La cuisine de grand-mère seems to be en vogue at the moment. Claude Bosi’s Josephine Bouchon, named after his grandmother, has certainly resonated with London’s diners – so much so he has a second branch opening in Marylebone soon (while his somewhat colder and more aloof Socca has already closed down). Perhaps squeezed disposable incomes partly explain this shift towards a comfort food middle-ground; perhaps we just need a break from the doomscrolling about the latest nefarious “broligarchy” (itself a neologism as hideous as its tech constituents). We may be too shy to admit it but with everything going wrong in the world we need a familial hug in culinary form, and in that respect Josette delivers in spades.
Technically, Josette is not a new restaurant; it all goes back to French founder François Guerin who, at the ludicrously young age of 22, started a stall in Exmouth Market in 2015. That eventually became his first bricks-and-mortar restaurant, La Petite Ferme (where Josette is now), which over the ensuing decade weathered the Brexit storm and fought stiff competition with neighbours The Quality Chop House and Quality Wines. Opening in such a location requires a point of difference and with great entrepreneurial spirit he made raclette its USP (it’s still on the menu). But with rising costs restaurants have had to adapt and evolve; necessity is the (grand)mother of (re)invention. Hence, it underwent a bit of a re-brand in late 2024, bringing it line with the sister restaurant François and his business partners acquired in 2020 (the frankly unimprovable Paulette in Maida Vale), both of which now honour their grandmothers.
I was quite taken by the whole experience at Josette
Visually it’s quite similar to its counterpart in Maida Vale, having engaged Jaillon Studio to create a zhuzhed up version of Réné’s Café in ‘Allo ‘Allo with antique plates, a grandfather clock, Marie Antoinette coupes and a colour scheme of warm reds and verdant greens; it’s a busier look and feel than, say, the café au lait monochrome of Bouchon Racine down the road. Perhaps the design feels a little overwrought in places, but at least the lighting is pitched at the right (i.e. low) level, there are alcoves where they stash Chartreuse (this is where it’s all hiding folks), and most importantly, noticeable from the moment you walk in, is that heavenly waft of cheese – a fromagian perfume so strong it would penetrate the most robust of medical-grade face masks. Whether contrived or not, it’s immediately clear from the cordial welcome that Josette is a lovely place, full of heart.
The food backed up my initial assessment. To start, the incontournables from moules marinières to escargots in garlic butter were all present and correct but on this visit it had to be the Vacherin Mont d’Or rôti – well, why not start with cheese? (In any case, apart from the braised leeks and onion soup, it’s about the only dish to feature vegetables here.) At first, I felt slightly short-changed by its size but appearances can be deceptive. This was a small but perfectly formed dish of deliciousness.
Tartiflette is one of my all-time favourite classics, and if I was going to emulate the Alps episode of Parts Unknown where Eric Ripert and Anthony Bourdain eat nothing but cheese, I would’ve gone for it, but it was only right to test Josette’s non-cheese cooking abilities. Pleasingly, the filet de boeuf was perfectly medium rare as requested and the mushroom sauce herby and heady, though the fries were slightly anaemic, clearly needing a bit more love in the fryer. A pity about the chips but £39 for the whole dish, and bearing in mind the cut of beef, seemed reasonable for Clerkenwell.
A pity too that they don’t do Paulette’s sublime profiteroles here (where extra chocolate sauce can be poured on request) but sibling restaurants should have their own identity. Here, the desserts are equally simple (and yes, there’s yet more cheese). Pain perdu may not be the most challenging of desserts but I couldn’t fault this one. When it arrived a member of staff was worried about its scruffy appearance, saying sorry for the Chantilly cream splodging its way all over yesterday’s revived bread, but this is like apologising for the ice cream melting in an affogato. It’s supposed to be rustic and that’s utterly fine. The apology was quite sweet though and just showed their desire to please customers.
That said, service was at times a little disjointed on this visit and a bit more care in certain places would pay dividends, such as ensuring the Champagne is cooled down sufficiently. Free bread (in the true French way) wouldn’t go amiss; they do that at The Devonshire, Mignonette and The 10 Cases so it’s not impossible, but times are tough so I will let that slide. I’m not a massive fan of Champagne coupes either as the wide surface area causes the fizz to dissipate, though that’s more personal preference.
Those tiny ‘notes’ aside, I was quite taken by the whole experience at Josette. And when we need to hide from Musk’s AI robot army and the world’s Chartreuse supplies are in peril, I know where to go.
102-104 Farringdon Road
London
EC1R 3EA
February 2025