John Talbott's Paris

The Four Seasons Hotel in Geneva: Catered food that was astonishing.

HR* The Four Seasons Hotel de Bergues in Geneva is one of the classiest places I've ever been, looking out over the lake, fountain and Rhone outlet, Wow!  I went because I was giving a talk/discussion the next day and thought I might as well see what a famous hotel's catering department could do (that's a lie - actually, I went to see and be seen, chat up old friends, hug the guy, who like a cheminot in France, was forced to retire from the University he had served forever, and of course, to eat fresh cashews).

The first - a tartare of tuna with wasabi (never tasted any) and prune jam (hunh?) was for Table #5 at which the Honored Guests 1, 2 and 3, and the honoree's daughter (and I) were seated ( and at which two guys, Jewish Salonika grandsons connected - astonishing moment #1) and they all loved it - I thought it was banal, uninteresting, unzippy, need I go on?

The second was a filet of bar that was simply terrific, wonderful, tasty and for catered food for 70-80 persons, incredible.

Then, on the caterer's menu was a chocolate thing which if I'd eaten would have prevented me from seeing the false dawn at 4 AM in Geneva (how did that happen?) so I asked for some fruit; which of course the moment it arrived everyone at Table #5 wanted because it was heaven but I only let my B&B hostess (truly an old and great friend) have some of before I demanded it back.

The bill = who knows, but the next day I had to sing for my supper - and gave my gas attack (as my Mother called my Father(a true scientist)'s verbal discourses), about four erudite presentations, with no advanced papers emailed, pigeoned or given me, without hearing them and the crowd rose and applauded to get me off stage ASAP.

Go?  I dunno, if their restos are as good as their catering department, but I'd say try'em.

*HR = Outside the reviewer's expertise.

Les Copains comme Cochons (ex-Cru Rollin) in the 11th: Kinda kicky.

5.5 Les Copains comme Cochons, 156 Ave Ledru Rollin in the 11th, was the Cru Rollin until January when the proprietaire changed but the chef did not, thus in the recent reviews it is so listed and as I walked by, I had second thoughts, because I had neither an electronic device nor the address, since I thought I knew where it was and was travelling light to Geneva, but a very nice lady in a nearby hotel (the Grand Hotel Nouvel Opéra) reasssured me. 

Outside, inside and on the counter is evidence that they serve serious meat here.  So, hey, I started seriously with shaved, deeply sauteed slices of gizzards with potatoes and a salad with a super dressing.  Ah comfort food as my friend Allen says.

Then I ordered more meat - a magret, cooked (as you can see) to my perfection, under, under, under-cooked with a wine sauce and a ton of veggies which despite the advice of Colette, the Surgeon General and my cardiologist I could not finish.  Because, because, I wanted dessert (on the 20 E menu; that's right).  In fact it was what John Whiting calls "a better standard of ordinariness."

OK, I looked at the dessert offerings and saw the "dessert of Miss Peggy," I kid you not; so dumb me I ask, "who is Miss Peggy," thinking it's the comely wench in the chef outfit (oh, is this going to get me into bigtime trouble with the feminists, starting with my lovely wife), "Miss Piggy" sez the waitperson, "Ah, I think I understand," but I do not.  It arrives, this center of chocolate with nuts, surrounded by pink sugar with a piggy face and a creme anglaise (my teeth hurt with all that sugar but my dentist doesn't read this blog, so, hey.)

The bill with a carafe of wine, a complementary (fake-bottomed) glass of digestif, a coffee, alright bread and fine, fine service in all senses of the word was 37 E.

Go?  OK, I wanted a new place near the Gare de Lyon and having exhausted Rino, Shan Gout, Entre Les Vignes, etc., chose this;  advising you, I'd say go to them in the order I gave first, but.... it is indeed "a better standard of ordinariness."

Addendum: Ever seen served in Paris Cola with Scotch?  My goodness, me neither.

Reporters sans Frontieres and Revelations at the Petit Palais.

This exhibition of 100 photos by father and daughter Pierre and Alexandra Boulat is a stunning tribute to the 25th anniversary of Reporters sans Frontières; it has everything from touching photos of bodies of children in an Iraqi morgue to chichi pix of Yves St Laurent.

A three Wow wonder.

The other show hanging/showing/blurring now though is a mystery to me.    Even after I read the website blurb that says "This digital odyssey through paintings is designed as a real journey, where each of the forty works featured in the circuit tells its own story though digital imagery" I am totally clueless.  Sure, great stuff, Rembrandt to Van Gogh but so what?  Sorry, I'm too old, too crusty, too grouchy, whatever, but the only journey I went on took me out the exit as quickly as possible.

A  minus Wow.

Le MiniPalais in the 8th: Eric Frechon, in full flower, at his best.

7.1 Le MiniPalais, Grand Palais (SE crnr), ave Winston Churchill in the 8th, 01.42.56.42.42, open 7/7 is now under the houlette of Eric Frechon; when last I ate here, it was overseen by Gilles Choukroun and I ate with my charming cohost at another (TBF) website. 

At that time (Sept 07) I said it was a "3.5" and "stunningly beautiful; edgy inside and luxurious columned terrace outside......[but that we had] mixed results. The bread and amuse gueule (a cold brandade) were terrific. Her first, a melon gazpacho, intensely flavored with a clever brandy-snifter stopper of melon ice and a little tartine of OK coppa, was terrific; my mixture of celery remoulade, foie gras shavings and pop corn was a bit too much, and the celery over-salted to boot. Then she had another entrée, a so-called spring roll of a bunch of raw haricots verts wrapped tightly with microtome-sliced smoked salmon and then thin-rice paper and sliced into 5-6 little wheels – a beautiful presentation with little taste; and I had the tartare of beef (which came MBC, mango-basil-coriander, as did the RFC’s at the Café Very in June) with real fine, real frites and a good salad. With a nice Marcillac, no desserts but two coffees, our bill was 79 €, which may not sound pricey but which both of us agreed did not meet our price/quality standards. Go? For the setting yes, but it slips back to l’Angl’Opera-type stuff even more than the Café Very, which if you like, you should go."

 Well, it's a whole new ballgame under Eric Frechon.  I'd been going out to the 19th to La Verriere→Le Restaurant d'Eric Frechon→Eric Frechon since 1995 after my food-sniffer Paga discoved it in this godforsaken place (that Colette loved because of the next-door Buttes Chaumont) and whether it was 190 or later 290 FF, for four courses, it was great grub.  I did not bedrudge him going back to the Bristol in 1999 nor getting star after star until he had three ten years later - he deserved them and the 300 E pp freight, but all four of us stopped going.

 

Thus, when I read he was taking over direction of the MiniPalais I was thrilled.  I went with my buddy, the architectural historian/restorer of lost causes/writer/photographer/singer/general philosopher/commentator on life/etc. and my heart sank when I saw blinking yellow lights, plywood and all the bulldozers and forklifts surrounding it.  What had I gotten us into?

But no, inside it was gorgeous, stunning, beautiful and I breathed freely.  Before ordering they served an amuse bouche of a mini-brioche but my friend thought was more "a hybrid living somewhere between pâte au choux and popovers, i.e. no yeast," that was very very tasty. Then I decided to have the formula (28 E for two dishes) and he two entrees with dessert (32 E); not bad eh for three-star grub? 

He started with what was called a clafoutis of cepes and I what was called snails with tomatoes (and roasted garlic)- they both were the stuff of three stars. 

He then had a tempura of gambas and I a friture of merlan with a lovely tartare sauce and (herbed) chips, that were the only disappointing things this meal.

He wound up (and generously shared with me) with one of the best desserts of the year; what was called a sabayon (semi-freddo/mousse/ice sort of) with chocolate and beurre sale caramel - heaven.

The bill, with a bottle of wine, no bottled water, decent bread and two coffees that came with minibeignets, was 92.00 E.  Beat that!

As we were finishing they brought by this weirdly wonderful dessert we had to ask about - it was called a "crazy pot", I hope the cat from Restovisio.com who was video-ing everything got a shot of it, cuz it was a sight to see.

Go?  Colette arrives in 18 days and this will be one of our first stops.

  
 

 

“English Speak here.” FAQ: How do I manage with my two years of high school French? The answers.

Over the years, we’ve been asked time and again for advice on reserving, understanding menus and ordering if friends, relatives, posters, etc., think their French is limited, and I’ll tell you, no one is more deficient than I, just ask my French friends.

 

But despite my horrible French, deplorable accent (I consider it a compliment to be asked if I’m Belgian or Swiss) and dumb façade, I have testicles of - would it be zinc or tin? - and I just keep soldiering on.  A revered professor of Psychiatry of mine once said near the end of my training – “just keep listening, John, eventually the patient will tell you what’s going on.”  Thank you – Dr. Kolb.

 

So, despite my Eurotrash clothes, my crummy Greek medical giveaway briefcase and Navigo pass; my height and demean give me away every time, but my rule is – just play dumb, just hang in there.

 

So, the day I wrote this I went to a place in the deepest 12^th (annoyed reader(s), please don’t write saying it’s really near 4 Metros and very accessible) and thought I was relatively incognito (ha); after all, until 4 Bulgarians showed up, no English was heard, the place was full of Bobo’s and Branchéistes and I was sitting minding my own business, ready to order. 

 

Except that the table wobbled.  So I made my dumb-sign and the terrifically nice chief lady (I’d call her a girl but that would get me in a heap of hurt with the feminist side of my family) came over to fix it.  She said in French – “shall I fix it?”  I said in French “Sure.”  Then she repeated “may I fix it?” but this time in English.  Oy.

 

Previously, on my morning run/jog/walk/limpies I came a different way than usual (I was taking pix of some North African places for a friend) and came by an Indian resto that said  “English Speak here.”  OK. 

 

“Have you finally gone off the edge here, John,”

“Dad, get to the point.”

 

The point is that Anglophonic people are worried waitfolk in France won’t understand them ; when making reservations, when looking at the menu, when ordering.  But it’s not true.

 

Since every French person has 12 years of English at a minimum, they can and do understand you.  55% are petrified that the nun will rap their knuckles if they pronounce “that” - “zat.”  35% want to help you, they believe service is a service industry, they just need encouragement, and the other 10% desperately want to speak English so they can, what? “Work at Air France?”  I dunno.

 

Footnote : Don’t look for places with menus (cartes) in English, for all sorts of reasons, (mis- or robo-translations, sitting next to people who are, godforbid, American, not to mention eating dumbed-down food) ; look, you know the words, that is, presuming you cook or read cook books – sautéed, melange, tartare, terrine, mi-cuit and so forth.

 

It’s not Bulgarian.

 

Someone once asked me why, if I lived in France I didn’t speak French, and I was stunned – because……..

 

The resto discussed here was :

 

Les Temps Modernes

 91, rue de Charenton in the 12^th (Metro: Gare de Lyon)

T: 01.43.46.81.94

Open 7/7

Weekday menu = 13.50, a la carte 30-40 €.

Le Cafe des Lettres in the 7th: About as good as it gets for its genre.

5.1 Le Cafe des Lettres, 53 rue de Verneuil in the 7th (midway between Les Ministeres and the Poulpry, the Resto of the Maison des Polytechniciens - which gives you a clue as to who eats there), 01.45.44.14.69, closed Sundays is described on EatinParis.com as "a meeting-place for literary folk, located on the street where singer-songwriter-poet Serge Gainsbourg used to live" and where Dominique Villepin eats weekly.

My second French teacher (who gave up after 3 months of earnest effort) has been working for and at the Quai d'Orsay for a while and said we must go there, so why not?  We met and hugged on the street (he's seemed to have forgiven me for never having mastered the language) and entered what must be Paris's 5th oldest joint.  Nice, ancient but polished wood, reminded me of the Bistrot d'Hubert and Chez Pauline in the 1960's.  Welcome OK.

Then the bombshell; he hands me a review of a book he's just written and published "Le Chapeau de Barentsz: La route du Grand Nord" - gasp, that's what he was doing all those years when I thought he was spying on the Ruskies from Oslo and Bratislava.  A side of him I'd never seen.

We order: both having 2 dishes for 18.50 E.

I choose to start with a very nice, just spicy enough gazpacho (though it was 55°F. outside.) 

Then both of us had the daily special - the confit de canard, which was Gold Standard with terrific greens and a fine dressing and miserable potatoes and mediocre bread.

Then he had (sharing generously with me) a charlotte of strawberries or was it raspberries?  

 

With a fine bottle of wine, no bottled water and two coffees the bill was 69 E which we split, Dr. Kouchner, off in New York, not footing the bill.

 

Go?  Ah, there's the rub.  It's practically next door to Cinq Mars, a really cool, hip place, and just down the street from Poulpry, where Francois Hollande and other politicos hang out, so I'd say if you're at the Orsay and want to plotz, it's a fine alternative.

Reviews of reviews: The week of September 20th, 2010

Monday/Tuesday in A Nous Paris, Jerome Berger reviewed and gave 4/5 dots to the Italian Senza Parole, and his compatriot Philippe Toinard gave 3/5 to the wine bar Vingt Heures Vin, 15/17 rue Joseph de Maistre in the 18th, 09.54.66.50.67, serving dinner only with (it sounds like mostly cold food) foie gras, salads, bad bread and an upscale tartine for about 20 E.

And Tuesday, in Le Fooding, there’s a review of the Restaurant Saturne, 17 rue Notre Dame des Victoires in the 2nd, 01.42.60.31.90, lunch menu 35 €, dinner, 37 € for 4 courses, 59, run by a former chef at Racines and the former sommelier of Racines & La Muse Vin which serves up leeks, oysters, pintade and a chocolate tart.

Wednesday, in Figaroscope, Emmanuel Rubin gave 3/3 hearts to two places: the Japanese Bizan, in the 2nd which has had another change of chefs and Le 39 V in the George-V, 39 avenue G-V in the 8th, 01.56.62.39.05, closed weekends, running one 50-60 a la carte, with menus at lunch at 39.50 and 49.50 E for sushi bass, free range chicken with shrimp, and red fruit with sabayon. He also judged two places as 1/3 hearts: a champagne bar Point Bulles, 7, rue Clement in the 6th, 01.46.33.00.47, open 7/7 costing 30-40 E in addition to bubbly for lamb tartare, grilled coquelet and flan as well as Bistro & Terroir, 97, rue du Cherche-Midi in the 6th, 01.56.62.39.05, closed Saturday dinner and Sundays, which not only took over the space of Les Terrines de Gerard Vie but their formula as well of terrines and stews as well as andouillette and bass. Finally he gave a busted heart to Mystery, 37 bis, rue de Montpensier in the 1st, 01.40.20.03.02, only open for dinner and closed Sundays and Mondays serving inflatedly priced wines and lobster soup, lamb-burger and pathetic pho on 39, 59 and 99 E menus.

Figaroscope’s Dossier this week was terribly clever. It was called “What to do when the place you call is fully booked” and it listed where to go (on the left) if the place on the right was filled:
Claude Colliot - KGB
Repaire de Cartouche - Bistrot Paul Bert
Regalade XIV - Comptoir du Relais
Toyo - Guilo Guilo
Maison Blanche - Jules Verne
British sandwich - Rose Bakery
L’Entredgeu - l’Ami Jean
Le Rouquet - Flore
At the end of the article they give several tips:
1. Call the day of your desired meal
2. Book for the 3rd service after 10:30 PM
3. Go Tuesday or Wednesday not at the end of the week
4. If all else fails call up saying you represent a Minister or head of state or disgraced soccer player.
Francois Simon went to Passage 53 in the 2nd where he says to go despite the hefty 259 E freight for two if Yam’Tcha is booked.

Wednesday as well, Richard Hesse in ParisUpdate reviewed a new supermarket/deli/resto called Ethnic Angel, 16, rue du Faubourg Montmartre in the 9th, 01 82 50 20 10, restaurant closed Sundays, a la carte about 30 € where he says “Pros: Pleasant shopping space, great wine list, staff that see you; Cons: Restaurant service not quite up to scratch, canned music.”

This week in l’Express, Francois-Regis Gaudry named as his resto of thr week L'Artémise in Uzès and Marie-Amal Bizalion reviewed l’Auberge de Jable in Lémeré.

Last weekend’s Figaro published Francois Simon’s Croque Notes on Jean François Issautier, in Saint-Martin-du-Var and this week some places where the critic Jean-Pierre Gene likes to eat – Au Bascou in Paris being one.

This week in Bonjour Paris, Margaret Kemp wrote about Eric Frechon’s taking over the oversight of the Mini Palais restaurant and John Talbott wrote an essay entitled “Three Tours: Paul Chassé's, de France and d'Argent.”

Les Grandes Tables du 104, aka Street Food, in the 19th: Wow, wow (and need I say it again) Wow, for a place you'll never go to.

7.0 Les Grandes Tables du 104, aka Street Food, 104, rue d'Aubervilliers / 5, rue Curial, (Métro : Riquet, Crimée) in the 19th, 01.40.37.10.07, closed Sundays after 6 PM and Mondays, is a place you'll never go to, silly you, so stop reading.  It's located in the most multi-ethnic (black, brown, yellow, white; scarved, yamulked, turbaned; sexy, discreet, boringly clothed,) multi-lingual (French, Arabic, Thai, Chinese, Sri Lankan, Hebrew, some -khstan) area of the city almost unreachable except via the #7 Metro and Transverse Ney/Flandre, # 54 and 60 (thus 10 minutes for me) buses.

I went in February to the Cafe Cache in the same huge space and it was kinda kicky.

Half of Paris that day and today was on the floor here doing some version of totally silent Tai Chi/Tai Chi Chuan/Supreme Ultimate Fist - cool eh?

In any case, I'd invited the French friend I've known longest, since she help us paint our brownstone in New York, 45 years ago, in return for Colette's super meals and lodging with a half-dozen other Froggie squatters; inviting her largely because she said she was "broke" after buying locavore veggies since July in Normandy and her being at the end of the #60 line.

Backstory:  You may not have noticed, but as a Franco-media-addict I had seen an article in Figaro September 1st by Alexandra Michot on restos in museums and other cultural sites that stated that the long anticipated opening of a resto called Street food, at 104 (the old city mortuary) would occur September 21st and another article gave the impressive provenance of the owners and chef. 

More trivia: The old city mortuary was huge, with room for those wonderful hearse/carriages drawn by black-draped horses (think JFK's funeral); and after it became obsolete, the city (foolish they) took it over and sought to convert it into a multi-arts center with among other things, drawing and sculpture classes, dance, jazz, other music, a haute gamme women's store, really cool librarie/book store and a cafe and resto. 

Yet more: Well, filling these multiple stories and huge spaces (recall, they had carriages and horses for the entire city) stretched the imagination, budget and patience of our wonderful Mayor (whose hand I have actually shaken) who realized he had pulled off Paris Plage, La Nuit Blanche and the Velib but (after the bike lanes, a semi-disaster because delivery trucks defeat their purpose), the Mortuary had gone one bridge too far, drawing not the crowds of locals or vistors or distants needed but paltry bunches of folk. 

Addendum: So a new team arrived.  And here's where we come in.  My buddy's Bro was a top-runner for the job of running the whole show but lucky he, he lost out; lucky because this is a nigh-impossible task - the place is nowhere, is nowhere enroute to nowhere, there's no parking, it's semi-dangerous (which no place in Paris is) and it's nowhere.  The new gang induced a team that had been successful (if I understood our gracious host's tour) at cultural sites in Marseille, Roubaix - Friche La Belle de Mai and La Condition Publique respectively - and elsewhere (maybe), to set up a high class resto; when I went by in February it looked really hip, cool and huge.  Gotta go.  And Bro filled Sis in on all the gory details.

We enter.  Great menu; 28 E for dinner and weekends, 17 E for weekday lunches for three dishes and the menu changes regularly.  The choices were most difficult to make.  And the wine runs from 17-70 E a bottle; also available by the glass and carafe (about which more later).

OK; forget what I'm going to tell you, because the printed menu doesn't do them justice as they were described - just look at the pix - a nage (my word) of razor clams and squid with potatoes and piquillos and a mushroom soup with combawa (yah we had to ask too - sort of Pacific Ocean limes) and veggies - both were simply delicious.

 
 
Her dish was described as a 20 hour pork with soy and mustard and mine as brochettes of pintade and poulpe - both with (a choice) of incredible veggies - once again look at the pix, forget the description - they were terrific.

The desserts were probably the most standard of all items; wok'd figs and diced pineapple; merely very very good.

Our bill after a bottle of wine, fine bread, two good coffees (offered twice before they knew who I was) and ahhhhh, ahhhhh, well we both wanted a glass of wine more with dessert and coffee and talking, so I said to her "I'll pay, I'm rich, I'm employed again" and they served up 50 cl for 6 E, so it = 86.40 E.

Go?  Don't and don't stuff beans up your nose either.  But I'm coming back with Colette in two weeks.  (Oh BTW, our gracious host gave us a tour and showed us the lunch setup - a metal table for firsts (cold I assume) and another with two woks and other pans.  This is for the 17E weekday lunch feed.  I told you about Spring when it was in the 9th, Frechon when he was in the 19th, Cafe Cartouche in the 12th, Frenchie and Afaria and the Cantine de Troquet, you didn't believe me then and you won't believe me now until the big boys write it up this week. 

Le Philou in the 10th; charming, good and reasonable.

6.0 Le Philou, 12, ave Richerand in the 10th, 01.42.38.00.13, closed Sundays and Mondays is a place spotted on her dog-walks, by my former co-host at a website that will go unmentioned. One is always looking in vain for good places near the terribly branche Canal St Martin since the late, great Garance closed and this could well be it.

I entered a brightly lit room with everything (food and wines by the glass, demi and liter carafe and bottle) on the ardoise; "no reservation"; my heart sank;I gave both my and my friend's name, "no rez"; yikes; "are you full?"  much looking at the rez book, "ah, no" - P.S. by meal's end every seat was occupied - the word is out folks.  One course is 15, 2 are 20 and 3 = 25 Euros, wines start at 3 per glass, 10 per Liter and 25 Euros per bottle.

She had the potiron soup which has now become obligatory come Fall here and it was above average by far; I had the (6 E supplement) cepes sauteed in fine olive oil on a bed of lovely greens, green beans and nuts - no herbs, spices or spins here, just plain good grub.

Then she had the leg of lamb which I, a leg of lamb expert, thought was the best I'd had in years (albeit not raw and dripping blood as I prefer) and I had the (5 E supplement) perdreaux rouge (Alectoris rufa - ha, betcha didn't know that; me neither, nor that it is a red-legged or French partridge to differentiate it from the grey or English one, sez Wiki).  Post-pedantry though, I can say it and its accompanying cabbage and other veggies were sublime.  For such a tiny bird it delivered a lot of pleasure.

We finished up splitting a classic baba, of whose rum she thought a bit rough, while I loved it.

Our bill was 76.00 E with good bread, no bottled water, two coffees and all the supplements (which I owe her for.)

Problems John?  Yah, it had no sound-dampening and I had to practically sit in her lap to hear her and the staff sure smokes a lot when given the opportunity.

Go?  For sure, Colette will be here in a few weeks and it'll be tops on my list of revisits.

Au Petit Riche in the 9th: Since 1854 and still going strong.

 

5.8 Au Petit Riche in the 9th, 01.47.70.68.68, open 7/7 taking orders until 12 midnight, has menus for lunch at 22 E for 2 and 28 E for 3 dishes as well as menus at dinner for 28 E for 3 dishes and 34 E with liquids and according to Michelin's Aug-Sept Etoile magazine, is one of the 80 places in Paris to go to and go back to. (I'm more ashamed than boasting when I note that it was one of the 4/80 places they listed that I'd never been to.)

There's a ecailler out front, double glass swing doors to get in and it looks tiny until you realize that after the bar room, there are six or seven dining rooms each seating 20-40 (the last and latter, the menu notes, was the stable of M. Rothschild (my partner and I guess Grandpa R.) converted into an eating room.)  Impressive.  And when you realize it was founded in 1854, while hardly approaching the 1582 of the Tour d'Argent or 1680 of La Petite Chaise, it's seriously old.

For whatever reason we both chose the 22 menu.

She had the pot au feu terrine which was fine when swallowed with a half cornichon to give it some backbone and I had 6 #3 Breton oysters which were the first of this season and hit the spot.

Then she had the filet of bass, with a perfectly crisped skin and wonderful artichaut hearts barigoule (and for the life of me I never saw their mushroom stuffing) while I tested their ability to do quenelles de brochet with divine tiny écrevisses, accompanied by mushroom duxelles, which again, offset the quenelles exactly.

We shared the tartelette of Normand apples - a very nice ending to a very nice meal.

Our bill with a bottle of red Chinon (75% of their wine list is Loire-ish and it is deep & comprehensive), passable bread, no bottled water and 2 coffees was 76.60 E.

Go?  Yes, but.... (Oui, mais....)  What do I mean, after all, I gave it a 5.8?  Well, comparing apples to apples, Au Petit Riche should be compared to other oldies and bistroties, say Flottes, Terminus Nord, Train Bleu and their ilk and it beats them all hands down.  On the other hand it is neith inventive nor haute, but it's more elegant and better priced than I expected and I'd declare it best of class (as I think the Westminster Kennel Club used to term it.)

As a head man, it always amuses me to find restaurants displaying this award but they're clearly proud enough of it.