John Talbott's Paris

Frederic Simonin in the 17th: Food and decor straight-up or is it sterile?

5.6 Frederic Simonin, 25, rue Bayen in the 17th (Metro: Ternes), 01.45.74.74.74, closed Sundays and Mondays, opened only three weeks ago and already it's garnered good marks from the critics and my pals/sources, albeit all have said that while the 38 E lunch is "adorable," the carte at 60-90 E is "vindictive"  (Rubin.)  One friend/chef told me straight out it was a poor prix-qualite, esp compared with Regalade.

So it wasn't as if I went with my eyes wide shut.  Indeed from the front one sees almost no indication of what it is and on entering I was struck with the stark metal decor, bordering on cold and sterile.  (And I smelled paint again, do I have olfactory hallucinations?)

Our amuse was a shot glass of pureed foie gras, quite nice.

I had warned my critic-friend that no matter what, we were ordering the "menu" and the "Waldo" of wines and luckily both were acceptable to us both - the carte the day we ate there ranged from the most cheap (57 E) to the most precious (110 E).

 

I started with a pretty good petit-pois soup poured from a cool, giant beaker while his layered egg and mushroom mush appeared in an equally cool two-piece glass holder.  So far so good.  Begin to think Colette might like this place.

I have ris and rognons de veau with asparagus tips in a quite good sauce, OK, but no barns are burning down; while he had a piece of barbue (brill), also quite well cooked but not spectacular.  I'm beginning to think while good, this place lacks something.

 

I then had a pineapple clafoutis with ice cream and he had the strawberries with a basil ice in the same two-piece glass thing he got for his entree.  Now I think I've got it.  The food, is, like the decor, expensive, well-done but lacks passion/warmth.

With coffee (generously doubled and offered ristretto, cappucino, etc, by our Italian wait-guy), the house water and a bottle of wine, our bill was 108.20 E.

Go?  Well, if it's any hint, I decided not to make a reservation for Colette's next visit.  There was nothing wrong, I can see where the 3 hearts or 3 dots come from, but I personally much prefer Doucet's passion to Simonin's rectitude.

Bad Service or Bad Service? An archival* essay.

A few days ago, two friends and I tried out the newly taken-over Marlotte in the 6^th and learned the distinction between bad service and bad service.

 

In the States, one hears people complaining about the “service” when they usually mean the plates are slow to arrive and they sit twiddling their thumbs for inordinate periods.  Francois Simon of Figaro recently complained of waiting an intolerable amount of time at the also recently opened Cotte Roti for his food, that wasn’t much good when it arrived, anyway, and Richard Hesse of the new hit Paris Update is not shy about complaining about it.

 

But let me ask, whose fault is this and is it really bad service?

 

Here’s our recent experience.  After a lovely dinner at my place with my two American visitors who’d been touring France for three weeks, I suggested we go out for lunch the next day.  I telephoned immediately, pretty sure that they hadn’t stopped serving at 9 PM.  No answer, only a message from France Telecom saying that they weren’t taking messages, call back later.  I did and kept calling right up to lunch time the next day: same result. 

 

So I hoofed it over a bit early the next day (having made a back-up reservation not too far away in case they were truly closed) and it was obvious from the neon sign and building crowd inside, that  they were very much open.  I entered and was greeted warmly.  I asked if they were open.  Yes, certainly.  Would I like to be seated?  I said I had no reservation because their telephone answering machine didn’t work.  They greeted that as if I had said the sky is above us.

 

So I cancelled my backup rez and did some window shopping until close to the hour of our rendez-vous.  I then re-entered and was greeted warmly again as were my two guests who speak more halting French than I, which is some comparison.  My friends entered when the place was maybe 10-15% full and I thought it went swimmingly through our ordering (although, in fairness, they hesitatated about ordering a couple of times, and as one has learned, that’s problematic, but more about that later.)

 

We sat chatting, and waited and waited.  Mind you, the place was 1/4 full with 5-6 folk in the rooms.  After 20 minutes I was puzzled, we’re not eating at a 3-star, it’s just an unrated, new place.  However 30 minuters after we’d ordered, we still hadn’t been served.  Then well, it went on, how long is too long? 

 

The second course arrived even more tardily and long after the mains had been served to the other tables who had come in and ordered after us.  At first we puzzled over whether we might have ordered items that taxed the kitchen or they’d run out of, but no, on reflection, they were all pretty simple – a green salad, two cassolettes of wild mushrooms with a supposedly soft-boiled egg (from the ardoise), an andouillette, frites, a slab of rascasse and tripes in their fashion.  So what was the problem?  Certainly not too few front staff, they were falling all over us; not the kitchen staff, whom I’d observed when I entered early because I had not been able to reserve on the telephone. 

 

Anyone who’s worked in a kitchen, watched a kitchen or even cooked at home, knows how the rhythm and pace works.  This bad service was clearly not a problem of the front-staff but the kitchen-staff.

 

OK.  After we were finally served and ate our mains, it was too late for my friends both to have dessert and coffee and to make the Louvre in time to see anything, so they started waving around for the check.  Like a miracle, wouldn’t you know, the staff had departed for another planet.  Me, being in no rush, I had nothing else to do that day but scope out another restaurant, was calm, but they were annoyed at (1) being denied dessert and (2) being denied seeing whatever they had it in their hearts to see at the Louvre.  This bad service was the fault of the servers.

 

So here you have it, the distinction between bad service and bad service!

 

 

My favorite in the area, where there’s always good service, is:

Ze Kitchen Galerie

4, rue des Grands Augustins, 6th (Metro: Saint Michel)

T: 01 44 32 00 32

Closed Sundays.

A la carte 30 €.

 

*Originally published in October 2007.

Les Lalannes at the Musee Des Arts Decoratifs - Weird Wonderful Show

 
Claude et François-Xavier Lalanne were a husband and wife art team (he died in 2008) who did a combination of huge animal bronzes (him) and futuristic furniture (her) that is quirky, funky and kicky.  I'm not sure I'd want it in my home but it's fun to see.  Google it/them.

1.5 Wows.  Until July 4th.

 

Le Regalade St Honore in the 1st: Diverse crowd, simple farmboy food.

8.0 Le Regalade St Honore, 123, Rue St Honore in the 1st (Metro: Louvre-Rivoli), 01.42.21.92.40, closed weekends, opened Monday night and is already full to bursting before a single review has appeared in the print media - just Meg Zimbeck's blog review and note on Chowhound and word of mouth.  Amazing!

I went today after 12 hours of frantically calling the tele number I had and finally connected.  Welcomed so-so, but M. Doucet said something to the waitress about M. Talbott and I figured I had been outed, so what?  In addition, one customer kept looking at me saying to himself either "I know that face, from where?" or "that's one ugly old dude."  Who cares?

Just like at the Jean-Moulin mother-ship, they brought out the massive terrine with bread and cornichons - very comforting- felt like home - but I do have two suggestions when he/they read this, try to get someone to provide the classic Regalade bread and give us plates on which to prevent drips and drops from the cornichons' liquid.

Now I had a chance to scope the clientele.  It seemed that almost everyone was already known to the house, the 6 hefty suits who Mafia-kissed each other looked straight from the Godfather and while I didn't hear the word omerta, it was there - are these their investors?  But the rest of the crowd was very diverse - gay, lesbian, pregger ladies, FON (Friends of Nicolas), corporate types, save-the-planet-types, perfect teeth and those in need of implants, French Canadians, well you name it.  30 covers but not crowded like the mother house.

A word about the decor - two women I know, didn't like the beige wall paint, one feeling that it was not warm and inviting enough - me being a sensitiveless guy-guy who never notices my wife's haircuts or my kids' new clothes or grand-kids' missing teeth - thought it was just fine, albeit still smelly.

I started with the cassolette of morels in a dark killer cream sauce with tiny crispy, crunchy micro-croutons, gone to heaven.  Meg said she couldn't finish hers - silly girl.

Then I had what Meg did as a main too - the poitrine of pork which had an incredible crisp outside and tender inside (which when asked by the waitperson whether it was cooked to my liking - I replied "perfection") on a bed of lentils and sauce.  Now I didn't finish all the fatty part, feeling that unlike Meg, I didn't want to spend my afternoon running it off.

I wound up choosing a rhubarb and red berry dessert - which sounded healthy, except between the two was an enormous layer of whipped cream.

My bill?  Now I'm going to do some fancy dancing.  The "menu" is 33 E, which is a terrific value, but there are supplements (in my case 6 E for the morels) and a 3.50 coffee and homemade madeleine, so if you avoid them and bottled water, with wine one can still exit near the magic 50 Euro number pp.

Go?  My famous Dad, whose family owned a farm in Iowa, used to say his tastes were just those of a simple Iowan farmboy - well, me too.  This is simple/complex, farm/city chow.  If you can get in.

Le Versance: Top of the line, old son. An archival* review

8.0 Le Versance, 16, rue Feydeau in the 2nd, 01.45.08.00.08, closed Saturday lunch, in the old Le Petit Coin de la Bourse space, wonderfully renewed to its old glory (Chef Samuel Cavagnis, who passed through the House of Loiseau in Saulieu and the House of Mitterand here, en route, supervised the cleaning and refurbishing of the place as well as the reinstallation of the stunning stained glass windows) of 40 years ago but more elegant than I recalled in the 1970’s. Or maybe it’s just the understated grey walls with gold trim or the 1889, I think, menu, etched on a glass partition, of the 17, was it?, courses served at the opening of the Elysee Palace, I recall. (All this detail came from the most genial chef I’ve talked to in years). (And, I hope this is not putting a curse on it, but its elegance and tone remind me of Thierry Burlot.)

The menu is inventive and merited the three hearts in Figaroscope and the rave review in Le Fooding. My beloved downstairs neighbor, always game for a meal, was impressed by its daring.

We started with a shot-glass full of lentils, smoked duck breast and truffle oil – incredible. She had the “menu,” 32 for two courses, 38 € for three (which come with a glass of wine, a St Emilion for her, very fruity but dry) whilst I ate off the carte and was not wine-deprived either, having a very nice Bordeaux. Incredibly she ate better.

She had a soup made with watercress with chicken chunks – it sounds boring, eh? Nope, great! I had raw tuna with sesame three ways – first the tuna was covered with dried seeds; then there were swollen seeds in a timbale; and finally there were seeds and essence in a soyishe sauce that I was warned was salty but not too salty for me.

Then she had a round baton of wrapped noodles with various types of shellfish and a sauce that when taken together was the best pasta dish of the year. I had rather ordinary cod-flakings wrapped in a fine strip of aubergine with big grey beans – yummy but not oomphy enough for me.

Her dessert was a poached pear with a drizzle of sweet cream (called a gratin but I know butter and cream when I see it) and spectacular coffee ice cream. The downstairs was jammed with Bourse-types and one anorectic, the upstairs looked only 2/3rds full.

The bill (warning, warning, it will be more for you, we were careful) was 102 €/2. He’ll be closed for the holidays but will open again January 2nd. Prediction, he’ll soon pack the place at lunch, abandon the “menus,” then you’ll be able to get in at night when the boursiers go home to Versailles. 

Come back? - you betcha Dude.

Freud, Erró, and Eastern European Photogs at the Beaubourg.

You know how Freud is pronounced in French right?  "Oh forget it," as my most adolescent grand-daughter says.

I know Lucien's work, well, he's a one-trick pony like Sisley, seen one, seen 'em all, said Spiro T. So why did I go?  Especially since my lode-star Colette hates him, Bacon and Hirst in that order above all other artists, and that includes Keane, she of the wide doe-eyes.

Ans: I was a card-carrying Freudian New York psychoanalyst until I was cast out (actually - the only way I could resign was to not pay dues for more than a decade) so I wanted to see what this great retrospective would reveal to me about the Great Man's DNA.

Conclusion: Droopy penises, droopy boobs, droopy cellulite, our aging pathetic bodies, up there on the big screen.

The other shows at the Pomp aren't much better, sad days there, Eastern European photogs and collages by Erró.

Colette where are you now that I need you?

Psychoanalysts, Lacanians and historical buffs, please don't write hate me hate mail, I'll just delete it.

 

Le Chalbens in the 20th: An over-looked place with honest, good chow in a happening nabe.

6.0 Le Chalbens, 33, rue de la Chine in the 20^th (Metro: Pelleport), T: 01 40 33 48 01, closed Sundays and Mondays features 2 courses for 27 (I think) and 3 for 30 € and is in an area bursting with babies, bobos and bunnies.

 

"John," my female dining partner said yesterday,"how do you find and choose these places?"  "Ah," I said, playing the inscrutibility card, "sometimes, people email me, sometimes I walk by a new place and get their card, sometimes the drumbeats call me, and then sometimes a blogger will have an early warning, but mostly I just read about them in the press."

 

So Le Chalbens, where did that come from?  Well, I read about Vin Chai Moi moving and a new place moving in and I keep a list, a rolling list, things roll on, roll off and sometimes it takes me sometime to warm up to the idea.  Today seemed one of those days.

 

My one date couldn't hustle up the dough to spring for a 110-150 € meal at Les Ambassadeurs (he was last seen with a sap looking for wealthy old ladies in the 16th to mug) which was probably just as well since Emmanuel Rubin called the prices "fatally sulphurous" and another friend touted the new Ralph Lauren Ralph's that features Danny Meyeresque hamburgers for was it 26 € ?- I love Danny Meyers and all his places but that's ridiculous.

 

So to the famous list.  Le Chalbens kept winking at me; OK, I'm a sucker, what do I have to lose?  My waistline, a few Euros and my dignity/pride, but hey, it just might turn out OK.  And it did, marvel of marvels.

 

The schlep over to Pellepont/Gambetta even on the superunspeedy #60 bus is painful but ethnically enlightening.  I arrived only 15 minutes late - no matter.

 

Lots of interesting stuff on the ardoise; start with green asparagus with rocket salad and parmesan (no pix) which was a cut above..... and some 20 Euros less than my yesterday's eating companions had the day before.  And while I never talk about wine mainly because I'm too cheap and ashamed of what I order, I will say that the wait-guy touted me to an excellent bottle of "Le Secret de Frere Nonenque" from the Valmagne Abbey and it was terrific - fruity, gutsy, not rough and ideal as an apero, with vinegar, digesto, etc.

I was going to go with the rabbit parmentier but thought that I'd maybe better have the last scallops of the season and once we negotiated a replacement of the sweet potatoes with the classic puree I thoroughly enjoyed them with were certainly the best corals I've ever had (who knows why?) - the praline sauce definitely added to my pleasure.

After a brief tussle with myself (pain perdu like Mom made or three cremes) I went with the banana flambee, not a la Foster but in its skin - delicious and perfectly cooked.

At some point the curious waitguy came over and asked why I was taking notes?, was I foreign?, he couldn't pin down my accent.  I said well, I lived in the 18th, took notes because my memory was rapidly disappearing and did my best to come across as an elderly, confused tourist.

After a coffee I asked for the bill.  Now discounting the supplement for the scallops and slightly pricier wine, it would have been under 50 €; but would it have been so good?

 

Go?  My yes.  The fact that the world hasn't beaten its way to its door since July is sign enough that nobody's paying attention.  Tant pis.
 

Derain at Sotheby's today. Well, don't fret, it's just a teaser.

Yesterday and today, Sotheby's Paris was showing Derain's 1905 Arbre a Collioure which is expected to go for 10-15 million Euros; this is apparently the teaser for the famous Vollard collection which has Renoir, Van Gogh's, Cézannes, Picassos, etc., which will be auctioned off in the next few months.  My uneducated guess is that the sale(s) may break records.  Nice stuff if you cen get it.

La Grande Ourse in the 14th: What's in the water up there?

5.8 La Grande Ourse, 9, rue Georges-Sache in the 14^th, 01.40.44.67.85, closed Sundays and Mondays, has a lunch formula at 18 for 2 courses, 20 for 3, menus 29 and 37 (2 and 3), a la carte 35-50 €.  I went with two new friends from cyberspace (the connection not their residence) and we had a very nice lunch.  It was beautiful but I chose to eat inside, perhaps an error since the street is moribund.

The two of them started with a tartare of salmon and I unbeknownst to myself had what ER did a few weeks ago, the coustillant of snails and mushrooms; which was just as good as it gets.

Then, he had some very nice beef, cooked to perfection, and she some daurade, equally well-sourced and prepared and I once again went the Rubin route with the saddle of lamb which was spring lamb, tasty and tender, not over the hill mutton which they're still passing off as lamb.

He ended with a trio of sorbets (no pix) which we all got a generous and satifying bite of.

With a liter of house Syrah, 3 coffees and a Badoit, our bill was 114.40 €, ergo 76.26 € for a couple, which could go down as April's best prix-qualite meal.

Go?  For sure.  It's in the happening area - Severo and Bis de Severo and Jeu de Quilles/Desnoyer are nearby and the Cantine de Troquet not far away at all.  This is this year's Rue Paul Bert - it's exploding.

La Grille in the 10th: Amazing; it was deja vu all over again.

5.2 La Grille, 80, rue du Faubourg Poissonniere in the 10th, 01.47.70.89.73, closed Saturday lunch and Sundays - Metro: Poissonniere - was reported to have changed ownership a month ago so I approached with some trepidation.  Well, the front seemed the same, looking like Fort Knox or the Banque de France -

Entered.  New Madame greeted me warmly as did the entire staff and in looking around I could spot nothing changed.  Oh yes, it seemed to me, that memory failing, there used to be goofy summer straw hats somewhere and some other decoration was gone.  But Crusty the waiter was present and pleasant, joking away and the menu looked identical.  He immediately brought out some yummy rillettes of something on nice bread slices and the ardoise.

I started with asparagus with a mouselline sauce, which once "corrected" with salt and pepper, was superb.

Can't see it?, tant pis, hadn't figured the light/curtain/consumption ratios out yet.  Then being one, my "date" having pleaded a sudden influx of work, which is better than my other possible "date"'s plea of not enough income, I couldn't order the signature wild turbot for two in butter (76 E) or cotes de boeuf (both which looked ab fab) and anyway that might be a mistake in roping two folks into a potentially disasterous choice on the first visit - instead I had 

the cod (perfectly undercooked) with wonderful crispy skin and a timbale of cooked courgettes with onion and a quite fine sauce.   I was on a roll so I had dessert

Hummm, light/focusing got me again.  Slightly over-cold, over-young, over-large strawberries with Chantilly and sugar (c'est normal Monsieur) that were a suitable end.

With some Touraine wine (they had wine by the glass, carafe, pot and bottle), an Illy coffee and tap water the bill was just under 50 E (tho' Figaroscope had warned of possibly more.)

The clientele - mixed; 2 other voyageurs (one of whom outed me), 6 business types and one actor (and his indulgent father) memorizing his lines which said "He" and "She" despite being in French).

Bonus time:

In the bathroom was a 1900 poster from Deyrolle (you know the place with stuffed and perserved animals including a stuffed man on the Rue du Bac that burned down and later closed) on alcoholism and alcohol consumed at the time; France is #1, USA #10 and Russia #12, my what a difference a century has made!

Go again?  I think so, it's so Paris, so bistro, so crusty, so just as it always was (like l'Ami Louis without the inflated prices.)

PS. On my last visit, the credit card machine didn't work with non-French, eg non-puce cards, and my friend Paga really dished it out to them - well, surprise, it still doesn't - the more things change, the more......