1.1 La Table de Fabrice, 13, quai de la Tournelle in the 5th, 01.44.07.17.57, closed Sundays. Oh boy, did I get suckered into this one. Emmanuel Rubin gave it one heart a year ago and I should have heeded the call. But subsequently, others all seemed to like it, at least a bit, and last week Vincent Noce of Liberation wrote of the chef’s origins – an Italian mother and French father and finally, my friend the real food critic said (once again) “Yes, why not?”
Oh boy, or did I say that already? Leo Fourneau (Bon Appetit, Messieurs, Grasset, Paris 2006, 16.90 €) says (p 38) that being a food critic is all repetition and comparison. So it’s his fault; I’ve gotta have someone to blame for this miserable experience.
OK. I enter, great endroit; second floor overlooking the Seine, sort of a poor man’s Tour d’Argent, which is actually just a few doors down. Low beamed ceilings, charming welcome; all well, until the only other table in the whole huge bloody restaurant lights up and the six foot ceiling pushes the smoke quickly throughout. No ventilator within sight. Beat a hasty retreat downstairs and install self near kitchen.
Order. Kind of banal menu – 40 € menu-carte but the good stuff is on the very, very much pricier carte (natch). Amuse-gueule = a brandade of morue, just right, who wants the two pounds of it that they usually serve? The foie gras, however, was another matter, it was among the worst ever – Fourneau said compare eh, well, just a few days ago with Jessikka, I had divine foie gras at half the price, so there!
Ris de veau arrives, my thing – but is this one more exposure to the frozen world I never knew existed – it exudes water and has a sweet sauce – with sweetbreads? Yuk. And it was served with soggy, not crisp potatoes. If this guy had settled somewhere else, in the teens for instance (13th, 14th, 15th) he could have perhaps made it with a 20 € menu, but this was ridiculous. 5 covers = death = bye, bye.
Oh yah, I have a hunch the house knows it’s doomed because the chefs kept disappearing down the cellar steps without bringing anything back up, so while I don’t want to incur a libel suit, something besides food is going on. In retrospect, despite the inflated prices that come from the neighborhood, (e.g., 65 € plus a la carte,) the posting of positive reviews from obscure publications in the window should have tipped me off.
Should you go? Did you read this review?”
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