John Talbott's Paris

L'Avant Comptoir in the 6th: Oh am I going to get hate mail over this.

 
5.0 L'Avant Gout, 3, Carrefour de l'Odeon in the 6th, no tele, no rez's, open 7/7, 8 AM 'til very late, is the hottest place on the planet to open this fall.

As I approached I saw a huge crowd spilling out onto the sidewalk and remembered that I had no fall-back place to eat, darn.  And in my eagerness I took no photo of the Carrefour or place, thus the pix above.

But intrepid as I am, I elbowed my way in.  The entire Bayonne rugby team was celebrating; they were very drunk, very into jumping in unison on the fragile floor-boards, chanting/singing Basque fight songs, smoking and drinking much more.

(Ironically, on my way there, I was reading Matthew Quick's brilliant first novel "The Silver Linings Play Book" which features a lot of Philadelphia Eagles fans jumping/chanting/shouting/etc. Picador, London, 2008.)

My friends and I suspect soon to be enemies describe the place as a wonderful experience.  I suspect my friends soon to be enemies have never encountered Brit soccer hooligans on the tube, deafening shouting from the row behind one at a Rangers hockey game or acid-heads jumping up and down in unison at a Shea Stadium rock concert and certainly not all three together. 

How is one to judge food in a situation like that?  Well, I'm a professional.  So I shout at the top of my lungs to the guy 2 feet away behind the stove by the entry, chorizo!  He says Huh, and points to the guy one over?  Chorizo, I shout, chorizo, and point at the sign.  He nods and turns to the thirds guy - Chorizo - Ah so.  All three sequentially give me a shrug that sort of says "What are you gonna do?" 

Eventually after all the shouting and dumbshow, I get a cutting board full of the greatest chorizo I've ever had.

In addition, the rolls are terrific (really great crust) and the capers and pickled cherries wonderful and the wine (at 2 E a pop) quite sufficient.

Then, despite several bruises growing on my back and ribs, I order an order of chipolatas, which are not the best I've ever had.

Then I notice the ruggers who were French/Spanish/Basque/whatever (they spoke, it seemed to me, three tongues) are gradually jumping/shouting/singing/chanting/drinking/smoking/shoving outside not inside and nice, well-dressed, calm, unburly, unelbowy, Parisian folk are replacing them. 

The din diminishes.  An elegant lady asks what I'm having; I explain.  A guy with a suit and tie helpfully points her to the items over the counter.  Ah, this is what my friends were describing.

I exit just as the place achieves equilibrium; quiet (oh, some Basque music, but OK), no elbowing and an ability to converse with both other customers and the three guys in back of the counter. 

My bill = 12 E, a great meal, except Colette will never believe I got all these bruises in a tapas bar.

Go?  You gotta. 

KGB in the 6th; 3rd experience; just fine.

  

This was our third experience at KGB in the 6th and it's beginning to get boring; inventive dishes, exploding palates and easy prices.

Today though we were seated at the primo table by the window and could see the color between the rooms much better. 

We started with the usual three zors d'oeuvres, best described visually not verbally:

Then Colette had the tempura of shrimp and non-tempura of squid and I again had the rollatine of rabbit on pasta; both spicy and delicious.

We ended with the fruits of fall with a great syrup, pomegranate seeds, figs and ice cream.

At the end of the meal, the omni-present and wonderfully-pleasant maitre d' Jerome came over and indicated that he had heard my and others' complaints about the noise level and soon there will be floor acoustical trucs installed that should satisfy us.

Our bill was 87.70 E with a bottle and glass of wine. 

  

Ze does Zit Again.

Ze Kitchen Galerie, I've often commented, runs smoothly whether Wiiliam Ledeuil is there or not (vide one day he had the flu and went home assuring us before leaving that things would be fine and they were).  Today he was off in Megeve doing who knows what and we were treated and fed as well as always.

We started off with a light apero of champagne, with the usual tart olives and nice bread.

Colette then had a bouillon of mussels, squid and razor clams with a classic Ledeuil lemon grass sauce; and I had the bar de ligne marinated and with a daikon tartare and green mango.

Mains were the St Pierre special with tempured veggies and a delectable wasabi sauce and very tender morsels of veal jarret with a citrusy sauce; again Ledeuil bursting our palates. 

We sort of shared delicious figs in a red fruit sauce together with cironelle ice cream.

With a bottle of wine, water (part of the menu) and two coffees (ditto) = 100.10 E.

Go?  With this smooth-running a machine, you bet!

KGB=Ze Bis=Ze Kitchen Galerie Bis in the 6th: Better and better.

KGB aka Kitchen Galerie bis in the 6th has just gotten better from even my first visit three weeks ago.  Then, when my food-writer dining partner told M. Ledeuil how impressed he was that a place open only a few days functioned so smoothly.  He replied "well not totally smoothly."

Well today there wasn't a flaw and while I reserved judgment then on the mains, today I was overwhelmed by my stuffed rabbit on some weird pasta which was spicy to a "tee."  And Colette raved about her daurade and veggies which also had M. LeD's typically indescribable Asian herbs and spices.

The three great zors d'oeuvre were totally new (from last visit's six) so things are clearly ripping right along.  All again were spiced intriguingly (but I shuddered when a French guy at the next table doused his soup with ground pepper before tasting the spicy mix of mushrooms.)

We shared a dessert of poached figs and cherry ice cream.

Additions are the flags outside; continuing are the reasonably priced wines and their own bottled water.

Our bill today was 82.70 €.

Go again?  Yup we reserved for next Friday.

Kitchen Galerie Bis in the 6th: Two steps forward, one back.

 

7.0 Kitchen Galerie bis, 25, rue des Grands Augustins in the 6th, 01.46.33.00.85 has a lunch formula that at present runs one 34 Euros for three courses, water and coffee, a la carte according to one source goes up to at least double that.

It's a very modern renovation of a space I recall as grey and dreary, dazzinglingly colorful, with mirrors and glass, etc.  As opposed to the mothership, it has an ample list of wines by the glass and 50 cl. carafe and more interesting full bottles than at Ze.

How to explain the first course(s)?  Well, here's a photo of the six zors d'oeuvres served us, that's right "zors:"  everything from sweet potato to coques, from cucumber to cod.  With a "formula" you get three each and we told them to just go ahead and pick them.

 

For our mains we split the spare ribs with veggies and rascasse also with veggies; both in cocottes which they offered to take the food out of but suggested it would stay warmer inside; we complied.  Both were very good.

Again we split our desserts: a prune concoction and a fig one, both with beautiful sauces.

Now, what do I mean by "two steps forward and one back?"  Well, whereas the zors d'oeuvres seemed to move William Ledeuil's concept at Ze forward to small plates of exotically spiced and herbed items, the mains were closer to the traditional ones he served at Bouquinistes before moving to Ze.  Did they work?  Well, for once, I'm going to reserve judgment until my second meal (just as I did at Ze where the first meal caught me off guard and it wasn't until my second meal that I really got "it.")

Our bill with water (filtered and prepared there), coffee and wine was 89.70 Euros.

PS The noise level is unlike that in any of his prior restos I've frequented: most unpleasant.

Go?  Definitely, it's interesting to see what this guy does, but I suspect my next meal on the rue des Grands Augustins with Colette in a couple of weeks will be back "home."

Ze Kitchen Galerie: Victoria's Messenger arrives.

 

Don't get the Victoria's Messenger reference: minute Papillion.

Ze Kitchen Galerie is to me what Chez Georges is to Francois Simon, or L'Ami Louis was to RW Apple Jr; it's my lodestar, my center of gravity, my knowledge that all is right in the world and I can eat splendidly well at a one-star place, for Lord's sake, for 50 E at lunch - so when Colette and I arrived and saw our guests from the state of red rocks standing outside talking to the waitstaff we knew we were in big trouble. 

Bombscare, sushi chef stabbed, frigo off all night - what?  No, the power had just been cut in the quartier, who knew when it would be restored?   Looking around, oh yah, that's right, there are all these chefs and plongeurs, etc., from Laperouse, etc. sitting around smoking and looking totally bored.

Oh man.  Now, John Talbott's Paris has a lot of features, but one of them is not an iPhone/Blackberry-readable map of John Talbott's "Greatest Hits."  But John Talbott's two Betz cells still connect once in a while and in a few seconds had delivered the route of march: around the corner, down the quai, across the bridge, along the opposite quai to Quai-Quai and if they wouldn't have us, schelp up the road to Le Reminet.

Just as I announced my plan, not 100 meters from Ze, one of the junior staff rushed up and said that "William sent me, come back, the current is back on."  My thought was back to the denouement of the Dreigroschenoper when Queen Victoria's messenger arrives and pardons Mack the Knife just before he's about to be executed. 

Indeed, on returning to Ze, there was the chef himself up on the step ladder fiddling with a smoke alarm or somesuch.  A man for all seasons,to reference another Broadway favorite.  Cool as a cucumber; schmoozing with the folks, you'd never know he was almost shut down by EDF. 

Now, I'm sure that the meal we had, on the heels of this, was even better if there'd been no reversal of fortune but it was, once again, one mighty fine meal.  Because all they had were the evening menus, they told us, "just order, we'll figure out the lunch prices later."  Now I understand why when I send people here assuring them it's a very reasonable meal, they come back to me with resentment in their eyes.  It's a really terrifically priced meal at lunch; at dinner, you're on your own, folks!

Disclosure: he comp'd us to an intermezzo of a fruit soup with a cheese croquette and one of his wild, exotic, sliced radisshy condiments.  

L'Atelier Mazarine in the 6th: Bobo, Branché, Boring, except for the company.

 

2.8 l’Atelier Mazarine, 43, rue Mazarine in the 6th, 01.43.54.12.43, open 7/7, costing a la carte about 40 € (weekday lunch formula at 18 € and le “snacking chic” on weekends), was my typical Hail Mary pass. In the middle of a 3 or 4 or 5 day holiday weekend, let’s hear it for the ponts of May; I needed a new place to take my oldest Parisian friend.

I poured over my notes, documenti and websites – places were either closed or “old” or undesirable. So this place, which is in another cursed location, changing hands every few years (La Soumman, Bistro Mazarin) accepted my reservation and to update what E Rubin said, weekends are no longer devoted to brunch, but “le snacking chic.

It’s a nifty looking place with a cool bathroom and cool tables and of course cool slate for plates. I suspect at lunch it’s very bourgeois and at night very bohemian; with a huge wine and alcohol list but much smaller “snack” list.

Most of the stuff is ordinary sounding (scrambled eggs, salad, jambon, risotto, haché) but there is a plat du jour, poisson du marche and dessert du jour.

While I liked the sound and price of the beef filet plat du jour, our waitress warned me that it couldn’t be underdone (how did she know I eat raw beef?) but the entrecote could – so voila! It was OK – thin and tough but big - and the two hearts of lettuce were great but the fries were disgraceful – soggy and blah.

Madame ordered the fish, a very nice piece of lieu with an intriguing accompaniment of zucchini/veggies and slices of orange peel.

To terminate (and as she said, to test their ability to do pastry) she ordered the café gourmand – the pastry and such was pretty bad and left unfinished by us both. I had a simple coffee – OK.

That, plus a bottle of Orangerie Cotes du Rhone (which has a great distributor from the looks of how many places carry it) was 67.50 €. 

Go? Unless your kid is learning French at Eurocentres nearby or you're stuck for a May Day weekend lunch, I think not.

Oh my, I’ve ruined this place.

Oh my, I’ve ruined this place.

Recently when I left l’Epigramme, a place I’m really fond of and have written fondly about, I realized that many of the tables were full of very American looking couples who had all the appearances of the demographics of my readers and my heart sank; thinking “I’ve ruined this place.” I left sadder than when I entered.

Aside from the pure audacity and grandiosity of such a thought, I mean how could I, who get only a couple hundred hits a day, prompt a run of Anglo-Saxons on a new restaurant in Paris, I actually would be upset if my rave reviews brought about a “tilt” in the balance of clients in a place like l’Epigramme.

Why? What’s so wrong about Americans or others from the blogosphere who know about and love food and consult what’s hot on blogs of the big guys, such as Toinard and Simon or the little folk like me and websites such as eGullet and Bonjour Paris?

One of my eating pals gently ragged me one day for constantly praising Spring shortly after it opened, implying that I was raising expectations about Daniel Rose and potential clients. It was true, I was enthusiastic, perhaps too much so. But no, in retrospect, Spring and Rose have held up ever since and he just keeps turning out consistently good, solid meals.

And it’s also true that I keep plugging Ze Kitchen Galerie where William Ledeuil’s inventiveness and consistent excellence lure me back and back again.

I also have a notion that if one sees oneself as a journalist rather than a public relations agent, you are obliged to recount what you encounter, even if it’s boringly repetitive.

So again, once more discounting my self-inflated view of myself, I’ll soldier on, praising where praise is due and mentally grimace a little less when encountering a room full of Anglos and expats.

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

What makes Ze so great? An archival* essay and update.

Why is Ze so great? Let me count the ways.

Every once in a while, a restaurant comes along that is so consistantly great, while still changing its menu with inventive regularity – that you find yourself going back time and again. In the early 1990’s, it was the Bistro Du Dome that was such a place, although it was more consistent than changing; a few years later it was the Bistro Cote Mer; and now it’s Ze Kitchen Galerie. It’s probably no coincidence that all three lean heavily on their fish supplier, since that’s what made and makes, especially in the case of Ze, them sing.

But that’s not the only reason. While I liked William Ledeuil’s cooking and menus at Les Bookinistes, it wasn’t until he moved 50 feet away that I was captivated.

I think the quality of the experience starts with the reservation taker and door greeter. Every resto has the capacity to have “caller ID,” but few do have it (cf La Cerisaie) and fewer still know how to capitalize on it. One of the countless books on what makes a good business, noted that when hotel staff-members recognize you, the customer, it’s an indication of caring and it gets your visit off to a good start. No different with restaurants. (In the spirit of disclosure, while I try to make my first visit to a new place anonymous and accept no free rides, once I’ve reviewed a place and my feelings/judgments are in print, I don’t mind being identified, as long as I continue to pay.)

Then there’s the “acceuil” which can be perfunctory or warm or resentful, but at Ze is always warm. I recall many years ago at Boulay in New York being treated by the maitre d’ like a leper, until the person making the reservation came in and indicated that I was with him - suddenly snottiness turned into relectant acceptance. I blamed David Boulay for the attitude conveyed by his “face” to the world and I hold William Ledeuil equally responsible for ensuring that Ze’s face is warm, welcoming and personally engaging (you feel the “how are you” is genuine and answer genuinely.)

Then there’s the prompt offer of aperitives and prompt delivery of menus, no fussing about searching for available ones, and prompt taking of orders. And watch M. Ledeuil. He usually stands just outside the kitchen entry, like a midfielder able to dash back into the kitchen to show someone how something should be done, finish a dish or help out when the pressure’s high, or move slowly to the front to welcome or thank a regular diner, fix something at the bar or survey the situation. Not one, like Passard, to avoid the kitchen, or Lalanne at La Cerisaie, to never leave it, like Dominique Bouchet, you get a sense that it’s all his domain.

Now, however, to what really makes it great – the food. I can only imagine the hours and days of thought that went into his menu-planning before opening several years ago or the attention that goes into the product and supply ordering weekly and daily but both are integral to the place’s success. The fish is incredibly fresh, it has to be, to prepare so much sushi-style. And the veggies and meat are impecable.

Would that be enough? Probably. But then, what he does with the basic ingredients, the spices and preparations and finally the presentation are all uniquely Ledeuil. It’s no wonder that the Generation “C,” “Le Fooding” and “Le Jeune Chef” bunch see him as a role model for breaking into the next level of French cuisine.

And all the while, that great smile, handsome face and winning manner. If Hollywood needed a prototypical chef for the movies – he’d be my nomination.

Why is Ze so great? I have counted the ways, but I suspect underpinning each is one overwhelming element – M. Ledeuil.

My favorites:

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 Cerisaie
70, Boulevard Edgar Quinet, 14th (Metro : Montparnasse-Bienvenue)
T : 01.43.20.98.98
Closed Saturdays and Sundays
A la carte 25-30 €.

Dominique Bouchet
11 rue Treilhard, 8th (Metro : St Augustin or Miromesnil)
T : 01 45 61 09 46
Closed weekends
A la carte about 60 €

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Just a week ago today, as Colette and I were settling our bill at Ze, one of the head-guys came over and said he apologized for the first which was being served for the first time that day.  I countered that such great innovations were exactly why we came here - no apologies necessary at all - it was terrific.

*Originally published in July 2006

Le Café Tournon, a real local café, in all its definitions, in the 6th: an archival* review.

3.0 The Café Tournon, aka Le Comptoir Tournon, 18, rue de Tournon in the 6th, 01.43.26.16.16, is closed Sundays but open in August, which is why I read Jean Claude Ribaut’s enthusiastic review in Le Monde earlier this month with such delight.

I hadn’t been here for maybe 15 years, and that time I was merely grabbing a quick café serré with an old buddy while we broke from a meeting at the Senat. Wow, his own wine choices, thick veal’s liver, veal’s foot in its juice, tomato stuffed in the old manner; except they had none of the above today save the wine.

Aside from the ample wine-bar-type stuff (charcuterie, cheese, salads, etc) and a few classic items like confit de canard, the specials for firsts were rillettes, fennel with chevre and mackerel with two huge almost tasteless leeks, which I had, and with some salt was manageable.

The choices of the day for mains were entrecote/frites, bar with fennel, boudin noir and a huge piece of veal with orange and tagliatelles, which I had: the veal was only OK but the pasta was terrific.

I was feeling cheated after all the good stuff Ribaut mentioned so I had the strawberries with Chantilly, thinking, silly me, that the latter wouldn’t be from a squirtcan. But the berries were terrific.

The crowd was most interesting, since it’s across from the Senat, it includes elegantly coiffed, beautifully-tanned, photogenic senators (strangely much like ours) and their wives, young staffers standing at the comptoir smoking and drinking their lunches, workmen from jobs nearby and ordinary locals.

The waits for the presentation of the menu and dishes were intolerable and the smoke, even with all the windows open, toxic. Bill = 42.70 €.

Should one go? Not until you’ve exhausted all the nearby alternatives – eg, the Bastide Odeon, Maison de Jardin + la Ferrandaise.

*Originally published in September 2007