What an incredible place! And what an endearing owner!

There are only three 2-top tables at this dinner-only bistro run by big-hearted Mamie, which is French for Granny or Nan. Six seats in all—maybe seven or eight if Mamie feels like rearranging something, but don’t count on it.

Mamie (Susanna/ZouZou) grew up in the business. Her parents had run a café. So had her grandparents. At 16, she went to work at Bouillon Chartier (rue du Fbg Montmartre) and stayed there for nine years before moving on, eventually operating her own bistro. A shady landlord, she says, led her to quit her previous address. She and her husband, Christian, a fireman-cum-chef, then stumbled upon this place, formerly held by a certain Germaine for 50 years. They took over in 1990 and named it for the sand/desert roses (roses des sables) that Christian collects, some of which can be seen in the window. Christian is now unable to work due to ill health, so Mamie runs the place herself, as a one-woman show, preparing dishes in a miniscule alcove kitchen, taking orders on a slip of paper, bringing drinks, serving dishes, cleaning up, and adding up the bill on the paper placemats. She chats as she works with those capable of chatting in French. I was the only one in that category on a recent evening.

Since few Parisians would be willing to stand by a restaurant door at 6:30pm in the hopes of getting a seat when the owner first slowly opens the curtain and the door at 7, and since few would wait around without knowing when the second or possibly third seating will begin, La Petite Rose des Sables attracts foreign diners. Come alone and you’ll be seated with another solo diner from who knows where. Groups in odd numbers may be split up. Anyway, the place is so small that you may be talking with everyone else before long. Chinese, Korean and English turn out to be the main languages of her guests, though Mamie doesn’t speak any of those. No matter. Good old-fashion patience and gestures will suffice.

Upon arrival, Mamie pours guests a small glass of sangria as a welcome aperitif and tears open a small packet of potato chips as the appetizer. Don’t care for sangria? Mamie (she often speaks of herself in the third person) will bring something else. The three or four dishes of the menu are simple enough to understand. That evening there was a chicken dish, two pork dishes, and beef bourguignon, served with rice, fries, or coquillette elbow pasta (kids’ favorite in France), and/or salad. It’s simple, long-stewed in big pots, hearty and filling. Dessert (whatever Mamie feels like serving—meringue, a slice of pie), mint tea and a shot of alcoholic punch are included for 12€-16€80.

The food isn’t rave-worthy, yet when combined with the surprisingly limited seating, the personalized bistro decor (photographs, gifts from clients, and plaques with heart-warming sayings, along with the checkered tablecloths and curtains), and especially Mamie herself, La Petite Rose des Sables deserves kudos for existing at all.

When we entered, Mamie warmly announced that we could only stay for an hour or an hour and a half so that she could turn the table, but she wasn’t actually watching the clock. If you’re happy, it appears, she’s happy. She even gives out gifts (I got a pair of Paris socks) and willingly poses for photographs. We stayed for two hours despite my efforts to pay so that others could come in. “There’s no rush,” she said. “I have plenty to do before they come in anyway. Have some more punch.”

It would be easy to dismiss all this as Tik-Tok touristy since the bistro primarily attracts non-French visitors. Mamie doesn’t seem to mind that her clients of today are not her clients of 20 or 30 years ago. She nevertheless treats everyone like a local—a local who’s a bit slow on the up-take.

It would also be easy to dismiss the place as not being a bistro in the strict sense of my purist friends because it has neither an active bar counter nor opening hours beyond meal time. But no other term fits for such a personally decorated setting where one enjoys inexpensive, long-stewed dishes, and the grandmotherly kindness of Mamie.

A surprising bistro find that’s been here all along! And when it’ll be gone, it’ll be gone.

La Petite Rose des Sables – Chez Mamie. 6 rue de Lancry, 10th arr. Metro République or Jacques Bonsergent. No reservations.

Cash and credit cards are accepted but not mobile and contactless payments. She places tips in a piggy bank resembling a camera, saying it’s “for the grandchildren.”

© 2026, Gary Lee Kraut

The post Paris Bistro Life: La Petite Rose des Sables – Chez Mamie appeared first on France Revisited - Life in Paris, Travel in France.

When asked to create a Paris itinerary and touring plans for individual travelers, I respond with questions:

What are your interests, hobbies and ages? Have you been to Paris before? Where are you staying? Are you in decent walking shape or have any mobility issues? Do you speak much French? Do you have any dietary restrictions? Do you drink wine? Will you want for shopping (for anything in particular?) or simply stop into boutiques if anything strikes your fancy along the way? Do you have a sense of how much guided time you’d like? What are you looking to get out of your stay in Paris?

Altogether, the answers provide me with information that ensures not only that that my clients won’t be over-walked or over-museumed, under-shopped and under-wined. They also allow me to imagine creative ways to enable them to visit sights, explore neighborhoods, understand history, experience culture, and satisfy their hunger and thirst in ways that are meaningful, rewarding and enjoyable to them.

Many clients will give cursory responses to my questions then cut to the chase, saying:
– We’re not museum people but want to see highlights (definitely Notre-Dame and the Eiffel Tower), or
– We like learning history and seeing different monuments and architecture (and we want good pastries, of course) but want to keep it relaxed, or
– Here’s the list of what my 18-year-old daughter/granddaughter wants to do.

The most common response, however, goes something like this:

We want to visit the main sights without having to wait in line. We don’t mind touring on our own but would like some guidance. We like walking but also want to take breaks. We want local food experiences but don’t need anything fancy. We want to try great pastries, and we are wine drinkers, in moderation. Can you help us?

I certainly can!

If you identify with that request, here’s my nearly personalized itinerary for you, including a selection of major sights, varied neighborhoods, easy-going bistros and brasseries and bars, and GPS-guided audio tours to steer you as you go.

Day 1: Feel the Pulse of the Historical Heart of the City then Stroll Along the Champs-Elysées

Morning
Arrive at Notre-Dame Cathedral by 9:30am (or in any case no later than 10am) to enter with little wait (entrance is free, and stop panicking about a timed reservation!) then walk the length of the City Island on which it stands, past the former royal palace, through charming Place Dauphine, and to the sublime river views as you cross the Pont Neuf (the New Bridge). Next bridge upstream, set out on an essential visit of the central Right Bank with my VoiceMap audio tour Exploring Paris of Dreams and Nightmares: The Dark Side of the City of Light.

Lunch
As you follow that audio tour, sample Paris from any of the many cafés, bakeries and other tempting and tasty eateries along the route. (You can pause the tour at any time.) Or wait until the end of the tour for lunch. Here are three welcoming options within a several blocks of the tour’s endpoint: the uber-traditional, easy-going Bistrot des Halles, the cozy and historic brasserie Le Zimmer, and the upbeat wine restaurant Le Robe et Le Palais.

Afternoon
Stroll the full-length of the Avenue des Champs-Elysées—including visits to the Grand Palais and the Petit Palais and perhaps several shops along the avenue—accompanied by my audio tour The Champs-Elysées: from Place de la Concorde to the Arc de Triomphe. At tour’s end, climb the Arc de Triomphe for a sweeping view over Paris (ideally with a pre-purchased, timed ticket or Paris Museum Pass). Then metro over to Trocadero for a fabulous view of the Eiffel Tower.

Evening
Head to a lively neighborhood to raise a glass or two at the joyfully old-fashion and inexpensive wine bar Le Baron Rouge. Prefer a beer? Fishtail around the corner to the character-filled Troll Café. Then stay in the neighborhood spirit for dinner at one of the numerous eateries in the area. Consider L’Ami Pierre, if you dare, for a plunge into Paris bistro life by night or Jouvence for a neo-bistro experience. There are also plenty of pizzerias, cafés and other inexpensive eateries in the neighborhood.

Day 2: Linger on the Left Bank then Meander in Montmartre

Morning
Begin your explorations of the central Left Bank in the Latin Quarter, where student life meets the Parisian bourgeoisie on alluring streets. Peek in at the food shops and stands at Maubert-Mutualité to get a sense of neighborhood market life. Visit the tomb of Saint Genevieive in the beautiful Saint Etienne du Mont Church. Take in the imposing and important Pantheon (avoid the line with an advance ticket or a Paris Museum Pass). Then leave the city streets to take an enchanting stroll with my audio tour of The Left Bank’s Most Elegant Park: Exploring the Luxembourg Garden so as to take part in the lifestyle of the Left Bank that is the Luxembourg Garden.

Lunch
Sample excellent French produce, cheese and more at the Saint Germain Market and nearby bakeries (Maison Mulot, Secco) and pastry shops (Arnaud Larher, Pierre Hermes). Or saddle up for wine and light snacks (call them tapas if you like) at Avant Comptoir du Marché.

Afternoon
Complete your visit of the central Left Bank with a walk through the Saint Germain Quarter, the chic, charming and boutiquey neighborhood that thrives at the heart of Parisian café society. Then head to Montmartre, starting at the metro station Abbesses or Anvers, to climb the hiil to Sacré Coeur before taking a well-earned seat for a drink at the hill’s historic eatery-drinker La Bonne Franquette. Then wind your way down along Rue Lepic all the way to the Moulin Rouge.

Evening
Stay within the atmosphere of Montmartre with dinner at La Mascotte Montmartre for fresh fish and seafood and other fine brasserie fare.

Day 3: Meet Mona at the Louvre, The Thinker at the Rodin, Napoleon at the Invalides, and peek in at luxury boutiques in between

Morning
View Mona and more at the Louvre Museum (get a timed reservation for 10am at the latest and brace for the crowds), then air your mind from your heady art history experience with a noble garden walk with my audio tour The Tuileries Garden: The Royal Walk from the Louvre to the Champs-Elysées.

Lunch
Keep it simple and full of character for lunch at Le Petit Vendôme, a busy bistro where where Parisian joie-de-vivre meets tourist joy-of-travel.

Afternoon
Before and after lunch, go window-shopping in the lap of luxury on Rue Saint Honoré and Place Vendôme. Then head over to the Rodin Museum for an easy-going, sculpture-spotted stroll in the park, along with a coffee stop in its garden café. Enter the museum itself, if in the mood, for a thorough view of Rodin’s work. Then visit Napoleon’s Tomb nearby and, if so inclined, the medieval armor portion and more of the adjacent Army Museum.

Evening
Discover casual, modern, moderately-priced Parisian gastronomy in a neighborhood not yet visited above. Here are some suggestions: L’Oyat, L’Escuella, Aux 2K, Caillebotte, Petit Boutary. Then augment the evening at a jazz club such New Morning, Sunset/Sunside, Duc des Lombards, Caveau de la Huchette.

Be sure to check opening times for all of the suggestions above.

Looking for an even more customized itinerary and personalized touring? Contact me directly for travel therapy by phone and more.

© 2025, Gary Lee Kraut

The post Three Days in Paris: Your Nearly Personalized Itinerary appeared first on France Revisited - Life in Paris, Travel in France.

There’s an association in Paris called the Académie Rabelais whose mission, as stated in their by-laws, is to “Encourage among its members and their friends joie de vivre, optimism, good humor, indulgence, gaiety, the spirit of friendship and of remembrance, and respect for the principles of Master François Rabelais: laughing, irony, wisecracking, joyful singing, le gai savoir, eating well and drinking well.”

Reading that mission statement, I thought, “Now there’s a party I’d like to attend!” And so I did, though we didn’t call it a party. We called it lunch with Bruno Carlhian, author of an excellent guide to owner-operated Paris wine bistros, and several members of the Académie Rabelais, under whose auspices the book was published.

La Tournée des Patrons is the clever title of Bruno’s guide. La tournée—the round or round-up—refers to both a round-up of bistro-keepers—des patrons—and the round on the house that owners might offer their clients. In selecting the 100 eatery-drinkeries included in the book, Bruno sought out “authentic” bistros (quotation marks in the original), which he defines as individually owned establishments open throughout the day (i.e. not just at mealtime) and that have a café/bar counter. Fresh, homecooked food is de rigueur, but most important is the presence and personality of the bistro-keeper, one who knows his wine.

A criminal defense attorney, a gallery owner and a contractor walk into a bistro

That’s not the opening of a joke but the start of a cheerful afternoon since they were the three fellow academy members to join Bruno and me at Le Guersant, a bistro on the western edge of Paris, in the 17th arrondissement. Bruno himself is a journalist specialized in food, wine, gastronomy and agribusiness. I’d asked him to choose the bistro for our lunchtime interview.

There’s no mistaking the atmosphere of a neighborhood bistro when you enter shortly before 1pm: several people are standing at the bar counter with a glass of wine or beer or a demitasse; someone behind the bar, who may or may not be the owner, looks up from his or her task to return your ecumenical Bonjour messieurs-dames with a Bonjour, monsieur; beyond the bar there’s a room with few if any empty seats, where a server, who may or may not be the owner, twists through narrow passages between tables or chairs carrying a thick pork chop and potato purée and a square of beef and frites or some such homey dishes; on nearly every table there’s a bottle or at least glasses of wine in various stages of consumption, and you recognize your lunch companions at the far table by the window by their slight nod in your direction, even if you’ve never met them before.

In choosing Le Guersant, Bruno was nearly giving me a scoop. The jury that he presides over within the Académie Rabelais had recently decided that in the spring of 2025 Nicolas Gounse, the bistro’s proprietor, would receive the academy’s trophy La Coupe du Meilleur Pot. The trophy has been awarded annually since 1954 to a bistro-keeper in Paris or the near suburbs whose establishment does justice to the notion that bistro life is best served by the offering of the quality wines of independent growers, personally selected by that bistro-keeper. The trophy takes the form of a wooden box topped with the tin decoration of a cup, a bunch of grapes and a specific kind of bottle called a pot. A pot is a 46 cl vessel with a thick base into which wine from a barrel or from a larger bottle is poured.

It isn’t the wine list itself that’s honored with the trophy. As with the selections in La Tournée des Patrons, the Académie Rabelais pays homage to a bistro-keeper with the wherewithal, the personality and the dedication to operate a welcoming all-day bistro with a bar counter. The wines available have been personally selected by the bistro-keeper as opposed to checked off from a list in a wholesaler’s catalogue. “Quality wines of independent growers” does not mean expensive wines. These are, after all, unpretentious, everyday neighborhood bistros. In short, when it comes to wine, Nicolas Gounse and other winners of La Coupe du Meilleur Pot can talk the talk, without pretention, with the best of them. And from the way the conversation unfolded at Le Guersant over the next 2½ hours, I gathered that my table companions from the Académie Rabelais were among those best of them.

Acceptance into the Académie Rabelais

The Académie Rabelais’s origins date to the Second World War, when a group of writers, journalists and cartoonists who’d left Paris during the German Occupation began gathering in Lyon, which was then in France’s Unoccupied Zone. Guided by local gastro-insiders well acquainted with the keepers of bouchons, as the bistros of Lyon are known, the group began meeting over food and wine. Progressively, as the German Gestapo took anchor in Lyon, those wartime gatherings came to an end. They were revived post-war, in 1948, at Château Thivin in the Beaujolais wine region near Lyon, where the group formalized their association as the Académie Rabelais. Refer to the opening lines of this article for the academy’s humanist mission. Among other events and outings, the academy gathers for dinner three times per year as well for one weekend in a wine region, where they meet winegrowers and restaurant owners.

Nicolas Plescoff, the gallerist at the table, a specialist in 20th-century art and sculpture, has been the academy’s president for the past seven years. In recounting the academy’s history, he said that in the early 2000s membership underwent a significant change as the elder members from the press fell away and more recent arrivals worked in a variety of professional fields.

The group’s by-laws, which allow for a maximum of 50 members (there are current 46), don’t specifically exclude women, but as yet none has been admitted. Potential members are co-opted through personal relationships, not through blind application. Once recommended by a friend, colleague or family member, a candidate must first be accepted as an intern or apprentice. As such, he is expected to attend academy events for a full year in order to become familiar with its spirit, culture and members, and its members with him. After that year, the board gives an initial stamp of approval (or not) to the intern/apprentice whose candidature is then put before the full membership for a final vote.

With the academy no longer dominated by members of the press—in fact, there are now more lawyers among them—Nicolas Plescoff favors a membership represented by a wide variety of professional fields. As with many aging associations, the academy has difficulty recruiting younger members. He’s therefore is pleased that the academy recently co-opted a 27-year-old who works in the wine trade.

As to admitting women, he said that perhaps the next generation will be more accepting of the possibility, but for now there’s general agreement that the Académie Rabelais should remain an all-men’s club. Members don’t spend their time together making misogynistic or crude comments, he explained, but men change their behavior when their wives or other women are around, which would alter the spirit of the academy.

While the academy doesn’t admit women, make no mistake about it: the contemporary Parisian neighborhood bistro as a cultural institution is not a men’s club. At some times of the day and at some meals, men may indeed outnumber women in a neighborhood bistro, but women can and do enjoy a meal there with equal joy or warmth or indulgence. (Stay tuned for an upcoming article about bistro gals. As a teaser, I note that the president of one bistro-going women’s group told me that one reason they don’t admit men is the annoyance of dealing with mansplaining.)

The Académie Rabelais literary prize

While companionability, wine and gregarious service define a restaurant outing with members of the Académie Rabelais, the academy lives up to the literary side of its name. I refrain from calling any of its members “intellectuals.” In other settings, some of them may be. But once, while discussing books at a bistro bar counter, I made the mistake of referring to a stranger with whom I’d recently clinked glasses as an “intellectual” and I nearly got thrown into the gutter for it. In Paris bistro life, I’ve learned, you can refer to a well-read fellow as a philosopher, an artist, a professor, a wisecracker, even a prince or a fool, but call him an intellectual at your own risk and peril. Pas de ça ici, mon vieux! Suffice it to say that a clever, incisive, humanist spirit and a wealth of knowledge on assorted matters including human nature go a long way toward getting you accepted—if not to the academy, then at least to their companionship and to entertaining conversation in a Paris neighborhood bistro.

A jury within the academy awards an annual literary prize, the Prix de l’Académie Rabelais, to the author of a work of fiction or non-fiction displaying Rabelasian spirit, meaning a work that includes a good dose of irreverent humor, and, of course, wine. Appropriate works, according to the lawyer at our table, are hard to come by, what with all the navel gazing and humorlessness of French literature over the past few decades.

The winner of the 2024 literary prize was Laure Gasparotto for “Si tu veux la paix, prepare le vin” (If You Want Peace, Prepare Wine). The 2023 winner was Charles Senard for “Carpe diem – Petite initiation à la sagesse épicurienne” (Carpe Diem – A Little Initiation to Epicurian Wisdom). The winner receives 50 bottles of Beaujolais wine. Descriptions of the prize-winning books over the years can be found here.

Acceptance into Paris bistro life

Anyone, including non-French-speaking visitors, can take a seat in the dining room of a neighborhood bistro or lean into its bar counter to observe bistro life. Participating in it is another matter. That, according to Nicolas Plescoff, entails being accepted by the keeper of the house or his staff. Beyond the courteous tone of your entrance, newcomers, he said, will quickly be judged by what they order. Margins are tights, so “if you order only an appetizer and a glass of tap water during crowded mealtime,” he said, “you shouldn’t be surprised if you aren’t well received. You’re nearly obligated to order an appetizer, a main course, dessert and wine.” Though our table followed that recommendation and then some, that bona fide exchange of good will is certainly not an actual obligation. Three courses may be one too many for some appetites, which is why the lunch menu is often priced for an appetizer + a main course OR a main course + dessert.

Drinking alcohol is, of course, never an obligation. Yet, for those who do enjoy a glass or two, the following wine advice that Nicolas Plescoff provided is well worth considering: “To be accepted in a neighborhood bistro, first order a glass of white wine as an aperitif.”

“Un verre de vin blanc, s’il vous plaît” (A glass of white wine, please) as the easy-to-recall password to taking part in Paris bistro life? I’ve tried it. It does go far to initiating a conversation with the owner or server (what type of white wine would you’d like? dry, fruity, etc.) and lets that person know that you’re willing to spend a few extra euros at the table. “Un verre de beaujolais blanc, s’il vous plaît,” might further indicate that you’ve got some connoisseur’s cred.

It would be ill-mannered of me to note the quantity of wine consumed at our table during our lengthy lunch. I’ll just say that Nicolas Gounse guided us on a lilting viticultural tour de France. We may not have been typical clients—after all, more than familiar faces here, my table companions had recently notified him of the honor they were bestowing with La Coupe du Meilleur Pot—nevertheless, it was clear to me that we weren’t the only ones in the room in trotting conversation, eating and drinking to great satisfaction. Others around the room appeared to be doing the same. It wasn’t a party atmosphere but, more “authentically,” the ambience of an unhurried lunchtime break from whatever appointments or obligations lay to either side of the meal, in other words of a neighborhood bistro at lunchtime.

I was in no rush to leave. Still, at 2:15 on a Thursday afternoon, after 90 minutes of easy-going conviviality, I expected that any minute now one of my tablemates would state that he had to get back to work and the rest of us would then grudgingly agree. Another 30 minutes passed. Then one of the academicians called Nicolas Gounse over to the table. I was sure that it was to ask him to prepare the bill, or at least to bring coffee. Instead, he asked where we should travel next on our seated tour de France.

Drinking vs. excessive drinking

Bistro, in France, implies that alcohol is served. Wine bistro emphasizes the place of the wine selection there but is not to be confused with a wine bar. In theory, a dry bistro is possible, in the same way that admitting female members into the Académie Rabelais is possible.

Excessive drinking—or drinking at all—isn’t directly encouraged by the bistro-keepers that I’ve come to know. At a neighborhood bistro or wine bistro, selling alcohol does help with the bottom line; turning a profit might even depend on the sale of alcohol, as with many restaurants. The theoretical dry bistro would therefor have an economic challenge in France, perhaps overcome by serving lots of bubble tea.

“Wine is a part of our culture,” said Nicolas Plescoff, referring to both France and the academy. “But we aren’t an association of drunks. It’s important to maintain a certain standing. True, our dinners tend to be well served in wine. Perhaps we drink more than the national average, but we drink good wine.”

Nicolas Gounse, our host here, recognizes that wine is a part of daily life for some clients, the way cigarettes may be. Wine is a part of the culture (and one is free to argue that it shouldn’t be) but, wine or no wine, sociability is a primary aspect of the neighborhood bistro (le bistro de quartier). Without sociability (or refuge so for the solitary), there’d be no reason to qualify it as neighborhood (de quartier). Yes, drink does play a role here, though it would be incorrect to peg a neighborhood Paris bistro today, such as Le Guersant, which is open throughout the day, or the selections in La Tournée des Patrons, as primarily drinking establishments or as places for a teetotaler to avoid. Above all, for readers of these lines, they should be seen as important glimpses into local or neighborhood culture.

Frequent consumption or over-consumption of alcohol may be a societal problem, but it isn’t not specific to wine bistros. In what may come off as a form of apology, I note that, fortunate for Parisians, those who have a glass or two or more in a wine bistro or any other type of eatery-drinkery, or at private party for that matter, typically leave on foot or take public transportation rather than get behind the wheel of a car. Getting behind the wheel of a bicycle or scooter is the more likely danger.

I pace myself well as bottles accumulate on the table. I may slow down or, if necessary, put my hand over the glass to announce that I’ve had enough as the circulating bottle tips my way. I nevertheless don’t hesitate to accept, as I did here, a bistro-keeper’s parting shot of grappa, cognac, calvados, or plum or pear brandy when it arrives with the bill or at the bar counter on the way out. I may not finish the small pour, and some of what’s offered may be rotgut, but I won’t refuse what is essentially a gift of acceptance, la tournée du patron. Again, no obligation.

The deeper I’ve gotten into Paris bistro life over the past year, the more I’ve come to appreciate Bruno Carlhian’s selections in La Tournée des Patrons. While Bruno and his fellow academicians more than hold their own in knowing and enjoying good cuisine, and while they do expect fresh and seasonal ingredients, the quality of the food is not primary in selections for the book or for La Coupe du Meilleur Pot, as it might be for a culinary guide or award. Nevertheless, I vouch for the quality (and the quantity) of my three courses (30€) at Le Guersant: poireaux mimosa, côte de cochon + purée, crème caramel.

I can certainly understand the selection of Nicolas Gousne as recipient for the 2025 Coupe du Meilleur Pot, And I can well imagine the pleasure of being a regular or occasional client at Le Guersant. Alas, it’s across the city from me.

Altogether, a terrific neighborhood bistro and a delectable encounter with Rabelaisian bistro buddies, creators of a gargantuan guide to wine bistros.

Le Guersant, 30 bd Gouvrion-Saint-Cyr, 17th arr. Open Monday through Friday from 9am to 11pm. Nicolas Gounse, proprietor. A successful bistro-keeper naturally needs a good right-hand man or woman. Here, Nicolas is primarily assisted by Romain Gastel, with whom he also worked in other bistros for a dozen years before taking over Le Guersant in 2022.

The bistro is a 10-minute walk from the hotels Hyatt Regency Paris Etoile and the Meridien Etoile at Porte Maillot.

La Tournée des Patrons. Text by Bruno Carlhian, photographs by Gabriel Omnès, drawings by Gab. 20€. The current edition (2023) is an update of first edition from 2016. The academy plans to next update the book in 2026.

La Coupe du Meilleur Pot. See here for a map showing the location of the establishments whose owner has received La Coupe du Meilleur Pot over the years, along with other Académie Rabelais recommendations, many of which appear in La Tournée des Patrons.

For other articles in the Paris Bistro Life series, see here.

© 2025, Gary Lee Kraut

The post Paris Bistro Life: Le Guersant, Wine Bistros and the Académie Rabelais appeared first on France Revisited - Life in Paris, Travel in France.

Non-members stop by the bistro for morning coffee or a pre-lunch aperitif, unaware of the planned, informal gathering of the Joyeux Mâchonneurs. But they might as well be a part of the group as Hervé slices off chunks of headcheese to offer them a taste. Headcheese and coffee? Maybe. Headcheese and wine? Sure.

Tristan Olphe-Galliard arrives with a bottle of wine that he sets on the counter as his contribution to the morning gathering of the Joyeux Mâchonneurs. Before sharing the wine, though, he shares the story of why he’s arrived later than planned: The mechanism to open the door to his building was stuck, so to get out he had to crawl like a thief from the window of a neighbor’s apartment. And he definitely can’t stay with us past lunch, he says, since he has to… Right.

He’s brought a red Mentou-Salon, a cousin to Sancerre, from the eastern winegrowing area of the Loire Valley. A brief explanation is enough—this is a social gathering, not an informational assembly. It’s easy-drinking wine, a pinot noir of the cherry-tinged kind. Tristan is an ambassador for the network of Bistrots Beaujolais, bistros which are themselves ambassadors for Beaujolais wines or at least have some on their wine list. He’s also a freelance photographer, as well as a member of the Francs-Mâchons, a non-profit association with a natural affinity to the Joyeux Mâchonneurs but more organized and with a distinct appetite for Beaujolais wines. But Triston is only partially on duty this morning; not duty enough that he feels obliged to bring a Beaujolais to this gathering but dutiful enough to invite me to meet him here to discuss my plan to visit some of his Bistrots Beaujolais over the next two months. Research.

But first things first. The barman opens the bottle.

You don’t need to be a member of the Joyeux Mâchonneurs to attend the Tuesday morning gathering. You don’t have to eat pig. You don’t even have to arrive joyeux, though hopefully you’ll leave that way. All you have to do is bring something sharable to eat or drink (keep it simple) or else buy a(n inexpensive) bottle of wine at the bar. And, no, the point is not to go on a pre-noon bender. It’s enough to toast with a sip or two—a bistro glass is small anyway. It’s the spirit that’s generous, not the pour. You can put your hand over your glass in refusal at any time (though it will likely be filled as soon as you look away). Seriously, order coffee if you like.

Bistro life

The word bistrot (with a final t in French) encompasses a range of restaurants and eatery-drinkeries that emphasize traditional French food and wine. In English-speaking countries, bistro may carry an air of pretention, which doesn’t belong in France. At its heart, the French bistro (let’s leave out the t here) is an unpretentious neighborhood gathering place for traditional, homemade food and inexpensive drink. “Traditional, home-made food” itself can vary within limits and budgets. And in the relatively wealthy city of Paris, “unpretentious” is itself a term that’s up for grabs, while “inexpensive” will depend on the neighborhood. In any case, a bistro should feel down-home rather than upscale, even those that attract an upmarket crowd.

In terms of opening hours, there are two types of bistros: a bistro that’s open only for lunch and dinner, i.e. a bistro as restaurant alone, and an eatery-drinkery bistro, such as Le Vaudésir, where food is served at specific hours yet one can enter throughout the day for liquid nourishment (and, if you’re a regular or ask kindly, maybe someone can make you a sandwich or give you some headcheese or a hard-boiled egg). I’ve met with Tristan this morning in soliciting his help constituting a list of the latter kind of bistro, the historic but not necessarily bygone bistrot de quartier, the neighborhood eatery-drinkery bistro. The archetype of a neighborhood bistro such as Le Vaudésir serves a social function as a gathering place, an outlet for extroverts, a refuge for the lonely, escape from your spouse or kids, comic relief for the observer, a place where a regular is recognized, etc.

In the densely populated and much-visited city of Paris, “neighborhood” doesn’t mean that the patrons all live within three blocks of the bistro. At lunchtime, neighborhood bistros are frequented by those who work in the area but live elsewhere. And the dinner crowd may be a mix of neighborhood residents, Parisians with a city-wide vision of dining out casually, and travelers staying in nearby hotels.

The neighborhood bistro of the eatery-drinkery kind may not have Bistrot written in its name or on its awning. Even a café or a brasserie or a meat-and-potatoes/sausage-and-lentils dive can be considered the local bistro if it serves an unpretentious social function (gathering place, refuge, escape, etc.) and presents the other elements associated with the bistrot de quartier: traditional cuisine and cheap or modestly-priced drink, conviviality, a changeable atmosphere morning to night, and a smattering or more of Joyeux Mâchoneurs or their like. Just as Joyeux Mâchoneurs by any other name would be just as joyeux, a bistro by any other name would be just as … bistro.

I’ve neglected to mention the other essential element to the type of bistro that I’ve come looking for: an on-site owner. Not just any on-site owner, but an on-site owner as conductor, MC, security guard, arbitrator, sphinx, ultimate judge, merchant and boss. He may stand stoically on the raised platform of the bar as he surveils the room. He may join in the banter of his regulars. He may raise a glass with others. He knows his regulars. He knows when to be wary and when to be welcoming. At Le Vaudésir, he’s Christophe Hantz.

By the bar counter there’s a list of names and dates of owners at this site since 1896, beginning with a certain Forestier, who sold wine. For much of the first half of the 20th century, coal and wood were also sold here. (The second room, behind the bar, is where they were stored.) In 1993, the owner at the time renamed the bistro Le Vaudésir, after one of the seven “climats” of Chablis Grand Cru. Vaudésir Chablis was still a relatively inexpensive at the time, but it’s now too pricey to belong on the selection here. Christophe has been at the helm of Le Vaudésir since 2001.

Michelle Steiner, the chef he hired that year, joins us for a drink before returning to the kitchen to make final preparations for lunch service. “Christophe and I are like an old couple that’s never copulated,” she says. Christophe isn’t yet around to give his take on their relationship.

La Fête du Livre Bistrot at Le Vaudésir

There is no off-the-beaten track in Paris; there are just streets we haven’t yet ventured down and doors we haven’t yet opened or times of day or night that we haven’t yet been there. So it isn’t to go off the beaten track that I’ve returned late the same day by taking the train to Denfert-Rochereau, walking 10 minutes south, and turning left onto rue Dareau. The street leads film-noir-like to a door beneath the railroad tracks. The first room is so crowded that I can’t even push open the door. I enter through the second door a few yards further down. No, I haven’t gone off the beaten track to make my way back to Le Vaudésir this evening; I’ve come to attend the Fête du Livre Bistrot, a celebration of books about bistros, their authors, and, above all, bistros themselves.

Not all Parisians go in for such places, as the diminishing numbers of restaurant-bar-café bistros show. They’re too old-fashioned for some; the cooking isn’t contemporary enough for others; they prefer to mingle elsewhere, differently or with a younger crowd; if there’s a squat-toilet that may not be to everyone’s liking. “Local” itself may have lost its significance for those who prefer screen time. The foreign visitor may be intimidated to stand at the counter with piliers de bar (literally bar pillars, i.e. barflies) or sitting elbow-to-elbow at a table beside animated strangers in unintelligible conversation. No, the atmosphere of the eatery-drinky neighborhood bistro isn’t for everyone.

But it is for everyone here this evening, chatting with each other and with the authors, purchasing books, examining the works of two photographers, drinking the Saint Pourçain wines brought by the producer who’s serving them at the bar, reaching for the plate of headcheese and pâté on the bar counter. Tristan is here, Hervé is here, and so are other members of the Joyeux Mânchonneurs.

I speak with the winegrower of the Saint Pourçain as he serves me a glass. The wine is free this evening. Christophe is also behind the bar. I say hello. He raises his glass and offers his infectious smile, though he may or may not recognize me.

I chat with Alain Fontaine, owner of Le Mesturet, in the 2nd arrondissement. Le Mesturet’s awning reads Bar à Vins and Restaurant but it’s bistro enough for me. Alain spearheads a non-profit association whose mission is to promote and defend the idea that the art de vivre of bistros and traditional cafés of France deserve recognition as “intangible cultural heritage.” He says that foreign visitors, Americans in particular, are more prominent supporters for bistro life than the French themselves. (Perhaps, I think, because we like a good cliché or because we don’t have these at home.) Earlier this year he hosted at Le Mesturet a launch part for Café Society: Time Suspended, the Cafés & Bistros of Paris, a collection of photographs by Joanie Osburn, a frequent visitor to Paris from San Francisco. I tell him that I’ll be stopping by Le Mesturet to speak with him soon in the context of my own research. Whenever you want, he replies.

I run into free-spirited food writer and guide Guillaume Le Roux, whom I knew from restaurant press events a dozen years ago and haven’t seen since. We recognize each other immediately, briefly catch up, and promise to get together soon.

I speak at length with historian Laurent Bihl, author of Une histoire populaire des bistrots and gladly weigh myself down by purchasing his 800-page book.

I greet Gérard Letailleur, author of “Histoire insolite des cafés parisiens” and “Si Montmartre et La Bonne Franquette nous étaient contés,” whom I’d previously met at Aux Sportifs Réunis-Chez Walczak, a historic bistro in the 15th arrondissement.

I nod to Pierrick Bourgault who’s in intense discussion with someone interested in his work as a photographer and writer. Patrick explores his love and appreciation for bistros in both non-fiction and fiction. Among other publications, he’s the author of Au bonheur des bistrots,  which pays homage through photographs to the men and women who run countryside cafés, and the novel Journal d’un café de campagne. We’d previously met at the unmissable La Bonne Franquette at the top of Montmartre.

I meet Benjamin Berline, who’s part of the team working with well-known French food writer Gilles Pudlowski. He gives me a copy of the 2023 edition of the Petit Pudlo des Bistrots, a booklet that brings together 107 recommendable Parisian bistros (with an introduction by Alain Fontaine).

I find Tristan outside and thank him for setting me on my way for my bistro research. I tell him I’ll see him soon. (Though Tristan and I don’t run in the same circles we do manage to cross paths often.) I tell him I’m leaving. He says that he’ll be leaving soon too. Right.

Le Vaudésir, 41 rue Dareau, 14th arrondissement. Metro Saint-Jacques or Metro/RER Denfert-Rochereau. Closed Monday evening, Saturday lunch, Sunday. Cash only.

© 2023 by Gary Lee Kraut

The post An Introduction to Paris Bistro Life: Le Vaudésir appeared first on France Revisited - Life in Paris, Travel in France.

I could have used numerous sources to guide my selection of restaurants in Paris when visiting this past spring—the Michelin Guide, the New York Times, reliable bloggers, returning friends, or this very website—but as an economist I chose to follow in the culinary footsteps of a fellow economist. Not just any fellow economist, mind you, but a pioneering economist whose serious academic work impressed me, a fellow who had a good appetite, a keen knowledge of traditional French cuisine, a taste for wine, and a compulsion for keeping detailed notes on the 250 or so restaurants that he had the opportunity to experience in Paris over the years while working for the World Bank.

Bela Balassa, a Gourmet Economist

I was first introduced to Bela Balassa’s academic research while a graduate student at Georgetown University in 1975. International economics was not my specialty, but we all read Dr. Balassa’s groundbreaking work on the terms of international trade. Ultimately, his research led the way to fundamental changes in World Bank policy.

Decades later I would come across a booklet that he printed up privately, a restaurant guide titled A Primer in Culinary Economics or How to Maximize the Culinary Utility of the Dollar in Paris. He ultimately produced eight editions of his booklet, the last in 1987.

In his “Preface or Let the Reader Beware,” Dr. Balassa wrote in the 1985 edition, “This essay provides an appraisal of twenty-five restaurants in Paris, carefully selected among over two-hundred-fifty the author has visited between 1959 and mid-1985… The author has spared no effort in selecting, checking and rechecking the restaurants on the list, without regard to his caloric (and cholesterol) intake.”

“[This] has been written,” Dr. Balassa noted, “for the benefit of those who wish to maximize the (culinary) utility derived from eating, suitably accompanied by wine, and subject to a budget constraint.”

“Maximize utility” is a term that speaks to me as an economist, but I recognize that most travelers visit Paris in search of pleasure rather than utility. And rightfully so. In fact, the fundamental proposition in microeconomics is that consumers attempt to achieve their highest satisfaction (economists call it “utility”) by consuming a bundle of goods, subject to a budget constraint. Of course, Dr. Balassa’s use of economic terms is partially tongue in cheek here; he never actually provides details about his calculations of a quality-price ratio. Basically, he set out to maximize his personal satisfaction from wining and dining in Paris, subject to his own (experienced) appetite and (healthy) budget constraint, and then to share his sense of a good, even great, meals in Paris with family and friends. Dr. Balassa had a personal notation system for restaurants with 10 being the highest possible “grade” and 5 being the lowest acceptable for inclusion on his list. He was serious and systematic enough in his approach to include only establishments that he had visited at least twice.

Born in Budapest in 1928, Dr. Balassa immigrated to the United States from Hungary in 1956 after the Hungarian Revolution was crushed by Soviet tanks. He was appointed assistant professor of economics at Yale before becoming a professor of economics at Johns Hopkins University. He also worked as a consultant for the World Bank and the Organization for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD), which provided him with the travel stipends that he used as the basis for his budget constraint in his culinary explorations in Paris, primarily the latter. He died in 1991.

In the spring of 2020, my last semester teaching at Georgia Tech, I acquired with the help of one of my students the 7th edition of Dr. Balassa’s Primer, printed in 1985. It’s more a booklet than a book, printed on a standard 8.5” x 11” paper, folded in half and stapled in the center. There are 66 pages of text discussing the restaurants and ten pages of a Glossary of Culinary Terms.

Dealing with the Danger of Using an Old Restaurant List

There are inherent dangers to using a decades-old restaurant list for guidance, but I willingly accepted the pitfalls in the name of culinary adventure, and I was rewarded for my efforts by the six delicious meals that I share below and that you may find helpful in seeking to maximize your own culinary utility. I should say we were rewarded since my partner in this adventure was Judy, my wife of fifty-four years, who has a doctorate in French and enough experience in French cuisine to be an excellent culinary sleuth.

There are 25 restaurants listed in the 7th edition, but 38 years in the Parisian restaurant business had taken its toll on Dr. Balassa’s recommendations. In undertaking the adventure of following in Dr. Balassa’s culinary footsteps, Judy and I decided that in order to be true to the original selection we would only go to restaurants with the same name and location as those that he recommended in that 7th edition. Six of the original 25 restaurants made the cut. In late April 2023, we left for Paris having rented an apartment for 28 days and made reservations in those remaining six restaurants.

Emphasizing the personal nature of his Primer in Culinary Economics, Dr. Balassa, who passed away in 1991, described various dishes he had shared with his family. He included what his son and daughter particularly liked on the menu of various restaurants. So I decided to seek them out in preparing our adventure. Through some diligent effort and a lot of luck, I made contact with Bela’s widow, Carol, to share the blueprint of our culinary adventure. She in turn shared our plan with her son and daughter. Carol’s son then sent me excerpts of the Primer’s 8th and final edition, from 1987, which led us to add two more restaurants to our list, bringing the total of restaurants still existing under the same name at the same address to eight.

His/Our Budget

Naturally, a World Bank travel stipend for a consulting economist of Dr. Balassa’s stature did not relegate him to cut-rate cafés, crepe stands, kebab stands and all-you-can-eat Chinese buffets. It gave him a seat at an array of decent and fine establishments, including some Michelin-starred tables.

In his preface, Dr. Balassa indicates that his “self-imposed limit” when considering the price of a meal in 1985 was $70 for a meal for two people. He writes, “Still, staff members of international organizations will have their travel expense account returned for ‘clarification’ if they eat two meals a day at these prices. To avoid such an eventuality, they should limit themselves to a daily meal at one of the restaurants, a spartan breakfast, and a quiche Lorraine for lunch.” The average value of one U.S. dollar in 1985 is worth $2.84 adjusted for 2023 prices. Therefore, Dr. Balassa’s $70 limit for a meal for two is adjusted to $198.80 at today’s prices, or approximately 184€ while I traveled this past spring. That, as you’ll soon read, allowed for some excellent meals.

Revisiting A Primer in Culinary Economics: 6 Choice Restaurants

In following in Bela Balassa’s culinary footsteps, Judy and I came to feel an affinity with him, and before long we were referring to him not as Dr. Balassa but as Bela. I therefore use his first name for the remainder of this article. Though we would later give “grades” to these restaurants, as Bela had done, I list them here simply in the order in which we visited them. Unlike Bela, we only dined in each once. And though we may not have the range and depth of culinary experience to draw on that he did, we feel experienced enough in French cuisine, particularly traditional French cuisine, to share our point of view on the restaurants we visited.

La Petite Auberge

La Petite Auberge, 13 rue du Hameau, 15th arrondissement

Bela called this a “very excellent restaurant,” and nearly four decades later we found that it was very good indeed. We came to expect that Bela’s recommendations leaned to the traditional neighborhood type restaurant. This certainly fit the bill. It is a bit out of the way unless you’re in Paris for a trade show at the Parc des Expositions (Porte de Versailles), a 5-minute walk from the restaurant. The home stadium of Paris’s Stade Français rugby team is two miles away. Rugby posters decorate the unassuming interior space of this restaurant that has stood the test of time.

We had a French guest visiting from the Beaujolais region who was eager to join this culinary expedition. We started by sharing a pâté de canard (duck pâté) with radishes and house-prepared cornichons. The combination was well balanced with the duck fat and salty cornichons. For our main course we ordered blanquette de veau riz (veal stew with rice), noisette d’agneau poêlée (a pot of nuggets of lamb) and escalope de veau normande (Normandy-style veal cutlet). To our delight, the menu announced that Tous nos plats sont accompagnés de frites maison (all dishes come with “pommes frites”). Our guest quickly approved and compared the meals to those her grandmother prepared when she was a young girl. The white stock was thick and savory on both veal dishes. The lamb was well-prepared, served medium rare with a broccoli floret. The fries were hot and had a near-perfect crunch when consumed. For dessert, we ordered crème brulée, tarte aux pommes, and panna cotta. The deserts were unremarkable. We all would have preferred just another round of the pommes frites. Overall, however, Bela had steered us right for a meal of unpretentious French comfort food with authentic flavor… at an easy-going price. Our luncheon meal for the three of us came to 107.80€, or about $116.42, well within the Primer’s budget limit. Of course, he might have added more wine and perhaps a digestif in keeping with his “very excellent” experience.

Benoit

Benoit, 20 rue Saint-Martin, 4th arrondissement

Our second restaurant was a highly anticipated affair. Our daughters had been following our Paris planning process and were eager to contribute to the enterprise. In our 2022 family Christmas exchange we found a gift certificate for a six-course tasting menu for restaurant Benoit.

Subsequent to Bela’s dining here, Benoit joined Alain Ducasse’s restaurant portfolio and then earned one star in the Michelin Guide. Of the restaurants remaining from his Primer, it had Bela’s second highest ranking. He wrote, “Benoit may be grouped with Chez Pauline and Pierre Traiteur. All three provide traditional cooking of high quality at reasonable prices… I rate Benoit a notch above Pierre Traiteur, with Chez Pauline slightly behind.” Benoit is still open for business at its Bela-era location, in fact its location since 1912, while the other two are not.

Bela warned in his booklet that lunch rather than dinner was the best opportunity to stay within budget. However, at Benoit we reserved for dinner since that’s when the Menu Dégustation 6 Temps that we’d been gifted is offered.

While the neighborhood (it’s near the Centre Pompidou) has changed dramatically since the restaurant opened over one hundred years ago, once inside, among the woodwork, the red velvet seats, the brass railing and the engraved glass windows, we immediately felt that we’d entered a neighborhood of yore. The meal started with notre pâté en croute, pickles de legumes (house pâté in a pastry crust with pickled vegetables), served with warm slices of baguette. The fish course was next. It was the tasty combination of filet de bar doré, artichauts poivrades et roquette savage (filet of sea bass, sauteed with artichokes and wild arugula). The main plate arrived with a generous individual portion served in a copper pot. It was sauté gourmand de ris de veau, crêtes et rognons de coq, foie gras et jus truffe (sauteed veal sweetbreads, rooster cockscombs and kidneys, with foie gras and truffle juice). The description itself was a mouthful, and none of our previous experiences in traditional bistro fare had led us to such an unfamiliar combination of flavors and textures. We would probably not have ordered this as a main course if we were ordering off the menu, hence a reason to risk a tasting menu. The next course was simply and delightfully fromages de France (French cheeses). It was certainly a good idea to follow the pot of sweetbreads, cockscombs, and kidneys with creamy French cheese. Sorbets de la manufacture (sorbets from Ducasse’s ice cream and sorbet “factory”) followed the cheese course. A plate of profiteroles Benoit, sauce chocolat chaud followed.

The whole evening had been a rewarding adventure in Paris dining. Furthermore, the staff was interested in hearing about our exploration of the “professor’s Paris restaurant recommendations.” The chef and maître d’hôtel signed both our tasting menu and Bela Balassa’s booklet.

In the section titled “Introduction or a Bit of Nostalgia,” Bela discusses the importance of the “quality-price ratio.” He explains that many establishments were dropped from his recommendations over the years either because they became too expensive or because the quality had deteriorated, or sometimes both. Benoit has certainly increased in price over the years but I suspect that Bela would have kept it on his list these many years later. Our tasting menu for two was priced at 190€, or approximately $205.20, only slightly above his limit. Had we ordered off the menu instead of using our daughters’ gift certificate, we could have had a very fine meal within the limit.

Le Récamier

Le Récamier, 4 rue Juliette Récamier, 7th arrondissement

Our third stop was located on a pedestrian cul-de-sac off rue de Sèvres, which is dangerously close to the Bon Marché department store and Gérald Darel for anyone for whom well-heeled brand shopping might distract from a culinary mission. Judy nevertheless maintained her focus before seizing the shopping opportunity after lunch.

Récamier refers to a certain Juliette Récamier whose unfinished portrait by Jacques-Louis David hangs in the Louvre. Madame Récamier, as the portrait is called, was a French socialite whose salon drew people from the leading literary and political circles of early 19th-century Paris. Interestingly, David stopped working on her portrait in 1800 when he learned that François Gérard had been commissioned to paint her portrait. Gérard’s portrait hangs in Paris’s Musée Carnavalet. By all accounts and as seen in her portraits, Madame Récamier was something special. On the restaurant’s web page, they make sure their patrons are aware of this heritage, saying, “Today, her spirit is still alive … The elegance of Madame Récamier’s salon lives on.”

Bela recommended a table on the terrace and we were able to secure one. (The terrace is removed from car traffic.) His recommended dining options were beef and fish. He wrote, “the daily additions to the menu includes fish dishes,… [the chef] gets first-quality products every day.” The freshness still appears to be true, but the menu Bela read had evolved over the past 38 years. The ones in our hands contained a substantial list of savory soufflés, which have been a hallmark of the restaurant for the past ten years. We promptly ignored that list, until the dessert page.

Judy started with soupe de carotte au curry (curried carrot soup), while I ordered salade d’artichauts poivrade á l’huile d’olive citronnée, Parmesan Reggiano (artichoke salad with lemon olive oil and parmesan cheese). The dish that was the highlight of Judy’s Paris dining experience that month came next: filet de bar grillé, légumes de saison, sauce olivade et tapenade (grilled sea bass with seasonal vegetables in an olive and tapenade sauce). The fish and sauces were well prepared, but Judy especially gave the dish two thumbs up for the quality and quantity of the seasonal vegetables. Based on Bela’s recommendation, I ordered pavé de veau, pommes de terre sautée, sauce morille (veal with sauteed potatoes in mushroom sauce), which was nearly as gush-worthy as Judy’s choice. For dessert, we shared a soufflé à la mangue, sorbet fruits rouges (mango souffle with red-fruit sorbet). Bela had warned, “…watch out for the desserts. The meal does not come cheap and you are easily up to our self-imposed limit if you take one of the excellent Burgundies,” a warning that if you have an expensive bottle of wine, your budget may not afford dessert. We had not taken an excellent bottle of wine with our meal, rather we each had a pleasing glass of Macon Villages and therefore felt completely guiltless sharing our very satisfying dessert. Our luncheon came to 138€ or about $140, so there would have been room within the budget had we wanted more wine and/or a second dessert.

Joséphine Chez Dumonet

Joséphine Chez Dumonet, 117 rue du Cherche-Midi, 6th arrondissement

Originally called Joséphine, this restaurant opened in 1898. When the Dumonet family took over the business decades ago they added Chez Dumonet to the name. The family still owns the restaurant. In adding this entry to his list in the 8th edition, Bela referred to it as “basically a bistro, and a good one.” As we knew by then, Bela was a huge fan of classic bistro fare. He recommended several dishes including “foie gras frais de canard – outstanding.” Reading Bela’s reviews, it appears that he never met a homemade foie gras he didn’t like.

The restaurant was featured in the 2013 film Le Weekend when the two main characters return to Paris to celebrate their 30th wedding anniversary. They search for the classic French bistro, dismissing one place after another because they are too big, too pricey, too empty, too touristy, or too stuffy. Then they find the curtained restaurant on a quiet one-way street with small wooden tables covered with simple white tablecloths. Voilà, there is Joséphine. We certainly agreed.

We had house guests from the Netherlands who joined us for our luncheon reservation. Aspèrges blanches (white asparagus) was in season, so we all started with the dish. We shared the foie gras de canard frais maison, and although our house guests aren’t typically as fond of foie gras as we are, we were all pleased with Bela’s recommendation. Having another couple at the table gave us the opportunity to taste four classic bistro dishes for the main course: confit de canard maison, cassoulet maison, boeuf bourguignon aux tagliatelles, and foie de veau, vinaigre de framboise. Regarding the latter, I would not usually order calf’s liver, but Bela had high praise for the dish and I’d set out to follow in the great gourmet economist’s footsteps, so on I marched… and it was melt-in-the-mouth delicious. Judy had the cassoulet, a meat and bean stew, though perhaps not for the sake of Bela’s memory but rather for her own since during her teaching career she was involved in numerous student exchange programs between the sister cities Atlanta and Toulouse, and cassoulet is a specialty from Toulouse that Judy enjoyed whenever she visited that pink-tinged southwestern city. Our companions were very satisfied with their French comfort food of duck confit and beef Burgundy. The classic French dishes prepared to perfection at Restaurant Joséphine were a hit around the table. To our discredit, we did not save room for dessert, what with the two appetizers, but I trust that Bela’s two dessert recommendations are still valid: the tarte fine chaude aux pommes (hot thin-crust apple pie) and the millefeuille Jean-Louis. The price of our four meals came to 258€. Therefore, the two-person budget of 129€, or about $139.32, which would have been within budget even with the dessert.

Divellec

Divellec, 107 rue l’Université, 7th arrondissement

Jacques Le Divellec moved from the La Rochelle on the Atlantic coast to the Esplanade des Invalides in Paris in 1983, bringing with him his appreciation for fish and seafood and his talent for preparing them. Bela would have known the restaurant when it was called Le Divellec and Le Divellec himself was in the kitchen. The chef retired in 2013 and the restaurant was taken over several years later by Mathieu Pacaud, who removed the Le but kept the Divellec. The restaurant currently has one Michelin star. Admittedly, our rules were to follow in Bela’s footsteps only when a restaurant remained with the same name in the same location as when he dined there. But no need to be too picky for a mere Le.

We attended the American Church of Paris that Sunday. The restaurant is a short walk from there. Bela reports a pleasant décor at Le Divellec that “gives the impression of a yacht club.” I shall reverse the compliment, saying that this yacht club gives the impression of Divellec.

The employees at Divellec were most curious about our culinary adventure. During the meal they offered us tours of the wine cellar, the private dining rooms and the kitchen.

Bela recommended starting your meal with fresh oysters, and so we did to our great pleasures. Next, we shared calques bar, bonbons de pomme vert, citron caviar (thin layers of sea bass marinated with green apples and lemon), a house specialty. The layers are sliced so thin that the sea bass looks translucent. The dish was deliciously delicate. The next course we considered our main, though it could have easily served as another appetizer. We shared palourdes, gratinées au thym citron (baby clams prepared au gratin with lemon thyme). We are very fond of mussels prepared in a similar fashion but the clams outperformed the dish of mussels we had recently had at another restaurant. After the clams, we enjoyed a delightful soufflé au chocolat (chocolate souffle).

Bela noted, “White wine is de rigueur with seafood and fish, and Le Divellec offers a wide selection.” We followed his advice—and the sommelier’s—and enjoyed a bottle of Château Reignac from Bordeaux. It proved an excellent complement to our three courses of seafood. At 65€ the Château Reignac wasn’t terribly expensive by Paris standards, yet it pushed the bill beyond Bela’s limit. The total came to 218€, or $235. We could have held the budget line with just a glass of wine, as we did at all the other restaurants, but Paris calls for a little splurge every now and then. All told, we could see—and taste—why Bela awarded Le Divellec his highest score, 9 out of 10. We also concluded that this was a restaurant we would most like to bring our family to upon our return to Paris. Sea food, chocolate soufflé, and a bottle of Château Reignac for a Sunday lunch. What could be better?

L’Ami Louis

L’Ami Louis, 32 rue du Vertbois, 3rd arrondissment

When Bela was rating his restaurants 38 years ago, L’Ami Louis’s chef, Antoine Magnin, was 78 years old and Bela worried that “the time may not be far when he decides to retire. Yet, his restaurant should not be missed by anyone who appreciates traditional French cooking in a vieillot bistrot atmosphere. Indeed, there are few bistrots like L’Ami Louis left in Paris.” Bela would be pleased to learn that the famous little bistro lives on in the finest tradition and continues, as Bela wrote, to serve “genuine, tasty food as one imagines having in our grandmother’s days.”

With just 14 tables, the restaurant is quite small. Reservations are required, not just because it is a marvelous bistro, but it also has been visited by Bill Clinton, Jacques Chirac, Alice Waters, Francis Ford Coppola, and recently, Vice President Kamala Harris and Second Gentleman Douglas Emhoff. I went alone for lunch while Judy was cashing in on a Mother’s Day massage gift from the daughters. Bela wrote, “I recommend that you order the following dishes, to be served in succession: foie gras, confit de canard, and agneau de lait” (foie gras, roast duck breast, and suckling lamb). He also said that you can stay within your budget for two, … “provided that you share some of the gargantuan portions.” Dining alone meant making adjustments, beginning with the notch of my belt, for I had no one to share with.

I started with a simple salade verte (a lettuce salad). This was my initiation to the “gargantuan portions.” The salad bowl brought to the table included at least two heads of Bibb lettuce. The salad bowl was enough for a family of four. But it was only lettuce, and the Dijon vinaigrette, lightly applied and evenly distributed, made it effortless to keep having just one more bite. My main course was always going to be confit de canard aux pommes bearnaises (roasted duck breast with potatoes in bearnaise sauce). I wasn’t tempted by the suckling lamb, not because I wouldn’t have liked giving it a try in Bela’s honor but because it was not on the menu. Anyway, the duck was plenty. I sure could have used Judy’s help with these first two courses. I had only had duck confit a few times previously but this serving exceeded my previous memory of the dish. It had the traditional crusty top with most tender breast meat. The bearnaise sauce drizzled over the potatoes was an excellent complement to the duck breast. The salad bowl, the crispy duck breast, and potatoes with bearnaise sauce were all in front of me, when there appeared before me a large bowl of pommes de terre frites (French fries). A nearby table of six diners were enjoying roast chicken with pommes frites and their bowl of fries was just as large as mine! Where was Judy when I needed her? I continued to enjoy all the flavors on my table to the best of my abilities. And to further exercise my abilities, I then ordered dessert, a gâteau au chocolat (chocolate cake), and coffee. Shortly, I was rewarded with a glass of brandy. I think the restaurant’s servers were showing their appreciation for a customer who had made the most of his lunch. The cost of the meal was 137€, or about $148. Times two that would have been well beyond budget, but here I was lunching alone. I could use the justification that the “gargantuan portions” would have easily served the two of us, but no need to justify. I can’t imagine that the World Bank would insist that their consulting economist eat every meal with company. He, too, must have sometimes struck out on his own.

Maison Rostang and Au Trou Gascon

L’Ami Louis proved to be the last restaurant we tried from Dr. Bela Balassa’s recommendations. For various reasons we were not able to fit in the remaining two establishments. They will have to be on our list the next time we are in Paris.

One of them is Maison Rostang, 20 rue Rennequin, 17th arr., which now has two Michelin stars and may well be above this project’s budget limit. Bela knew the restaurant as Michel Rostang when its founding owner-chef of that name held the reins. Rostang now operates a mini-culinary empire while having handed the keys to the kitchen at Maison Rostang to Nicolas Beaumann.

The other is Au Trou Gascon, 40 rue Taine, 12th arr., which was highly rated in the 7th edition but was dropped in the 8th edition, perhaps because in the intervening year (1986) chef Alain Dutournier, without abandoning Au Trou Gascon, took up arms at the more luxuriant Le Carré des Feuillants. (The Feuillants closed in 2021 yet the Trou still exists.)

Final Grading

On his personal scale from 1 to 10, Divellec received the highest grade of the restaurants that remained active, a 9.0. Benoit was given an 8.5. Both Le Récamier and L’Ami Louis received an 8.0, La Petite Auberge 7.5, and Joséphine Chez Dumonet 7.0. Of course, the gourmet economist scored these restaurants thirty-eight years ago. Chefs have since come and gone, neighborhoods changed then changed again, and Paris is a highly competitive market for fine dining. Perhaps it is remarkable that these six remain and did not disappoint when we came calling. Au contraire, each restaurant was appetizing and a joy to visit both in its own right and as part of a culinary quest to follow in Bela Balassa’s footsteps

As I mentioned at the beginning, Judy and I have some experience with French cuisine, however we are not French cuisine experts. Nevertheless, we had our favorites and, for what it’s worth, we couldn’t help but give our own “grades” to these six restaurants. Using Bela’s grading scale, and for all the reasons stated above in the restaurant reviews, we echo his rating of (Le) Divellec at the top with a 9.0 grade. We’d then grade Le Récamier and Benoit with 8.5 each. L’Ami Louis comes next at 8.0. Last but not least, Josephine Chez Dumonet and La Petite Auberge, we note each at 7.5 while considering them favorite “French comfort food” locations.

Paying homage to Bela Belassa

Our Paris dining project started as an homage to a world class economist. However, the adventure of following his dining recommendations evolved into a captivating culinary quest. Bela Balassa is deservedly remembered for his significant contributions to our understanding of how international trade functions. He should further be honored, as I do here, as man who knew that sometimes you have to stop worrying about understanding the wider world and simply enjoy a good meal, with good table companions, and within budget… in Paris.

© 2023, Richard Fritz. First published on France Revisited.

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“We wanted the hotel to feel like it has always been a part of the Marais landscape,” Swedish, London-based interior designer Martin Brudnizki is quoted on the website of the new Paris 5-star hotel Le Grand Mazarin as saying. “… We were therefore inspired by the great Houses of the aristocratic era.”

He is referring there to the mansions and townhouses built in the 17th century when the Marais became trendy territory for the construction of noble residences and their continued use and decorative evolution by the titled and entitled through most of the 18th century. The Revolution then sent the aristocratic owners and renters either into exile or to the guillotine, after which “always been a part of the Marais landscape” came to mean something vastly different.

No longer marked by great wealth and privilege, the Marais was increasingly defined by labor, light industry, immigration and poverty. There were still dozens of grand old mansions around, but by 1900, the Marais swelled with a poor and working-class population, including many immigrants, among them thousands of Jews from Yiddish-speaking communities in Eastern Europe, with many more arriving through the 1930s. The Holocaust then sent the Jewish population either fleeing or to the death camps, leaving behind a decrepit cityscape that the rare visitor in the 1940s, 1950s, 1960s, even 1970s may well have thought had “always been a part of the Marais.”

The 311-acre heart of the Marais was saved from further ruin and the specter of concrete-and-glass renewal by a national law of 1962 calling for district-wide historic preservation and restoration. The law, along with the subsidies, public works and business opportunities that would eventually follow, accompanied the continuing evolution of the Marais, with: the arrival of Sephardic Jews to Paris in the 1950s and 1960s; the opening of the Picasso Museum in 1985; the opening of gay bars and clubs in the latter half of that decade; the steep rise in real estate prices in the 1990s; the development through the 2000s of rue des Rosiers, formerly part of the Pletzl at the epicenter of pre-war Yiddish-speaking immigration in the Marais, into a street that’s part Jewish food court part internationally-branded boutiques, and, in the 2010s, the listing of a considerable number of properties on Airbnb, each promising “charm” and “exposed wooden beams” (read: old buildings now gentrified).

Slowly at first, then much quicker since the mid-1980s, the Marais evolved into such a well-maintained on-the-radar quarter for strolling, shopping, museum-going, art-gallery-contemplating, café-sitting, with a few gay bars here, and a few Jewish restaurants there, that today’s visitor might think that its trendy bourgeois-casual lifestyle and the ease of communicating in English “have always been a part of the Marais landscape.”

Le Grand Mazarin

Where, then, do Le Grand Mazarin and its restaurant Boubalé fit into today’s Marais?

On the edge, or in many ways as its main entrance, catercorner to City Hall, in a 19th-century building across the street from the BHV Marais department store, at one corner of Place Harvey Milk, named for assassinated American defender of gay rights. A doorman in pride purple livery stands by the hotel entrance.

Past the small reception area, the drawing-room lobby presents a muted flamboyance, introducing visitors to the muted greens, reds and blues that dominate throughout the building and to the cozy, quirky, sophisticated nostalgia that impregnates the place.

The 50 rooms and 11 suites present a potpourri of furnishings, each outlined with a prominent curve or bevel, with enough reminders of 18th-century styles that the pre-Revolutionary petite noblesse would feel very much at ease here. It’s design without being high design, welcoming without being precious, indulgent without being lavish. Above all, it’s stylishly comfortable. The rooms are of modest size, as one would expect in the Marais. Rates start at 590€ and will rise beginning spring 2024.

The hotel’s restaurant Boubalé, described below, serves traditional Askenazic/Israeli fare. There’s also has a little, kitsch-chic, ground-floor bar. In the basement there’s an attractive pool with a fresco reminiscent of Cocteau’s work along its arched ceiling. A VIP basement lounge-bar will also soon open in another portion of the basement.

All told, the upmarket hotel, restaurant, bar and VIP room that form Le Grand Mazarin don’t seem to have “always been a part of the Marais landscape” so much as they present a cheery, nostalgic pastiche of major markers of the Marais of the past five centuries.

Boubalé

This restaurant and its adjacent bar are very much part and parcel of Le Grand Mazarin but with separate entrances from the hotel. So they can certainly be considered for anyone not lodging upstairs.

While the hotel’s rooms and suites call to mind the well-being of the petite noblesse, Boubalé—the restaurant’s name is a Yiddish term of endearment—and the bar appear to have been inspired by a vigorous and stylish older actress in Yiddish theater who enjoys hanging out with the younger crowd.

As noted above, the restaurant serves traditional Ashkenazic/Israeli cuisine. Jerusalem-born chef Assaf Granit has become a prime purveyor of Israeli cuisine in France. He’s the first Israeli chef to have a Michelin star in France (at Shabour in the Paris’s 2nd arrondissement). As executive chef with the JLM Group, he has been overseeing Boubalé in its opening period before the restaurant’s executive chef Itmar Gargei takes full command of the kitchen.

“Tradition, tradition!… Tradition!”—you know the song. This is the menu version of that: challah, pastrami plate, gravlax, roast beets with feta and horseradish, chopped chicken liver… seafood knaidlach, “ashkenazi mesachen,” “goulash+gnochhis”… strudel, babka… More polished than revisited, it’s all tasty—“entertaining” is perhaps a more accurate word—in a traditional smorgasbord kind of way. If not made with Bubbie love, then at least made with open-kitchen care. Ordering several appetizers (we ordered nearly all of them) to share is the way to go, both to get a taste of the various dishes and to get into the upbeat spirit of the place. The aforementioned Yiddish actress may well have had the tableware custom-made in the old country; her children will let it gather dust in the closet when they inherit it, but the grandkids and their kids will find it delightful. Anyway, Boubalé isn’t meant for her own children, now too old for this. On the two evening that I dined here (once as a guest*, once as a host), the majority of the crowd appeared to be under 35. There’s a good, upbeat vibe if you don’t mind the rising music and voice level as the evening progresses.

A 3-course meal, with challah (10€), will run about 75€, without drinks. I leave it to you to decide if that’s “oy vey” pricing.

The Bar

As someone who enjoys the atmosphere of hotel bars, I found the playful kitsch-chic décor of the little ground-floor bar quite to my liking as a place to wind down the evening. Here, I had my first taste of the Tunisian fig brandy Boukha, a drink with an Ashkenazic-Sephardic history of its own. The basement club/bar, is intended as a no-cell phone space to wind up the night, wasn’t yet open when I visited.

Le Grand Mazarin and the restaurant Boubalé, 17 rue de la Verrerie, Paris 4th arrondissement.

Le Grand Mazarin is the latest of the Pariente family’s slowly growing collection of distinctive 5-star hotels under the umbrella name Maisons Pariente, including Crillon Le Brave in Provence, Le Coucou in Méribel and Lou Pinet in Saint Tropez.

* Disclaimer: As many readers know, I wear various professional hats: travel writer and editor of this publication, travel and tour advisor for agencies and individuals, and organizer/guide in Paris and throughout France. I have worn all three with respect to Le Grand Mazarin: 1. In writing this article. 2. In first dining here as a guest on a site visit with a luxury travel agency, then second dining here on a tasting tour that I organized and hosted for visitors to Paris. 3. Subsequent to that first visit I was hired by the hotel to give a tour of the Marais to visiting journalists.

© 2023, Gary Lee Kraut

The post Paris Hotel & Restaurant Report: Le Grand Mazarin and Boubalé appeared first on France Revisited - Life in Paris, Travel in France.

Even though I had much to learn back then, and still do, Le Grand Véfour became my gold standard for experiencing the culinary trifecta of setting, service and cuisine, with a bonus of history if I care to learn it, which I typically do. Two Michelin stars then three (2000) then the third withdrawn (2008)—the nuances of rating systems didn’t matter, for me; Le Grand Véfour meant an exquisite restaurant experience. Over the years, when advising travelers on where to go for an exceptional dining experiences, Le Grand Véfour stayed on my list as other restaurants came and went.

In 2021 the stars went out on Le Grand Véfour as Guy Martin steered his ship away from high gastronomy. Destination: elegant bistro. Travelers with or without a highly-garnished financial portfolio can now enjoy a seat at the historic table. But having history isn’t sufficient reason to recommend a restaurant to anyone who isn’t primarily interested in that history.

After two meals this year at Le Grand Véfour, do I keep it on Gary’s Restaurant List?

Le Grand Véfour holds a singular place in the diningscape of Paris as a participant in and witness to the origins, evolution and vicissitudes of restaurants in the Palais Royal area. The chic Café de Chartres, created in the 1780s, gave way in the 1820s to a posh restaurant run by Jean Véfour, which soon became Grand to distinguish it from that of a rival with the same last name. Le Grand Véfour survived, even thrived, through the rise and fall of kings, emperors and republican governments throughout the 19th century, only to become far less grand for much of the first half of the 20th century. Its modern revival in 1948 was led by Raymond Oliver, then continued with the Taittinger family, who eventually brought on board Chef Guy Martin, who is now in full command.

Dining at Le Grand Véfour today is not all about looking back. Diners can also look forward—to passing through its peristyle entrance, where, weather permitting, there’s outdoor seating, and into its precious décor. Whether seated on a red velour banquette or across from one, mirrors ensure that everyone in the main historic room has the best seat in the house (though for me the very best remains a 2-top in the corner of that room).

During the restaurant’s high gastronomy days, I appreciated that the tables at the Grand Véfour were relatively close together because that tended to discourage gatherings of businessmen while an intimate atmosphere for couples and friends. I used to find it among the most romantic of the high gastronomic venues of Paris, a place to go with one or two or more no more than three intimates. Nowadays, there’s more seating, the noise level is less hushed, the pace more sustained, the diners less well dressed, and the bewitching culinary slights of hand and pricey gourmet ingredients less present than in Le Grand Véfour’s starred days. Still, much remains of the restaurant’s superbness.

Guy Martin’s high gastronomy would strike a delicious balance between inventive and neo-classic excellence. Now, the food has been simplified to that of polished bistro excellence. The chef makes even the more rustic of the classic dishes (e.g. duckling fillet with mashed turnips or slow-cooked pork cheeks) seem refined and gastronomic. Yes, the stars have gone out, at least temporarily, and the “wow” moments of high gastronomy set aside, yet Guy Martin’s cuisine and the overall experience of a meal at Le Grand Véfour shine on.

The conversion from a 320€ epicureanism to 58€ graceful bistro has not in the least reduced the level of service. This is what has surprised and impressed me the most this year since service is typically the first thing to go with the lowered prices. Sommelier Romain Alzy and all-watching Hervé Delaunay have maintained their amiable grace; they took the time to chat and explain at our table and others, while the young staff holds up its end as though still reaching for the stars. And while you don’t come to eat history, there’s plenty to savor in a restaurant that’s steeped in it.

One of the occasions of dining her this year, we selected its 3-course fixed-price “weekly” menu at 58€ per person without drinks, an astoundingly good deal for the quality, service and setting. The other time, we chose from the à la carte menu at 90-100€ without drinks, more a treat than a splurge.

With the fixed-price meal, our bill for two, including a nice lower-range bottle of wine and mineral water came to about 100€ per person.

On the à la carte night, the bill for our table of three, also with a bottle plus several more glasses of nice but non-splurge wine, came to about 150€ per person. (There’s still an exceptional wine list where the sky’s the limit.)

Keep Le Grand Véfour on Gary’s Restaurant List? Not as the archetype of classy, elegant fine dining, but as Paris’s most exquisite bistro.

Le Grand Véfour, 17 Rue Du Beaujolais, 1st arr. Tel, 01 42 96 56 27. Open Tuesday to Saturday.

For a glass of wine before dinner, there are two notable wine bars around the corner: The English-accented Willi’s Wine Bar, 13 rue des Petits-Champs, and the French-accented Legrand Filles et Fils, 1 rue de la Banque.

© 2022, Gary Lee Kraut

See this Ode to Guy Martin published on France Revisited in 2009.

The post Paris restaurants: Le Grand Véfour, Starless yet Still Stellar appeared first on France Revisited - Life in Paris, Travel in France.

From a riverside café to recent entries in Michelin stardom by way of a hilltop restaurant, a family-run institution, a contemporary inn and a basement chef’s table, these chefs and restaurants have been selected are based on my own experiences in 2020 and 2021 and on recommendations from gastronomes, both residents and travelers, whose suggestions I’ve solicited.

This list is not intended as a Vaucluse best-of-the-best but as a way of recognizing the variety of venues for a meal prepared with fresh ingredients and capable hands, in towns and villages of touristic interest in Vaucluse. Kind service was also (and always is) a criterion in selecting these restaurants.

There are certainly other worthy options in the region, and I will add them or eliminate others as I follow the Vaucluse culinary scene through my own travels and through suggestions from knowledgeable residents and travelers. Feel free to send write to me at gary [at] francerevisited.com with your comments about any of these chefs or restaurants or any others that you’ve enjoyed that I might consider in periodically updating this list.

Avignon

La Mirande, Avignon’s premier hotel, presents several eating options, now led by Florent Pietravalle at Le Restaurant. While acknowledging his Michelin stardom, I note that I’m particularly fond of La Mirande’s upbeat basement chef’s table, La Table Haute, where a chef and a commis prepare and present an excellent, semi-rustic meal while doing their best to ensure a convivial atmosphere. Chef Jeff Mouroux and his sidekick Alexandre Malinverno took on the task during my September visit to Avignon. Buyer beware: Despite the chefs’ best efforts, the atmosphere on any given evening depends heavily on the willingness of diners to engage with each other, so only go if you understand the word “conviviality,” and hope the others at your table do as well.
Mathieu Desmarest at Pollen, 18 rue Joseph Vernet, both refined and relaxed, was newly honored in 2021 with a Michelin star. Carte blanche dinner.
Pascal Barnouin at Maison de la Tour, 9 rue de la Tour.
The Hiély family continues to treat hungry diners from near and far to quality bistro fare at La Fourchette, 17 rue Racine.
Justine Imbert’s winning, unpretentious, modestly-priced cuisine kindly served beneath the branches in the charming back courtyard at Au Jardin des Carmes, 21 Place des Carmes. A chef to keep an eye on.
Jon Chiri, an American chef at Les Halles, the central food market of Avignon, was one of my guests on the France Revisited Culinary Conversation of June 29, 2021.
When it comes to the pleasures of sitting alfresco in Avignon, I’m inescapably drawn to Grand Café Baretta, 14 place Saint Didier.

Châteauneuf-du-Pape

Top culinary honors in the village go to Julien Richard’s gastronomy at La Mère Germaine, 3 rue Commandant Lemaitre, in the lower part of this hillside village. Meanwhile, in proper weather, my lunchtime appetite is drawn toward the top of the village, just below the chateau ruins, for a great view and reliably pleasing cuisine at Le Verger des Papes, 2 rue du Château. If you won’t be visiting wine producers out among the vineyards, you can begin your Chateauneuf-du-Pape education with a tasting of two or four wines in the atmospheric wine cellar of Le Verger des Papes. Pursue your education at Vinadéa, 8 rue Maréchal Foch, official boutique of the appellation.

Beaumes-de-Venise

Each evening of my two-night stay in Beaumes de Venise while on a biking trip began with an aperitif at the Café La Forêt “Le Siècle,” a local watering hole at 65 cours Jean Jaures. For dinner, La Table des Balmes, 31 place de l’Eglise, had a well-placed terrace for a satisfying meal in the center of the village. I was even more satisfied by my dinner the following evening in the semi-hidden setting of the semi-Provençale Auberge Saint Roch, 9 route de Caromb.

Vaison-la-Romain

And the buzz goes to… Christophe Wernet at the hip and creative bistro LUM, 55 rue Trogue Pompée.

Pernes-les-Fontaines

Hugues Marrec at Auberge de La Camarette, 439 chemin des Brunettes. La Camarette is une auberge, an inn, rather than un restaurant, says Hugues Marrec, because one doesn’t come to an auberge in search of an extensive menu but instead confident that that the chef is cooking up something worthwhile. Read my article about Chef Marrec here. He was also one of my guests on the France Revisited Culinary Conversation of June 29, 2021 His little inn has only two rooms, worth considering for a night or more if dining here.

Cavaillon

Prévôt, 353 avenue de Verdun, home to the melon king Jean-Jacques Prévôt, accompanied by his daughter Sandra-Rose. It’s been several years since I’ve eaten here, but my memory of Jean-Jacques’ warm and informative tableside manner and of the tasteful, fragrant fare that he prepared for our group of five diverse eaters (a vegan, a vegetarian and three omnivores), not to mention the trip report of recent visitors, keeps this restaurant on my Vaucluse list.

Mazan

Christophe Schuffenecker at La Salle à Manger,  8 place Napoléon, the gastronomic restaurant at the hotel Château de Mazan, four miles west of Carpentras. Awarded a Michelin star in 2021. Update: Christophe Schuffenecker has since left Mazan to manage his own restaurant, La Colombe, six miles north in Bédoin. It’s set to open in early spring 2022.

Fontaine de Vaucluse

Fontaine de Vaucluse, at the source of the Sorgue River, provides a breath of cool, damp air in an otherwise dry region. No need for an address for the friendly, traditional, family-run eatery Philip, just follow the path along the rushing waters leading to the fountain from which the river springs into daylight and you’ll reach it. The restaurant, created in 1926 by Isabelle and Gaston Philip, is now in its fourth generation of family ownership. There’s a fascinating story about the ownership of the land on which it sits. Ask about it when here.
La Figuière, 3 chemin des Gougette, gets a shoutout on the recommendation of traveling gastronomones who laud the hearty and traditional Provençale-leaning cuisine served here, in the shade.

L’Isle sur Sorgue

Enjoyable moments of refined simplicity by Daniel Hébert at Le Jardin du Quai, 91 avenue Julien Guigue, and by Benjamin Fabre at La Balade des Saveurs, 3 quai Jean Jaurès.

Roussillon

Among the ochre hills of Roussillon, Restaurant David at the hotel Le Clos de la Glycine, 1 place de la Poste. I’m adding this to the list on the recommendation of epicurean friends who recently had a deliciously soothing meal there while on a hiking trip in the Luberon.

Cadenet-Lourmarin

Nadia Sammut at Auberge La Fenière, 1680 route de Lourmarin (D943). At her gastronomic restaurant, Nadia Sammut’s precise, innovative cuisine and generous personality can restore the spirit of the fallen, as you can read about in this detailed article of mine. Also watch my Culinary Conversation with the chef here. La Fenière is also a hotel.

Maubec

One of the wonderful cliché fantasies of a stay in Provence involves going food shopping at a farmers or village market then returning, perhaps via vineyards or lavender fields, to a cozy kitchen where you’ll transform your fresh, local finds into tasty dishes while sipping Rhone Valley wines or a Provence rosé, in good cheer, in friendly company,… and in English. Which is why so many chefs in the region offer regular or occasional cooking classes. Jean-Marc Villard, 409B chemin du Carraire in Maubec, is one of them. Several of the other chefs or eateries noted on this list also occasionally offer cooking classes (La Mirande, Jon Chiri, Hugues Marrec, Nadia Sammut and others).

Food markets

A traveler in France would be remiss to not visit a food market, whether in a city, a town or a village. Among the most notable in Vaucluse are the Tuesday morning market at Vaison-La-Romaine, the Friday morning market in Carpentras, the Tuesday morning market at Gordes, the Thursday morning market at L’Isle-sur-la-Sorgue, as well as the daily (except Monday) central food market Les Halles in Avignon. Plug in a day and/or town on this map to find a nearby food market while traveling in Vaucluse.

© 2021, Gary Lee Kraut.

The post Cuisine in Provence: Notable Chefs and Restaurants in the Vaucluse Region appeared first on France Revisited - Life in Paris, Travel in France.

Several miles short of Auberge La Fenière, my destination on day one of a solitary cycling tour of the Luberon region of Provence, I mistimed braking for a village speed bump and landed on the tarmac, tangled in my bike. The car coming up behind me was far enough back to stop well before reaching me. A car coming in the opposite direction slowed down and stopped alongside. The driver rolled down her window and asked if she should call for help. I stood up, pulled my bike to the side of the road, picked up my saddlebags, and told the driver that I was alright. I twisted the front wheel back straight, uncoiled and reset the brake lines, bent the mud guard back into position, and set off wobbly on the final miles to La Fenière, thinking all the way, “Holy crap, holy crap, holy crap.”

I wasn’t alright. I was battered, bleeding and my ribs hurt. Already I was late arriving at La Fenière, a property (hotel, restaurants, vegetable garden, pool) that owner-chef Nadia Sammut calls a “lieu de vie” or living space. Earlier in the afternoon, I’d lost my way—allowed myself to lose my way—on the slopes of the Luberon Massif and dawdled along its vantage points. I’d planned to arrive at least an hour earlier so as to check in, shower, speak with Nadia, then rest up before dinner. “We’ve been expecting you,” said the receptionist, and seeing my bloody forearm, “Oh my, what happened?” “A little accident.” “Do you want me to call someone? Do you want to go to the hospital?” “No, but if you have some bandages that would help.” She gave me an emergency kit with bandages and antiseptic.

Up in my room—a bright, peaceable space with a long view of the back of the property and the nearby hillside—I looked at myself in the mirror. I was banged up alright. My ribs and thigh and wrist were sore. I had three more days of biking ahead of me. Should I call it quits now? I cleaned and bandaged myself. The bleeding—rough scrapes but no gashes—would soon stop. How badly was I injured? I couldn’t tell. But I shivered at the thought of how lucky I was, aware that my fall could have been worse, much worse. (Yes, I was wearing a helmet.) I had a reservation for the second seating at the restaurant, so I napped for an hour then went downstairs.

As I reached the lobby, I saw Nadia passing through the patio dining area and the kitchen. I introduced myself and apologized for arriving too late to speak with her earlier. In the rush of dinner I had a first glimpse of her generosity of spirit. “I hear you had an accident,” she said, “Are you alright?” I assured her that I was. She said, “We’ll take care of you,” she said, “and we have all morning tomorrow to talk, if you’d like.”

Ernest Hung Do, the sommelier and maître d’, came over to my table to say hello. I told him that I’d just had a “little biking accident” and could use something strong, say, whiskey, to start. He went inside and returned with a bottle of perfumed gin. He explained how and where it was made. But rather than pour a glass, he told me that he didn’t recommend that I have it. Nadia’s meal is constructed to evolve from dish to dish, he explained, and strong alcohol would affect its proper unfolding.

“What do you recommend instead?” I asked.

“Why not just let the meal express itself and I’ll bring some wine?” he said.

“Fine,” I said, “I’d rather not make choices tonight anyway. I’ll follow your lead, and Nadia’s.”

Two dozen peas and a verbena leaf

Nadia Sammut is a culinary explorer. The 12 or so dishes of the 160€ “expérience” tasting menu proceed through a fluid evolution of ingredients and textures that awaken the senses, from the intentionally bland opening to the iodized middle to the smooth finish. (There’s also a 120€ “découverte” tasting menu, but no à la carte menu.)  Nadia’s quest isn’t so much to astonish, I think, but to create harmony. Ernest’s, too, for that matter; the meal was accompanied by Ernest’s coherent yet unobtrusive wine pairing.

“Precise” is how I thought of the slow parade of small dishes that evening, while “consciousness” is a term that Nadia Sammut applies to her culinary approach. The two terms meet in what appeared to be the simplest of dishes: two dozen peas and a verbena leaf the size of a daisy petal. Deceptively simple, though the full description of the dish is more complex: petit pois, crème de placenta de fève, verveine, bourrache, cardamone noire râpée, huile du domaine de Jasson. Still, I can only think of the dish as two dozen peas and a verbena leaf, and for me it lit up the patio. It was my satori moment.

Yes, it’s a dish that can easily be ridiculed: She charges how much for two dozen peas and a tiny leaf? But there you have it, the appetizer through which I realized that such culinary moments are a way of bringing one into oneself: one’s taste buds, one’s environment, one’s sense of self and of a shared meal, both with one’s table companion(s), if any, and with diners at other tables with whom you might never exchange a word. I hadn’t forgotten the physical nature of my fall several hours earlier, but I was no longer restrained by the trauma of it or by my awareness that the following day or two would reveal the full extent of my injuries. Two dozen peas and a verbena leaf allowed me to settle into the—do I dare use the word?—enlightenment of the meal, the surroundings, the evening and my travels into the Luberon. What a beautiful biking day it had been, landing me here!

No, I wasn’t cured from my fall. But I was, for the moment, soothed of it and conscious above all that it could have been much worse. (Five days later I would consult my doctor in Paris. As impressed as he was that I’d continued biking for three days after the fall, he told me that he would have recommended against it. He sent me for x-rays of my left wrist and right ribs. Turns out that I had broken a bone in my wrist, though it was the ribs, apparently without fracture, that hurt more.) But for now, I was pleased with my good fortune of feeling well enough to experience dinner at La Fenière and digesting my trauma while enjoying a precise and natural gastronomy, Nadia Sammut’s gastronomy of nature.

There are greater traumas, of course, not all of which can be soothed by kind service, a good meal and a peaceable setting. Still, all traumas need to be digested, don’t they? Linguistic aristocrats and associated snobs in France will tell you that it’s gauche to wish fellow diners a “bon appétit” before a meal; “appétit,” they’ll say with condescension, refers to the unpleasantries of digestion, which isn’t something one should mention at a polite table. But digesting one’s worries and traumas and anxieties is clearly commendable and worth wishing on one another, like raising a glass to each other’s good health. Furthermore, Nada, having dealt with celiac disease, naturally and implicitly wishes a healthy, nourishing digestion for all of her guests. Bon appétit for sure.

Gluten-free and rooted in Provence

Nadia’s “cuisine libre” (free cooking) approach, as she calls it, is neither a refusal of nor in opposition to the cuisine(s) of Provence. She remains deeply rooted in the region. Her family has lived in the Luberon for several generations. In 1972, her grandmother opened a little bistro in an old hayloft, called une fenière in Provence, in the village of Lourmarin. She then worked with her son, Nadia’s father. And when he married, his wife, Reine, learned how to cook alongside her mother-in-law. Reine Sammut eventually took over the restaurant and, in 1995, became one of the rare women in France at the time to receive a Michelin star for her cuisine. Well-known throughout Provence and beyond, Reine prepared rather traditional gastronomy. In 1996, Nadia’s parents then bought the property that is La Fenière’s current location in the countryside between Lourmarin and Cadenet. Though no longer installed in a hayloft, they brought the name with them.

At around the age of 30, between 2009 and 2011, Nadia was often quite ill from celiac disease. She says that she was basically bedridden for two years. As she explained during our lengthy conversation the morning after my dinner experience, “I said to myself, ‘This can’t be! With my culinary heritage I have to learn an inclusive approach to food that’s respectful of the environment and respect of individuals while being gastronomic and delicious.’”

She began working with her mother in 2015, soon taking the reins of Reine’s kitchen. In 2017, Nadia herself was awarded the Michelin star for La Fenière. Reine stayed with her in the gastronomic restaurant for another year, at which point, as Nadia tells it, her mother said, “You’ve got do it alone now because you have your vision, your intentions, your recipes, and it’s important that you continue to convey them.”

Though celiac disease is a significant part of Nadia’s personal story and of the development of the culinary explorations that have given her much recognition, she would rather not have her cuisine labeled solely as gluten-free. People come for the experience, she says, not for their celiac problems. Of course, there’s often a table or two where someone will speak with her about their digestive issues because they know of her personal experience. She doesn’t mind. She’s had clients who arrive in culinary distress, worried about every little thing they might eat, and she aims to calm them down. “By the second dish,” she says, “they’ve relaxed and are simply happy to be having a good meal, and that sense of happiness extends to the rest.”

Had I not known in advance that the meal would be gluten-free I doubt that I would have noticed. Presented with the chestnut bread, I thought, hmm, chestnut bread—and it was delicious—and then chick-pea bread—that too—without wondering about the absence of gluten. (Nadia operates a mill for the various flours that she then uses in her breads and other flour-based products that are served in the restaurant and available in specialty stores.) Just as one doesn’t think when eating a good piece of fish that it doesn’t taste like beef, one simply enjoys the dish. (Omnivores, by the way, drawn in by the evolution of the meal and the discovery of each small dish, might not even notice that that none of the dishes contains meat.)

“I have no obligations in my cooking,” says Nadia. “First, I don’t cook traditionally because I can’t, so for me there’s an enormous field of permanent research on plants, on living things, on the way to present naturalness and simplicity.”

Asked about her relationship with traditional Provençale cuisine, Nadia claims a clear and present affinity with it, including the techniques that she learned in part from her mother. “Provence,” she says, “has developed its culinary techniques in relation to the products that were available to work with. Provençale cuisine is also that of economy. People paid attention to what went into their cuisine; they didn’t throw anything away. Provençale cuisine is very plant-based. It’s a distinct yet varied cuisine comprised of different smaller regions. People don’t eat the same way in Marseille or in the Camargue or here in the Luberon. Its diversity is quite beautiful and should be brought to light. Its recipes, its beautiful recipes, haven’t been extinguished, and they need to be created and recreated, transmitted from generation to generation. The heart is transmitted with them, that’s a beautiful part of the energy of life.”

Regenerative and holistic

I’d arrived on opening night, so to speak, June 9, 2021, the first evening that La Fenière was welcoming diners since its 2020 Covid closing and months of evening curfew. Dining out without watching the clock was new to all of us, a time of renewal, particularly for those who, like me, prefer a late or second seating in a restaurant.

Nadia uses the term régénérateur—regenerative, something that makes you feel replenished—in speaking of the environment that she set out to create at La Fenière. That environment extends beyond the gastronomic restaurant to include the bistro on the property, the lodging, the landscape, the service, the swimming pool, the kitchen garden, the occasional activities and workshops, and the overall atmosphere. She speaks of the importance of being “conscious” of oneself and one’s environment.

“What’s essential in my life and what I think I’m able to offer others is that sense of self-awareness. To do so requires being connected to both matter and nature. And I believe that the best way to let go is to feel good, to have a sense of trust in a place, to be conscious of where one is. All that is regenerative… I like that people feel good and, beyond feeling good, that there’s a kind of interaction with themselves.”

Nadia is generous enough with her time and spirit to interact with clients if they wish, even during the meal. As she put the finishing touches on dishes in a corner of the dining patio the evening of my visit, diners would occasionally get up to see what she was doing, to ask her questions, and Nadia willingly engaged with them. She came by each table twice to deliver and explain a dish.

My most frequent interaction that evening, however, was with Ernest Hung Do, the sommelier and maître d’, a gentle, knowing, kind presence throughout the meal. Ernest came to France from Vietnam as an infant, his family having fled the country in waves of refugees known as “boat people.” As a young man, he became particularly interested in fish and became a sushi master with his own restaurant. He was named best sushi master in France one year. In 2013, he sold his restaurant since he’d become increasingly interested in all things vegetal, a move from the sea to the earth. He met Nadia’s sister, a food journalist, in Marseille, and her sister said, “You and Nadia speak the same way about food, you should meet.” That was seven years ago. They have been together ever since, as companions and as business partners. “We truly work in synergy together,” says Nadia. I asked Ernest, given his background as a chef, why didn’t he want to work alongside Nadia in the kitchen? “Because I wanted to leave her with her vision in the kitchen while presenting her cuisine and wine to clients.” He does an excellent job of it. (He credits Nadia’s father as one of his mentors in learning about wine.)

“What I do, I believe, is goes beyond the dish,” says Nadia. “I like to lead people to ask themselves questions. When you start out with something that’s bland, you ask yourself ‘Why bland?’ But what’s bland is essential for digestion, it’s essential in silence, in calm. And then something rises up, for example on the shrimp. What especially interests me is that people feel and have sensations. Of course, the dish is a part of an overall experience, and it’s essential that everything about that dish be precise. Then once you have that precision you can talk about everything else. That’s where a meal goes beyond the dishes themselves.”

Each dish grabs attention for its finesse and balance. Following the aforementioned shrimp—it was a raw Mediterranean shrimp with a squid ink emulsion, with a squid ink “chip” that nearly struck me as enlightening as the verbena leaf—the fluidity and complex harmony of a cream of bitter lettuce with an oyster in a sourdough tempura was my favorite dish. After that, the rouille in a dish called “memory of a bouillabaisse” was a discovery in and of itself.

Here’s how Nadia describes her inspiration for the penultimate dish, chickpea ice cream served with a shot of rum: “When I opened that rum a few weeks ago—it’s a friend of mine who makes it, Guillaume Ferroni, in Aubagne [near Marseille], aged in casks sometimes from Rasteau and in this case from Beaumes de Venise—when I opened that rum I said to myself, “Ah, that’s it, that’s what I want to feel,” because even though I don’t drink alcohol, just smelling it made me feel something. I don’t want sugar in my cuisine because sugar releases dopamine, which is quite different than serotonin. I want to work with serotonin, what’s called the hormone of happiness, not the hormone of pleasure. Happiness is more intense; it’s a lot more timeless. It’s something that awakens the interior of our body, not just to make us say ‘Wow’ but to make us conscious, which is much greater.”

“Wow,” is what I also said to myself when I tried the chickpea ice cream and rum. A warm honey-and-chestnut madeleine then served as an endnote to the meal.

La Fenière, a living space

Nadia’s gastronomic restaurant is the centerpiece La Fenière but there are other aspects to the property as well. Above the restaurant, in the main building on the property, there are 12 bedrooms, created in 2017. Nadia plans to develop 30 more lodgings on the opposite end of the property in the form of ecolodges. There’s also a second restaurant on the property, a Mediterranean bistro called La Cour du Ferme. There’s a swimming pool. There are hiking paths. Small-group activities are sometimes organized, such as cooking workshop taught by Nadia on Saturday mornings. Yet I wouldn’t call La Fenière a resort. It’s homier than that. There’s no grand décor, no ostentation. More boutiquish, more palatial, more photogenic accommodations are found elsewhere in the Luberon. What then to call this place?

Nadia calls La Fenière a “lieu de vie” or living space, a place of “positive living, of regeneration and of inspiration,” where guests are invited to “participate in the world in which they wish to live.” That may sound too psychic or new-age for some travelers looking to explore the landscapes and villages of the Luberon, though having stated her goal, Nadia doesn’t demand or expect obedience. She would just like visitors to slow down and be conscious of their surroundings. Thus, the hotel has a two-night minimum.

To me, La Fenière is a cultured, unglamorous countryside estate with an earthy restaurant—an earthy restaurant with an exquisite, inventive, sophisticated, earth-and-seaworthy 160€ tasting menu, but an earthy restaurant nonetheless.

An olive tree stands at the center of the patio around which, weather permitting, the tables are set. A concert of frogs played nearby as I sat at one of them that evening. As their song softened, I became aware of the sound of a bees buzzing in the yard and of Ernest’s soft steps over the paving stones. Was it a form of shock from my fall or a form of denial that I may have fractured my ribs or broken my wrist? Whatever it was, that evening at La Fenière I was one happy, regenerated, conscious traveler.

La Fenière, D943, 84160 Cadenet 84160. Tel. +33 (0)4 90 68 11 79. A 2-night minimum is required at the hotel. The gastronomic restaurant is open only when Nadia is present. The bistro remains open even when she is not. Those staying at the hotel on a Friday evening should ask in advance if Nadia will be giving a cooking class on Saturday morning. Cooking classes are also open to those not staying at the hotel.

Near La Fenière in the southern Luberon: The château and village of Lourmarin; a shaded seat in a café or restaurant by the water basin at Cucuron; olive oil tasting at Bastide du Laval; Mérindol and the history of Waldensian (les Vaudois); the 12th-century Cisterian Silvacane Abbey at La Roque d’Anthéron; the garden conservatory for plants used for dying and coloring in Lauris. Tourist information about the village and the entire Luberon region of Provence can be obtained at the Lourmarin tourist office, Place Henri Barthélémy. The Luberon is in the Vaucluse department or sub-region of Provence. For more articles about Vaucluse see here.

A Video Culinary Conversation with Nadia Sammut

Nadia Sammut was one of my guests at a France Revisited Culinary Conversation with three chefs of the Vaucluse area of Provence, along with Jon Chiri and Hugues Marrec, on June 29, 2021. Nadia appears in the introductory portion of Part 1 and then again for nearly all of Part 2. I invite you to watch at least the first 10 minutes of Part 1 in order to situate Nadia in the region and among the three chefs that I selected for this culinary conversation before proceeding to Part 2, here:

© 2021, Gary Lee Kraut

The post Cuisine in Provence: Nadia Sammut at La Fenière, After the Fall appeared first on France Revisited - Life in Paris, Travel in France.

Hugues Marrec named his eatery une auberge or inn, rather than un restaurant because, he says, one doesn’t come to an auberge in search of an extensive menu but in the belief that that the chef will be cooking up something satisfying. And satisfying it was when I biked by for dinner and then stayed the night in one of the inn’s two bedrooms.

Auberge de La Camarette, where he offers a 38€ fixed-price menu, including wine, is situated within Domaine de La Camarette, a wine estate managed by his wife Nancy and her sister, located just outside the pleasing little town of Pernes-les-Fontaines, a dozen miles east of Avignon and four miles south of Carpentras.

Without aspiring to the moniker “gastronomic restaurant,” and shunning the term “semi-gastronomic,” Hugues’s culinary approach might best be described as polished, straightforward terroir. “When you’re surrounded by good fresh products you can’t help but want to cook with them,” he says. Indeed, one need only bike or drive around the Vaucluse area of Provence for a few days to glimpse the variety of local agriculture in the area. La Camarette itself, in addition to vineyard, has an olive orchard as well as wheat, barley and chick-pea fields. The herbs and lemons that Hugues uses in his kitchen come from the family garden. The vegetables may come from neighboring farms. The eggs come from Pernes. If there’s rabbit on the menu it will come from a local producer, the lamb from the Apilles area of Provence, the pork from Ventoux area, and the bull from the Camargue, in the Rhone delta.

If you’re put off by eating beets during beet season or eggplant during eggplant season, blame Mother Nature rather than Hugues Marrec.

It isn’t just the products that are local but a sizable share of the clientele as well. “My clientele is used to making traditional Provençale dishes at home, so that’s not what they come here for,” he says, “other than the occasional daube in winter.” While his isn’t Provençale cuisine in its traditional sense, Chef Marrec clearly prepares a cuisine of Provence. More leeway is given for the choice of fish, which may come from the rivers of Provence or from the Mediterranean or the Atlantic. After all, it would be a shame to refuse a Brittany-born chef the possibility to prepare saltwater fish.

In 1998, at the age of 20, Hugues went to Sun Valley, Idaho, to work, as a commis (assistant) chef. One year later, he was promoted to head chef at one of the resort’s restaurants, proof of both the quality of his training in France and of his ability to adapt and flourish. He lived in Sun Valley at two different periods before the age of 24, for a total of 3½ years, and may well have stayed longer had visas for French not been reduced during the Freedom Fry era of the Second Gulf War. He’s also worked in the UK and in Ireland.

Early in his stay in Sun Valley, Hugues met Nancy Gontier, a Frenchwoman his age from Provence—Pernes-les-Fontaines to be exact. Nancy had come to Sun Valley as an intern in the hospitality industry. After leaving Sun Valley, he and Nancy stayed in touch as they went their separate ways to pursue their respective careers, then met up again when they were both working in London.

In 2006, the two settled in Nancy’s hometown, more specifically her home vineyard. Domaine de La Camarette has been in the Gontier family for several generations. Nancy’s grandparents arrived in the area from Algeria in the early 1960s, where her grandfather’s family, winegrowers in Algeria for several generations, already had connections. Her grandfather purchased La Camarette to develop its farming and vines. (It’s called Camarette because long ago the farm belonged to a certain Camaret family.) The vineyard portion of Domaine de La Camarette covers 45 hectares (111 acres), producing Ventoux appellation wines for the most part—Ventoux being a blend, mostly grenache, syrah and mourdevre—while also producing some single-grape IGP (Protected Geographical Indication) Mediterranée wines: 100% syrah (red), 100% sauvignon blanc (white), 100% mourvèdre (rosé).

Once here, Hugues worked in a restaurant in the vicinity while pondering and preparing for the opening of a restaurant at La Camarette in May 2008. He initially ran it as a one-man kitchen, with Nancy doing the service. But they had a child (they now have two) and it soon proved to be too difficult for the couple to manage everything. Furthermore, Nancy, was managing the wine estate, where her sister would join her in 2009. So he added personnel at the restaurant, which has since expanded.

The 17th-century farm building that is now the inn was created around an earlier bread oven that’s still visible inside. The restaurant is open year-round other than during short vacation periods. Weather permitting (typically May to mid-September), meals are served in the shaded courtyard in front of the building.

Stay away if you require several options on a menu because a meal at Auberge de La Camarette is a 3-course fixed-price affair consisting of a set appetizer, a choice of two main courses (one fish, one meat), and dessert. Included in the price of the meal, currently 38€, are an aperitif and two glasses of wine from Domaine de La Camarette. There is also a wine list for those who would prefer a bottle from elsewhere. A cheese course is proposed at a supplement. The menu changes weekly. There’s no menu online, and Hugues would rather not tell those who call what’s on the menu in a given week. It isn’t that he wants to keep it secret but he’d rather have guests arrive with a willing and open appetite. For indecisive diners, Hugues says, an added advantage of a set menu is that it removes “the stress of the restaurant experience.”

Rest assured, the dishes are recognizable; you’re unlikely to be confronted with something unknown, unusual or artsy. There’s always a choice been a fish and a meat dish, and vegetarians (probably not vegans) can be accommodated if they let their server know that when they arrive. The evening I ate at La Camarette, the main-course choice was between cod and rabbit. The following week the choice was between local trout and duck. Duck was also on the menu when a friend dined at La Camarette and sent me this beauty shot.

Auberge de La Camarette, 439 Chemin des Brunettes, 84210 Pernes les Fontaines. Tel.: +33 (0)4 90 61 60 78.

The inn has two comfortable bedrooms, one at 80-90€/night, the at other 90-105€, including breakfast. Each has its own bathroom. I can well imagine this as a choice stop for two couples or friends traveling together or for a family of three or four. Those staying overnight may well have an opportunity to chat with Hugues and will also be able to have a thorough tasting of Nancy’s wines at the vineyard. There’s a small swimming pool and a shelter for bikes for those on a cycling tour. Next door to the inn, Hugues and Nancy operate two guest houses available for weekly rental. Hugues also conducts occasional cooking workshops.

© 2021, Gary Lee Kraut

A Culinary Conversation with Hugues Marrec

Hugues Marrec was one of my guests at a France Revisited Culinary Conversation with three chefs of the Vaucluse area of Provence, along with Jon Chiri and Nadia Sammut, on June 29, 2021. Hugues appears in Part 1 then again for several minutes in Part 2. See the timeline.

In Part 1, below, the conversation proceeds as follows:

0:00:00 Gary Lee Kraut’s introduction
0:00:44 The 3 chefs introduce themselves
0:02:00 Why these 3 chefs?
0:04:15 Situating the Vaucluse region of Provence where the 3 chefs are located
0:07:45 Some agricultural products grown in Provence
0:10:33 Conversation with Jon Chiri
0:25:28 Conversation with Hugues Marrec

In Part 2, below, the conversation proceeds as follows:

0:00:00 Introduction to Part 2 of this Culinary Conversation
0:00:15 Gary Lee Kraut introduces Nadia Sammut
0:03:15 Nadia Sammut, her background, her cuisine, her philosophy
0:28:14 What is Hugues Marrec preparing for dinner tonight?
0:32:45 What is Nadia Sammut preparing?
0:35:48 Gary’s endnote

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