(dishes are subject to changes due to market avaibilities) available everyday.
Min: 2 people
Max: 6 people
Expires: 31 Jul 2013
(dishes are subject to changes due to market avaibilities) available everyday.
Min: 2 people
Max: 6 people
Expires: 31 Jul 2013
‘Slightly quirky' and squirreled away down a non-descript alleyway, Chabrot lives and breathes la vie parisienne with striped teacloths on the tables, monochrome photos and some ‘great' regional wines – although it doesn't feel the least bit contrived or touristy. Service (often from the owner himself) is personable and personal, with a great deal of respect for the finer points – the best sort of Gallic attention. The food is also exactly what you'd hope to find, and it's done to a standard that almost makes you forgive the SW1 prices. Stay with the democratic staples – home-cured salmon, Bayonne ham, confit duck, veal paillard with sage – or look for the big guns on the menu: ‘the best pan-fried foie gras ever', côte de boeuf, or whole sea bass baked in salt.
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FoodiesOnTheProwl FoodiesOnTheProwl :: Chabrot Bistrot D’Amis, Dec 2012
We had visited Chabrot Bistrot d’Amis once before and enjoyed the experience, but didn’t get to try too many of their dishes. This time we were keen to try out some more and see how it lined-up with our taste buds. Chabrot Bistrot d’Amis is located around the Knightsbridge area and is a perfect place to go for lunch before doing some last minute Christmas shopping at Harrods, etc. The interior is very cosy, ‘wintery-warm’ and makes you feel right at home...
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The Hedonist :: Review-Chabrot Bistrot d’Amis
Tucked away in a hidden bijou alley off Knightsbridge sits Chabrot Bistrot d’Amis, an unpretentious gem of a restaurant that ticks most of the boxes that you could hope for from your fantasy local bistrot. The tablecloth is red and white, the chairs are darkwood and bowbacked, the seating intimate and the menu reads like a greatest hits of bistrot classics. In fact it is only the clientele, the usual international Knightsbridge mix, that breaks the illusion that you aren’t in a prosperous bourgeois little town somewhere indeterminate in Southwest France. There’s a couple of wealthy looking blonde women speaking in Spanish checking out the men in the room; an older chap from somewhere in the Levant sports an unlikely toupee and has a much younger woman as his dining companion, she is nodding far too attentively to be his daughter; and then there is an English couple. The husband is showing off. He shouts his order in an exaggerated French accent as his wife looks away. She has a dead look in her eyes.The waiters, displaying considerable sang-froid, reply in English just to wind him up...
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