John Talbott's Paris

Le Dan Bau in the 18th: Ethnic – horrors, I don’t do ethnic in France: an archival* review.

3.0 Le Dan Bau, 18, rue des Trois Freres in the 18th, 01.42.62.45.59, never closed. 

As my loyal and not-so-loyal readers know, I don’t report/review ethnic places in Paris because unless I’m here for a year plus, I’m perfectly happy sampling new and old French places. But, but, but, I decided today (actually last week) to eat tonite at a Viet Namese (yes it’s two words) place in the nabe because I was bushed after a flight across the seas, my regular 1st dinner rotisserie standby was closed and Richard Nahem of Parisist, a relatively new site that promotes itself as run by ex-New Yorkers, raved about it.

What my readers don’t usually know, however, is that for Viet Namese cooking I have very high, impossibly high standards – having eaten out and had a cook-in chef in Viet Nam while protecting our nation from the dominoes of Communism. (Sidebar, two members of the Elite Sai Gon De Luxe Eating Club were the recently late and very great reporters, Johnnie (RW Jr) Apple and David Halberstam).

Oh sure, I ate at Viet Namese places in Paris as a student, hey, they were cheap, good (what did I know about authentic ethnic cooking then?) and convenient. In any case, to my meal.

Located on a “happening” street, just away from tourist central on Montmartre (La Famille par exemple) it’s only got 27 covers and has surprisingly terrific wall-art. The menu (carte) looks not much different from any other Viet place in Paris; but the food, the food?

I started with the pork nems and couldn’t have been happier - crisp, great mint and lettuce leaves, too hot in temperature, but hey.

Then I had the Pho, my sustaining breakfast in Viet Nam; bland but with perfectly undercooked (eg raw) beef (albeit a poor cut) and noodles and interesting lemon grass, etc, but wait, what’s that beside it; what my culinary guiding family (we term them Kim Il-Sung and Kim Jong-il) call “Big Red,” except that in Viet Nam there are legions of such sauces. That was it!

With wine (1/2 bottle or 50 cl, it didn’t matter = 8.50 €.) My bill = 20 €. I challenge you on that. And they were turning people away. A downside – Don’t go if you’re subject to light-flashing induced seizures from light string fixtures – wow. 

Should one go? If one is on Montmartre, in need of ethnic food and not seizure-prone, definitely!

*Originally published in May 2007

Chez Papa in the 18th*: Just past Pollywood is Papa (read on - everything will be illuminated)

0. Chez Papa, 185, rue Marcadet in the 18th, 01.42.57.41.75, never closed (well, except for Christmas and New Year’s Day) is a chain – oh, they have places in the 14th and 15th, for which Pudlo gives different costs. In any case, I was walking either to the #1 2007 baguette place in Paris or Le Winch, the other day from Pollywood (you know Hollywood and Bollywood but we have Pathé Cinema’s studios in the vibrant 18th - known by some as Pollywood).

As I was saying, I was walking and saw a sign for Chez Papa and since the demise of Chez Tony, which was guaranteed to supply you with your quota of the food pyramid of wine, fat, foie gras, gizzards and duck, we’ve missed out on that last night South-west fat feast. So I scoped the menu, talked to my cardiologue (to reassure me that my cholesterol needed a boost) and booked a table for the night before I had to speed back to the US to attend to pressing business (isn’t that what they all say when fleeing the sheriff ? )

Anyway, I entered (this is, by the way, walking distance for me) and it was terrific – bright, welcoming, no-smoking (all night) and thoroughly delightful. My favorite 18th Arr. bloggeur/food writer said that this chain was a place for young kids to get cheap meals, so I was forewarned.

Lots of great Southwestern stuff; everything from v. expensive foie gras to cheap tripes. On entering, I lowered the average age to about 80. Oh oh. But soldier on, there’s no other option. I’ve cleaned out the frigo, the larder is empty, the garde mange vide.

Menu huuge. Had a green salad – huuge but good greens and passable dressing (bread pathetic).

Then the cassolette Papa, huuge, ate a few bites; watery, beans tasteless, duck equally so – awful, nul, gargh.

How to exit gracefully; ah hah, I forgot to mention that Papa of Chez Papa, looks exactly like me, when my beard was black and I didn’t have the silly beret.

So I made some sort of mention of our genetic heritage and exited.

Wines: 2.60 a glass up, bottles 14.45 € up, my bill, it’s here somewhere, ah yes – 29.50 €. Can’t beat that, but…….

PS, they had a questionnaire on the placemat assessing your proclivities: eg, your gender, how you found it, quality of product, etc., but no place to give your real opinion about the food - as indeed, they’ve prevented me from voting for Frederic Nihous of the Fish, Game and lovely French Culture and Tradition Party, tomorrow. The only other food-guy running, Jose Bove, who loves Roquefort but hates McDo’s, is out as well. Oh well, France says it loves food but that love doesn’t apparently translate into votes. 

Should one go? The waitress was the best of this decade despite her dreadful tattoos, the range of SW stuff great, the product unblemished and fresh, but I/you/your partner/your enemy can do better easily at home.

*Originally published in May 2007.

Le Grand 8 in the 18th: near Sacre Coeur, totally bio, great view, but....

 

1.0 Le Grand 8, 8, rue Lamarck in the 18^th, (Metro: Chat Rouge but really better reached by Montmartrobus from Jules Joffrin), 01.42.55.04.55, closed Monday and Tuesday, a la carte 30-50 €, was a place I confess I Googled to find a local resto my traditional night out in the nabe before I depart Paris for other parts.

 

I entered, was ushered to a table over-looking all Eastern Paris - spectacular- welcomed warmly, and engaged by a wonderful red-haired woman speaking perfect French whose arm I twisted to reveal her Anglo, Scots and Irish origins.

 

I ordered the hierloom tomatoes sans the mozzarella and they were simply terrific, wonderful, great.

 

Then I had a rumsteak, cooked to my perfection, which was horrible, tasteless and without redeeming value.

 

Unfortunately, in chatting up the two front-rooms folks, I gave them my card, so they'll read this, but I had to figure out at this point how to get out and go back to watching the France-Roumania Football game without finishing 3/4ths of my second course.  Invoke the Moscow Rules (cf John Le Carre) - pay up, don't explain and just go quickly.

 

Bill = 40 Euros (bio wine quite good actually, 2 dishes, no bottled water or coffee).

 

Go?  If stuck up on the Mont, I suppose so, but otherwise hobble down to the Table d'Eugene (closed tonite for a private party).

 

La Table d'Eugene in the 18th: My place in the nabe has been "discovered."

 

The Table d'Eugene (Sue) which admittedly has been around for a year, was the place within 5 min walking from my place that Colette and I and our friends really found as a breath of fresh air in the otherwise culinarily-challenged quartier.

No more.  Not only have the food websites been heralding it as a great, traditional  Paris bistro, hotels are giving out its coordinates and tonight on our traditional last night out (after the house was cleaned) before leaving for the States, we went back.

The place is still 60% local, but two French guys came in a cab, a group of Japanese sat nearby (exiting regularly to smoke) and a threesome of Americans spoke only English (luckily both waitfolk do as well).

Colette chose the cod with chorizo shavings and an anchovy/tomato/pepper cup with fluff on top and I had the 7-hour mutton with rice with diced veggies.  Both were great for the area but not destination  stuff.  In fact, I would suggest the mutton be zipped up with harissa or confited lemon.

Colette had room for the deconstructed apricot crumble, which I sampled a bit of and thought was terrific.

With a bottle of wine, no coffee or water, our bill was 67 Euros.

PS.  If you want to come, reserve; we called 4 days ago and were told to show before 20h00, unheard of in Paris for a neighborhood place, and by then it was full and they were turning folks away.

How can some restaurants so shoot themselves in the foot?

Are they lazy, irresponsible or sick? 

I’m in a quandary about a place that opened to significant fanfare and where I’ve made reservations to eat at three times, only one of which was resulted in a meal, and a good one at that. 

The first time I called, knowing that they didn’t open for lunch until 13h00, I arranged to meet a friend at 1 PM exactly to enter. Arrival a few minutes before 1; no sign of life, completely shuttered. I waited, looked in the window, tried to ascertain where the side or back entrance was, hoped the gleam from the back meant the chef was prepping; zip, zero, nada. 

My dining pal showed up and I had a back-up, Fidelité, just a bus ride away, which was unfortunately more miserable for he than me.

Second visit: a month later; reserved for the PM before I was due to take off for the USA. No guest this time, so I had many back-ups but there was no problem and indeed it was a great and moderately calm evening until a bunch of rich Russian oligarchs and their teased/bleached-hair dates/ladies/whatever, showed up. My l’os a moelle and veal with a cilantro sauce were great.
So I thought I’d got it knocked.

Then, by George, I reserved for Colette and myself, again in daylight, and again the place was deserted. 

Now, this is not the first time I’ve been confronted by restaurants taking a reservation and not honoring it; once on the West Side of Manhattan it was a bomb threat, once on the East Side - a husband/wife screaming match in the kitchen, once by a chef/staff dispute in Philadelphia (City of Brotherly Love), once by a power outage and once by flooding (Paris). 

There are places that will not honor my custom because I’ve violated some unspoken/unwritten rule (the Table d’Adrien in Paris for example) or I’ve panned so badly they send and get friends to send me hate mail. And I certainly understand when someone in the family dies and they leave a polite note on the shutters explaining why they are “exceptionnellement” closed. 

But like the airlines, who find it impossible to tell you why a plane is delayed for minutes or hours or sometimes a day, a resto that takes your reservation and has your telephone number, should let you know some disaster has struck.

It’s no secret where I had one great and two empty meals: 

Mon Oncle
3, rue Durantin in the 18th
(Metro: Abbesses)
T: 01 42 51 21 48
Supposedly closed only Saturday noon and Sunday night and Monday
Lunch formula 22, a la carte 20-30 €

La Baignoire in the 18th: It must be kid food, but it ain’t for me.

 

-0.1 La Baignoire, 151 bis, rue Marcadet in the 18th, 01-53-41-63-04, 2 courses = 24, 3 = 29 €.

I had two possibilities for dinner; one, that featured “bio, natural, unfiltered, etc” wines, was recommended to me by my best buddy, but was way the hell up the “Mont” and the other is a place a new 20’ish friend of mine (very plugged in, interesting and knowledgeable) who lives in the area, told me about; it was an easy 10 minute flat walk. With my swiftly degenerating knees; I chose #2.

When I called to make a rez, no one answered, I left a message, a guy called back 8 hours later (but I then later learned that this is their M.O., they don’t answer their phone – OK, no pressure, relaxed, they’re into Sarkoland’s “cool, cool, zen, zen, calme, calme.”

As I strolled up, trying with my decrepitude to be “cool, cool, zen, zen, calme, calme,” I was greeted by the three principals all furiously smoking on the curb (they disappeared at various points of the evening to boost their nicotine levels.) However, the guys doing the cooking, who looked Mauricien to me, never left their stations. Ok, Barack smokes, but he’s trying to stop.

Look at the ardoise(s), one every 3 feet. Sort of OK stuff; chose the scallops (wrapped in bacon,) salad with ecrevettes (and salmon wrapped around goat cheese) on nice mache; if I were Jean-Pierre Coffe on “Panic in the Kitchen,” I’d advise them to lose the bacon and goat cheese, just present the fresh products unadorned.

Then I had the lamb’s knuckle with sub-pathetic potatoes; a blander, more boring piece of meat I cannot recall ever having.

Then, are you kidding, dessert? I’m outa there.

By then, they’d turned away folks, were packed with Bobo’s and a few of their parents and when I walked home by the Cottage Marcadet, it was empty. So, go figure!

Service?; the end-to-end, not-exactly-young, smoking waitress who had a non-charming whiskey tenor voice, had her shirt tucked out and hair unwashed, not exactly my idea of professionalism.

The bill, ouch, you’ve seen recent figures, gosh, gee, with two dishes, a coupla glasses of wine, no bottled water, no dessert or coffee, no, sir, Mr. CIA-man, I’m not going to tell. Worst prix-qualite ratio of the year.  

Go? If water-boarded, sleep-deprived and nude with jazz music played in my ears, I guess so, but save that, unh unh.

Titalina in the 18th: For this neighborhood, a real find.

 

3.0 Titalina, 73, rue Duhesme in the 18th, is a place I’ve passed time out of mind since it opened in January but today on the way to lunch, for some reason it caught my eye; I went over; scoped the ardoise and developed an appetite over the next 9 hours.

The sign says Cap Vert – Portuguese; so after lunch I ran back and Googled Cape Verde food and got fish and Brazilian type stuff. OK.

[Backstory: while not a sensible neighborhood, we have our fair share of Antilles/African/etc. places and my buddy Paga and I have been known to indulge ourselves at a place that thankfully closed, in N’Dole and spicy chicken wings, a variety of wings that the Anchor Bar in Buffalo, a block from where my father and I practiced sorcery, never knew.]

In any case, I drifted down there and took my obligatory pix and installed myself (all alone for the night). They had no fish, no fish?, isn’t this what your country is known for?, but only one chicken and one lamb dish. I asked what was typical Cape Verde food; the lamb! Hum!

Expecting nothing better than what I had in the frigo - cold chicken and beans in garlic, I commenced.

The cook-type guy ambled up; like some hot sauce?; you know, I almost brought over some harissa or Tabasco in case, but didn’t. Sure.

Well, it was delicious, better than any lamb stew I could make and I’m ashamed to admit it: but (1) it was gutsier than my lunch at yam’Tcha which left me with a trou, (2) the rice and potatoes (halved) – albeit super carbos - Dr Sears, sorry – were terrific, and (3) the “sauce,” which thinking I had a French palate, they warned me off, was perfect.

My bill (wine no bottled water or coffee) was 18 €; take that Tim Geithner!

Go? For the world, nah! But tomorrow they insist they’ll have fish.

La Table d'Eugene in the 18th: an update.

This would be boring if it weren't so wonderful; another meal at the Table d'Eugene with Colette today.

The poitrine of pork starter on pureed green peas, carrots and carrots from the Jura (could I have heard right?) and lentils; the beef chats with celery two ways; scallops with mint and a side of whipped sweet potatoes and chocolate with passion fruit granite.

The place is all locals, many of whom were suit-type execs or tee-shirt techies.

With wine, two coffees and no Chateldon, the bill was 80 E.

Not a destination, and I'd raise my rating from 5.0, but definately worth a visit if nearby.

Mon Oncle in the 18th: Totally local folk until the Russian oligarchs and their babes arrived.

 

6.7 Mon Oncle, 3, rue Durantin in the 18th, 01 42 51 21 48, supposedly closed only Saturday noon and Sunday night and Monday but they fooled the USA’s #1 food critic and I one Friday so double check. I reserved (again) for myself alone (sob, Colette was not available) and arrived very early Paris dinner time (20h00) because they had a private party moving in (they have 30 covers, but 14 in the “back” room can also be reserved).

 

The front guys (man and woman) were really nice and while she was curious why some Dude from the nabe who hardly spoke the tongue was there, she only pried a little bit out of me (enough with the finger-nail pulling that I admitted I came on the advice of the RFC.)

 

The menu is quite interesting and I immediately glommed onto the l’os a moelle (that has surprisingly (for me) been on everyone’s menu this week) – strange! It was plain fab.

 

Then I had the veal bits with a cilantro sauce that were heaven.

 

I had a very interesting wine too – a Bois sans Soif, Côteaux d'Ensérune, which if I understand it, means something I shouldn’t be doing.

 

In any case, here, even at night, in full Tourist Heaven, 2 courses are 23 €, 3 are 27 € and my bill was 30 €.

Go? To find a place on the Mont(martre) that’s this good, my lord.

The New Hot Quarters: the 6th and 18th, an archival* essay with an update*

As a kid of 18 I thought that the Latin Quarter was something like late night Havana in the Batista era; little did I suspect on arrival that it was (then at least) a place of serious scholarship and student improverishment with plentiful cafes and Viet Namese places to hang out in. And the “left bank;” that surely meant Lipp, Le Procope and the Closerie des Lilas where Papa, Sartre, Simone and Camus hung out smoking fierce Gauloises and sipping cognac.

As it is today. Some things don’t change, blessedly.

The monuments in the 6th are still probably more thought of as restos than buildings, but one does have St Sulpice, St Germain and the Odeon that are all imposing. However, it’s probably the Senat and the Luxembourg gardens that attract the most stares and visits. Sitting and listening to the countless (often American or Eastern European) groups performing in the shell in the Garden simply cannot be beat as a way to wile away a few hours.

As for art, anything goes, from strolling along the outside fence of the Luxembourg viewing the huge temporary photo exhibits to going to special exhibitions inside the Musee Luxembourg or the cave on the garden side that houses free shows that are unfortunately, quite variable in quality. The Delacroix Museum is a kind of fusty, chancy place but often fun as well.

Walking: what more than the Luxembbourg can one want?

Coming back to food. There are really no grand old places in the 6th; restaurants like the Closerie des Lilas and Allard were certainly destinations for Americans in the 1960’s and ‘70’s and with the opening of the Bastide Odeon, cooking, especially regional cooking, advanced. But a lot of places have come and gone since then, with few setting their marks on the quartier. Until, until, until the last few years with the opening of Le Timbre, la Maison de Jardin, Ze Kitchen Galerie and most recently Yves Camdeborde’s Le Comptoir and La Ferrandaise. I rarely mention wine bars, but I must include the Caves Miard here, because of the depth of their wine selection and the quality of the ham, charcuterie, etc.

Going over to the 18th is one heck of a contrast from the left bank. My suspicion is that visitors darken its door for three reasons: (1) because they want to see Sacre Coeur and its views of tout Paris, (2) because they’re passing through en route to the St Ouen flea market or (3) because someone told them that the Abbesses/Rue Lepic market area was cool. All good reasons, but despite its reputation as the sinful, wild, artistic soul of Paris, in fact more people who were born in the 18th still live there than in any other quarter.

The only museum of note is that of Montmartre - which is fun if you’re interested in the history of the area, the Commune and Republic of Montmartre and some well-labelled items.

Walking; where else but up, down and on the Mont? My wife Colette and I had a practice the summer of the first year we lived here to go up and down the Mont after dinner (when it was still astonishingly light); inevitably we would run into someone we knew (it’s no longer only Rick’s that everyone comes to.)

Food; ah yes; the hill is kind of a wasteland, since no respecting lover of food would be found dead in a place around the Place du Tertre and I remain sceptical about Anaki Aizpitarte and crew’s (La Famille) talent/excess ratio. And while Beauvilliers used to be grand, it’s slipped under new hands; the Moulin de la Galette remains kinda fun; Au Pied de Sacre Coeur is astonishingly good for the price; and for Mahgrebian chow, head for l’Orientale, good and easy on the wallet.

But down in the valley’s where it’s happening. In the last couple of years, chefs have discovered that Olivier Morteau’s formula (a culinary desert, a bold chef and easy prices) works splendidly here. As a result we’ve seen a succession of new places that are traditional enough, bold enough and good neighbors enough, so that they’ve attracted a huge following of local kids (well, they sure look young to me.) These include L’Histoire de….., 2 Pieces Cuisine (aka 2PC) and the bizarrely lettered Le Tяuc.

My favorities among the new places in the 6th and 18th:

La Maison du Jardin
22 Rue de Vaugirard, 6th (Metro : Rennes, St Placide)
T: 01.45.48.22.31
Closed Saturday lunch and Sundays
Menus 22 & 27 €.

Ze Kitchen Galerie
4, rue des Grands Augustins, 6th (Metro: Saint Michel)
T: 01 44 32 00 32
Closed Sundays.
A la carte 30 €.

La Ferrandaise
8, rue de Vaugirard, 6th (RER: Luxembourg, Metro : St Michel)
T : 01.43.26.36.36
Closed Saturday lunch, Sunday and Monday
Menu at dinner or 3 courses at lunch = 30 €, plus wine running 14-63 €.

Les Caves Miard
9, rue des Quatre-Vents, 6th (Metro: Odeon)
T: 01.43.54.99.30
Closed Sundays and Mondays
Price depends on wines and charcuterie selected

L’Histoire de…
14, rue Ferdinand Flocon, 18th (Metro: Jules Joffrin)
T: 01.42.52.24.60
Closed Sundays
Lunch menu 29 €, a la carte about 35 €

2 Pieces Cuisine
65 rue du Ruisseau, 18th (Metro : Jules Joffrin)
T : 01.42.23.31.23
Only open at dinner, closed Sundays
Menu 26 €

Le Tяuc
58 rue du Poteau, 18th (Metro: Jules Joffrin)
T: 01 42 52 64 09
Closed Mondays
A la carte about 25 €

*Originally published in June 2006; Update in December 2008

The 6th has seen a number of new places open but for my money the worthwhile ones are le Cameleon, Sensing and l’Epigramme. In addition, of the ones listed above the only place I frequent anymore is Ze Kitchen Galerie, which I still find to serve exemplary food at reasonable prices (despite it’s star-elevation).

The 18th has, oddly enough, seen just as many places open op with a somewhat lower “hit rate.” Here I love La Table d’Eugene, Le Winch and le Café Qui Parle. And, of the bunch listed above, the only one I go back to (every time there’s a chef change) is in the old l’Histoire de….. space, now called l’Oxilis.

L’Epigramme
9, rue de L’Eperon, 6th (Metro: Odeon)
T: 01 44 41 00 09
Closed Sunday nights and Mondays,
Menu-carte: 28 €

Le Cameleon
6, rue Chevreuse, 6th (Metro: Vavin)
T: 01.43.27.43.27
Closed Sundays
A la carte about 50 €

Sensing
19, rue Brea, 6th (Metro: Vavin)
T; 01.43.27.08.80
Closed Sundays
A la carte about 65 €

La Table d'Eugène
18, rue Eugène Sue, 18th (Metro: Jules Joffrin, Chateau Rouge)
T: 01 42 55 61 64
Closed Sundays and Mondays
Lunch menu 10.5-12.5, dinner menu 21-27, a la carte 25-30 €

Le Café qui Parle
24, rue Caulaincourt, 18th (Metro: Abbesses)
T: 01.46.06.06.88
Closed Wednesdays
Lunch formula = 12,50 €, menu 17 €, a la carte 25-30 €, and a no limit on the food Sunday brunch for 15 €.

Le Winch
44, rue Damrémont, 18th (Metro: Lamarck-Caulincourt)
T: 01.42.23.04.63
Open 7/7
A la carte about 45-55 €.