2.0 La Maison Mere, 4, rue de Navarin in the 9th, 01.42.81.11.00 (Metro: Pigalle) closed Mondays, hence open Sundays (see below for a complicated, apologetic, grovelling, partial-rationalization for visiting) is a miserable excuse for a restaurant. It's a stereotype of what the French think Americans eat - hamburgers, bagels, Cobb salads and cheesecake. Of course that's what the French eat in New York, Las Vegas and Los Angeles, not to mention on the Champs-Elysees, so who can blame them?
Why on earth did I go? Hadn't I learned anything from the experience at Bertie's, (Bertie's, you'll recall, was located briefly in the Hotel Baltimore and named for the now-cinematographically-famous stammering King of England) and its premise was brilliant - have good French chefs prepare classic English dishes - potted-crab, Swansea lamb, Scots salmon and Spotted Dick accompanied by U.K. wines. Brilliant idea, awfully executed.
Oh, it was also Sunday, that black hole/Bermuda triangle/trou in the week when one is relegated largely to eating either le brunch, which I detest in any country, brasserie crap or neighborhood reheated stuff. And I'd read that this place had both "American....comfort food and classic French" fare; and the French critics, vide Pudlo, raved about the bagels, eggs Benedict and meatloaf, while others praised the five "burgers," and someone else said they did have good steak/frites. And, and, and, I owed my downstairs' neighbor, an ardent Americanophile. And, sometimes, often indeed, I make very stupid decisions.
We enter; yup, it's family brunch day in the 9th but the decor is kinda funky and the music not awful and quickly drowned out by the ever-increasing decibel-level of the ever-increasing, ever-loudly-shouting French clients and their children who've never seen a Chinese Tiger Mom.
Take a look at the menu - Brunch crap and American cocktails versus meatloaf, whoops, no more, lasagna, beef and fish & chips a la Sydney.
OK, I release Madame from her vow of friendship and allow her to go wild - she orders a bagel "Club" (which is defined here as smoked turkey, American mustard, hot-house tomato and avocado slices, pressed together like a sandwich in the most un-H&H, untoasted bagel) and I have the most bony-as-possible, over-fished, over-salted, endangered, block of fried cod imaginable - both coming with really awful fries that I tried to offset by asking for Brit malt vinegar - nope, they'll order some next week).
OK, pop-quiz time for you Americans. What's this?
Wrong, it's cheese cake, that's right, not Philadelphia, New York or San Francisco, but Irish cheese cake, Irish because it turns out the chef is Irish. Actually it turns out to be the highlight of the meal - a pressed crumble circle bottom with what I must deduce was a blend of creme fraiche and fresh cheese on top.
The bill, with a bottle of wine, no bottled water, limp bread and two Illy coffees was 63.00 E.
Go? Please, if you're French and waiting for your airplane to go to Egypt, indulge yourself, but if you're American, get the next flight in that direction.
This may be your most awesome review ever. *applause*
Posted by: Omid Tavallai | January 30, 2011 at 06:26 PM
Loved the title, John! It is frank as it should if we want things to improve and stand as constructive. I am myself French, and if I had to offer this type of food to Americans I would make sure to do it even better than what they are used to back home in the US. Or else, it's indeed pure disappointment. I am glad you wrote this article because when I visit Paris, I am sometimes looking for a nice hamburger joint. I would have probably stepped in this place had I not read your post.
Happy new year to you & yours!
Posted by: S Lloyd | January 31, 2011 at 01:22 AM
Well, guess that I know what to tell my friends who have been talking about trying it! Wonderfully honest review, thank you!
Posted by: Lindsey | January 31, 2011 at 04:28 PM