John Talbott's Paris

In France chefs better hit the ground running.

The phrase to “hit the ground running” is used so loosely now that one can forget its derivation; it referred originally to cowboys dodging bullets in the Wild West and only later to what we automatically think of now - Airborne troops landing and preparing to get going fast – shades of Normandy and St Mere Eglise.

On/In the blogosphere there is much discussion about whether it’s fair play/good sport (N.B. Mr. Henry) to review a resto just after it opens, despite the chef’s having been in business for years, sometimes with the same kitchen team and even the same front-room group. Like American theater shows opening in New Haven, some French places have “soft openings” for friends, admirers and hangers-on.

In addition, some reviewers and critics of critics say one should wait until they “work out all the kinks,” “mature” or “get the rhythm under their belts” (block that mixed metaphor folks) before critiquing a place. This makes an interesting assumption; that places get smoother and more consistent as they age. In one case, the opposite happened; Sylvain Sendra opened Itineraires to universal praise (including from me) but within weeks the place got push-back from web-savvy eaters and indeed, meals in this post-opening period were decidedly inconsistent.

But since the big boys (Rubin, Simon, Berger, Toinard, Demorand, etc) have their ears out on sticks and know and utilize that knowledge to go early on, why not poor blogoslobs like me?

And so it was that a genuine food writer and I ate at Claude (ex-Bamboche, l’Orenoc) Colliot’s new place in the 4th on its 2rd day, breaking all the new gastro-ethical guidelines that say you should eat at a place only after the kinks are unkinked out, eat at least 5 times and make sure everyone at the table agrees; but I'm not Sam Sifton, just a poor schmuck who wants to be served what Mr. Average Customer is, not what the New York Times LERP’s (Long Range Reconnaissance Patrols) get.

The menu looks simple: 4 each of starters, mains and desserts but the food is incredibly complex and textured and flavored. The front-room, granted staffed by Madame as well as three experienced folk, one of whom I knew from a previous life, functioned effortlessly. OK, there were only 10 covers max that day, but I suspect that even with all 50 seats full, they’ll do very nicely indeed.

Chef Colliot looked to have one other (sous-)chef and a plonguer in the cuisine and they too seemed to function like a well-oiled machine.

Now, by the time you read this, all the big print boys will have been there and we’ll see what they say; but mind you, they’ll have been within 10 days of its opening and they regard this as fair play/good sport. And with a talent like Claude Colliot, it’s a pleasure to see a chef hit the ground running, and seemingly enjoying it greatly, as did his whole staff.

We’re talking about:

The Restaurant Claude Colliot
40 Rue des Blancs Manteaux in the 4th (Metro: Rambuteau I guess)
T: 01. Long Range Reconnaissance Patrol 42.71.55.45
Closed Sundays and Mondays
Menu 34 E.

 

Claude Colliot in the 4th: He's back - big, brash and brilliant.

7.5. The (Restaurant) Claude Colliot, 40 rue des Blancs-Manteaux (a mendicant order, how do I know this?, read on*) in the 4th, 01.42.71.55.45, closed Sundays and Mondays, has been open since yesterday and it's as if Colliot never left Bamboche (where he toiled to beloved crowds of Anglos, second only to the Regalade-devotees, from 1998-2004, when he was lured by the siren call of the Méridien Etoile, to chef their fancy-schmancy l'Orenoc, a huuuuge place with 140 covers, catering to rich oil sheiks and Swiss bankers and hapless Anglo conventioneers at the Palais de Congres.) 

Well, I loved La Bamboche and lets just say I was less enthusiastic about l'Orenoc, where I hosted my ever-charming ex-co-host at eG, for a birthday dinner, shortly after it opened.  So when my good old-boy buddy, the RFC, said Colliot was opening his new place this week, I leapt. 

Now eating the second day a place is open goes against all these new gastro-ethical guidelines saying you should eat at a place only after the kinks are unkinked out, eat at least 5 times and makes sure everyone at the table agrees; but I'm not Sam Sifton (who by the way, may be the worst critic the NYT has had since Raymond Sokolov; can't anyone there write English anymore?  I know, budget cuts, no more editing editors, no more fact checkers) so I went just once with just one friend, the lady who recently won the French equivalent of the Nobel/Pulitizer/Booker prize for wine writing (LWRWFEN/P/BFWW). 

This is it, no kidding.  It could be a dress shop or publishing house or barber shop (*mine is down the block which is how/why I know the Blancs-Manteaux was/were a mendicant order) - just an ordinary Marais white-faced glass thing.  OK.  I'm cool; right number, must be the place.

Enter: immediately am greeted by a very tall black guy I recall from days and restos past who asks how I am (sub-text, where've I been all these years?)  See my friend the LWRWFEN/P/BFWW and after bussing, sit.  Water - the new trend (as at KGB, eco-friendly house-made).

Menu (eg carte) very simple; 4 each of entrees, plats & desserts = 34 E.  Wines starting at 20 something.

Madame, the LWRWFEN/P/BFWW, orders some simple sounding maraichier starter (I recoil - simple market veggies from Colliot, oh no), sorry, it was incredible, simple-sounding, complexly-made, my, oh my.  Wait-boy brings me a soupish-looking foie gras something and I say, unh, no, I ordered the scallops - schmuck me!  I should have kept it and reordered the scallops and had both - they were among the best I've ever had, with minced carrots and an anchovy or was it sardine paste?  Well, at this point, I'm ready for John Malkovich to usher me into heaven were I as cool as George Clooney.

For a main, Madame, the LWRWFEN/P/BFWW had colvert with a funny-looking orangy condiment - oh I get it, duck with orange - and a beet; perfect - and I had sweetbreads with a crusty outside and moist inside with a truly marvellous off-setting ginger relish. 

Well, once again, not wanting to be disappointed by dessert, knowing from past experience that there's no way a chef, even as talented as Colliot, can do 1sts, mains and desserts equally well without a patisseur, shows you how little I know.  Madame, the LWRWFEN/P/BFWW, has agrumes, (how boring think I) but this is a day for many surprises, it was beyond good.  And my "pops" of fennil (?"pops" of fennil?) were knock-back, watch out for a contre-coup, delight.

Disclosure: Madame, the LWRWFEN/P/BFWW, is known to the house, and they very graciously pretended I was too, so we were comp'd to a dessert wine that was just right.

With a bottle of fine Corbieres, 2 coffees and the meals, one exits for 92 Euros.

Go?  Well, I told you about Spring, Bigarrade, Frenchie and the Cafe Cartouche and you didn't listen to me until they were over-booked, why should you heed me now?  But Colette and I will be here for St Sylvestre.

Le Gaigne in the 4th: English is spoken, in fact not much else is.

Le Gaigne has become a favorite of ours and on this, our umpteenth visit, we were surprised by the number of English speakers, who Madame says now, since Mark Bittman gave away the secret in the NYT, far outnumber locals.  OK, so we were speaking English as well.

 

My lady and I entered and sat and awaited our Paris-based friend who got held up by lines in Monoprix and confusing directions (by Parisians, not us), whiling away the time with a wonderfully intense Bordeaux (which our friend, on arriving, declared quite the best she'd had this......)

I scoped the menu, Colette spying a 5-course menu degustation, said "no way!"   But hark, it was 39 E, while the usual 3 courses a la carte were 51 E.  So that was my lodestar.

I thus started with a verrine of coquillage in jelly and celery, while the Gagnaire-trained chef kindly provided the ladies with some lox and cream cheese; so far so good.

Then I got a timbale of endives (toasty-tasting) with ham of Paris and leaves of endives and other leafy things aside; OK.

All of us then proceeded to the main dishes: Madame our friend had the lotte with veggies, I had the colineau with salsifis and Colette the rable of rabbit stuffed with figs with 3 squashes which I later got a 1/2 portion of as my next course (thanks gods) and all were very happy.

Desserts were a rice pudding with raisins, a chocolate and banana moelleux and a fig special; all terrific.

Our bill with two bottles of wine, three coffees and no bottled water was 135 E.  You can do the math per couple.

Cru in the 4th: Another unexpected surprise.

 

6.5  Cru, 7, rue Charlemagne/Village St Paul in the 4th, 01.40.27.81.84 (not answered promptly), closed Sunday dinner and Mondays has received a mixed reception; for example, that terribly perceptive observer Alexander Lobrano of Gourmet, WHERE and Hungry for Paris, noted that his experience was "underwhelming" but he "enjoyed it very much" despite its being "rudely overpriced."

But it's open for Saturday lunch, it was bordering on a hot day and cold food sounded most suitable.  So I went with my favorite food ghost book author with no expectations.

I ran into (literally ran into) my friend on the old rue Charlemagne and we strolled toward the stone building marked Cru.  We entered a small room with 8 places set - wait a minute - what a tiny joint - but we were ushered into a larger room and then saw the tables outside in the Village and the Bar and later those in the basement and realized it was huge.

The menu is all raw stuff (duh) but they do have three items made a la plancha.  I ordered the seiche salad that had been marinated so it resembled the rubbery product usually served not at all; delicious.  Madame had the salmon tartare with avocado which was divine.  So far so good.

Seconds consisted of a beef tartare with fried veggies and potatoes (sweet and otherwise) and a entree-sized portion of microtomed (carpaccio of) duck breast with shaved foie gras on top; both quite good.

NB: the bread was good, the water served in cool little glass bottles - Ch. Delanoye at its best and the Ch. Patache ordered by my Bordeaux expert, superb.

Our bill with a bottleof, no coffee or dessert was 91 Euros.

Go? M. Lobrano says go mid-May to mid-September but actually I'd love to return in winter and see what they do.

Mon Vieil Ami: A disappointing repeat.

 

I don't know how many times we've been to Mon Vieil Ami, but a lot.  And when it's good it's very very good and when it's bad, faggedaboudit.  Today was bad.

Let's dispense with the petty complaints - first: their shoving us, despite my reservation assurance, into that dreadful American-zone on the banquette, cheek-to-jowl with nice folks who spoke good French and knew their food but if I wanna go eat in Brooklyn I will; second: the jerky service, wrong plates, no wine pour, carafe not refilled.

But to the food.  I had the 41 Euro menu, starting with a bone-dry home-made terrine with two garnishes (that I've had before and was moist and tasty).  OK.

Then I had the poitrine of pork that was so-so on a bed of terrific, really terrific vegetables, including various succulent colored heirloom tomatoes while Colette had a pretty good cod on an equally impressive bed of grapefruit and white beets and such with a "hollandaise."

Then I had the baba dessert with a generous portion of rum and Colette the raspberries with an intense raspberry sorbet.

Our bill was 104 Euros and we are not inclined to visit again, it's simply too inconsistent.

Nominoë in the 4th: And, now, for something completely different.

 

5.0* Nominoë, 13 rue Castex in the 4th, 01.42.72.95.35, closed Sundays, with apologies to Monty Python, is truly “something completely different.” It is small (12 counter stools and 8 seats), 100% Breton, except for the coffee, and features only a few dishes but all from producers whom the owner knows.

Since I arrived early he offered me a Breton aperitif, a pommeau, that was perfect.

My friend and I each started with three oysters from the owner’s brother-in-law Mr J.J. Bescond of Beg ar Vill, that were eaten without lemon, etc, just good bread and good Breton butter.

Then my friend had smoked andouille with smashed potatoes (with herbs) and a mixed salad and I had the chalkboard special - chicken with a terrific spicy Concarneau cider sauce, tagliatelles and a similar salad.

We finished with two portions of nice far with a caramel sauce.

With this we tried two Coreff beers, a stout that wasn’t like the stout we’re used to and a bitter like beer that was.

My friend spirited off the bill but I think I saw that it was 57.30 €, a very fair sum. As we were saying goodbye the host showed us two whiskeys that were Breton as well. 

Go? Well not as a destination or if you need chairs and tablecloths, *but for a nice simple Breton meal, sure!

Le Gorge Rouge: “We call it a train wreck.” (4 for the food; 0 for its delivery.)

 

2.0 Le Gorge Rouge (neat name eh?), 8, Rue St Paul in the 4th, 01.48.04.75.89, open 7/7, was my “Plan B”, “fall-back” place when the Villa Pereire, whose pubs and website said was open Saturday lunch, was definitely not. So I made it from the extreme Northwest of Paris to the full Marais in 30 minutes (no cheating by running either.)

I entered to a mixed-age crowd – two octogenarians and five Gen X’ers – and the welcome was most welcoming. Nice place. Nice full menu (despite its advertising itself as a wine bar). Nice setting. Everything cool cool, calm calm, zen zen.

Despite my inclination to order the foie gras crème brulee, Choukroun’s signature dish that I missed yesterday, I decided that if my cardiologist ever found out that I’d had foie gras twice in one meal, he’d fire me, so I opted for the geezers. By this I mean the microtomed gizzards, cooked to a wonderful crisp and with a sauce deglazed with raspberry vinegar, along with a salad and chives and finished off with ground baies roses (pink peppercorns) – quite wonderful.

I was then sitting with my wonderful wine reading today’s Figaro and anticipating my “Perigord hamburger.” And I sat, and sat, and sat, and sat….well you get the idea, like the airlines that never tell you what’s wrong and how long it’ll take to fix it, I sat there, raising my eyebrows occasionally at the waitress, and sat.

Now, luckily, Le Figaro today was really chock-a-block full of information, and my wine already poured in a carafe was like that of Jesus serving loaves and fish to 5,000, it lasted forever. Then I started to compose an essay on “When do you walk out,” and ask for the check (no one else had been served for 20 minutes either, and we were a total of 14 in a place seating 26) – when the “hamburger” appeared.

The bun was actually pretty good, indeed, when I tried to eat the confit of duck, cepes and foie gras separately – it didn’t work and I went back to the “burger” approach, Dr. Barry Sears be damned! The potatoes and salad alongside went barely tasted but mainly untouched – I just wanted out.

Afraid I would be there forever, I ordered a coffee serre (Illy) and the check - and my wonderful waitress said (for the third time) how was it? Now, my wife, friends and puzzlingly loyal readers know I’m a coward and always say, ”OK,” “excellent,” “thank you” or some such, but never the truth.

However, today was a life-changing moment and I said – “Well, the food was quite good, when it came, but the time I waited was not.” Did I get struck with a thunder bolt? No. Did she spit in my soup? No. Did she tell the chef? Certainly not. But she did offer me a digestif. Did the “Prune” repair all? No. But I was at least a bit mellower.

My bill = 61 € (in fairness, they do have a three-course forced choice menu for an astounding 13.50 E and a plate of charcuterie with a glass of wine for 15 E and the foie gras etc., I had, did cost more than the average dish.)

Ah, the “train wreck” reference. I once asked my buddy, the cellist in a major symphony orchestra, what the deuce had happened in the second movement of a symphony the night before and he said – oh, you mean the “train wreck?”

Go? To the worst price-quality place of the calendar year?

Monjul in the 4th: And now for something completely different.

 

4.5 Monjul, 28, rue des Blancs-Manteaux in the 4th, 01.42.74.40.15, closed Sunday dinner and Monday lunch, with lunch menus at 14 (2 courses) and 18 (3), Sunday brunch at 19 and a la carte 30 €, has been open for a year and a half.  It took me this long to go because Emmanuel Rubin gave it a one heart, but over the 18 months it's acquired more and more fans (notably Richard Hesse for whom it seems to be his favorite place)  and I keep seeing it everytime I get my hair cut across the street.

My downstair's neighbor and I went today and had an interesting meal; we entered and there was one customer, a situation that lasted until practically the end of the meal when two couples came in.  There was no amuse bouche as Hesse described but not to worry.

My friend ordered the two-course 14 € menu.  She seemed to like both the raviolis of potato and something else which came with an incredibly light emulsion of potato mousse as well as her salmon and potatoes two ways.

I had the same very crisp raviolis, almost like crispy dim sum, with a bit more cheese and ham than she inside but I also got an onion "soup" which was really more like onions slowly simmered in broth and a side of the same incredibly light emulsion.  Then I had several pieces of nicely cooked monkfish with sesame and some sticks of very spicy (hot) stuff.

We had no dessert and our bill with a bottle of Corbieres was 72 €.

Later, I actually did get my hair cut and and was talking to the barber asking if he'd been there and what he thought of its cuisine.  Yes, he said, and it was traditional French cooking.  I disagreed, saying it was fusion-esque Asian-oriented, etc., to which the other custumer piped up with - he's right (meaning me), it's not traditional French.  My dining partner agreed and posited that the reason it might have been weakly reviewed and empty is that the French "don't get it" (she's French.)  And maybe she's got a point; it's certainly closer to Ze Kitchen Galerie and Carte Blanche than Clocher Perriere or l'Epigramme.

Go?  As Monty Python used to imply: if you want something completely different.

Chez Julien the the 4th: Funny, funny place; beautiful site, mixed food. An archival* review

2.5 Chez Julien, 1, rue Pont Louis Philippe in the 4th, 01.42.78.31.64, closed Sunday night and Monday (provisionally), recently reopened under the hand of Thierry Costes (Hôtel Amour, Café Etienne Marcel) and is admittedly a beautiful monument with a ceiling to die for and renovated furniture that is so, so wonderful. Facing the Pont itself, just down from the Monastery honey shop, it is ideally suited to become again a great destination. But not yet.

There are lots of choices and a 20 € 2-course menu that today was a platter of sausages from the Pyrenees and three big pieces of daurade. I didn’t need any more sausages after my Italian sojourn and last nite’s supper so I opted for the cuttlefish and calamari a la plancha with a huge fennel and haricots verts salad with a small cup of cold potato salad with garlic and chives – my, it was really good.

As were the bread and Pascal Beilleraire butter and for that matter the “amuse-bouches” of olives and crisp/crunchy almonds and mignardises cookies. But then I chose the daurade which I had trouble eating more than three bites of, one from each filet; I tried each but they were simply bad product; over-the-hill, foul-tasting and nasty (And yes, contrary to habit I said so). (I know in the US one avoids the specials because they’re yesterday’s rubbish, but here one expects more.)

The saving grace, however, was one of those strange juxtapositions that starts out badly but ends felicitously: I was seated (the only person inside) at the table facing the pont, and wouldn’t you know the 30-ish yo Costes’ responsible (who could’ha been Thierry himself at 31) plunked down in the seat just outside “my” window with two grubby “designer-types,” dressed all in black whose conversation was at the same time both boring and fascinating (the last time I had to listen to such talk was at Cannes, but it was all film, all dinner long).

In any case, I learned a lot about menu design, sizing and content which I’ll write up sometime. I also learned that despite Emmanuel Rubin’s 1 heart condemnation, Optimum and other glossies wrote it up with lots of photos.

The bill with two glasses of a pretty good Cotes du Rhone = 43 €.

Go? They’re trying hard to be Benoit, Drouant, Bofinger etc., but don’t go til they buy fresh fish.

* Originally published in September 2006.

La Canaille : Godforsaken spot; godforsaken place; godforsaken food.

 

0.5 La Canaille, 4, rue Crillon in the 4th, 01.42.78.09.71, closed Saturday lunch and Sundays is a place my FFFF suggested we eat at and I readily agreed since he is spot on 99.9999% of the time.

Now disclosure and disclaimer – disclosure: he’s not going to write our meal up for complicated reasons but said I could an quote him – disclaimer: we mean no evil to the chef or owner, the latter of whom told my pal it might not be so good. Its location is weird, in the Bermuda triangle between Sully-Morland, the Gare de la Rapee and the Bastille.

What must have been here 50 years ago? Metal works? Print shops? Shipping offices? I dunno, but the street was godforsaken. I entered a tad before my host and the wait guy was drole, suggesting I sit on an isolated chair by the coat rack to wait or by the etched antique glass partition in front on a “Defense d’Afficher” thing and weird posters and art on the wall – OK, I lack the French sense of humor.

We looked at the carte and there were two - Noon and Night - and a chalkboard. We were able to order what we wanted however and shared throughout.

We started with the nem (not nems) of vegetables with bean sprouts in a strange sauce neither of us hardened sauce experts could identify and boudin noir tarte (of all things); both of which came with great salads with strangely sweet dressings, however. We both left portions unfinished.

At this point, he looked at me and said “I’m sorry; I should never, oh golly, oh gosh…..” I replied that it was better than starving.

Then I had ordered the pintade stuffed with apples and something else (a rollatine) which came with great vegetables and he had the canette with sour cherries (good) and hot-table vegetables (awful). He said “John, please, don’t, I, well, maybe, oh……” I said “Gimme a break, it’s not that bad. We’ve got dessert coming, recall in the 1960’s when the firsts and desserts were superb and the meal only fell down in the middle?” He said “I wasn’t born then.”

So he got the cheese and said “What’s wrong with this?” I guessed - “it’s been standing too long? Ah, it’s been in the frigo?” “No, no, touch it.” It was warm to the touch – heated camembert, just like they used to serve at fancy Manhattan parties in the 1970’s. Yikes.

And my supposed millefeuille of apples was barely edible and he wouldn’t touch “his” half. (And he’s not writing this place up because his beat now is upbeat)? Oh my.

Well the coffees came, not as ordered, and with only one spoon and while he was gracefully saying his goodbyes, I shuffled out the door. We split without discussing it any further.

The bill – 92.60 € - they should have paid us that, although the wine was OK, the bread not so. Sad, sad, sad.

Go? You not only don’t read to the end, you don’t get nuance.