John Talbott's Paris

Les Etangs de Corot in the Ville d'Avray: Nicer for me than Colette.

Les Etangs de Corot, 55 rue de Versailles in the Ville d'Avray, 01.41.15.37.00, closed Sunday night, Monday and Tuesdays, opened just a few months' ago when Benoit Bordier suddenly (for me) departed the creapingly increasingly pricey Chez Jean on the Rue St Lazare for this town 18 minutes away on the SNCF from St Lazare (ironic eh?)

We were advised that it was either 10 or 20 or 45 minutes from Paris by car and not wanting to presume on friends and having shipped my car back to the US, I calculated it as 34 minutes by train and bus but it actually took us much longer because of sudden unannounced quirky bus strike on our way there and desire to hike past the lake and through the Ronce Park back to the station.  (But if you intend to go by public transport, fear not, after exiting the station it's only a few blocks away.)

In any case, we came in by the street side which was a mistake because the entrance from lake-side is really much nicer from the statue of Corot

 
to the grape vines over the entrance archway

 

to the thatch-covered pavillion (Les Paillotes) on the left where they serve during better weather.

We were ushered by painterly smocked waitstaffers into the impressive room with lifesize Corot reproductions all over

and after a lengthy wait, were asked about an apero.  The amuse bouche of a bouillon with floating Asian veggies was very good and most Zen.

I choose the menu (unidentified by name on the carte but called on the bill - a menu de Bouche a Oreille, not Bouche a l'oreille, I still have lots to learn about the French language) with a starter of calamari rings and teeny-tiny girolles atop calamari ink - super; then sweetbreads with a slice of boudin noir and apple and its juice and a small potato - very very good; and ended with figs and ice cream - another winner.

Colette liked her St Pierre but hated its bed of a mousseline of watercress which she deemed unworthy of a 32 E dish; however she ended with spectacular dessert of roasted apricots and ginger fromage blanc and ice cream.

The bread was great, the butter (Bordier, I know the chef, Benoit Bordier, says he's not related to Brittany Butter-maker Jean-Yves Bordier, but I'll bet he's never used the geneology computer on the 3rd floor of the Centre Pompidou that tells you, that is, one, that is, me, where Bordiers or Talbot(t)s live and lived in France,) terrific and the cafe serre nickel.

Our bill was 123 E, with a bait-and-switch bottle of wine (Oh, Monsieur, you don't really want what you ordered with lunch - having chosen a wine I especially wanted from my favorite wine-maker couple who always invite me to the bi-yearly - is it?- Salon des vins des vignerons indépendants.) 

Go back?  Me maybe, but Colette I suspect not, despite the spectacular setting and randonnée. However we both want to try the more informal, so-called wine bar downstairs - the Café des Artistes, where folks seemed to be having a lot more fun.

 

Eating lunch on Sundays in the Park with George(s): an archival* essay.

Sundays, it’s my firm belief, should be spent in the country not in Paris.  Oh, it’s not as if all Paris is dead or dormant - the supermarkets are open until after noon, the open markets ‘til 2-3 and the flower shops forever.  And it’s not that there are no places to eat in town – I love Petrus, l’Equitable and l’Ardoise on Sundays.  

 

But it’s outside the peripherique that one enters the real France and savors the full flavor of the country.  So, one not-so-fine, cloudy Sunday in September I found myself out on the amazing RER (amazing because despite its dirt and age, it’s remarkably efficient) to Maisons-Laffitte.  My last culinary experience there had left a bad taste in my mouth; I’d gone to Le Tastevin on the recommendation of a famous critic at the New York Times who noted that it had a terrifically reasonably priced lunch “menu” on weekends – but it turned out that she or her editor forgot the words “except on” and the meal was shockingly expensive.  However, weather and experience aside, I set out.

 

In a surprisingly short time I was walking through the gardens, up to and around the chateau and even a bit more.  Let me confess that I’m a shameless believer in the monarchy, believing Mel Brooks’ every word when he gushed that “It’s good to be the King!” in “History of the World: Part 1.”  So I really enjoyed walking around the royal grounds, now nicely preserved and used by all citizens who live in the vicinity, and in a short while had worked up both an appetite and enthusiasm for my meal.   

 

I’d like to say that my meal at La Plancha was better than my prior one at Le Tastevin but it was not.   Thus this essay ends by recommending one flee Paris on Sundays, for the outdoors, the scenery and the walking and gawking, but not the food, at least here.  I can, however, strongly recommend the Auberge du Chateau “Table des Blot” in Dampierre, not unfortunately on an RER line.

 

And, if you go Sundays where Georges (Seurat) went, the Island of the Grand Jatte, the setting is again quite special and evocative, but the Café just ordinary.  However, once again one must weigh the benefit of spending Sundays outside the walls against the often mediocre food.

Recently I went (on a Sunday) to Passy, which some of regard as pretty far away, and had a wonderful seafood meal at La Marée Passy.  While hardly the country, one can pretend one is at liberty by walking through the Ranelagh Gardens, dropping into the Marmottan Museum and winding up in the Bois de Boulogne.

Thus my sole recommendation outside the city this week is:

 

L’Auberge du Chateau “Table des Blot”

Opposite the Chateau in Dampierre (78)

T : 01.30.47.56.56

Closed Sunday night, Monday and Tuesdays

Lunch menu during the week 35 €; a la carte about 50 €.

 

But keep in mind in the city:

 

La Marée Passy

71, ave Paul-Doumer, 16^th (Metro: La Muette)

T: 01.45.04.12.81

Open everyday

A la carte 40-50 €.

 

Petrus

12, place du Marechal Juin, 17^th (Metro: Pereire)

T: 01.43.80.15.95

Open everyday.

A la carte about 50-60 € without beverages. 

 

L’Equitable

47 bis, rue Poliveau, 5th (Metro : St Marcel)

T : 01.43.31.69.20

Closed Mondays

Menus : 21 €, dinner 28 €.

 

L’Ardoise

28 rue du Mont-Thabor, 1^st (Metro: Concorde)

T : 01.42.96.28.18

Closed Monday and Tuesday.

Menu: 30 €.

 

*Originally published in January 2007

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Update 2009: Summaries on Sundays this week updates this with “Eating lunch on Sundays.”

L'Escargot in Puteaux: A 1950’s country truck stop near La Defense; an archival* review.

1.0 l’Escargot, 18, rue Charles Lorilleux in Puteaux (essentially La Defense), 01.47.75.03.66, closed Saturday lunch and Sundays, has two menus; offering two dishes for 22 and three for 29 €.

In a prior life, I directed a team that examined professional candidates for an advanced credential and I always cautioned the examiners to see two candidates before rating/grading the first so they’d have a better sense of the spread/range. Well, today’s meal set the floor/platform for the month of June.

I invited as my guest the contemporary “hostess with the mostest” (does that date me or what?), Phyllis/Felice Flick, thinking that I was doing her a favor by inviting her to walk a mere 400 meters from work to dine at a place I was convinced would duplicate, if not exceed, my charming meal at Pere Lapin just a stop or two further down Tram line #2 in Suresnes last September; wrong!

We met at Mitterand’s great arch and while a crow might fly 400 meters to the resto, we walked forever through the most bizarre set of lobbies, underpasses and passerelles I’ve ever seen (PS we had maps from Michelin, Mapquest and Yahoo and they were of no help). The restaurant is in a dumpy neighborhood, looks dumpy from outside and is dumpy within.

The bread, however, looked great. The menu was most ample, with daily specials, and the wines were reasonably priced (18 € up).

We started with light firsts; she had fine minces of bar cru with “fresh” mint that looked weeks old; I had fine ecrevisses with a great tangy sauce but served with extremely tired salad leaves.

Then we both had wonderfully crusty meat, char-grilled - she had a fine product, the entrecote with an OK béarnaise sauce, but I had a dreadful product, a carré d’agneau – but both of our potato dishes were pathetic: undercooked, soggy and tasteless.

To add to the roller-coaster experience, our shared crème brulee was great, ditto the coffee. Oh, yah, that great looking bread was awful too. The bill = 75€. 

Should One Go? Why? Did you just get divorced, widowed, abandoned and sleep on a couch in your La Defense office? OK. I understand.

*Originally published in June 2007.

Travel is broadening: An archival* essay and note about Levallois-Perret places.

It is a truism that travel is broadening and travel from France to other countries brings home what’s so great about dining in the hexagon.  Recently I had the opportunity to visit and eat in Greece and Seattle and I was struck by several things we take for granted when eating in France.

First the product.  While Seattle had the edge for edgy herbs, spices and fall vegetables, day in and day out, my Parisian street market has a variety and quality of product that is impressive.

Second, the professionalism.  In France, wait staff are neither unemployed actresses nor sullen family members pressed into service but rather men and women in a profession. 

Third.  The care.  We (or at least I) take it as “normal” in a Parisian restaurant that the silverware facing you is that you need for the next course and one never has to ask for a sauce spoon or sharper knife.  And, crumbs are swept up before dessert in the most humble of places.

Fourth, the routine.  It’s always “good day,” “may I take your coat,” “would you like an aperitif,” “are you ready to order,” “would you like to see the wine list,” “what sort of water do you prefer,” etc.  It’s a reassuring ritual that reminds you that you are indeed the customer and the service is intended to help you.

Fifth, the amuse gueule/bouche.  Again, no matter how humble, most places in France offer you a token starter, even if it’s one more thimble-full of pumpkin soup.

And finally, the check is all-inclusive and the prices reasonable for the most part.  It always strikes me as strange when the fish in Greece is charged for by the kilo or when there are no “menus or formulas” in the US.

In Greece, I was struck by the poorer price-quality ratio of the wine (there is no equivalent of a 20 € Bordeaux); the lower quality of the cuisine (especially when compared with Greek restaurant or Greek home cooked meals in the US); the amount of smoking (so much greater than elsewhere in the “old Europe”); and the lackadaisical service.

And in Seattle, which has among the best, if not the best restos in America, while the wait staff were enthusiastic, they were amateurs (in the Anglo sense); and the American habit of clearing the table dish by dish as folks finish their plates was annoying beyond belief. 

My first meal back home was at a rather ordinary looking place in Levallois-Perret called Les Autodidactes*, which despite its name is super-professionally done, and it reinforced all my opinions above.  It was a splendid end to my time away, demonstrating once again that travel is not only broadening but reveals in contrast how lucky we are.

So after a month or so away, my opinion of the final score is France 8 – Rest of the world 4.

My two favorites in Levallois-Perret are:

Les Autodidactes*
9 place Jean-Zay, Levellois-Perret (Metro : Anatole France)
T: 01.47.39.84.02
Open only for lunch Mon-Fri
Menu = 35 €

L’Instant Gourmand
113 rue Louis-Rouquier, Levallois-Perret (Metro : Anatole France)
T: 01.47.37.13.43
Closed Saturday lunch and Sundays
Lunch menus: 2 dishes = 29 €; 3 = 31 €, a la carte 45-50 €

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*Update September 2009: Les Autodidactes has been renamed l'Heteroclite and from my reading of the reviews I cannot tell how much or who has changed.

Ordering defensively at Girondine and Pere Lapin: an archival* essay.

I don’t know about you but because I eat in a lot of new, largely un-reviewed or not multiply-reviewed places and get an immediate impression whether a place is one more of a thousand exactly like it or truly one of a kind, I’ve developed a strategy I call defensive ordering, akin to defensive driving.  What do I mean?

Let’s take two meals I had last week.  The first one was at a place – Girondine, the Bistro of Gargantua (I kid thee not) - that looked all the world like 1,000 others nearby in the Deepest 13^th, that quarter so well-served by restos and so poorly served by Metros.  It was located on a boulevard, a red awning covered the terrace, it had a nice-looking internal room and welcoming staff. 

OK good enough: but was it one of a thousand or one of a kind? The cheapo (18.90 €) menu-carte had all cold/salady things, the mains looked banal and the desserts standard fare.  So go with the carte but order defensively (e.g., things they can’t screw up.)  That way I think I scored (but will never know of course.) 

I had a “croute” of morilles that were so woody tasting and smelling they must have been on the forest floor just a few hours ago. 

Then the confit of duck (which along with magret, is almost impossible to destroy) which wasn’t bad but did not break the sound barrier – but the diced, fried in goose fat and garlic, potatoes were divinity themselves and the moelleux of chocolate the best I’ve ever had (my gold standards being Chez Catherine’s and that at the Bistrot Cote Mer, neither of which I can compare today because CC is out of my bistrot price range and the BCM was sadly sold and ruined.  (Note to those who might be tempted to go to Girondine; it is called the Bistro of Gargantua for a good reason, thus order minimally.) 

Next day, totally different venue – the hautes of the Seine, in serene Suresnes, a place called Pere Lapin, I suppose because if he called it Pierre , he’d get sued.  Here, in contrast to the doctors and lawyers and families in Girondine, the clients were all terribly well tanned, nouveau riche women and somewhat pale shirts. 

Here the ardoise looked great, as opposed to other places where one suspects they’re throwing yesterday’s stuff or the supplier’s oversupply at you.  And here, I took “le menu:” why not find out what the guy can do with inexpensive but good product?  A lot it turns out. 

A velouté of lentils (what could be simpler?) had teeny tiny slices of bacon with extremely tasty teeny tiny croutons (and I hate standard croutons) and mascarpone and was masterful; the bland swordfish blocks (well admit it, when did you last have tasty swordfish that wasn’t over the hill?) were rescued, indeed beatified, by a tart sauce of grapefruit and orange bits atop a pissaladiere; and the roasted figs were stuffed with incredibly finely chopped almonds and accompanied by an ice of verveine – super. 

Go back?; on a nice day when the arteries need the hill climb and God is in Her heaven, you bet. 

My late August finds:

Pere Lapin

10, rue de Calvaire in Suresnes (92^nd (T2 Suresnes)

T : 01.45.06.72.89

Closed Mon & Tues

Lunch menus 20 and 25 €, a la carte about 40 €

Girondine

48 bvd Arago, 13^th (Glaciere)

T : 01.43.31.64.17

Closed Sunday night only

Menu-cartes 18.90 and 30 €, a la carte 36-40 €

 

*Originally published in September 2006

Barbezingue in the 'burbs: No one who reads this will ever go, so I can make up anything I want.

 

5.5 Barbezingue, 14 bvd de la Liberte in Chatillon (yes, Chatillon, 15 minutes walking, 10 minutes busing from the Chatillon Metro station), 01.49.85.83.50, closed Mondays, is a place discovered by Sebastien Demorand of Le Fooding and since written up by tout le monde and is Thierry Faucher’s fourth place (after l’Os a Moelle, la Cave de l’Os… + Les Symples de etc and is oddly or logically a combination of all three: an oyster shuckery (outside), a resto (on the ground floor), a wine bar (southwest) and a table d’hote (upstairs).

My intrepid food cook book writer pal and I were in the resto and I was seated in a dental chair, which luckily I forget about or the drilling (which she teased me by starting) might have spoiled the meal. It’s got a 30 € tasting menu, that’s right, you didn’t misread it, 30 € for 4 courses.

We started: she with the hot lentil soup with beautifully toasted pine nuts and foie gras, a bit watery but excellent, and I had the cold mussel cream soup with crunchy croutons, also excellent.

Then she had the daurade (daurade for a first – wow) with shredded beets and I the slice of hure of sanglier with shredded cabbage; both well worth it.

Next, she had the rabbit leg and back with beans and I the pigeon with salad and a nifty, spicy sauce (we could each have had either).

Finally we both had the baba with ample rum; classic, good, did the trick.

The wine, interesting story: they have no list, only bottles in bins one chooses from. I had scoped them out waiting for her, but she, having spent weeks recently in a famous wine region, was the expert and I made her choose: a pétillant Cerdon Rosé. Our waiter, picking up our conversation, said “You realize that’s an aperitif?” She said “It goes well with anything.” He (with his eyebrows raised and body language (to me) indicated) “We’ll just see about that.” We discussed more, then he returned to make sure. She said yes, and “John, if you don’t like it, I’ll cork it and take it home, I love it.” He brought it over, I tasted it, Jim Jones Juice if ever I had any. So I ordered a carafe of Luberon that was a mere 11 € and she took home the rest of the 17 € sparkling Koolaid.

Our bill, even with all, that was only 95 €. 

Go? Yes, but you won’t, you miserable stick-in-the-mud-central-Paris-devotees.

l’Escarbille: Fun and fine food: An archival* review and update*.

8. l’Escarbille, 8, rue de Velizy in Dept. 92 (Meudon @ the Bellevue train stop on the Rambouillet/Mantes line from Montparnasse – 4.10 € RT), 01.45.34.12.03, closed Saturday lunch and Sunday night and Mondays, at lunch 1sts are 21 €, mains 22 and desserts 8, but the menu = just 36.

You get off the crummy aluminum train that is 50 years old, exit the Bellevue station on the north side and walk just to the end of the cars parked besides and there is a charming French inn that could just as well be 500 miles away in the country. (By the way l’Escarbille is a small partly burned piece of coal that escaped the train’s engine, as if you care.)

You’re met with gravel, flowers, a warm welcome and three separate rooms. The menu had 4 starters – a sharp, intense, not overly-creamed bisque of cooked langoustines and their shells with four tender ones floating on top of a lot of reduced dead critters, a large portion of white asparagus, crab and a “croque monsieur” of foie gras; 6 mains – pigeon that was simply awesome, rivaling the gold standard at Bon Acceuil with peas in a fluffy sauce (yah, he’s into the Detourbe handheld mixer “thing”), a luscious lamb, beef, barbet, carrelet with nicely toasted skin and loup; then desserts of a tarte tatin (his only slump – while the caramelized top was the tops, it doesn’t rival the apples underneath provided by Millet, for example) with ice cream, a cheese plate (7, count them 7), pineapple and passion fruit, and extra bitter chocolate three ways (truffle, ice cream and ohmagawd I forget the third).

The amuse bouche was a nice tampenade, the canelés at the end were high standard and the coffee was straight from Naples.

Wines were pricey (for me) starting only at 24 altho they had ample half-bottles; the rolls were too doughy; and the local male crowd from work in the next room was too noisy – don’t I have to find something wrong?

Very wisely but disappointingly, the French critics give the cost of the train (as I said 4.10 € RT) to add to the bill, but hold it, so many folks never cost in the 2 € RT metro or 20 € RT taxi, that it’s not necessary.

My bill was 62 but with two sharing the wine, a couple can get out for 101 €.

Go again? You bet, with or without an extension afterwards to Rambouillet or Versailles.

*Originally published in May 2006; last meal (very good) in July 2007.

It’s best in the burbs. An archival* essay and update.

It’s best in the burbs.

Well, my beat, as the old cops and even older reporters used to say, is writing essays on new places in Paris and I try not to cross the green line into Margaret Kemp’s territory. But a recent meal at Les Magnolias so blew me away that I have to report on this relatively old place and update my column on “You want to me to go out where?”

Let’s turn half the readership off right here – to go to one of the best restos in France, my preferred route is to take the Line E RER (“the what?”) from either the Haussmann/St Lazare station or Magenta/Gare du Nord to Nogent Les Perreux, 22 minutes, about 4 Euros, running every 15 minutes, and my preferred route back is to walk up the relatively suburban hill to the 114 or 210 buses that take you through the Bois de Vincennes to the Chateau de Vincennes Metro (Line 1) to civilization.

But to the food. This is the guy, Jean Chauvel, pre-Barbot, pre-Choukroun, pre-Aziparte, pre-, well you get the picture, who started the multiple dishes with each course (not the overwhelming number that Gagnaire does, but small, complementary and different bit-sized delights) that gave each meal a complex dimension like a great painter’s palate. There’s no way one can list the 20-30 things one tastes in his 16 different tiny presentations. They range from raw fish to limoncello, from veggies to fruits, from curry to mustard and each dish, whether labeled tuna or pigeon, barely resembles its traditional bistro original. I came here first shortly after it opened and was dazzled, returned later a half-dozen times and went back again after a two year hiatus and was startled yet again. First revelation, Madame seemed to remember me; second, the food is as dazzling as before; and third, Chef Chauvel has moved on to new things, which Madame and the head wait-person were keen to inform me of. For 50 € for three courses (plus the other stuff) or 36 € for two courses, can one do better ? And the wine starts at about 22 €; they’re not out to get you.

Then, I was recently reminded of a meal a bit back at the Maison Cagna in Cormeilles en Vexin, which I’ve only been to by auto, but whose website says it’s well served by RER and train. Yes, it’s run by the son of the famous Jacques, who’s taken over the old Relais Sainte Jeanne and once again serves food of a quality and at prices (32 € at lunch) one simply cannot get in central Paris. By the way, both of the above are one-star restaurants in the Michelin Red Guide.

If you’re the sporty type, there’s a nifty place inside a huge barn of a stadium/gymnasium that features everything from dance to basketball and running. It’s a bit out of the way, at the Porte de St Cloud, which I recall as the end of the Metro line #9 when I was younger. Anyway, it’s been open 3 years, has a chef from the Auvergne and a co-owner who’s into South African wines; plus being in this athletic setting, it has a lot of healthy food (gazpacho, avocado, teeny tiny veggies with meat dishes, etc). It’s called, logically, Le Stade, and is ideal if you’re on your way to the Parc des Princes or Rolland-Garros, the first of which is just down the lane and the other a hop by shuttle bus leaving from the nearby circle.

And finally, the newest in the galaxy, is a place I described a few weeks ago in my update column, l’Escarbille in Meudon, another place that’s only 12 minutes by train from Paris, in this case from the Montparnasse Station, that runs every 15 minutes, that will have a star soon (it’s chef is ex-Grande Cascade).

So, now that it’s summery; it’s time to stretch out a bit; smell the flowers; explore the ‘burbs; I think you’ll find fine cooking there.

My favorites are:

Les Magnolias
48 Av de Bry, 94 (RER: Nogent Les Perreux)
Le Perreux sur Marne
T: 01.48.72.47.
Closed Saturday lunch, Sunday, Monday, August
Menu: 50€

Maison Cagna
Old route D915, 95 (RER : Mantes La Jolie and taxicab)
Cormeilles en Vexin
T : 01.34.66.61.56
Closed Sunday, Monday and August
Lunch Menu : 32€, a la carte 45-55€

Le Stade
20 ave de la Porte de Saint Cloud, 16th, (Metro : Porte de Saint Cloud)
T : 01.40.71.22.22
Open for lunch Monday-Saturday; dinner Thursday-Saturday
Menu 21 €, a la carte 30-50 €

L’Escarbille
8, rue de Velizy, 92 (SNCF : Bellevue)
Meudon
T : 01.45.34.12.03
Closed Saturday noon, Sunday night and Mondays
Menu/carte : 36€

*Originally published in July 2006, after which we have had two spectacular meals a short distance from Paris : L’Auberge des Saints-Peres in Aulnay-sous-Bois and L’Orée de la Foret in Etouy (near Clermont, east of Beauvais) as well as one surprising one in Gordon Ramsay’s Veranda at the Trianon Palace in Versailles.

Auberge des Saints Peres
212, av Nonneville in Aulnay sous Bois (RER: Aulnay sous Bois)
T: 01.48.66.62.11
Closed Saturday, Sundays and Wednesday
Menus at 38, 60 + 85 (with wine), a la carte 60-70 €.

L’Orée de la Foret
255, rue de la Foret, in Etouy (near Clermont, east of Beauvais)
T: 03.44.51.65.18
Closed Fridays and Saturday lunch and Sunday night
Menus: 27, 46 & 70, a la carte 60-80 €

La Veranda at the Trianon Palace
1 bvd de la Reine in Versailles (RER: Versailles RD)
T : 01.30.84.55.55
Open 7/7
Lunch about 60-80 €.

Writing restaurant reviews: An archival* essay.

For Christmas, one of my Paris eating companions suggested that my wife Colette give me Dianne Jacob’s Will Write for Food. It’s a terrific book but I realized it’s not for me after eating at two places in the past while: the spectacular L’Escarbille in Meudon and the glitzy but banal Seafood Bar Prunier aka Caviar House & Prunier in Paris.

Why do I say this? Surely I, among all persons, need a lesson in writing well. Granted. But I don’t know how to say this and be respectful of Ms. Jacob: I can’t write by formula or by using guidelines. Sure, I include the name, coordinates, closing dates, prices, etc., of restos. But it is rare, in fact, I cannot recall a time, when I haven’t either loved a place or hated it.

So I’d be dead in the media markets where one has to sell papers or magazines or whatever and seemingly find something good about even the most dreaded experience. Therefore, as opposed to such intellectual, gifted and golden tongued masters as Francois Simon and Sebastien Demorand in their “Croque Notes” and “Zurban” respectively, whom you finish reading and say – “huh, but should I go?,” if you read my stuff - it’s pretty clear. (I think that Simon was told this 10 years ago and then, at least in his “Haché Menu,” began to specifically ask himself at the end of each piece - “Should one go?”)

On the other hand, in defense of them and in all honesty, it’s also a lot easier when you are eating for yourself and only 20,000 readers max and any reimbursement you get is independent of how the review comes out. I know at least one food writer in Paris whose hate mail is pretty nasty.

So what did L’Escarbille and Prunier teach me aside from loving one and hating the other? Well, first, that aside from taking notes (hell, no one here knows who I am until the review appears anyway), I begin my writing a review in my head from the instant I set eyes on the place.

For example, with L’Escarbille, the moment you get off the Toonerville Trolley in Meudon you’re thrown back decades, if not more, trudging beside the train tracks up to what looks like it was the auberge serving the town. There it is, in full view of the station, homey and comfortable if not comforting; gravel outside, warm greeting inside.

I always insist that the quality of food has to be judged separately from the décor, welcome, service, etc. and that I’m equally happy eating great food off newspaper as on linen, or equally unhappy eating bad stuff in starred-places. Anyway, as soon as I got the amuse bouche I began writing in my head – “pretty good tampenade, nice toast.”

Then the menu - terrific selections, wine list - sensible and broad, and order taken - promptly and caringly. From then on it was all terrific, right up through the coffee that could have come straight from Naples, it was made so correctly. By the time I’d reached the train station to return to town, the review was all but written.

Ditto at poor Prunier but as opposed to the day before, I remember that name from a long way back. To me Prunier represented the most famous, indeed, “the” almost mythic fish place in Paris. I’d read some good reviews of this recent incarnation and went, fully knowing it was touted as a “seafood bar” and was dependent on its downstairs’ larder/boutique, but hey, both Petrossian 144 and Flora Danica are as well.

Anyway, I know the Place de la Madeleine well, passing through it probably twice a week when I’m in town; and things didn’t look much different. But on climbing the stairs I realized that the place was in the grips of a designer’s serious vision. Bright, mirrored and stark (not Starck). Off-putting? Not necessarily.

The guy who greeted me seemed OK. Two people downstairs at the empty boutique; six upstairs for about the same number of customers. OK, so far, so good.

Would I like an aperitif, no thanks, a menu would be fine, I thought to myself. No menu, for 5-10-15 minutes; all the while looking/smiling/raising eyebrows at the wait-staff talking amongst themselves, safely ensconced behind the bar.

My review began to write itself. This place is in trouble – in the wake or the defeat of the government’s “first employment contract,” these young folk, whom I hope have night jobs, know they’ll be let go in six months, so why should they hustle?

Finally, I order and the bread and toast are from yesterday at best. That’s OK in your local crummy bistro but a place that gets close to a $1,000 for 125 grams of caviar should have a little pride. And it went downhill from there to such an extent that I fled before any hint of dessert or coffee.

So let’s come back to writing reviews. In both cases, where the settings, meals and experiences couldn’t have been more different, I could no more write a formulaic piece than whistle through my ears.

As I approached each place, I began to compose; when looking over the menu and wine list, I formed certain impressions that took shape as phrases; eating definitely pointed out the pluses and minuses in bold type; and from that point on, the reviews were out of my control.

My only favorite:

L’Escarbille
8, rue de Velizy, 92nd (Transilien train from Montparnasse to Meudon @ Bellevue on the Rambouillet/Mantes line – 4.10 € RT)
T: 01.45.34.12.03
Closed Saturday lunch, Sunday night and Mondays
Menu-carte 36, a la carte: firsts 21 €, mains 22 and desserts 8€.

* Originally published in April 206

Updating "Finding good seafood,” “Go Where?” and “Staying Fit.” An archival* essay

I realized that periodically I need to update prior columns, lest I leave folks with the sense that everything is stagnant in Paris. So here are some new findings.

Update to: “Finding Good Seafood in Paris” (Column #1)

In April, I tested several new seafood places, all of which measured up to lesser or greater degrees. The tops was certainly Caroline and Michel Rostang’s relatively new place (mid-December) in Neuilly – Jarasse. Just one metro stop outside the city, this classy place is an outstanding success. As with her prior seafood haunt, now sadly under other than Rostang-management – Le Bistro Cote Mer – this place provides good product at reasonable prices with an excellent and affordable wine list. I couldn’t find a chink in the Rostang armor; the waitstaff were superb, the food well-prepared and the décor and ambiance charming.

Another winner is Boulogne-sur-Mer, a play on words, since it’s in landlocked Boulogne-Billancourt, not on the Coast of the Pas de Calais, but it has seafood worthy of its cousin city. In what was and still is a fish boutique, the owners have carved out a terrace for eating between the boxes of shellfish on the sidewalk and the counters of fish inside. Its prices are dazzling, 1/3 or less than you’d pay a few Metro stops back towards town. I had oysters that were great and a bar draped with a sauce straight from that served with quenelles de brochet.

Update to: “You want me to go out where?” (Column #3)

Let me start with the no-starter by describing how to get there: go to the Montparnasse Station and take a commuter train (yes, those nasty old aluminum tubes that look ancient and decrepit but on which thousands of suburbanites depend each day). They run every 15 minutes, take 12 minutes to get to the Bellevue stop in Meudon, and then you walk all of a minute and a half to an ancient-looking auberge by the tracks. The place is called l’Escarbille and you could be 100 kilometers in the countryside but with food is the equal of starred places. It has been well reviewed, will never be over-run by Parisians, and is an ideal spot to stop at en route to Rambouillet or Versailles, a few stops farther on. I had a bisque of cooked langoustines and their shells with four tender ones floating on top of a lot of reduced dead critters and a pigeon that was simply awesome. Now my challenge is to get my gang to agree to go to this new Magnolias; it’s well worth the extra 15 minutes.

Then there are the two seafood places I described above, Jarasse which is two stops into Neuilly on the #1 Metro and Boulogne-sur-Mer, which is one stop beyond the Porte d’Auteuil on the #10 line. Now we’re not talking about Siberia here; both neighborhoods are upscale and pleasant to walk through – why are they seen as “so far?”

Finally, here’s a place inside the peripherique and even the petit ceinture, but to most folk, it’s nowhere, unless you’re staying at the Novotel: Hier & Aujourd’hui, a few steps from the Porte d’Asnieres. Where? Oh way out there. I’m not touting this as the next Magnolias at all, indeed I found the food on the edge not between yesterday and today but banal and daring. My guess is that the chef, ex-Guy Savoy, while following the Food Biz formula, will find his footing and within two years, move downtown. Let’s watch.

Finally, an update to “How do you stay so fit and eat the way you do” – (Column #24)

Since March, a couple of shows have opened that I used to work off a few calories acquired in the restos: specifically: the Inca show (and indeed the whole renovated space) at the Petit Palais; a wonderful show of photos from time immemorial at the brasserie La Coupole that was supposed to close at the end of April but I suspect will be help over and a show of Magritte works on paper at the Musee Maillol/Dina Vierny.

Another one not to miss is on films made in or about Paris, at the Hotel de Ville, in which you do more standing and watching than walking but is so evocative you’ll swoon.

*Originallypublished in May 2006.

As usual, here are my favorites for you try:

Jarasse
4 ave Madrid in Neuilly (Metro : Pont de Neuilly)
T : 01.46.24.07.56
Open 7/7
« Jarasse » menu 38 €, a la carte 40-80 €.

Boulogne-sur-Mer
11 bis, ave JB Clement Boulogne-Billancourt (Metro : Jean Jaures)
T : 01.46.04.12.87
Closed Sunday and Monday (lunch Tuesday-Saturday, dinner only Friday and Saturday)
A la carte 20-35 €.

Hier & Aujourd’hui
145 rue de Saussure, 17th (Metro: Periere)
T: 01.42.27.35.55
Closed Saturday lunch and Sundays
Lunch menu 26 €, a la carte 35 €.

L’Escarbille
8, rue de Velizy in Dept. 92 (Meudon) (Train stop: Bellevue)
T: 01.45.34.12.03
Closed Saturday lunch and Sunday night and Mondays
Menu-carte 36 €.