Capitaine Cook in Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat – the authentic taste of Old France
The France of our parent’s generation is almost a different country, the France of my early years. Smoky bars and Les Routiers restaurants (targeted at passing lorry drivers an transport professonals), the air thick with the smell of Gauloises and Gitanes cigarettes, with their stylish, Gallic blue emblems, the food usually presented as affordable prix fixe menus with 5 or more courses, usually finished off with a cheeky cognac or home-made mystery tipple. These places were usually run by mercurial, matriarchal ladies, who were fiercely proud of their establishment, but brooked no dissent. But in the last two decades, France has had suffered from a crise de conscience. Food has become susceptible to the changing fashions, and the French, keen to try to stay ahead of the game, have embraced international cuisine (often with stronger, spicier Asian influences), eschewing a century or more of food traditions that put France at the number one spot. Escoffier could be turning in his grave. So the more traditional menus, with creamy sauces, butter fried mains, and yummy deserts served with lashings of crème anglaise are out. Except, here, at the Capitaine Cook, in Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat, where old skool French cuisine is alive and well.
Let’s start by making it clear, this is not a Les Routiers restaurant, and you won’t be bothered by the smell of cigarettes (one definite French step in the right direction). But the Capitain Cook is run by a matriarchal figure and her talented chef husband, she is very proud of her restaurant, and she does run the place with a pretty firm hand.
“Here at the Capitaine Cook old school French cuisine is alive and well…”
The dining room is spotlessly clean and very traditional – reassuringly old fashioned – with doilies and silk flowers at the tables, and Captain Cook themed memorabilia on the walls. Given that the Captain was probably more used to eating dried biscuits than trad French food, its hard to understand the relevance of this acclaimed explorer. In fact, there turns out to be a sweet back story. Originally opened in the late 70s, the Capitain Cook was just a bar, a little down at heel. The current owners bought the establishment in the mid-eighties, and turned it into a restaurant, without giving too much thought to the name. But, starting with a framed portrait of James Cook himself, clients started to bring in memorabilia as little gifts for the owner. Gradually the collection has grown, including some artifacts from a now-closed Cook museum, and so the name just had to stay. Any hint of gimmickry has now been replaced by a reputation for excellent food which reduces the captain’s influence to the mere quirky. For the most part, diners prefer the pretty front terrace courtyard and rear courtyard, both sheltered from out-of-season winds, trapping the sun even during the winter months, and providing refreshing shade during the summer. The front tables provide perfect people-watching spots, and diners can relax and watch the gentle pace of Cap Ferrat life pass by, with locals and tourists heading to the beaches or out for a gentle stroll.
Service at Capitaine Cook is professional and prompt – although you may find it difficult to reserve because during busy periods the matriarch is inclined to take the phone off the hook in protest to the ‘infernal ringing’. The menu is a joy, a celebration of unfashionable but mouthwateringly tasty old school French cuisine, presented in the faithful prix fixe format and offering outstanding value for money – menus are at €33 and €37 for three courses. Starters such as home made ravioli stuffed with salmon, served in a cheesy/creamy sauce, fresh oysters, rabbit pâté or stuffed mussels are fresh and copious. The mains include grilled sea bream (true to tradition, you’ll get a whole fish if you order a la carte, a smaller portion on the menu), served in a delightfully seasoned butter sauce with little fried potatoes, pintade in cream sauce, or a perfect bouillabaisse, which on its own can transport you back to 1979 in a wave of tasty nostalgia. This is the sort of restaurant where you’ll return time and time again, and, having read the whole menu, order the exact same as last time. It’s that tasty.
“This restaurant really is an absolute treasure… don’t take the risk of missing out on this authentic taste of real France…”
Desserts include a delicious homemade chocolate orange cake – yes, with lashings of crème anglaise (cold custard if you’re 1970s British), homemade tarte tatin and an original (and delicious) creation, raspberry and strawberry soup. Deserts are preceded by some little biscuits which, despite being pretty full whilst ‘leaving space’, you’ll quickly devour. The wine menu is limited but civilized, with chilled Provençal roses and whites leading the charge – a bottle of Figuière blanc priced at under €40 seems to do just the job. The meal is rounded off with a small glass of digestif offert (free), which arrives in a beautiful bottle that seems to be made out of frozen flowers, and tastes divine (always worth asking if one can purchase a bottle to take home, although it will just be standard glass). As the meal comes to the end, the bills are presented in little fake books made to look as if they may hold a treasure map – an amusing if futile final nod towards gimmickry. But there’s a gentle, humorous irony there, because this restaurant really is an absolute treasure. As the proprietors age, you worry – what will happen when they decide to retire? Will this – almost – last bastion of unapologetic old school Frenchness just disappear, or will there be someone who believes enough to carry the torch? For the moment we’re not taking any chances – we eat here often – and we recommend you don’t take the risk of missing out on this authentic taste of the real France. See you there!