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3 days ago
5
Not one soul in Stroud, Gloucestershire, will not thank me for my visit to Juliet. Despite being a magnet for the Cotswolds arts scene, the town has long slid under the radar of most folk fleeing London in search of fresh air. Deal, Aldeburgh, Hastings? Absolutely. But Stroud? Not so much.
But now there is Juliet, complete with a back story that will prick the ears of all right-thinking foodie types, because this is an all-day modern European bistro dreamed up by the sculptor Daniel Chadwick. It serves mousse de canard with a translucent layer of glorious fat to spread on fresh baguette, bowls of clams with chickpeas and girolles, and devilled eggs with trout roe. If you’re an early bird, Juliet opens from 9.30am Monday to Saturday for coffee and freshly baked madeleines.
Chadwick, whose other joint is the Woolpack, a much-loved hostelry in Slad just up the road, is my favourite type of hospitality character. He is vision-led, distinctly non-corporate and propelled by an urge to take old things and re-love them. For many decades, the Woolpack was famous for being the favourite watering hole of the author Laurie Lee. It could have closed down or become a soulless tourist trap, but in Chadwick’s hands it is back to being a working, breathing, archly boho local boozer with a history, a library, a crackling fire, a fabulous menu and outdoor loos with cold seats that certainly woke me up when I spent a penny there in deepest winter a couple of years ago.
Juliet, meanwhile, is fresh evidence of just what happens when Chadwick “has a good idea”. He has whisked several of the Woolpack team into town, including chefs Adam Glover and Oliver Gyde, and installed a fabulous front-of-house in Ophélie Théberge, a wine expert who apparently was actually born on a vineyard. Their new restaurant lives in the former Stroud Music Centre, a well-established, albeit neglected venue that’s perched on a corner not far from the train station and is now painted bright white.
If the Woolpack is rustic and errs on the rough and ready, Juliet is its la-di-da cousin with combed hair. It has a crisp, pale, stylish decor and an atmosphere – and wine list – that lures you in to enjoy the “service non-stop” as the French still often call it. After those 9.30am madeleines and coffees, you can shift to a Suze and tonic while perusing the plat du jour, which on the day we visited was freshly made bullets of cavatelli in a rich duck ragu; on other days there have been mackerel in bisque and polenta with braised lamb and olives. In a discreet side room, named “the Piano Room”, there’s an upright joanna and convivial tinkling while you eat one of the daily offerings of bavette with peppercorn sauce and a side of ratte potatoes.
Juliet, which is named after Chadwick’s wife, is one of those places where diners can lose track of time. We arrived at 1pm and left at 3.30pm, by which time some of the other diners seemed to have already bedded in for the evening. We began with a round of alcohol-free clementine gimlets and some crisp, herby sage panisse, followed by a round of ouefs mayonnaise with large, salty Cantabrian anchovies – the glossy, thick and fresh mustardy mayo was a particular delight. As was the smooth, rich earthiness of that pink duck mousse, which showcased beautiful, precise cooking.
A bowl of baked delica squash dripped with a rich tapenade of olive oil and almond, while a bowl of homemade pickled carrot, cauliflower and endive was just the right amount of bite, sharpness and sweetness. I was less fond of the artichoke barigoule, although my friend Hugh disagreed and gobbled it up. To his credit, though, he did give me the biggest share of the day’s plat. I adore fresh cavatelli – they have all the plump, sating qualities of gnocchi, but without the fluffiness of potato. Here at Juliet they came in abundance in that rich, pleasantly unrefined duck stew.
As we ordered dessert, the other guests didn’t seem to notice that day was turning to night outside. Passersby walked in and joined tables. Speaking of dessert, special acknowledgment has to be made to Juliet’s apple tarte tatin, because it’s one of the best I have ever demolished. Tarte tatin is a tricky beast, but Juliet’s is caramelised to the point of deepest mahogany, while the fruit somehow still retains its structure, and the thin, crisp pastry cuts in perfect slices. Served with chantilly, it was breathtaking.
Juliet is seriously worth a schlep to Stroud, but you had better book well in advance. Right now, it seems, the locals are settling in for winter.
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Juliet 49 London Road, Stroud, Gloucestershire, 01453 367019. Open Mon-Sat, lunch noon-2.30pm, dinner 6-9.30pm (bar menu noon-9.30pm). From about £40 a head à la carte, plus drinks and service
