5.6 Maison Lautrec, 63 rue Jean Baptiste Pigalle in the 9th, 01.53.12.07.78, closed Saturday lunch, Sundays and Mondays (Metro: Pigalle) is one of those places you go to on a crap shoot; could be bad, could be awful, could be OK, could be good, could surprise you - who knows? Well, my two supremely wonderful friends agreed to meet me here rather than Les Tablettes de..... because on my months Colette-less, I eat at new places, untried by most human beings, at least those that are sensible or sentient, and I never know the results. But today we hit it. Just look at the ardoise on the yellow bike; that's 1 point to begin with. And the carte - stunning, except none of it (esp the scallops I was deprived of yesterday) is available for lunch - minus 1 point.
For firsts one of us had the onion confit and two had the poulpe, both with suspiciously Jane Brody/Mark Bittman-type things - quinoa would it be?; spelt?, ah buckwheat then it is. But delicious nonetheless and I expected kale next.
But no, there were three slices of normal looking onglet and two beautiful pieces of cod with potatoes, whoops, no, turnips half-cooked - delicious.
For dessert M. had the cheese, Mme. the apple tart and myself the chou stuffed with pineapple bits (unpictured); all quite good.
Our bill; ahem, our bill, well let me just say that after two bottles of wine, two double coffees, no bottled water, good bread and a few digestifs I saw what looked to be 202E before their credit card covered it up and they treated me as a lost orphan in the neighborhood. So lets say it might be 100 E for a normal couple who didn't spend the afternoon Sartre-like, albeit without tobacco, enjoying our company. dB's = 74.5
Go? As my friend the RFC says "It's not urgent." But it was terribly pleasant; oh to have been here with the lost generation!