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.

The post Culinary Utility of the Dollar in Paris: 6 Recommendations from a Gourmet Economist appeared first on France Revisited - Life in Paris, Travel in France.

“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.

I don’t thumb text easy enough to answer at length on my phone, so I’ll respond here.

I liked the food. I liked the presentation on the plate. I appreciated the mix of savors. There’s some serious cheffing going on in that kitchen.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. So back to the beginning.

I walked into the restaurant at 7:45pm, several minutes before my dinner date would arrive, and was given a choice of two tables. I selected the one by the window. Before I sat down I asked the servers, a man and a woman, if the restaurant had a cat. The man said, No. Since he didn’t ask why the question, I told him: Because it smells like a cat lives here. No cat, he said. His negation was no reassurance. I smelled something, something that reminded me of a home with a cat or something furry or litterboxy—not in a long-left-untended sense, but in a musky sense. Since I was one of the first clients in the restaurant it wasn’t someone’s perfume. I would hope not.

I wondered if it was more like hay, thinking that hay has a pleasant smell. Maybe they used hay as a bed for some creative dish, I thought, since I knew in reserving that creativity was on the menu. But no, something was off. Damp hay? I don’t know. My senses kept wanting to call it cat.

I like cats. I used to have one. For a time I was lucky enough to call one my significant other. I took my niece and her friend to the cat café when they visited last year. Cats are fine by me. But I thought it odd that a restaurant with a high ceiling and large panes of window giving out to the square and one wall full of wine bottles should smell like a cat, as it did in this corner.

My friend, a French lawyer, arrived a minute later. I’d texted her the previous day to say that in the time of the coronavirus we should support restaurants and, besides, we hadn’t seen each other for six weeks. She agreed, though in the time of the coronavirus she wouldn’t kiss me when she arrived.

I asked if she smelled a cat. She said, No, maybe, well there’s something, maybe it’s the plant—for our table was near a plant. That might be it, I said, something in the soil, so we moved one table away along the window. (Empty tables abound in the time of coronavirus.)

Moving two yards away didn’t completely eliminate the odor, but my friend and I hadn’t seen each other for some time so we quickly fell into lively catch-up talk, and I forget the cat smell, as I did back in the day when I shared an apartment with the world’s most beautiful, intelligent cat.

I thought of the cat again when the waitress placed some pâté before us, but her gratuitous act was much appreciated and we were hungry. We thanked her. We were in for a modern meal and it began with a welcome slab of tradition.

Twice the waitress returned to ask if we were ready to order the meal or something to drink, and the third time she came over we were. We selected from the 3-course fixed-price menu (49€) and a bottle of Gigondas (48€).

We chatted away, as friends of 30 years do, and the wine arrived. I reached for my glasses in my coat pocket to examine the label, as one pretends one does, and by the time I put them on the waitress had already removed the foil from the top of the bottle and was about to poke the cork with a screw. Now that I could see it, I remarked that the label read 2015 whereas the wine list indicated 2013. I don’t think so, she said, this is all there is. Can you check? I asked. She checked. The menu did indeed indicate 2013, and 2015 was indeed all she had. She claimed not to have noticed before. She asked if I still wanted the bottle.

Now what do I know from 2013 or 2015? What do I know from Gigondas or Domaine du Terme other than that I was planning on visiting wine villages in the southern Rhone Valley next month? But I do know that the staff of a restaurant with a substantial wine list should have something more informative to say than Do you still want the bottle?

I said, If it’s discounted.

She abruptly went to consult with the other server who was behind the bar. He was apparently her higher-up. Together they examined the menu. As they did, my friend asked if I knew the different between 2013 and 2015 in Gigondas. I said that for all I know 2015 was a better year, but given the way the bottle had (not) been presented to us and the way I was asked Do you still want it?, it was the principle of the thing. A restaurant that notes “cuisine & vins gourmands” on its awning and presents a wall full of bottles should have someone who knows how to talk about wine, someone who will show you the label and will be willing to engage, if only to say, I don’t know much about wine but let me ask my colleague if he can help. I don’t use one of those wine label apps, so it was indeed a matter of principle. My friend agreed. She said, Sometimes principle is all we have to go on. That’s a rare thing for a lawyer to acknowledge.

The waitress returned. Apparently Pirouette has principles, too. She said, No, same price, do you want it? (I’m translating; these exchanges were in French but no more extensive than that.)

Maybe I would have a liked a warmer tone; maybe I would have liked to hear that I was being offered a 5€ discount; maybe I would have liked to have the server explain that 2015 was even better than 2013 or how they were different; maybe I expect a restaurant with a substantial wine list to…. I said, No, I’ll take another look at the wine list.

This time I selected a Vacqueyras, a 20-minute bike-ride north of Gigondas, 2016, also Domaine du Terme. At 33€ it happened to be the list’s least expensive red wine from the southern Rhone Valley. I shouldn’t say “happened to be” since I wasn’t now going to select anything priced higher than the 2013/2015 bottle. I may have been shooting myself in the gut with my principle, but there you have it.

This time the male server brought over the bottle. It’s Vacqueyras, he said, but it’s 2017, not 2016. I thought there might be a punchline but none was forthcoming. In the silence that followed he missed his chance to remark, before my dinner date did, that they needed to update their wine list. We’re in the process of changing it, he responded, humorlessly. Is 2017 alright? It’s 80% syrah. And he followed that by looking at the bottle and saying something about body or structure.

I accepted the 2017. What do I know from Vacqueyras? What do I know from 2016/2017? The waiter poured us a sip. It was relatively direct (80% syrah) and relatively adequate. I nodded. He poured more. This wasn’t the coolness of French service as I’ve come to accept and even appreciate it; this was the coldness of appearing to not give a damn. Sheesh! If this had all been done a bit more engagement on the part of the staff, I wouldn’t have suddenly remembered what health officials keep telling us about the coronavirus: “Maintain a social distance.” The staff at Pirouette must think that referred to something other than distance in space.

The waiter then parted, stirring the air, and I was reminded of the cat smell that wasn’t coming from a cat.

Then the food arrived, beginning with “cruncheese” rice balls topped with marinated sea bream and an orange vinaigrette, for one of us, and green asparagus dressed with herb breadcrumbs and accompanied by citrus butter, for the other. Quite good. We liked it from the start. Then came our main courses of crispy pork, butternut puree with aniseed and a coffee mousse, for one of us, and cod covered with buckwheat accompanied by a crepe-size carrot and ginger ravioli, for the other. A pleasure. Chef François-Xavier Ferrol’s studied mix of savors may not be subtle (perhaps subtlety isn’t the aim) but they form an appealing kind of comfort bistronomy, handsomely presented on the plate. Filling portions. Not stellar, but 49€ fine. The wine was so-so, but who cares? We were two friends enjoying each other’s company over dinner in the time of the coronavirus.

My friend and I had agreed that we could dig into each other’s dish with the clean set of silverware that arrived with each course. Yet dessert has a way of making people forget their coronavirus principles. Having licked the last of her pleasing rice pudding with salted butter caramel from her spoon, she forgot that she’d asked for a second spoon (see photo of third course) and promptly stuck the same one into my chocolate ganache, peanut streusel and cocoa sorbet. I pointed out what she’d just done by saying, And to think you wouldn’t kiss me when you came in, to which she blushed as though she’d just impulsively stuck her tongue into my mouth. Take it all, I said—not because I distrusted her germs but because it was my least favorite dish.

My friend went to the rest room while I paid the bill. Then I went to the rest room while she looked at her phone. The rest room was clean enough. The sink is awkwardly placed. I washed my hands thoroughly.

I’d been away from the table for several minutes and as I returned I again picked up the scent of something cat-like or otherwise furry or litterboxy. It was like when I lived with a cat and would go down to get the mail then return to the apartment. Hmm, I’d think, a cat lives here. Whatever the odor was by the window at Pirouette, and however subjectively I’ve interpreted the smell, there it was. We then left the restaurant.

So on a scale of 1 to 10 would I recommend Pirouette?

Well, everyone deserves a break. Especially these days. There’s too much distrust, too much aggression, too many insistent points of view, too much judging going on—even too many principles. Shouldn’t the main principle be to help keep ourselves and each other healthy and to simply enjoy each other’s company while we’re together because you never know whom you’ll be stuck with in quarantine? So why not recommend François-Xavier Ferrol’s cuisine and forget about the staff’s “social distance,” their cold-shoulder wine oops, and that odor? Why not an 8 then, or a 7?

Because at this price I’d like a more graceful Pirouette, and because mutual support is a two-way street, and because there are (correction: will be) many other worthwhile options in Paris, and because you asked: 5.

Pirouette
5 rue Mondétour, 1st arr. Metro Les Halles. 01 40 26 47 81.
Open Monday-Saturday, noon-2pm and 7:30-10pm.

© 2020, Gary Lee Kraut

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Yet ever since you’ve spiraled up the staircase, passing the main dining room of Le Clarence along the way, a question has been nagging you, so as a waitress stops before you with a sweet smile and a tray of crab canapés you ask, “Why is the restaurant empty this evening?”

She responds, “Because there’s a private party this evening.”

“Where?” you ask.

She offers you a strange look, glances quickly to her bottle-cradling colleague, who offers a similarly strange look, then she says, ever so politely, “You’re at it, sir.”

“Oh,” you say, now feeling special, as you reach for a crab canapé from her tray and accept another pour from her colleague.

© 2019, Gary Lee Kraut

The post You know you live in Paris when…: Le Clarence appeared first on France Revisited - Life in Paris, Travel in France.

While traditional crepe restaurants (crêperies) and quick-snack crepe stands remain common in Paris, the crepe has been rising from comfort food status to a trend-conscious lunching and dining choice.

Basically, it’s a Cinderella story for the modest crepe which, at the basic level, is simply an undernourished pancake. Crepe batter lacks a rising agent, like baking soda, that makes the pancake comparatively thick and heavy in the belly.

Crêpes, which wear a circumflex hat in French (optional in English), have been associated with Brittany since the 12th century when buckwheat, newly introduced to the region, proved to be one of the few crops that flourished on the region’s hardscrabble terrain. (That historic Brittany connection explains the numerous traditional crêperies on and around Rue d’Odessa and Rue du Montparnasse, near the Montparnasse station, where trains arrive from that region.)

It’s the non-gluten quality of buckwheat—known as sarrasin or blé noir ­(black wheat) in France—that contributes to the crêpe’s popularity with the current generation of picky eaters. And it doesn’t hurt that crepes are relatively versatile, made-to-order and inexpensive, averaging 7 to 12 euros a piece in their savory form in Paris. Even in their fashion-conscious accessorized form they’re only a few euros pricier than their country cousins.

A savory buckwheat crepe is often referred to as a galette in French. Dessert crepes are generally fashioned from white flour, though sarrasin flour works perfectly with honey, fruit and Nutella and can be substituted on request.

Savory crepes are traditionally consumed with low-alcohol cider instead of wine since Brittany and Normandy, the historical homes for savory crepes, are short on vineyards and long on apple orchards.

The crepe’s stylish versatility is on display in the following five restaurants which represent some of the best of the current crop of trendsetting crêperies in Paris.

Brutus

Super-chic Brutus, combines two hot trends—designer crêpes and imaginative cocktails—in a wood-accented venue in the white-hot Batignolles quarter. No reservations, but that’s no problem since this is the only crêperie in Paris with an active bar scene. Order some tapas (the sardine rillettes are divine) while you wait for a table and sip a refreshing, gin-tinted cider cooler or a smooth cider sour with a fluffy froth of egg white. The crepes vary from classic cheese/egg/ham to chicken tajine. In a nod to the past, the crepes are named after the grandmothers of the three owners’ grandmothers: Paulette, Lucienne, Babette etc. Sample a novelty fruit potion—like the Scandinavian-style cidre des glaces made from frozen apples—for a digestif with an unusual kick.

Brutus. 99 rue des Dames, 17th arr. Metro Rome or Villiers. Tel: 09 86 53 44 00.

Odyssey

The soundtrack is “Best of Star Wars”; the menu is printed in Aurebash (Imperial Galactic Basic); and although diners are requested to check their light-sabers at the door, there’s a lot more to Odyssey than Skywalker/Solo nostalgia. Just a few blocks south of Notre Dame (and conveniently located on a block that’s rife with Sci-Fi boutiques), the capable kitchen honors the home-worlds of multiple alien cultures. The Gallifrey crêpe features Roquefort, Swiss cheese, bacon and walnuts and the utterly delectable Klendathu mixes minced leeks, chive and goat cheese. There’s even a nod to Remulak. If Princess Leia, currently working undercover as a Latin Quarter waitress, suggests a supplement of extra cheese on your Dagobah, go for it. She knows.

Odyssey. 6 rue Dante, 5th arr. Metro Cluny La Sorbonne or Maubert Mutualité. Tel: 01 77 12 06 70.

Crêperie Gigi

Crêperie Gigi pushes the metro-menu ingredient envelope with fillings like shitake mushrooms and truffled ham. Since this popular Upper Marais joint takes no reservations, you may have a lot of time on the sidewalk to ponder your esoteric order. On the other hand, as the proprietors of Gigi are in the process of buying up all the storefronts on this scenic street, you can do this in comfort at their cozy wine bar, Le Barav, a few doors away. (You might also take a minute to enquire about artisanal ciders like the Granny Smith-scented Domaine du Tertre from Gigi’s cellar.) Crêpes may be essentially Breton, but as neighboring Normandy also lays a claim to flat pancake fame, almost every crêperie offers a Norman-style apple-based dessert. Gigi’s version—topped with melt-in-the-mouth sautéed apples, vanilla ice cream and flamed with a splash of Calvados brandy—is one of the best.

Crêperie Gigi. 4 rue de la Corderie, 3rd Arr. Metro République, Temple, Oberkampf or Filles du Calvaire. Tel: 07 83 58 75 30.

Mona Kerbili Crêperie Bretonne

Mona Kerbili was a mythological Breton maiden whose tumultuous love affair with an underwater Merman Prince ended in Happy-Ever-After-Land… even as all the minor characters in the saga suffered major collateral damage. What better namesake setting for a pre- or post-Puccini nosh? Mona Kerbili Crêperie Bretonne, located a few arias away from the Bastille Opera, opened in October 2018 and – of all the pancake-houses heretofore mentioned – is the best venue for a Date Night. The dreamy sea-blue walls and sepia forest wallpaper evoke the surf’n’turf romance of Mona and her Mer-Macho lover that’s echoed in a surf’n’turf selection (salmon, sausage, sardines). Picky eaters can always choose the “build-your-own” option: ham? goat cheese or Swiss? tomatoes? sautéed mushrooms? spinach? Nice chardonnay by the glass if you’re tired of hard cider.

Mona Kerbili Crêperie Bretonne. 16 rue de la Roquette, 11th arr. Metro Bastille. Tel: 01 58 30 88 18.

Breizh Café

The Breizh Café franchise, is the closest French equivalent to America’s beloved IHOP (International House of Pancakes) chain. Its founder, Bertrand Larcher, took an exceptionally long detour on his way from Brittany to Paris, opening signature crêperies in Tokyo and Kyoto before inaugurating his first Paris outpost in the Marais. The granite/wood/slate decors are very sleek, and although it’s still possible to get a budget lunch at a BC, some of the specialty crêpes—like the vegan beet/avocado/tofu savory galette with sesame seed oil—are priced a bit higher than the norm in the restaurants cited previously.

Breizh Café has the following outlets in Paris:
Marais. 109, rue Vieille-du-Temple, 3rd arr. Metro: Filles du Calvaire. Tel: 01 42 72 13 77.
Odéon. 1, rue de l’Odéon, 6th arr. Metro: Odéon. Tel: 01 42 49 34 73.
Montorgueil. 14 bis, rue des Petits Carreaux, 2nd arr. Metro: Sentier. Tel: 01 42 33 97 78.
Batignolles. 31 rue des Batignolles, 17th arr. Metro Rome. Tel: 01 40 07 11 69.

© 2019, Corinne LaBalme.

The post The Humble Crepe Gets a Paris Makeover appeared first on France Revisited - Life in Paris, Travel in France.

To eat late is easy in Paris, and to eat well is, too. But too eat late and well is rare. And to do so in the presence of one of Paris’s most esteemed purveyors of traditional bistro fare is a privilege.

I’m sitting with Paul Racat, owner of La Poule au Pot since 1974. Our soupe gratinée may seem simple enough but I know of no better setting in which enjoy in a single bowl all of the basic French food groups: onions, cheese, bread, chicken bouillon and white wine. Furthermore, when served at La Poule au Pot one can actually taste the history: the history of of the old central food market, dubbed “the belly of Paris” by Emile Zola; the history of this bistro whose décor has scarcely change since 1935, and, while classic French songs of the 1950s play softly in the background, the history of Paul Racat’s restaurant as a staple of late-night sustenance for greater and lesser names of fashion, film and pop music since the 1970s. I add to that my own personal history since I have been coming to La Poule au Pot for a late-night fix of onion soup for over 25 years.

As the waiter clears away our empty bowls, Racat brings out guest books containing the signatures, comments and drawings of some of the hundreds of familiar names and faces that have dined here: musicians, actors, comedians, designer, models, architects, chefs, models, and others that Racat collectively refers to them as “les artistes.”

La Poule au Pot has been known to have a party atmosphere in the middle of the night—as when some of the Rolling Stones first came after a recording session in Montmartre in the mid-80s or when Michel Petrucciani, a well-known French jazz pianist who passed away in 1999, stood on a banquette and tell raunchy jokes—but this was never a place to see and be seen, rather a place to enjoy the classics of hearty fresh bistro fare amiably served at any time of night. One is far more likely to see couples or friends in discreet conversation, as tonight, whether they’re artistes or not. And it isn’t unusual to see someone dining alone after midnight. Racat recalls Bruce Springsteen sitting quietly in a corner in the early ’80s, writing, perhaps lyrics to a song.

Guardian of fresh traditional bistro fare

“When I started out I imagined developing four or five restaurants, but I ended up staying with one for my entire career,” says Racat.

Not only has he remained devoted to his first and only restaurant, but to the menu of traditional bistro fare that he opened it with: escargots, soupe gratinée, os à moelle, fried camembert, chicken and rice with a cream sauce, steak tartare, poule au pot Henri IV (the restaurant’s namesake dish of long-simmered chicken and vegetables in broth), veal kidneys, salmon, lamb, tarte tatin, crème brulée, profiteroles, etc..

His dedication to preparing quality versions of such traditional dishes has made Racat one of the capital’s guardians of such cuisine. He is the Paris representative of the fraternal gastronomic order La Marmite d’Or, which honors the preservation of traditional cuisine and products. He is also a member of the Prosper Montagné Gastronomic Club, named for the renowned chef and author (notably of Larousse Gastronomique, an encyclopedia of French gastronomy) of the first half of the 20th century. Racat often repeats Montagné’s motto “On ne fait du bon qu’avec du très bon”—You can only make something good from something very good).

Paul Bocuse, Joel Robuchon, Guy Savoy, and other chefs known for their high gastronomy have signed Racat’s guest book. And he has been honored by the French State with Knighthood in the Order of Agricultural Merit and in the National Order of Merit. Can the Legion of Honor be far behind?

Attracting show biz folk

Racat grew up in the Borbonnais area of Allier (Auvergne) and studied at the Beaux-Arts school in Moulins. After the premature death of his father there was no longer sufficient family funds for him to stay in a school leading to an uncertain future, he says, so he switched to a hotel-restaurant school with the idea of working as a chef. Cooking had been a passion since childhood. At 18 he was hired for his first kitchen job in Paris at the gastronomic restaurant Prunier. Brief stints followed at a series of stellar restaurants—Tour d’Argent and Plaza Athenée in Paris, Trianon Palace in Versailles—along with a gig in England preparing a hunting meal for the royal family.

In addition to gaining culinary experience during those six years, Racat says that he also learned “how poorly waiters and kitchen staff were treated by chefs and bosses at the time.” Together those valuable lessons led him at age 24 to want to strike out on his own.

“A partner and I were looking for a business and we came upon this one. A business at Les Halles may have been worth more than one on the Champs-Elysées during the time of the market, but with the market gone [Paris’s central food market moved to Rungis is 1969] it wasn’t worth much at all.”

Racat and his business partner bought La Poule au Pot in 1974. Racat created the menu and ran the kitchen. His partner oversaw the dining room. Several years later their teamwork turned wobbly, so Racat bought him out. Racat then hired a chef and began working as the front man. He would eventually acquire the property as well.

The décor of 1935

Racat and his partner were only the second owners of La Poule au Pot. They purchased the business from its original owners, the Penigueys, a couple who created the restaurant in 1935 and had scarcely changed the décor over the next 40 years. After her husband passed away, Suzanne Peniguey placed the restaurant under management, but, says Racat, the business turned sour, so at age 82 she was forced to take it back. Too old to operate it herself she decided to sell.

“She asked me not to change the décor until she died,” says Racat, “and I promised that I wouldn’t.”

His promise has held long beyond that. Peniguey passed away at the age of 98, yet the original décor still remains largely intact. Over the years Racat has changed some of the wallpaper, updated the overhead lighting and added some photographs and paintings, including a naïve painting of the front of the restaurant painted that he painted himself. Nevertheless, with its mirrored walls, copper bar counter, deep red banquettes, mosaic floor tiles, gold glass tiles around columns and various decorative elements passed on from the Penigueys, the bistro spirit of pre-war Les Halles remains in the décor as it does in the cuisine. The Penigueys’ cash register is still there, too, though no longer used.

La Poule au Pot might best be considered a luxury bistro. But the luxury here is in no way association with pretention or snobbery. What is luxurious is instead Racat’s insistence on simplicity, tradition, quality, kindness and the possibility to linger through the night. A 3-course meal runs 50-60€ without wine. Yet one might simply come for an after-midnight bowl of onion soup and a glass of white wine, before being tempted by a blueberry tart or a tarte tatin.

Hundreds of plaques of the names of celebrities

Racat and his partner didn’t set out to create a venue for celebrities, but thanks to friends of the partner and their decision to keep the restaurant open through the night, La Poule au Pot attracted people from show biz early on.

Typically it’s the record or production company that calls to say that the artist is coming. They come after their show accompanied by musicians, producers, friends or others. Sometimes a limousine pulls up, as when a little fellow arrived with a tall and beautiful blond on his arm and two hefty bodyguards close behind. “Love God. Prince,” the fellow signed in the guest book.

Musicians and actors still come, but gone are the days when there would be a haze of illicit smoke in the street. “The 1970s and 1980s were what they were,” Racat says, “but I never tolerated drugs inside the restaurant.”

Among Racat’s additions to the décor are the hundreds of little plaques that border the banquettes and side panels indicating the names of artists that have signed the guest books. It’s now the artists who ask for a plaque with their name to be placed here, he says.

La Poule au Pot has three categories of guest book: one for artists, one for politicians, one for everyone else. But only the artists have the right to a plaque. “Artists remain,” he says, “politicians just pass through.” One of the plaques toward the back bears his own name.

You may be disappointed coming to La Poule au Pot solely for the purpose of celebrity spotting, particularly if arriving early in the evening. Nevertheless, the banquette you slide into may have once been occupied by members of The Rolling Stones, The Police, Santana, Motorhead, Simply Red, INXS, Status Quo and other groups; Cliff Richard, Donovan, Marianne Faithfull, Alice Cooper, Mark Knopfler, Dave Davies, Joan Baez, Chrissie Hynde, Christopher Cross, Bruce Springsteen, Prince, Patti Smith; Frank Sinatra, Sigourney Weaver, Bill Murray, Dustin Hoffman, Robin Williams, Jeanne Moreau, Miou-Miou; Jean-Paul Gaultier, Christian Lacroix, Pierre Cardin, Jean Nouvel, Paul Bocuse, Joel Robuchon, Guy Savoy and many more French and international celebrities, architects, chefs and fashion folk. Photocopies of choice pages of the guest books are available for patrons to examine upon request.

La Poule au Pot, 3am

The stars aren’t out much tonight, or at least not the recognizable ones. A waiter whispers to us that the man at the window table has introduced himself as an Israeli musician. Racat points out writer across the room.

The pace of a meals slows as the night unfolds. Diners lingers in the knowledge that waiters won’t be piling chairs up around them. The wait staff has a gracious deadpan approach. They have a tendency to feign surprise that one would ever want the pay the bill and call it a night with so much of the night ahead.

At 3am Racat suggests that we have frog legs. They arrive, sautéed in a light flour batter with garlic and parsley. Though several decades removed from operating the ovens at La Poule au Pot, Racat still tastes and, when necessary, “corrects” dishes. He nods in approval of the frog legs.

A woman now enters and comes over to our table to greet Racat. She has high fashion written all over her, from couture hat to elegant shoe. A former model, he tells me. She lives in the area and occasionally orders something to go… at 3:30am.

I mention seeing that Kate Moss and Naomi Campbell once signed his guest book after dining here together. What could they have possibly eaten here in this home of hearty traditions?

“Normal,” he says, “They ate normally.”

Looking at the decades of guest books, it appears that the heyday of international headliners has slowed since the turn of the century, though without disappearing altogether.

“It’s now the children of artists that come,” says Racat.

Some time ago, Thomas Bangalter, one half of the helmet-wearing duo Daft Punk, arrived with a friend one evening. Though unrecognizable to his fans, Racat immediately knew who he was since Bangalter had been coming here since he was a child, when he came with his father, a music producer. It was Bangalter’s dining companion that evening that Racat had never met until Bangalter introduced him to his friend Kanye West. “To La Poule au Pot where I’ve come with so much pleasure since childhood!,” Bangalter wrote in the guest book. “Thank you for all these meals and for all the evenings I’ve spent here!”

Thumbing the nose at passing time

In 2012 Racat was awarded the Vermeil Medal of the City of Paris for his contribution to gastronomy in the capital. In accepting the medal he said, “La Poule au Pot thumbs its nose at passing time.”

Yet time has passed, and at 65 years old Racat, though he looks young enough to have many years ahead of him at the restaurant’s helm, says that he’ll willingly retire when the right buyer came along. “Operating a restaurant takes its toll and operating an all-night restaurant even more so,” he says.

His wife, Pascale, worked with him in the 1980s, but working nights together was untenable once they had children. They have two sons, born in 1985 and 1989. “Both are gastronomes, but neither is interested in taking over the restaurant,” he says.

Perhaps some famous chef or other entrepreneur or a well-financed group will purchase the place, but it’s unlikely that the next owner will maintain the quartet of qualities that make La Poule au Pot the institution that it is today: the 1935 décor, the fresh traditional bistro fare, the night-only hours and, perhaps most important of all, the all-seeing owner on the premises. At least one or two of that quartet will disappear in the name of profitability. The time to spend a few hours at La Poule au Pot is therefore now, while Racat is still on duty.

La Poule au Pot’s historical counterpart in the Halles quarter is Le Pied de Cochon, the brasserie on the opposite site of the park, by Saint Eustache Church. Opened in 1947, it, too, is an all-night institution. But whereas La Poule au Pot’s authenticity comes from the dedication, presence and character of its owner, Le Pied de Cochon, like the vast majority of the historical brasseries of Paris, was long ago gobbled up by a large group. (It currently belongs to the Bertrand Group.)

La Poule au Pot, 4am

At 4am two men and a woman arrive. One of the men, apparently a regular, says that they’ve just finished a gig at a club in the 6th arrondissement and asks if it isn’t too late to eat.

“Certainly not,” says Racat, and he nods to a waiter to seat them.

A long discussion follows as to what they might like to eat. The waiter goes over the entire menu. When they finally choose it’s clear that these three aren’t looking for a late-night snack. They’ve come to dine.

I leave at 4:30am as the waiters deliver a steaming vessel of poule au pot and other dishes to their table.

“Looks like I’ll be staying a little longer,” says Racat.

La Poule au Pot
9 Rue Vauvilliers, 75001 Paris
01 42 36 32 96
Open 7pm-5pm except Monday night.

© 2017, Gary Lee Kraut

An earlier version of this article first appeared in The Connexion.

The post Paris by All-Night Bistro: La Poule au Pot appeared first on France Revisited - Life in Paris, Travel in France.

* * *

The French have a reputation as frog-eaters, but admit it, Francophile friends, you’ve probably never seen a Frenchman nibble at a frog—and you may well have never tried fresh frog yourself. How about lightly fried pig’s ears? Pigeon? Snails? Well, maybe snails, but possibly fresh only from the freezer.

Le Vieux Crapaud (the old toad), near the Arc de Triomphe, is the place to catch up on such tasty, unfamiliar morsels, while also enjoying familiar bistro fare, freshly and earnestly prepared by owner-chef Thomas Boutin.

The airy dining room with well-spaced seating for 42 mostly shuns the decorative vocabulary of the traditional Paris bistro, while the hunting trophies—a pheasant, a boar (Boutin’s shot), a goose, antlers—remind diners that the cuisine of this citified restaurant has rural roots, as does its owner-chef.

Originally from the Sologne region of France in the Loire Valley, Boutin briefly attended Drexel University in Philadelphia at a time when he was aiming for a career in business. But he soon left classrooms for kitchens, where he’d felt comfortable since childhood. He returned to Paris to attend the Ferrandi Culinary School. America eventually beckoned again, so for 18 months he worked at Le Charm, a French restaurant in San Francisco—hence his SF cap in the photo. Returning to Paris, he gained further experience by working with gastronomic chefs and as a home chef for hire.

Bottin opened Le Vieux Crapaud in June 2014. Just over a year later, at the age of 38, he was named Officer of the Order of Agricultural Merit (Chevalier dans l’ordre du Mérite agricole), a national honor recognizing his role in maintaining what he calls France’s “formidable culinary tradition” and respecting “its formidable terroir.”

I initially came to Le Vieux Crapaud to enhance my frog education and have returned several times since. Boutin’s frog supplier is Patrice François, France’s only major frog breeder. The vast majority of frogs (typically legs only) served in France are imported. While inexpensive imports and regulatory requirements in France are enough dissuade most would-be domestic breeders, François, a well-establish fishmonger in the center of France, took up the challenge. In 2010 he created a frog farm just north of Provence in the Drome region. See this video from Patrice François’s farm for more on frog breeding (raniculture).

Boutin serves the whole frog at Le Vieux Crapaud, legs, body and forearms—eviscerated and with the head removed, of course. He sautés them with parsley and a bit of garlic, with some lemon in the finish. They’re typically served alone as an appetizer though the frogophile can also order them as a main course served with mashed potatoes. In the setting of this restaurant the taste is both rustic and refined, and finger lickin’ good. You’ll be given a knife and fork in case you wish to use utensils, but frogs are traditionally eaten with the hands, which makes it easier to suck the bones. (Think delicate chicken wings.)

Well on my way to appreciating frog, I next turned my attention to pig’s ears (oreilles de cochon) as a second appetizer. A pleasant surprise, Boutin’s pig ears are lighter I’d imagined. They have a slight and agreeable cartilage crunch. (Think really good, thick, homemade potato chips.) There’s some oiliness to them, which is well balanced by the accompanying lentils.

The vast majority of the products that Boutin works with come from France, as is the case in any self-respecting bistro here. The prime exception is the snails. That would appear sacrilegious in escargot country if Boutin hadn’t come up with a reasonable explanation. “True fat, wild so-called Burgundy escargot no longer come from France because of strict regulations to produce them,” he says. His meaty escargots therefore come fresh from Hungary. They’re grilled in a parsley butter, as one would expect, but without the heavy garlic and often oily aspect that one finds in restaurants less concerned about freshness and quality.

“I want to give people an experience,” he says of serving less familiar dishes to foreign clients. “I’m offering clients the chance to try things they might not otherwise try. Refuse what you want, but please don’t tell me you don’t like something before you’ve even tried it.” He isn’t opposed to having people send back dishes they don’t like, and he rarely finds that someone abuses the offer to do so.

Beyond the less familiar appetizers, there’s something to please everyone on Boutin’s changing menu that may also include pheasant pot au feu, pumpkin soup, calf sweetbreads, a mature entrecôte, a hearty côte de bœuf to share, along with chicken, pork and fish dishes, consistently direct and flavorsome, I’ve found over several meals.

Those seeking in-depth wine discussion may be disappointed to find a lack of vino-conversation with Boutin and the staff. Boutin acknowledges that he is not a wine connoisseur, and there’s no sommelier among his small staff (which may include his wife Tatiana at lunchtime). “I know what I like,” he says. “We manage to express that to clients who have questions, but please don’t talk to us about varietals. If you don’t like what you’re served I’ll take it back.”

Le Vieux Crapaud largely draws a local business and non-business crowd at lunchtime. In the evening tourists and business travelers enter the mix, many of them staying in the Champs-Elysées area and some perhaps at nearby luxury hotels such as the Raphael (worth considering for a well-heeled aperitif, especially in summer when its rooftop bar is open) and the Peninsula.

Moderately priced for the area (a 3-course dinner runs 35-55€ without wine), there is a genteel bon-vivantness to Le Vieux Crapaux. That comes not only from the food but from Boutin himself. In designing a restaurant with a window between the kitchen and the dining room, Boutin’s intention was not, as in restaurants with a similar configuration, so that clients could admire the chef at work as an actor on a stage. Instead, the kitchen window is a perch from which Boutin can keep an eye on the dining room. From there he can judge where diners are in the progress of a given course, and he’ll occasionally step out to give a helping hand in the dining room and to speak with clients, whether regulars or strangers.

Boutin is an affable fellow who clearly enjoys the give and take with diners, whether in French or in English. His menu is in French only because, he says, he prefers to explain ingredients and preparations to clients who may not be able to decipher a French menu.

Boutin’s good-natured approach to his preparations and to his clients would be a nice addition in many neighborhoods in Paris but they are especially welcome in the Arc de Triomphe area, where pretension, hefty prices, tourist fare and/or international branding otherwise dominate the restaurant scene.

Le Vieux Crapaud
16 rue Lauriston, 16th arrondissement. Metro Kléber or Charles de Gaulle-Etoile. Tel. 01 73 75 70 10.
Open Mon.-Fri. for lunch (12:00-2:30) and dinner (7:45-10:30). Available for private events and cooking classes on Sat. and Sun.

© 2016, Gary Lee Kraut

The post Le Vieux Crapaud: Admirable Bistro Fare Near the Arc de Triomphe appeared first on France Revisited - Life in Paris, Travel in France.

Even before you travel you can benefit from some GLK Travel Therapy to get you over the humps of planning your travels in France.

When you’re suffering from a case of Paris-envy, Francophilia, Normandy-mania other regional-minded afflictions, a session or two of GLK Travel Therapy by phone will help lay the groundwork for a worry-free trip. GLK Travel Therapy is also the perfect tailor-made travel gift for your traveling loved-ones.

How do you know if you need GLK Travel Therapy?

Some of the symptoms to watch for:
– You’re restless.
– Your minds wanders frequently to thoughts of Paris and elsewhere in France.
– You’ve been spending hours searching for travel ideas about France rather than doing something useful such as improving your French vocabulary.
– You believe that you have to visit Paris exactly the same way that a friend of yours from work did years ago even though you have nothing in common.
– You dream of food (cuisine, you’d call it)
– You imagine yourself surrounded by great monuments, wandering through unknown neighborhoods, pressing your nose against pastry-shop windows.
– You imagine setting down not to food but to cuisine.
– You see yourself as “belonging” in the heart of café culture.
– You’d rather plan a rendez-vous than any ordinary get-together.
– You panic at having choose between Normandy, the Loire Valley, Provence, the Riviera and all those other places you’ve read about on France Revisited.
– You speak of burgundy as though it were more than just a color.
– You say “baguette,” “boutique,” “macaron” and “champagne” as though no English words for them exist.
– You frequently long to be wished “bon voyage” and to wish others “bon appétit.”

If you or loved one has two or more of these symptoms then you/he/she may have a case of case of Paris-envy, Francophilia, Normandy-mania other regional-minded afflictions that could benefit from GLK Travel Therapy.

The best self-help a traveler can get

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Your therapy session(s) will take place by phone when I call you from Paris (or wherever I may be) whenever you feel a bout of Paris-envy or Francophilia coming on. That typically occurs in the weeks or months before you travel abroad but could be a matter of days.

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– plan your itinerary,
– choose the lodging and the restaurants that are right for you,
– understand the logistics of your upcoming trip, and
– make the most of your vacation time.

I’ll further provide you with personalized tour ideas, child-friendly travel advice and other discreet remedies not found on WebMD.

A 50-minute phone session

As a France specialists, I recommend starting your travel therapy before entering the hellish spiral of spending countless hours searching online for tours, hotels, restaurants and itineraries and before letting your friend who once spent three days in Paris five years ago tell you exactly how you should live your dream of travel abroad.

Treat yourself (or your friends or loved ones) to a 50-minute session of travel therapy with Gary for only 65 euros.

If you or they have got a severe case of Paris-envy, Francophilia or multi-region-fantasies, consider purchasing two sessions for 120 euros.

And for that special someone on your holiday list, humor their Paris fantasies by offering them one of the unique and personalized tours listed here.

Get informed and you’ll suffer no longer from indecision

So don’t just sit back and suffer (or let your loved ones suffer) from Francophilia or Paris-envy or Normandy-mania and other regional-minded afflictions. Get on track to the trip that’s right you with a session or more of GLK Travel Therapy with me by phone, or in person. Yes, you or they can have travel therapy in Paris over café or wine.

Write to me personally at gary [at] francerevisited.com to arrange a session of travel therapy or to purchase a travel therapy gift certificate for your friends who may be suffering from Paris-envy.

Be kind to yourself, get travel therapy with a professional Paris-based travel specialist.

Gary

Gary Lee Kraut
Editor, journalist, travel therapist
gary [at] francerevisited.com

The post Professional Travel Therapy for You, Your Friends and Your Loved Ones appeared first on France Revisited - Life in Paris, Travel in France.