6.8 Le Dauphin, 131 avenue Parmentier in the 11th, (Metro: Goncourt), 01.55.28.78.88, lunch menu 27 €, dinner tapas running one 5-14 € each, is the latest creation of boy-genius Inaki Aizpitarte. I have a checkered history with him or maybe it's he with the ups and downs.
Backstory: I loved him when he was Gilles Choukroun's second at the fabulous (for them both) Café des Délices, liked him the first few weeks at La Famille, couldn't stand what his colleagues - the Samot cousins (and perhaps he) - did at Le Réfectoire and Cheri Bibi, thought serving a single apple seed and unsliced beet at Le Transvзrsal [sic] was épating le bourgeoisie and never "got" Le Chateaubriand. But he got this one right.
Now, as one approaches the place, it's not obvious what it is; a pressing, a kebob store, a printshop? - it's post-modern as my eating buddy said. But I could see himself in the window, and on entering, another Inakiesque guy - wait a minute, there are a half-dozen unshaven, same-sized Aizpitarte clones. And the decor, I refuse to give its famous architect one more ounce of advertising, is brilliant and soundproofless marble-glass-metal that looks like it could be powerwashed every evening if necessary.
As we usually do, we split the 2/2/2 offering on the 27 € "menu:" starting with what were called shredded carrots but were carrot-tasting like I've never had in a tomato-based "soup" with smoked fish and two incredible scallops with spinach and cedrat (citron-like.)
Then we had, from top to bottom; the beef cheeks and delicate cod, both perfectly cooked and both accompanied by (again) intensely flavored veggies - beets, microtomed something else and a beautiful puree of celeriac was it?
To finish, he had the crumble of raspberries (in season somewhere in the world) that I, a crumble and raspberry hater, thought were just fine and I had a piece of camembert at its correct point of affination with salad.
Any problems?; well, they "lost" my friend's reservation, charged us twice for one glass of wine and once our Cesar-laureate, Bellevillite neighbor arrived, all the staff's eyes and attention was on him not the hoi polloi.
Go? If it's good enough for my next stoolie-mate Mathieu Amalric, I guess it's good enough for you.
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