6.0 L’Auberge Café, 4, rue Bertin Poiree in the 1st, 01.43.29.10.22, (Metro: Chatelet), is a place the Figaro-gang keeps mentioning, and I note kept creeping up on my “list” and Saturday was “the” day. I kept thinking, why did Rubin et al keep mentioning it?
The place is incredibly sited, between Chatelet and the Pont Neuf, beautifully preserved, since it opened at the beginning of the 17th century, and has look and menu of old times. I enter, dipping my head to avoid the beams and sit on the second floor among the chickens.
My guest, my charming, great co-host with me on eGullet in its heydays and Paris by Mouth today and I had some difficulty ordering; all the offerings looked pretty good.
After wrestling with her a bit (not a la dsk, believe me, she wouldn’t have tolerated that as French women do) over what to order we settled on the Toulouse sausage with cheese (really a croquette) that was super and my chicken livers and salad were equal if not better.
Then she had an entrecote with frites and I had a galette of pigs’ feet with potatoes like I’ve never had in France before; baked I guess and then sliced/minced; both sound ordinary; they were anything but.
We finished up sharing the rhubarb/strawberry tart – again, up from ordinary.
Our bill, with a liter of house red, two coffees and a calva, was 79.10 E.
Go? On a winters’ night, wind and snow whistling, who cares from locavore?
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