I had to check because I thought my mind might be playing tricks, but there used to be a French restaurant chain called Pierre Victoire, the Côte of its day, thirty years ago. I remember eating in the Nottingham branch when I lived there at the turn of the last century, and I’m pretty sure Reading had one too. Perhaps readers with even longer memories than mine can correct me if I’m wrong, but I seem to recall it was on St Mary’s Butts, where Favourite Chicken is now. Anyway, also around the turn of the century the chain went bust leaving just one outpost, on Little Clarendon Street in Oxford, as the only survivor.

And it’s still going strong.

It’s approaching its thirtieth birthday in a couple of years, and I can’t remember a time in my restaurant-going life, really, when it wasn’t there. It’s been an ever-present across the past two decades, constant as my life has shifted and changed, and I’ve had countless lunches and dinners there, with family and with friends. Back when I didn’t review places outside Reading, it was my venue of choice for eating in Oxford, especially pre-theatre before watching something at the wonderful Oxford Playhouse. But there were more than a few boozy evenings there too: I still remember the horror and confusion of an American friend I lost in the divorce, trying snails for the first time.

Just as my life has changed in that time, the topography of Oxford has too. Little Clarendon Street used to be the epicentre of Oxford, for me, where everything was going on. It had Pierre Victoire, a great little tapas place next door and ice cream café George & Davis opposite, a brilliant interiors shop called Central and another little shop across the way called Ottoman selling cool bits and bobs. At night it was criss-crossed with fairy lights, just a magnificent place to be.

And then the years intervened and other parts of Oxford got more interesting – Jericho just around the corner, Summertown further north, the explosion of interesting restaurants and coffee down the Cowley and Iffley roads. I found myself more likely to have lunch at Arbequina and coffee at Peloton, or to amble down North Parade before a reservation at Pompette. The Westgate, a shopping development that makes the Oracle look sad and tired, altered Oxford’s landscape too. Little Clarendon Street by contrast didn’t really change, both its biggest strength and weakness.

But in recent times the pendulum has swung back, and heading to Pierre Victoire last Saturday for a late solo lunch I was struck by the fact that Little Clarendon Street is having another moment. Central may have closed, but next door social enterprise and excellent café Common Ground was doing a roaring trade. Across the way, The Jericho Cheese Company was full of lactic treats to take home and newish bottle shop and restaurant Wilding, where the Café Rouge of my student days used to be, looked very tempting. And there, familiar and unchanged, was Pierre Victoire: I was surprised by how gladdened I was to see it.

Pierre Victoire only opens for lunch Friday to Sunday nowadays, and it’s a tribute to how popular the place is that when I rang in the week to make a lunch booking pretty much all they had left was a table at quarter to two. And the place was humming with life and conversation when I stepped through the front door. The ground floor dining room goes back a long way and I seem to remember they have another dining room upstairs, or they certainly used to. I’m pretty sure these bare brick walls predate any trend for exposed bricks: it’s that sort of place.

But the tables at the front, with daylight, are the plum ones. Mine, literally tucked behind the front door, had “table for one” written all over it but gave a great view of the room and the happy diners of North Oxford. A table for six was making a meal of settling their bill, and the staff were perfectly attentive and friendly, showing no frustration. A steady stream of diners came in even after me – some with bookings, others chancing their arm on spec. All of the latter were turned away: an establishment this busy at 2pm on a Saturday afternoon has cracked something which eludes many restaurants, including a lot of the ones I review.

Pierre Victoire offers a prix fixe menu for lunch and dinner, and they differ slightly in terms of how much choice you get and the type of dishes: for instance, duck confit is on the lunch menu, while it’s magret de canard for dinner. The price varies too – lunch is about twenty pounds for two courses and twenty-five for three, whereas dinner is closer to thirty and thirty-five. Back when Pierre Victoire was open for weekday lunches I think it was even more affordable, but back when Pierre Victoire was open for weekday lunches literally everything was more affordable: I’m not sure how helpful that comparison is, really.

In any event the menu was full of French classics, many of which I’ve tried over the years – onion soup, chicken liver parfait, moules, escargots, steak frites and so on. I was a little jaded after an evening on the wine with a friend the night before, so I swerved the wine list on this occasion and instead opted for a fortifying Orangina. It came in the classic, original bottle and I wondered, short of Perrier and Fanta Limon, whether any non-alcoholic drink had as great a capacity to transport you as Orangina does. My body needed the sugars, that was for certain. The staff also brought a jug of iced tap water without me having to ask. Either they do this as standard or I looked as off the pace as I felt: either way, it was appreciated.

The other thing they always bring without you having to ask at Pierre Victoire is bread. Not ubiquitous sourdough: sourdough has completely passed Pierre Victoire by, or rather it’s above such things. No, you get a little basket of cheap, plain baguette with some decent butter which came out of the fridge a little too recently. But it’s always ambrosial; like the Orangina, like the hubbub, there’s something of elsewhere about the whole thing. You’re simultaneously mentally very much in Oxford and across the Channel, both of which are pleasant experiences.

My normal order at Pierre Victoire would be the chicken liver parfait, which comes in a little sphere with brioche toast and sweet, sticky, jammy red onion. But I was trying to be less predictable for once, so I chose the one vegan dish on the menu, a fricasée of mushrooms. It came out mere minutes after I’d ordered – I’d forgotten how brisk, how well oiled a machine Pierre Victoire is at lunchtime – and was a lovely and delicate piece of work. The decision to put it in a little chalice of filo pastry was a clever one which added texture, as did resting the whole lot on what I assume was a splodge of butternut squash purée.

I wasn’t sure about the tangle of pea shoots – one or two restaurants I love tend to overuse these as punctuation and I wish they wouldn’t – but overall it worked nicely. The mushrooms themselves, a mixture of wild and button if the menu was to be believed, were in a sauce with cognac and a little sweetness, but I found it slightly thin. It needed the cosseting touch of cream, I reckoned. But then it wouldn’t have been vegan, and that was the box it was ticking on the menu. Even so it was polished off in minutes, and there was just enough bread to mop up the last of the sauce.

If I’d chosen a curveball as a starter, I played safe for the main. I don’t think I’ve ever been to Pierre Victoire for lunch and not seen duck confit on the menu, and it’s rare for me not to order it there. I don’t understand why more places, especially pubs, don’t serve duck confit: it’s so easy to get right and such a joy to eat. There’s always plenty of meat, it always falls off the bone to the point where picking it clean is a meticulous delight and, done well, you get that crispy skin and that subcutaneous, glossy fat. Confit duck, as it happens, is one of the options on the menu for my wedding later in the year, and it will take all my strength not to pick it.

I really love how Pierre Victoire serves duck confit, too, with just the two accompaniments. A brick of rosti, which in this case was maybe a tiny bit too soggy and not crispy enough, and a bitter orange sauce which brought everything together beautifully. Good luck finding duck à l’orange anywhere on a menu these days – it’s one of those relics of the past, at least in this country – but Pierre Victoire’s smart, affordable take on it is all you really need.

It was a perfect, simple pleasure and it made me very glad to be at that table, in that room, in that restaurant, in that city, exactly where I should be. My paperback (an Anne Tyler I’d never read) stayed untouched throughout my meal because when I wasn’t eating, or taking pictures, I was too busy enjoying where I was. Watching the staff, so on it and so harmonious, always in control without being mechanical. And looking at my fellow diners, imagining their stories and their lives outside this little parcel of Saturday afternoon where we all happened to be in the same place.

As I said, Pierre Victoire is nothing if not efficient – I’d be surprised if I was the first customer at that table that lunch service, and I saw other tables turned while I was there. But they never made me feel processed, and I gave the dessert menu serious consideration before deciding to settle up. It’s more compact than the choice for the other two courses, and a crêpe au citron called to me, but not loud enough. My bill for the two courses and that iconic Orangina set me back twenty-two pounds fifty, not including tip. Pierre Victoire maybe isn’t the bargain it once was, but I’m not sure I want restaurants I like to be bargains any more. I want them to survive.

Don’t be fooled by the rating below (I know you’ve probably already scrolled down and checked). Yes, I gave Pierre Victoire a 7.3, but what I would say is that there are 7.3s and then there are 7.3s. There are the expensive restaurants where dinner or lunch costs you the best part of three figures and you think “well, it was okay”, and there are cheap and cheerful places where you come away thinking that your hosts have surpassed, or possibly even transcended, your expectations. And yet Pierre Victoire, would you believe, is neither of those things.

No, what Pierre Victoire is is that rarest of beasts, a truly consistent restaurant. I can honestly say that the last time I went there was every bit as good as this time – and not just that, but every bit as good in exactly the same way. The time before was too, and I dare say the next time will be as well. And there will be a next time, the next instalment in a series of meals that started something like twenty years ago and, if I’m lucky, will go on for many more.

Your mileage may vary, but for my money that’s worth a dozen culinary comets or flashes in the pan. I’d say that every town should have a place like Pierre Victoire, although travelling to Oxford is really no hardship. And I’d almost go one step further and say that every town should have a Pierre Victoire, but that’s dangerous nonsense: it is, as we know, how chains get started. Pierre Victoire doesn’t need that. It’s already been there, done that, got the t-shirt – and then moved on, a long time ago, to far better things.

Pierre Victoire – 7.3
9 Little Clarendon St, Oxford, OX1 2HP
01865 316616

https://pierrevictoire.co.uk