February 07 – Corneil, Au Bascou, Chaumette, 16 Tholozé, Le Winch, La Table d’Anvers, Bouquinistes, Amuse Bouche, Perroquet Vert, La Table de Fabrice, La Cantine de Quentin A real live neighborhood bistrot with good food in Nowheresville 5.75 Corneil, 18 rue Condorcet in the 9th, 01.49.95.92.25, now open for lunch (disregard what Figaro said) and dinner weekdays. John Whiting - where are you now that we need you? This is your place. In the deepest, darkest 9th, you enter a smoky old-time bistro, sort of like walking into a John Wayne movie saloon; the wait-staff are all huddled over the tiny bar finishing their lunches and madly finishing their last ciggies. There are pots of 8 € red wine nicely arrayed on a shelf waiting for the customers, I’m 20 minutes early, so I order one and read my Figaro; this is straight out of a 1950’s cinema; I’m loving it; the wine’s not great but the setting is delicious. My two famous female blogging/eating partners arrive, I’d given both a misspelled address, oh well, dyslexia runs in the family. First thing, thick slices of fatty sausage with crisp cornichons and nothing bread; finished those pretty quickly. The blackboard beckons; we quickly decide on a soup St. Germain (a duck fat based green pea soup that was quite good) and the terrine of Mamie, which was the terrine of your Mamie, for sure, set down to have a volonté. Two of us share a cote de boeuf, which ironically, we’d done at the Bis de Severo a few months ago; guy wants to know how we want it; blue sez I, bleu sez she; done. The other charming lady orders a coq au vin; my back up dish, so I’m delighted. The cote de boeuf was superb, as good as Bobosse’s, the coq au vin better than Chez René’s, my standard. We’re hitting on all cylinders except for some tasteless salad dressing and so-so potatoes. Had a bottle of Cahors, quite OK. Quit there, right. I did, but the ladies moved on to a mi-cuit chocolate and crème brulée with lavender; now, I’m an expert in moelleux and this was not runny like I prefer, but its taste was among the best ever and the crème brulée was terrific, although my fussy companion thought it was over-lavendered. The bill, would you believe it?, was 108 € for three; that’s with 1 bottle and 1 pot of wine, 1 St Pellegrino, but no coffee. Should one go? I can’t think of a reason not to. A nice Basque harbor 5.5 Au Bascou, 38, rue Reamur in the 3rd, 01.42.72.69.25, closed weekends, is a place I’ve had on my list for a long time, at least since April when (who else but) Francois Simon let loose that Bertrand Gueneron, ex-Lucas Carton/Senderens would be moving there. But I had found no one willing to go with me, until now. I’ve not been there in a decade, and reassuringly, it’s unchanged. In any case, my eating companion and I did very well. I like Basque food on principle and Gueneron’s take on it in particular. I began with a piperade, which of course can be stunningly boring, but with this Basque ham they served, it was divine. The Irouleguy started off rough as can be, but softened over the course of the meal. Then she had chipirons on rice, simple eh, had ‘em a thousand times, yup, but these were tender and tasty. And I had the axoa (veal stew) with I don’t even know what spices, but it was super. We ended up sharing their wonderful fruity and hearty ardi-gasna cheese. Coffee, bread and tap water were all respectable. The bill, a very affordable 76 E for two. And you gotta see the Gaudiesque tiling in the toilets, they’re worth the trip. The menu wasn’t bad either (museau, miraton of beef and a choice of cheese or baba; 2 courses for 18 E). Go back. You bet, but first I’ve got to figure out why I didn’t like l’Ami Jean as well. Finally, a bistrot with soul 5.1 Chaumette, 7, rue Gros in the 16th, 01.42.88.29.27, closed Saturday lunch and Sundays, menu at 28 €, a la carte 35-45, with reasonably priced wines, e.g., our Chablis was 26 €. After five solid days of mediocre to bad cooking, we tumbled on a fine place located across the street from Zebra Square and Radio France and down the street from Joel Thibault’s stand in the Rue Gros outdoor market. In any case, while jam-packed, all French-speaking by the way, and some annoying smoking, although we were technically in non-fumeur, my companion and I had a fine meal (why do I say fine, not great?, wait, that’s coming.) It looks ages old and has clearly attracted a huge clientele from the working media nearby. We essentially ordered on and off the menu, choosing stuff from the printed carte, blackboard and lettered specials on the mirror. We started with a just superb salad with sliced Bellotta/Bellotta on top, ringed by perfectly sautéed langoustines and what was a really finely pureed chicken liver that were divine in a sauce we loved but forgot to ask about. We then shared a ½ pheasant in the blackest richest, not-too-sweet port sauce and dorade royal with a cream basil sauce. Only problem – the pheasant was over-cooked for my pal, but OK for me (hummm, it’s usually the reverse). Finally we shared one crème renversee (a special and ironic treat, because my friend lives just across the river from where we were eating, in the Tour Totem, well-known to “French In Action” trivia players as the place where Robert was served a crème renversee.) Now to top it off, they offered us digestives of prune because they had served us the dorade instead of the featured bar with chorizo; I only found out when I inquired where the chorizo was (don’t laugh, Leo Fourneau in Bon Appetit, Messieurs, tells of one malicious chef who served Christian Millau cod instead of the bar on the menu and he (Millau) complimented the chef on the excellent bar). In any case, it was a fine meal costing us 90 €. Should you go? As a friend said in an email today, if you don’t have to cross more than one arrondissement. A niche on Montmartre, but a precious niche. 5.0 16 Tholozé, 16, rue Tholozé in the 18th, 01.42.64.17.86, closed Saturday for lunch, Sunday night and Mondays, is an offshoot of Le Square just down the mountain, a place that I didn’t like a bit, but my friend, the real food critic loved; therefore, being a generous and forgiving man, after reading Pierrick Jegu’s review in l’Express and seeing the photos that one of my favorite bloggers took en passant; we went. The real food critic entered and became orgasmic at the wine selections; I was focused on the carte; between the two of us - we accomplished our mission. The chalkboard looks like that of a thousand other wine bistros but the quality of product and level of cooking moves it way up. We started with two glasses of an assertive white wine with perfect amuse-bouches - confited garlic and Italian capers. Then we split a huge platter of saucisse and saucisson from Conquet in Laguiole; divine; served with butter from Pascal Beillevaire, that my friend had to point me to taste, exquisite - and great almost dried cherry tomatoes from Sicily. And, not that you’ll believe it, but in this far-up-the-hill-joint, they had good crisp, crunchy bread. We had then moved on to a gutsier red – a Cairanne de l’Oratoire St Martin, that was perfect with our shared mains of pork cheeks with lentils and a good tartare of beef with fries, that were about as good as the French can make them. After all that, oh yes, a little, no a lot, of cheese, superb cheese. And of course a bit more wine. Coffee and a goodbye and the bill, I’m embarrassed to say – 96.50 €. Go? Are you kidding? Everyone who reads this goes up the mountain at least once a trip, stop by, you’ll not be disappointed. Surprisingly good, but not on your itinerary 4.75 Le Winch, 44, rue Damrémont in the 18th, 01.42.23.04.63, open 7/7. I’ve been reading about this largely fish place ever since Christophe Huchet, of the Vent d'Ouest in the 17th, took charge. Despite the awful bread, huge schlep and poisonous smoke, this food was good, fresh and honest – and the servers were perfect+, despite the slow kitchen. I ate there with two of my favorite bloggers and we were largely occupied with the current state of publishing, the wines (a Valency I thought was ideal for an aperitif but not for fish) and our mutual friends. We started with two orders of sardines with crisp bread strips and langoustines wrapped in pastry (wonderful); equal indeed to those at the late, great and beloved Bistrot Cote Mer. Then I moved on to as-good-as-they-get scallops with roasted veggies but my co-diners had an even better Breton white fish soup. Then they both had a tarte tatin; not really, I’d describe the dish more as roasted apples with caramel – quite, quite good, ah, really - fabulous. Our bill = 132 € for three. The problem: take a look at your map – it’s way out there. Should you go? Next February, once the smoking laws apply to restos, you should. A nice place if you live nearby 4.5 La Table d’Anvers, 2, place d’Anvers in the 9th, 01.48.78.35.21, which says on its card that it’s open everyday, was recently taken over by Didier Perreault and Nicolas Gay after going through some unexciting times; I recall loving it 15 years ago, but every so often when I passed and inspected the menu since then, I wasn’t blown away. Anyway, Philippe Toinard of A Nous Paris, was. I arrived before my dining partner and liked what I saw except for the wine prices which were bunched between 40 and 55 € with no budget options. It’s 23.90 € for 2 courses and 29.50 € for 3. My co-diner started with eggs in red wine sauce that we both liked and I had sautéed leeks with shavings of Parmesan-type cheese that were very tasty. Then she had salmon with a sauce that I liked but she only ate ½ of. My tagine of chicken with prunes and almonds, however, was spicy and a winner for both of us. We weren’t in the mood for dessert but the coffee was super; the bread ditto. The bill = 88.60 €. Should you go? As I said,……. Food OK, Price/Quality ratio zilch 4.0 Les Bouquinistes, coordinates well known, closed Saturday lunch and Sundays, had been beckoning to me ever since William Ledeuil decamped next door to set up Ze Kitchen Galerie. My food friend didn’t need much convincing to try the new chef at this relatively old place in the midst of tourist heaven. We both entered with a tabula rasa, no preconceptions at all. However, immediately I sensed trouble. Both of us kept switching back and forth between the pages in the menu, having trouble finding stuff we really hankered for, or that sounded interesting. We both ordered the raviolis with shrimp that two folks had recommended to us and the sauce was pretty nice. But when we finished our mains, which we split – a lamb listed in French as cochon de lait and in English as sibling [sic] lamb that was dried out and so-what and perfectly made scallops on the bed of inedible and tough, uncooked risotto with squid ink – he turned and said – “how are you rating it?” – and I answered “I’ll never come back, it was banal, I won’t encourage anyone to go.” Want more? The wines, supposedly one of Savoy’s strengths in buying in bulk, were horribly overpriced. Had enough? The coffee – weak; the mignardises? The what? Where’d they go? Our bill was 140 € and that’s including the cheapest wine on the list and no bottled water. Should One Go? As my friend, the real food critic says, it’s “Not Urgent.” A blast from the past 3.5 l’Amuse Bouche, 186, rue du Chateau in the 14th, 01.43.35.31.61, closed Sundays and Mondays. “Where, how, what? John you’re losing it.” Now, now, there’s an explanation. Everyone knows that old cliché from Casablanca; Captain Renault: What in heaven's name brought you to Casablanca? Rick: My health. I came to Casablanca for the waters. Captain Renault: The waters? What waters? We're in the desert. Rick: I was misinformed. As all eG France Forum members now know, I eat at new places 9 months out of 12 and only go back to golden oldies when my wife Colette is in town. So how is it that I found myself in a place older than time, where the copper pots on the wall have a patina on their patina? Good question. A friend told me it was new, or told me something about it was new, or I conflated it with another place nearby that was new, or, or, or. In any case, here I was entering a place we all normally wouldn’t be caught dead in unless it was next door to our hotel/apartment and we were ready to drop after a day’s walking through the entire Louvre. Nice enough, sure, and the walls were freshly painted orange with green trim (maybe that’s what my friend meant by new.) But the husband and wife team who run this Mom & Pop place weren’t born yesterday - it’s tiny, seating only 24 covers and the food was rather traditional. The “menu” is 31.50 € for three courses and the wines run 4-5.50 € a glass. They do serve amuse bouches and they’re not Gagnaire-gamme but they’re OK. And, they serve Chateldon, always a sign of high tone aspirations. I ordered the ecrevisse tails on a nice looking salad with haricots verts, nice but, gag, so much salt in addition to the balsamic vinegar, that one did indeed gag. Why put it so liberally on such good product? There are no sins to hide here. Oh well, soldier on to the biche with morilles and groseilles, ordered “rosé towards blue” as always: nope, but not too overcooked and with a nice forcemeat of cabbage. It suddenly dawns on me: this is the meal of my dreams in 1953; this is heaven after “the” war, this is as it was; but I’ve moved on and they haven’t. So, since I’d already ordered the dessert (a wonderful, perfect, 1950’s soufflé with chestnuts,) I sucked it up, relaxed and took it for what it was, a trip to past glories. Was it horrible? No. Would I go back? No. Would I send my grandkids? Ahhhh, yes, just maybe, so they’d see how it was done in times past with huge portions, classic combinations and lots of butter and cream. The bill, with two glasses of wine and a coffee (not bad) and mignardises out of the frigo runs one an easy 42.40 €. I’ve awarded them an extra point for making a whole lunch for the proprietaire of a boutique next door who took it out under a napkin – now that’s classy. Should One Go? See above No hustle, no bustle, bland food, but great company 3.0 Perroquet Vert, 7, rue Cavallotti in the 18th, 01.45.22.49.16, lunch served Tuesday-Friday, dinner from Monday-Saturday. This was one of the most wonderful meals of the year – I ate with two eGullet members who were delightful and we talked nonstop through three courses and cheese and 3 pichets of Bergerac. It was the first day smoking was banned in all the public places in France, except bars and restos, and the clientele was making sure everyone knew that this French exception survived. And, the food John? Ah, there’s the rub. I thought that the waits for our first and then second courses were a sign that the kitchen had broken down, but no, it was just weak. The entrees were variable; the foie gras was as good as all of us had ever had, the rillettes of salmon standard but good product and the warm chicken gizzards and hearts gave the cold lentil “salad” a nice touch. But the mains were pathetic: an absolutely tasteless rouget, a thinly sliced and overcooked (despite instructions) strip of veal liver and a piece of pork that was so undistinguished that I ate several pieces before one of us realized he had ordered it not me. Saving grace: the potatoes with the liver were crisp and delicious and the coffee terrific, though again, not as I had asked. I stopped writing at this point and the desserts and cheese will therefore mercifully be omitted from my report. I gotta say this for the place, though – it was cheap – 113 € for 3. Should One Go? Not unless you have great companions. What can I say? Lasserre, Robuchon and Senderens Trained? But not enuf. 1.1 La Table de Fabrice, 13, quai de la Tournelle in the 5th, 01.44.07.17.57, closed Sundays. Oh boy, did I get suckered into this one. Emmanuel Rubin gave it one heart a year ago and I should have heeded the call. But subsequently, Pudlo, Margaret Kemp and Alexandre Lobrano all seemed to like it, at least a bit, and last week Vincent Noce of Liberation wrote of the chef’s origins – an Italian mother and French father and finally, my friend the real food critic said (once again) “Yes, why not?” Oh boy, or did I say that already? Leo Fourneau (Bon Appetit, Messieurs, Grasset, Paris 2006, 16.90 €) says (p 38) that being a food critic is all repetition and comparison. So it’s his fault; I’ve gotta have someone to blame for this miserable experience. OK. I enter, great endroit; second floor overlooking the Seine, sort of a poor man’s Tour d’Argent, which is actually just a few doors down. Low beamed ceilings, charming welcome; all well, until the only other table in the whole huge bloody restaurant lights up and the six foot ceiling pushes the smoke quickly throughout. No ventilator within sight. Beat a hasty retreat downstairs and install self near kitchen. Order. Kind of banal menu – 40 € menu-carte but the good stuff is on the very, very much pricier carte (natch). Amuse-gueule = a brandade of morue, just right, who wants the two pounds of it that they usually serve? The foie gras, however, was another matter, it was among the worst ever – Fourneau said compare eh, well, just a few days ago with Jessikka, I had divine foie gras at half the price, so there! Ris de veau arrives, my thing – but is this one more exposure to the frozen world I never knew existed – it exudes water and has a sweet sauce – with sweetbreads? Yuk. And it was served with soggy, not crisp potatoes. If this guy had settled somewhere else, in the teens for instance (13th, 14th, 15th) he could have perhaps made it with a 20 € menu, but this was ridiculous. 5 covers = death = bye, bye. Oh yah, I have a hunch the house knows it’s doomed because the chefs kept disappearing down the cellar steps without bringing anything back up, so while I don’t want to incur a libel suit for the eGullet Society, something besides food is going on. In retrospect, despite the inflated prices that come from the neighborhood, (e.g., 65 € plus a la carte,) the posting of positive reviews from obscure publications in the window should have tipped me off. Should you go? Did you read this review?” 1.0 La Cantine de Quentin, 52, rue Bichat in the 10th, 01.42.02.40.32, open Tuesdays to Sundays from 9 AM to 8 PM has been getting so much buzz my ears are sore. It advertises itself as a deli, wine store and restaurant as well as establishment providing a chef to go to your home, private dinners, cocktails, breakfasts and business gifts (I swear - it’s all on their card). I called for a reservation, never got through; I went and got the last seat by the door; fully booked with lotsa Anglos. Should be great, eh? In the midst of Bobo-land, nice view of the canal, Moms and Pops pushing carriages, kid comes up and parks his tricycle at the door, waving goodbye to it as he enters to eat, I’m charmed. Bread arrives – awful. Order terrine made here – bleached out, white, bland, nul with cornichons from Franprix; salad nice though; but no decent bread to eat it with. Order safe bet – confit de canard with potatoes; must’ave been frozen, because it was dripping moisture and tasted soggy; potatoes not crisp. I am not happy. So order crème brulee with chestnuts – not bad. Weak Richard coffee but the highlight of the meal arrives – little chocolate covered raisins which have been soaked in Sauternes – outstanding. But 45 € for 12 chocolate covered raisins? I don’t get it; OK so it’s Bobo-land; it got good play by the media; it’s in a lovely part of the city and my walk back was enchanting – but these guys who trained with Guy Savoy should eat at Les Papilles, which gives you double the pleasure for half the price. This is one reason ratings are so tricky - I mean, Rubin awarded it 2-hearts, and I suppose if I’d paid 14 € for the weekday lunch menu, I’d recommend it to my starving back-packing relatives, but never to the hip young couple from Manhattan whose favorite place is Perry Street or those hedge-funders from San Jose staying at the Crillion or even my parents’ friends from Chicago. Should one go? Who do you believe; all the critics or me?
