Loulou in Cros-de-Cagnes

[Steve Plotnicki]

I’ve been eating at Loulou since 1985. It was the Gault Millau review back then that made my eyes light up. They said that Loulou had a magic grill or something to that effect. And then in the Courvoisier Guide to the “Best” in the world, Andrew Lloyd Weber raved about the place. I just had to go. Well Loulou turned out to be better than I ever imagined. And since the time of my first visit, I must have eaten a few dozen meals there. And as I sit here, I can’t think of a bad one. Sure there were ones that were less good, but most of my meals there have been great.

The restaurant sits on a highly commercial strip of the Bord de la Mer (coast road,) 7 km east of the Nice airport. It's an easy place to miss. Since the Bord de la Mer is a fast road, one can easily whiz by it as it sits on a corner just one block after the mini-tunnel emerges. The place itself is fairly non-descript. Not much different looking than dozens of places on the coast. Originally it was called La Reserve "Chez Loulou" but now it has been reversed with a large Loulou sign and the subname "La Reserve" printed on the awnings over the windows. Some white tablecloths, and a few modern light fixtures are the giveaway that what's in store is going to be a more refined experience than the you usually find on that strip of the coast.

When I started eating there, Loulou Bertho was a man who appeared to be in his late 40’s, early 50’s. Every night he would man the grill at the front of the restaurant. You can’t miss the grill. When you walk in the front door it’s immediately to your right.  Loulou would always be there doing the cooking. He was sort of half cook, half greeter. The grill itself is a long narrow brass contraption with thick grating. It’s not like any other grill I’ve ever seen and that suited Loulou well. You see Loulou wasn’t exactly like any other guy. Loulou knew how to do things just one way, his way. Here he was, running one of the more successful restaurants on the coast and he was closed on Saturdays and Sundays, the busiest night and the busiest lunchtime of the week. Someone with greater aspirations might have shut Sunday dinner and all day Monday. That’s when the tourists go home. But Loulou marched to his own drummer and his closing idiosyncracies even extended to his being closed for July and August. That’s right, during the two busiest months of the year, the months that the entire restaurant industry on the Cote D’Azur depended on to make enough money to last them the year, Loulou’s doors were shuttered. Dependng on one’s point of view, he was either a man of great integrity, or a little crazy. Having had a number of conversations with him, it was probably 80% the former, 20 % the latter. Just my kind of guy.

Then one day I arrived for dinner and Loulou wasn’t anywhere to be found. Thinking he took the night off, or maybe ill, I just ate my meal and figured he would be there the next time. Then on my next visit he was still missing. This time I asked my waiter “Ou est Loulou?” and he told me that Loulou was no longer at the restaurant. He and his brothers had bought the place from him. And then I realized that the three bothers, Le Freres Campo, who had started working there about a year and a half earlier weren’t just helpers. Loulou had so many personal changes, sort of an oddity in France, that I figured this was just another crew. But what was really going on was the time-honored tradition of “trying a place out” before a place changed hands. Like the way people used to sell corner luncheonettes in Brooklyn.

Later that week, I asked Josy Bandecchi, the wonderful hostess at Josy Jo in Haut-des-Cagnes, a terrific restaurant in its own right, and who also happens to be the sister of Loulou’s wife what happened to him. “Loulou est fou” she said half laughing and half showing disgust. Then she started telling us something in French that we couldn’t quite understand but after a while we figured out she was telling us he had gone fishing. It seems Loulou wasn’t working, and that was a bit scandalous in the Bertho/Bandecchi family. Then a few months later, I read that Loulou was consulting some new seafood restaurant in Paris, and that he was flying there every week. And that was the last I had heard of him other than each year when I visited Josy Jo, asking Josy how he was. For some reason, she never remembered I knew him back in the day and each time I asked her she would be surprised by the question.

Now usually this is the end of the story. It’s so typical in France, or anywhere for that matter. A classic restaurant, typical of the best a region can offer changes hands and deteriorates into a shell of its former self. How often we have all seen that happen. But this happens to be a story with a happy ending. Fortunately for us, Loulou’s diligence extended beyond going to the market every morning to buy the best fish. He made sure that his replacement would continue what he had started.

Eric Campo can’t be more than 35 years old. But he knows his way around that funny brass grill like he’s been cooking on it for 50 years. He’s someone with a glint in his eye, a real sparkle. Especially when you ask him if he wants to go to the U.S. (he’s never been) and he tells you he wants to go to Hollywood and be a movie star, “comme Robert DeNiro.”  He runs the restaurant with his two brothers. His oldest brother who could be about 45 acts as his assistant chef. And the middle Campo brother who runs the dining room and takes care of the wine list must be about 40. Like Loulou, he is always standing at the grill ready to greet you, beaming a smile of recognition while wiping his hand on his apron so he can shake yours.

Eric’s ability to pick ingredients is impeccable. If he arrives at your table and tells you he has “belle sole” do not hesitate. Or if he happens to be holding a plate with some dorade or chapon on it, just go with the program. One time he appeared at my table with a sea bass that must have been more than 2 feet long. He was holding it in his hands, without a plate. The way one might be holding a live snake. “La” he said as he presented it to us. At first we were a bit taken aback by its size. I asked him if it was going to be good and he began banging his right fist on his heart as if to say trust me. And since there were only two of us who wanted fish, I asked him how he expected us to eat something that large. “No problem” he told us, “I give you from here to here, drawing two imaginary lines across the fish which signified a section of the fish that was about a quarter of its length, from the middle of the fish to three quarters of the way up. The best chunk of it. About an hour later, long after our appetizers were gone, our waiter appeared with two plates filled with abundant portions of beautifully white flesh, slightly doused with virgin olive oil and sprinkled with gros sel. The flesh so firm, so white and snowy, with the consistency of a good pudding was clearly the best poisson I ever ate.

And while the place is famous for its fish, some terrific grilled cuts of meat lay hiding on the menu. The Cote de Boeuf of Simmenthal Beef, supplied by the famous Bucherie Marbeuf in Paris is a cut to be reckoned with. One time we were a party of four and we all wanted steak. We told Eric and he disappeared into the kitchen. About 10 minutes later he appeared with a Prime Rib that must have been a good 4 inches thick. After getting the requisite oohs and ahs from our table, he cooked the thing for near an hour, cooking it on all six sides. We sat there amazed when he had it cooking the long way, on its end, tail up.  Eric uses thick chunks of natural wood charcoal. And the grilltop sits high above the coals, heat being captured in the thick slats. What you end up with is a perfectly cooked dish, only slightly charred because the coals are so low compared to the location of the grill top which keeps it moist. Yet it has an intense taste of being cooked on a grill over wood. Now who do you think owns the patent on that thing? The net result of all of this is that there is hardly an occasion where I am on the Cote D’Azur that I don’t pay Eric and his freres a visit. Fortunately, there are a number of trade shows each year that I attend there. And that is how I ended up at Loulou for dinner this past Friday evening with fellow eGulleter Robert Brown and his wife Susan who to my good fortune, were spending 10 days at the lovely house they own in Nice.

When we arrived, the place seemed much busier than usual. In fact there was a small white “Complet” sign hanging on the inside of the front door. In all my visits there, I don’t think I’ve ever seen the sign before. We wondered why the place was so busy on a Friday in mid April. The one thing you can be assured of at Loulou is that the menu never changes. The only thing that’s different is which fish happen to be fresh that day. But this wasn’t going to be a fish night. We were on a mission for meat. It seems that Robert, even though he had dined at Loulou a number of times had never tried the meat there. It was something we were intent on correcting. But I knew that our mission was not without risk. The thing about meat at Loulou is that the cote de boeuf isn’t always available because they run out. But to our good fortune, when we placed the order the waiter sort of went into a French rapture that we understood to be saying “boy is the Cote de Boeuf good tonight.”  Some things simply transcend language.

Well save to say our meal was superb. Susan and Robert both enjoyed their appetizers of Fresh Anchovys that were lightly fried and a half dozen fresh oysters (Fin de Claires Robert?) Susan especially made lots of small satisfactory sounds while telling us on at least 3 or 4 occasions how good the sardines were. And my Soupe de Poisson was just superb (after an initial incident where it had to go back to the kitchen for reheating,) served with a terrific Rouille with a slightly gummy consistency that comes from the fact that Eric uses potatoes as a binder. And it’s a copious portion you get as well. The turreen they brought me had enough soup in it for three full bowls, which got Robert a bonus course as the soup was so rich I could only eat two. As Susan wanted to eat light, she had the Steamed Crevettes for a main. I didn’t really pay much attention to them. But Robert and I split a Cote de Boeuf that I can only describe one way. Close to perfect.

When we start talking beef at Loulou, a few issues come into play. One, there’s the effect that magic grill has on the way the meat cooks. Two, the whole issue of French beef versus American beef comes into the picture as well. Second issue first. I don’t think I was ever served a piece of meat in France that was anywhere as well marbleized as what we get here in the U.S.  I think even their best cuts, even when raised perfectly are simply leaner. I think that in order to raise beef in France the farmers have adopted a different strategy than their American counterparts. And I say this with no specific knowledge about how one might go about raising cattle. I say this from my gut, both literally and figuratively. Seems to me that what makes U.S. beef so good are long fibers in the meat that are slightly chewy. “Beefy” seems to be the term most often used to describe them. Those fibers are surrounded by strands of creamy fat. And if you get a cut of meat with the right ratio of meat to fat, and the fat is distributed amongst the meat evenly, you get yourself the perfect American steak. A French steak on the other hand will never have the benefit of that type of marbling. So it seems to me that the people who raise cattle there have adopted a different strategy. They try to make less fibrous meat, so even with a smaller ratio of fat to meat they achieve tenderness. I think that describes our fine cut of Simmenthal beef that we had at Loulou Friday night.

We were both served about a half dozen slices of steak that were deadly rare with my plate having the bone on it. The surface of the meat was slightly charred, cooked to maybe a half inch down from the surface on each side. But a bite found an intensely smoky and grilled taste. It can only be that magic grill that gets so much grill flavor proportionate to the amount of char the steak has. The center was slightly warm, but basically cool. And the texture was quite another thing. To say that it was tender in a foie gras like way is a cliché that is used too often to describe a steak’s tenderness, as in the creaminess one finds from the quality of the marbleized fat. But I use it here to describe the softness of the meat, which still had a beefy quality from the small fibers running through it. It was really excellent, and a completely different dining experience than the excellent Cote de Boeuf of Aberdeen beef I ate at La Trompette in Chiswick just 2 nights before.

Another thing that is unique to Loulou is this sort of steamer/pressure cooker contraption that sits just to the left of the grill. I’ve been watching them use it for years and I still can’t figure out what it is. They cook a number of different things in it. For an appetizer, they steam some Supions (local baby squid) with some olive oil, garlic and herbs. The steamer/pressure cooker brings out the natural broth of the supions like no other preparation I can think of could. And each main course comes with potatoes that have been cooked in that thing. The potatoes become so soft and moist and so yellow in color but still holding their shape. And the outside of each potato sort of browns a little at the edge. Some of the edges are so brown, a small crust forms and it separates from the rest of the potato like cheese that is broiled would do when a crust is formed. Each diner gets a small plate of those exquisite potatoes with a little olive oil and gros sel sprinkled on them. They are creamy and sufficiently starchy with a little bit of crunch added in from the browning. Yum. And for dessert, Eric makes some individual fruit tarts in the steamer, which makes for perfectly softened fruit served with a scoop of ice cream.

At the end of the night Eric came to visit our table. He felt comfortable enough to grab a glass from the next table and pour the remainder of our bottle of Faively Mercury into the glass. We chatted about how business has been (bon) and a little about his nine year old son. I prodded him about coming to the U.S. to pay us a visit. But he seemed in no rush to leave the coast, which isn’t a bad thing even though it’s selfish of me to say that. I don’t want him getting any funny ideas, like staying in Hollywood and trying to become a movie star like his hero “Bobby.” Where else am I going to get is such a delicious and authentic meal, sans pretension? The answer is, much to my disappointment, nobody. You see we really do have a lot to thank Loulou for. Even if Josy still doesn’t know it.

[robert brown]

Steve, what a loving post. It brings back the meal so vividly to me. I have always gazed enviously at the beef on the grill the five or six times I have been to Loulou's. The cote de boeuf is a major addition to my dining resources on the Cote. I think we both love the personal, intimate feel of the place, something you just don't see or get in New York. (Doe's in Greenville, Mississippi may be he closest, but even there!!) It may be the extra persuasive ingredient that makes the beef there on a par to anything I have had in New York. Also the beef is hand-cut, not uniformly measured and cut by machine.

Those were fines de claires I had. I recall reading years ago that the French butchers or dressers remove some or all of the fibers from the beef. I have never delved into this, however.

[Bux]

served with a terrific Rouille with a slightly gummy consistency that comes from the fact that Eric uses potatoes as a binder

There's always a fine line between an adulteration, an improvement of the species, and a personal quirk that works for a certain cook but shouldn't became the new standard. I gather this falls in the third group.

[Steve Plotnicki]

Bux-The only reason I know it's potatoes is because of my sensitivity to wheat. So if I'm served anything that might include bread as a binder I ask in advance. I learned the hard way by eating taramosalata and having headaches for the next two days after. Romesco sauce in Catalonia is also tricky. Sometimes the binder is torn bread and sometimes chopped almonds. Anyway as to Rouille, I have found that potato is the standard binder they use in Provence. So far, every top restaurant I've asked uses it. Only the cheap places use bread. And when I'm in a good place and ask if they use bread, they make a face like they are saying give me a break. If you think about it it makes sense. For a bouillabaisse they steam up lots of potatoes. While making the rouille, it's easy to grab one and work it into the mayonaisse.

Robert-Thanks. I do love that place and I guess it shows. It's a shame there aren't more places like it. Every day they stumble from their glory like La Mere Brazier. I mean how difficult is it to roast a chicken and serve a gratin? Yet the places in France that still do a great job are becoming fewer and fewer. That's why Loulou, and Eric keeping up the tradition is so special.

[cabrales]

It's a shame there aren't more places like it. Every day they stumble from their glory like La Mere Brazier. I mean how difficult is it to roast a chicken and serve a gratin? Yet the places in France that still do a great job are becoming fewer and fewer.

Steve -- Despite the loss of its only Michelin star this year, La Mere Brazier hasn't stumbled with respect to its chicken in half-mourning dish. Admittedly, dishes other than chicken did not taste particularly good, but I appreciated the poularde there very much. Click here.  

[Steve Plotnicki]

Cabrales-Regardless of how good that chicken still might be, we are talking about what used to be considered the greatest classic casual restaurant in France. Compared to that description, you'd have to admit that the place has fallen a long distance. And if you think about it, there is no reason for it. They cook simple food there. How do you screw up pan sauteed lamb chops and a potato gratin? Yet they have seemed to do exactly that.

[ajay]

How do you screw up pan sauteed lamb chops and a potato gratin?

Simple.  Put me behind the stove.