7.5 Qui Plume La Lune, 50, rue Amelot in the 11th (the old C’Amelot site), 01.48.07.45.48, closed Sundays and Mondays (Metro: Oberkampf or Filles du Calvaire or St Sebastien Froissart) is the third great Japanesy meal I've had in as many weeks.
Why do I say Japanesy not Japanese or fusion?; well, I've got a whole essay on the topic coming up; also for starters, the carte had items such as a "sushi" foie gras, salmon takati, green tea crusted lamb and Japanese vegetables and our waiter was definately of Asiatic origin and the chef, Jacky Ribault, who in addition to coming through the great houses of cuisine, see Taillevent, also did a stint at Shozan.
The place's decor is odd, nice odd, but odd: plain bleached brown tables and chairs, a goofy sculptured chandelier and the place's original stone walls - and they play American Big Band and Big Singers' music. The menu is simple, sort of, about 8 plats (no entrees) and about the same number of desserts; two plats or one plus dessert or cheese for 33, two plats plus dessert or cheese = 43, and two plus cheese and dessert = 53 E (there is a forced choice lunch formula at 23 E however.)
The amuse-bouche was a veloute of garlic with a bed of pureed chestnuts, on top of which was a small piece of nicely toasted bar, topped with a blette leaf. Very minimalist; one might say Japanesy.
My friend and fellow food-blogger R. who is abandoning me for England and a woman after 40 years of the sweet life here, ordered minimally because he has a series of farewell lunch, afternoon and dinner fetes - first he had the takati of salmon with veggies and herbs; and I had scallops with lots of greens and herbs - and a center bowlette of apple sorbet, and oh, two rose leaves - wonderful.
Then he had the turbot with scallions and veggies and I had a "canon of" lamb with a rich sauce and lots more veggies of the winter-spring type. At about the end of our second course an elegant Asiatic lady in an elegant pair of culotte shorts came in with vases of flowers presumably for the dinner service - classy.
The desserts all sounded good and we were tempted by the rhubarbapapa, a rhubarb/barbe a papa combo, but instead went for the more mundane granache (moelleux really) in a sauce with (not mundane at all) avocado slices on top. I thought that was it but no.....
a plateful of tartelettes - lemon, strawberry, etc.
With super bread and a nice bottle of wine our bill was 112 E.
Any problems?: yes, the coffees for a place of this rank, were dreadfully weak and watery and our stiff-backed but nice waitguy on his first attempt at a check, overcharged us 10 E (two instead of one 43 E menu).
Go? Absolutely - this place is right up there with Kei and Sola - great spring so far, eh?
As I approached the Jacquemart-Andre today, I was struck by the Christo-like wrapping of whatever renovation project was underway; so tasteful as was hat of the Madeleine.
The posters out front are clever, juxtaposing Impressionist painter Gustave's take on Paris scenes with photographs his (apparently unknown not only to me but most folks) brother Martial. Whether they were taken before, during or after Gustave painted does not really matter; it's a great curatorial idea.
Of interest to me was that the works I associate with Caillebotte the elder, the Floor Scrapers at the Orsay, Rainy Street Scene in Paris from Chicago and the New Orleans Cotton Exchange held in Pau, were not here and a refreshing series of works I was less familiar were.
3 Wows - until July 11th.
5.5 Le Galvacher, 64, ave des Ternes in the 17th, 01.45.74.16.66, open 7/7, is a place my dining companion had on her list to review for a guide book she's working on. I chose it from a list of 10 places I hadn't eaten at she'd given me, because it's been in the back of my mind to go for a while and translates into ox or cow drover, which sounded pretty meaty to me.
Midway through the meal she said - "I've got to work, what do you think of the decor?" "Pretty dismal" said I. "Yup, I agree." And the welcome (acceuil), wait for food, and service (for example, our wait guy didn't know the specials on the lunch "menu" which was plastered all over the exterior, but I couldn't recall all of). But she said, "all that doesn't matter if a meat place produces great meat, let's withold judgement."
So after regarding the carte, this sophistocated TV star/guidebook/cookbook writer who knows more about food than Herve This and Ferran Adrian and Thomas Keller put head to toe says "I'll have the escargots." I felt less stupid ordering the classic French onion soup - "what the hell," I said "it's a gamble." "But," she said, "if this place has it on the menu, it's got to be good." Well it was, very good, bringing back memories of Les Halles in 1953. And her snails were OK, although light or indeed absent the garlic, but with added sorrel - a nice touch.
As soon as we put our utensils down - the beef arrived - in her case the faux filet with Bearnaise sauce, in mine, the heart of rumsteak with pepper sauce; both blue and coming with tons of pretty-crisp frites. The meat was cold, the frites equally so, but who cares; the beef was of extraordinary quality.
We both had a hard time finishing our meat and had no room for any dessert from the list that looked like fungible brasserie type stuff and lots of cheeses listed but none visable.
Our bill, with no bottled water but a nice bottle of Fitou (she, the wine maven, noted that their markups were minimal), average bread and decent coffee (Papousian) was 86.20 E. (BTW the lunch "menu", forced 2/2/2 choices, with a glass of wine and coffee, was 20 E). Pretty good, eh?
Go back? When in the meat mode, for sure.
8.0 Sola aka Sola par Hiroki Yoshitake, 12, rue de l'Hotel Colbert in the 5th, 01.43.29.59.04 (but beware quirky phone-answering reliability), closed Sundays and Mondays, opened at the end of the year (as did its cousin Le Concert de la Cuisine a year before) and I couldn't tell from the early reviews whether it was French, fusion or Japanese.
The place is really cool and now re-reading the reviews, I see Yoshitake's food is described as French Food, done Japanese style. OK, that seems to hedge the bet. Let's find out.
I entered a bit ahead of my Cantabrigian/Francophilic/Francophonic/friend and marvelled at the beams and stone - wonderful! The wait-guy came over with a tiny white marshmallow-looking object and poured hot water on it. I grabbed my fork - "John," my erudite friend said, "it's a hot towel." Whoops, everything here did look incredibly edible.
The first entree was a cauliflower soup with a butter of either lobster or blanc (depending on your hearing acuity); delightful, light, indeed etherial.
The second entree was (on the left) foie gras with miso (ah ha, the Japanese touch) and (on the right) shaved navets with little drops of sauce in four tiny sauce holes.
The main was split into two servings, separated by several minutes. The first part was a plate on which were placed - off-center, mind you, a selection of veggies of perfect provenance, such as peas, beans and a nasturtium leaf (my companion informed me) covering a cold soft-boiled egg; I thought they were raw but my companion opined that while cold they had been very briefly blanched and cooled. The second mains (oh, we had a choice of fish or meat - we were asked if we had any food problems - abats, etc.) were at the top, a fish with one set of cooked veggies - we had to ask what it was - Chinchard, a Japanese fish we were told and shown a book about - something in the family between a mackerel and anchovy (but it was not really that oily) and a filet wrapped in a smoked hamish sausage skin and sliced with a mushroom puree, sauteed mushrooms, potatoes and the chef's own mustard with big grains. This is where you got the "French, but.........." message loud and clear.
Dessert (not pictured, hummmm) was/were strawberries, vanilla ice, mascarpone, strawberry confiture and (get this) Balsamic tuile bits and Balsamic sauce. Wow!
With a bottle of wine, a bottle of Chateldon (don't ask, the answer involves migraines, work and all sorts of stuff), 2 decent coffees and average not great bread (the one substandard item), our bill was 111 E.
Go again, to the place where I had the best meal of 2011 so far? Can't keep me away.
As we were walking past the City Hall, we noticed American troops (with WWII) uniforms and helmets in half-tracks (with Spanish names) entering the parvis. It was General George (Scott) Patton entering Frankfurt, March 29, 1945, no? Well, that's what the "This Day in History" website says. My friend, the scholar says "cannot be" - the Battle of the Bulge is far away. Sure enough, it's a film shot. But fun anyway.
Odilon Redon is not my favorite artist of either the 19th or 20th century, although I have a print on the wall at home of a red boat with blue sails done in 1906-07, that I clearly love. But in the spirit of "if there's a blockbuster show in town, one really should go," I went.
Well it seems I'm not the only one for whom Redon is not a god; there was no line at the Big Palace and one could see the paintings - both maybe firsts for me.
A minus wow.
3.0 Velvet (l'Hotel Beauchamps), 29, rue du Collisee in the 8th, 01.53.89.59.10, closed weekends, open every weekday lunch until 15:30, which is one reason I went because I was certain my plane from Venice would be late; the other was I wanted to transition back to French food and Antoine's of Nice seemed appropriate.
Nice olives and ham with chalkboard background and modern chairs - Photoshop failed to allow me to show them clearly and the chalkboard that heralded wines at 4 E for 15 cl and another that gave the daily entrees, plats and desserts; 2 dishes for 25 E; 3 for 32 E with their own water and coffee. However, the selections on the "menu" or carte did not thrill me (salads, marinated salmon, veal vitello tonnato-style, morue, rognon de veau and a vereine).
So I went with the cocotte of pork prepared in the old style, with polenta (which is not my most favorite dish) and truffle oil (which I'm even less fond of). Alright but that's all.
Now the panncotta with mango sauce looked great but again was just alright.
With wine, the free water and coffee and bread that was less than dazzling, my bill was 47 E.
Go? I guess you picked up my lack of enthusiasm; so did the chief wait guy; these guys have a sixth sense when things are not going right.
Every two years an amazing and energetic Italian health policy and economics guy, Massimo Moscarelli, hosts a small meeting in Venice which I do my damnedest to get to. It's spectacular science by wonderful young folks who hold PhD's/MD's/etc., in an awesome setting - the Scuola Grande di San Giovanni Evangelista - where the first time that I entered in the dark 20 years ago, I couldn't believe the Bellini and Perugino and the like reproductions on the wall - "wait a minute," said I "those are real." But you're not here for the art - so onto the food.
This time there were bunches of carabinieri out front - whoa - we're we under attack? No, it was some E.U. meeting there too and Berlusconi was taking no chances after the G-whatever in Genoa.
I was surely born in France of a chef father and food critic mother.
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