1.5 Variations, which lists itself as at 18 rue Wallons in the 13th, (but is also at the corner of rue, Rene Panhard [my first French car] earning a point), 01.43.31.36.04, closed Sundays, has been on my radar screen since it opened earlier this spring and each time I pass it, en route elsewhere, I say to myself - “I must look for reviews.” Well, it has been reviewed in Telerama, ParuVendu + Newzy - ho hum - but finally in Le Monde, Fooding 2009 + A Nous Paris, so I figured I was safe for going to lunch on Saturday.
The menu is ambitious; from salads to pasta in the big parmesan round; from risotto to steak; from tiramisu to chocolate cake – ambitious sounding eh, and suspiciously Italian?
Very nice welcome; nice interchange with the chef as to why he used vodka not grappa in the flambéed pasta; nice help from the maitre d’ when my hood needed buttoning before I exited into the rain. Ah, but the food John?
Yes, well. I started with a carpaccio of duck breast, excellent product but over-salted and over-espiletted.
Then I had the sautéed fois gras atop a red onion “chutney.” I have never in all my years on earth tasted foie gras like this or should I say not tasted it – it was tasteless and no amount of salt or pepper could revive it.
Thinking I could save the day with a nice dessert I had prunes in Armagnac that were without character or taste-able Armagnac - but the mint on top was fabulous.
I couldn’t bring myself to suffer through a coffee and exited 48 € poorer (3 courses, a ½ liter of Bordeaux and tap water). (They did have a 20 € formula with 2 dishes of forced choices.)
At first I thought I should, as an eG host told me recently, do the guy a service by not writing him up, but as I headed back to the Metro, passing my professional/spiritual home, the Salpetriere, it occurred to me that assisted suicide might be the kindest act.
Go? As I said: this is a neighborhood place: no more, no less.
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