which was neither sweet nor tart. The only good thing I can say about the cabbage was at least the chef managed to remember the bacon this time.
The one saving grace was the small chunk of dauphinoise potatoes, that held together well with a creamy sauce oozing out when sliced into. It was delicious, the best bit of the whole meal.
My husband's moules marinieres had no shortage of mussels in a creamy white wine sauce. I think he got bored towards the end as he said he'd have preferred fewer but bigger ones. The pomme frites were crisp and fluffy but were spoilt by an excessive amount of salt.
I hate knocking hospitality when it's having a tough time but equally when customers are spending nearly £100 at a restaurant, you want it to be right. While there were no major catastrophes, there was a significant number of niggles.
It felt like the shine had gone off this Nottingham institution, that the heart and soul had been ripped out of it. Even down to the ladies toilets with its shabby paintwork, a toilet which sounded like it needed some plumbing attention, and broken taps.
We didn't bother with a dessert. By this time the man next to me had nodded off. We paid the bill, failing to notice a ten percent discretionary tip had been added so we left a tenner on the table as well. At least the staff came out of it well, and, to be fair, the waiting staff were smiley and efficient.
The whole experience just left me leaving sad. As we pulled on our coats to leave, there was no one around to say farewell to so we trundled out into the rain with a full stomach but a heavy heart.
It left me with no desire to return. I hope the powers that be at head office read this review - and the comments from other diners that complain that it's gone downhill - and take note before it's too late.
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