Les Fils a Maman in the 9th: Ma'am, would that perhaps be Redi-whip?

 

1.0 Les Fils a Mamam, 7 bis rue Geoffroy Marie in the 9th, 01.48.24.59.39, closed Sundays, is a wonderfully-situated restaurant with some 30 covers in an alley (and 15 inside) behind a gate on the hotel and pizza filled street called the rue Geoffroy Marie.  I found myself there today on this strange warm week when we approach the rentree, because a fellow blogger sampled it as the sort of place one frequents in one's neighborhood when so many other places are closed.  I was wowed by her pictures of the frites.

They have a nicely-priced "menu" with two dishes for 13.50 and three for 16 E, with daily specials as well.  Wines are similarly reasonably-priced.

I started with an excellent "Italian cassoulet," which of course I had to ask what it consisted of.  It turns out to be ham and sun-dried tomatoes in a ramekin with olive oil and topped with melted mozarella.

Then I had the special fish of the day: in this case a pave of julienne (again I had to look it up) which is translated as long cod, burbot or lotte de riviere (which said lotte it tasted a lot more like.)  But the fish, its lemon-influenced sauce and flan of zucchini didn't send me into a rapturous state.  In fact, since others were drenching their burgers and frites with catsup, I thought I might ask for Mexican hot sauce.  BTW; How/why do the French manage to eat a cheese- or hamburger with a knife and fork; amazing!

So with the score tied at 1-1, I let the dessert decide; ordering strawberries (that I thought fulfilled the Bocusian-challenge of whether they can buy and serve simple, good product) with a Chantilly sauce (which I thought answered the Escoffier issue of whether they could make a simple but complex sauce). 

Backstory: Years ago when I was defending our country against the Commies while Rumsfeld, Cheney, Clinton and Bush the Lesser were hiding out from the Selective Service, we dined at the fanciest resto in North Carolina at the time and my C.O.-colleague-friend surprised us all by asking the waitress directly if his dessert was perhaps topped with Redi-whip (at the time a new miserable substitute for whipped crream) - which she thought was a supreme compliment.

Well, this Chantilly was more Redi than Velly and along with the mushy bread tilted my judgment towards a "no return" status.

My bill was 29.50 E (with wine but no coffee, since I waited for it in vain for 15 minutes (the delivery of all courses to all customers was excorable) and decided I'd rather nap).

Go?  For one dish and a sighting of great-looking fries, nah.