5.0 La Table d'Eugene, 18, rue Eugene Sue (time out for a literature lesson: Eugene Sue (1804-1857) wrote "The Mysteries of Paris" described in chestofbooks as "the greatest work ever written") in the 18th, 01.42.55.61.64, menu at 30 Euros. It has been open only a month and my sherpa pointed out that the big boys hadn't published reviews yet but would surely do so shortly.
I had gone by on my limpies a few days ago and been struck by the quirkiness of the menu: like the late, un-great and un-lamented l'Angl'Opera, which described dishes backwards, this one has one word descriptors followed by the main ingredients in most cases; thus tomate = gaspacho, risotto = cheese and mushrooms, absinthe = ice cream, etc.
As an amuse gueule there were sausagy things and olives that were all very tasty; the bread was incredibly good and from the same bakery I'd given up on 7 years ago when a nearer bio one opened (a big mistake).
For firsts we split the risotto with cheese and mushrooms that was heavenly and shrimp with Morocan spices and summer veggies that were divine; whoops, with heavenly and divine, I've run out of over-the-earth adjectives.
Then we had a magret de canard that was superlunary and a veal chop that was toasty on the outside, not raw enough of the inside but hey, still ethereal, with young spinach shoots and charlotte potatoes with a spicy Sabrosada sauce on top.
Then we had the baba (made with exotic spice(s)) with rum that was supernal and an ice made with genuine absinthe that was celestial.
With two menus, two coffees, one bottle of fantastic wine but no bottled water, the bill should have been 88 Euros, but the devil led us astray with some tots of extra rum and absinthe a l'ancien.
Go back? Already planned: October 3rd to be exact. You may wonder why I gave it only a 5? That's to discourage nosy snoops from other areas of town from ruining it; this is my place, stay downtown where you belong! And no, that's not Daniel Rose in the photo.