HS* La Cantine des Tontons, 36, rue de Dantzig in the 15th, 01.48.28.23.66, closed Sundays, has gotten mixed reviews and I think I know why and I've given it an HS* becauce it's really not classifiable nor comparable to "normal" restos in Paris.
It's the third of it's ilk (that is, the third Tonton, which always reminds me of the Docs' Tonton Macoute, whose #2 I ate it just January 31st) and I think I've gotten the picture without eating at number four, should there be one.
The formula is simple: relatively good products, solidly cooked, simply served and reasonably priced with no surprises.
It is, as others have pointed out, a table d'hote place which two of my best friends love but which I detest, being a solitary, asocial, unfriendly animal. My last meal at somesuch was at the Symples de l'Os a Moelle in issy with the French person I've known the longest in Paris where I rated it a 6.1 largely because the buffet-esque dishes were all on the tables, the wine was in a cool sophistocated oxygen-cheating machine, they served Illy coffee and had a Turkish toilet. What saved the day was that we were isolated from the rest of the locals at the common table by a barrier of appetizers.
Not today; they had only two tables for two and one for one, in the primo location viewing-wise (by the window) but numbah 10 wise regarding getting up to dish food onto one's plate. But being a bit early and having reserved, we snagged one.
It's a funky place with funky lights, signs, bells, boar's head, bottles, etc.
I had trouble cutting the terrine, so wound up with much too much but it and the herring and sliced celery and carrots were just fine. Madame had approximately the same with the addition of shredded cabbage and a jellied chicken/vegetable bloc.
The mains were a duck (our jolly waitguy suggested it was colvert - ha ha) with orange slices and a deconstructed pot au feu, neither offensive but both need a boost of pepper & mustard.
We went a bit nuts with the desserts: some warm clafoutis, pineapple cake renversee, creme caramel, ris au lait, etc - old-school/old-boy stuff. As a matter of fact, my guest, my best French neighbor in Escalier A, said, this is "all Grandma's cooking", and having been trained as a social worker took a full social history from the jolly but much-tattoo'd waitguy, discovering his Portuguese-Spanish roots but not why the food was so quintessentially French.
Somewhere along the way, I cut the bread myself, got a bottle of Morgan and two Lavazza coffees and thoroughly enjoyed my friend's chatter. Like reading a John Updike piece, I know all her references since we were born but days apart.
The bill was 56 E (the lunch menu being 16, with dinner at 21 E).Go? A long time ago, friend's kid went to a "kill your own food" camp to learn how to survive outside the Upper West Side and I guess this is a "cut your own bread" place; if that suits you - go.
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