A Soho institution has reopened after a refurb – and it’s very much business as usual, much to the relief of its loyal fans.

The Venue
This bar and brasserie has dispensed cocktails, breakfasts, lunches, afternoon teas, oh-so-French three-course dinners and post-theatre suppers to its out-on-the-town clientele since 1992. It has just reopened after a makeover and the good news is….nothing much has changed. The bar is still busy and buzzy and the two small, connecting dining rooms intimate, relaxed and more French than Sacha Distel singing La Marseillaise attired in a beret and necklace of onions.

The Atmosphere
Even on a weeknight, it’s advisable to book, as the cloth-less, close-packed bistro tables don’t remain empty for long. Sound bounces off the mosaic-tiled floors, so hearing your dining companion can be a problem, particularly if your neighbours are members of Soho’s self-assured, braying media community. The staff, some flaunting reassuring French accents, are professional and friendly. Service can be a tad slow – unsurprisingly, perhaps, considering the constant turnover of customers – but the vibe is so relaxed, it doesn’t much matter. Party girls, posh couples and gay guys (the restaurant is on London’s gayest thoroughfare) all bring their individual je ne sais quoi to this French party.

The Food
The menu is a simple, single sheet divided into starters, egg dishes, sandwiches, tartines (things on toast), salads (available as starters or main courses), mains, mains from the grill, side orders and desserts. It suggests, very clearly, as an authentic French brasserie menu should, that you don’t have to order three courses every time you come: if you just fancy a croquet monsieur (£5) or smoked salmon with scrambled eggs (£8), that’s fine.

A generous bowl of hot and comforting pea and sorrel soup, at a very modest £4, had a lovely old-fashioned feel to it, almost as if it were made with split peas rather than fresh. It’s hard to detect the sorrel, although better too little than too much of such a sharp, potentially overpowering, lemony ingredient. Half a dozen snails (£7) are as big and juicy as one could hope for, not a bit rubbery, and suitably swimming in garlic, parsley and melted butter.

Mains are mixed. The steak of the steak frites is a bit chewy and dry despite being ordered (and served) medium rare. Extra mastication can be worth the effort if meat is bursting with flavour, but this isn’t. It comes with a bowl of slightly over-vinegary Bearnaise and a separate tub of impeccably skinny, crisp pommes frites. Despite the generous portion size, this is £17 disappointingly spent. Far, far better is a whole bream (£12 plus £3.50 for a side of those fabulous frites). The bream has been boned and stuffed with chopped fennel which is meltingly soft and of sufficiently mild aniseed flavour not to overpower the delicate, juicy, white fish flesh – a triumph! The menu describes this dish merely as ‘whole royal bream, olive oil and lemon’, so anyone who is not a fennel fan – and fennel is surely a love-or-hate thing, the Marmite of the vegetable world – is in for a shock. Similarly, if they inserted the world ‘boned’ into their description, they might sell more portions, to fish bone phobics. Having said that, the no-nonsense, prosaic menu descriptions are generally to be applauded: beetroot, lentil, walnut and goat’s cheese (£7/£11), lamb gigot, flageolet beans (£14) or confit de canard (£13) all sound sufficiently enticing without additional verbiage.

Puddings (all at £5) are also uneven. Chocolate mousse is exactly that, a generous but utterly unadorned portion sitting in a stemmed glass dish. Unfortunately, it has an odd, grainy texture and not a particularly deep chocolate flavour. Coupe Boheme turns out to be an implausibly large glass of well-flavoured coffee ice cream, with a (cold) toffee sauce and gorgeous little nuggets of caramelised nuts. Topping it with whipped cream is perhaps unwise, as the cream might freeze before the dessert arrives. That tiny cavil aside, this is a delicious, fun, festive dessert.

The Drink
The wine list – again, a simple, single-page list of names with no fancy descriptions – contains 73 varieties. Every one is French, and the word France appears 14 times, just in case you overlooked that fact. Six whites and six reds are available by the 175ml glass (£3.50 - £8.50) or 500ml pichet (jug) (£9 - £23). A bottle of house white, red or rose is £12.50. The cheapest fizz is Saumur Brut Rose at £27 (or a tempting £4.75 per glass). Advertising executives giving their expense account a good work-out might prefer the top-priced white, a Corton Charlemagne Grand Cru, Domaine Chevalier 2004 at £95, or, from the reds, Chateau Pichon Longueville, Baron, Pauillac, Grand Cru Classe, 1998 at £115. Back in the real world, a Minervois, Chateau du Donjon is inky, smooth and typically French: reasonable value at £23 but certainly no bargain.

The Last Word
Cafe Boheme’s legions of fans will heave a double sigh of relief to know that their guaranteed good time standby venue is back, and that its gloriously Gallic heart and soul haven’t been ripped out. More evenness in the food would elevate it from bonne to vraiment formidable.

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