December 2013
December 19, 2013
December 18, 2013
December 17, 2013
December 16, 2013
December 13, 2013
La Bulle in the 10th: Nice; all locals, but not nearby anything.
5.4 La Bulle, 48, rue Louis Blanc in the 10th (Metro: Louis Blanc), 01.40.37.34.51, closed Sundays, Is a place I quite liked a few years ago (despite the hike) and when I read that a new chef who had been through the kitchens of Westerman, Bocuse and Marx, had been installed, it made sense to go. I arrived at about 12h30 and the place was already packed with tables of 4-8 office workers, many with suits and ties and people just kept on coming in. The formulas are astounding - 18 E for 2 courses and 22 E for three and were it not for the foie gras on the carte, I could have been quite happy with the formula's offerigs (pumpkin soup, trout and floating island).
I started off with a Jerusalem artichoke soup with the aforementioned sauteed foie gras which was quite special; tasty and filling and warm on this cold, cold day. Then I progressed to the poitrine of veal; I always forget how much fat, despite the crisp skin, there is on a poitrine of anything and the battle to scrape it off is almost not worth the trouble. Then I had the floating island, since I had missed the opportunity of ordering the brioche French toast in advance - it was OK, no more, no less.
The bill, with a pot of their roannaise bio, unfiltered, etc, etc, wine, so-so bread, no bottled water and Illy coffee, was 55.30, thus 110.60 E a couple.
Go? If it were located somewhere central, I think so, but here in the midst of nowhere, it's tough for even me, who loves out-of-the-way locales, to recommend the journey.
December 12, 2013
The Taxi Jaune: You want a genuine deep and dirty bistro without pesky fellow Yankees - have I (and Parnassien) gotta deal for you.
So, backstory: I'm just about to finish Graham (pronounced Gram, just as Ralph is pronouned Rafe and Meurice Morris) Nash's fabulous book "Tales" and throughout it, like reading the works of my late friend and fellow "poonie" John Updike, I revel in the fact that these are my guys, this is my life and times (without the drugs), this stuff I know. And so, when my cyber-buddy Parnassien kept recommending Taxi Jaune, I kept thinking of Joni Mitchell's "Late last night, I heard the screen door slam, And a big yellow taxi, Took away my old man,....They paved paradise, And put up a parking lot," - I said, I gotta go with my friend who still sees patients in her cabinet in the Marais and always has to catch a quick lunch nearby.
5.4 Taxi Jaune, 13, rue Chapon in the 3rd, 01.42.76.00.40, (Metro: Arts & Metiers) closed weekends (it's in the heart of the schmates district after all) has one of those impenetrable fascades, I'm wandering about, poking at doors and windows, and this worker bloke, the guy on the right, for whom clearly this is not the first time, says "here" and pushes the correct secret panel and I'm in. But not my "date" who enters from the east side - "the kitchen" she blithely says. On the wall are the products of the month, plates of the day and wines by the glass, carafe and bottle.
Quite frankly, the carte was not one to send my heart soaring - it looked boring aka traditional. But hey. So, my pal of 52 years, whom I've known longer than my wife, ordered the raviolis of radishes and goat cheese - excuse me, Q. but what could that mean? Ans. It meant a wonderfully light production that I couldn't reproduce in 6 weeks if under KGB orders. And I had what I assumed would be a serviceable/boring/but get thruable seafood salad - Unh unh, it was lovely, light and quite tasty. Man.
For mains, we split the choices - she the boring lieu and me the boring ham, with crushed, indeed obliterated green peas (unpictured). Not at all boring. Instead, rather good, simple, road stop, 1950, outside Toulouse, chow. This was no fooling food, no pretenses - what did Dustin Hoffman's character call it - "honest food"?
For dessert she had the chocolate noisette cake and I the prunes in booze; both meeting the truck-stop 1950's standard.
So, the bill; OK, with 3-courses each, no bottled water and a half-liter of a fine Cotes de Luberon, you're talking 48 E. Make sense to you?
Go? As they say in Law School "Res ipsa loquitor." I only took two courses, but that stuck. Decibel level with a full house turning folks away - 84.8 dB,
December 11, 2013
Roumanian Scenes at Louis Vuitton: Rather good.
There is a quite wonderful show on now (until January 12th) at the Louis Vuitton Cultural Space on the Champs-Eylsees of Romanian art from a gallery in Cluj. Despite the nonsensical black elevator trip up to the galleries, the rest of the event is lively, colorful and eyeopening.
2 Wows!
Napoleone in the 8th: Etchebest, is this really his best on the Champs-Elysees?
5.2 Napoleone, 25 ave des Champs-Elysees in the 8th (Metro: FDR), 01.42.25.60.80, is open 7/7 and is a new venture from Christian Etchebest, whom I've loved at Le Troquet, the Cantine de Troquet's x2, and the Cantine de la Cigale).
Backstory: A week ago I was passing by Napoleone and as my wonderful wife will tell you, I see everything and nothing (everything in art exhibitions in 10 minutes, haircuts/new clothes, never). There was this cluster outside Napoleone and my thought was "just another bunch of cheap Parisians or dumb Americans going to a fungible Champs-Elysees-one-up-from-McDo's-joint." Then I awoke this morning to Figaroscope's 2 hearts for Christian Etchebest's newest and I had to go. "Neorustique, Etchebest and the Champs (which my friend, the wine-genius-fashionista declared to be the one place he had no idea where to refer friends to.) As I approached I saw the awning saying "Bistro Chic" and almost walked away.
It's huge, really nice, with a staff that wanted despirately to speak English to the three of us whose first languages were French, Roumanian and German but who were indeed speaking in our common tongue - English. In any case, the menu/carte looked nice.
Our neighborhood French friend had the crevettes and avocado which I thought was the winner, although this year, findable almost anywhere; my friend the Roumanian genius tried the carpaccio of St Jacques (I think his 82-you mother is harping on his weight); and I had the petits gris in a creamy garlic sauce that almost worked were it not for the too too intense pesto).
Then our neighbor had the piece of beef (nice product, nicely undercooked) with standard (French) fries, when will the Belgians teach these folks to cook frites?; and my Eastern European pal and I had the echine of pork with absolutely delicious mushrooms on mashies. At this point i called it a day, but they both had the praline millefeuille which was fabulous.
The bill - with no bottled water but 1.5 bottles of a very drinkable St Amour and 3 coffees, was 165.50 = 110.34 E a couple.
Go? Today, they were all of the Froggie-stripe, despite the location, next week, who knows?, but if asked, "Where on the C-E can one eat?, this plus the Publicis Steakhouse would be my answers.
December 10, 2013
Pollop in the 2nd: Comforting comfort cuisine with an Asian tweak.
7.4 Pollop, 15, rue d'Aboukir in the 2nd, (Metro: not really, buses lots of), 01.40.41.00.94 (but they don't always answer and toss you off the the answering machine), open lunches weekdays and dinners Tuesday-Saturday, is a place that opened in July when I must have been asleep because it's taken me this long to go - only prodded by my SF Art Historian friend who lives nearby and arrived this AM, who wanted to eat reasonably nearby. Ok.
The place's front looks like the entrance of a 5th Avenue/57th Street art gallery building, small, but you enter and there's a railway car row of tables, then this back room with book shelves and an upstairs equally festooned. The carte is interesting, very interesting, somewhat Asian-influenced but drift down to the bottom - 50 cl wine for 14 E; my kinda place totally.
So, he orders the two tartares - first that of tuna with agrumes and sesame, damn good, and I had the shredded piggie ears with shredded veggies, as we said in Viet Nam - "Numbah One." You had to have been there, actually no, you were wise not to have been. With this was a carafe of Chinon that was terrific with the food.
Then he had the Thai beef tartare, spicy enough, but not over the top ("Sir, they don't like that here") with gross frites (OK) and I had the veal in a green curry sauce with rice that was incredibly good. I finished up with an Illy coffee.
Our bill, with a lot of wine (not at the Graham Nash/Keith Richard's level and of course we were not doing cocaine or MaryJane, just curry and coriander), no bottled water, not terribly inventive bread in a place around the corner from one of the great bread places in town, was 74.70 E.
Go? "Fools," as we used to say on Bow Street, "you must."
December 09, 2013
La Bourse ou La Vie in the 2nd: Talk about your old time, big servings of classic bistro dishes.
5.2 La Bourse ou La Vie, 12, rue Vivienne in the 2nd, 01.42.60.08.83 (Metro: Bourse) is one of those places that keeps popping up on lists of wine and food bistros even though it's been open for 13 years. My friend the wine-expert fashionista picked it as a mutually convenient place and I was most game. I looked at the front and there was no name, only a blizzard of stickers from Pudlo, etc and reviews from everyone. I entered and was greeted by this larger-than-life guy, yes, he, Patrice Tatard, the nude guy in the painting, who is a cross between Le Quincy's Bobosse and Jean Pierre Coffe (he of the hilarious Panique en cuisine with Etchebest and C. Rostang). "Enter, enter, alone?, non, sit down."
The place is a riot of color with mismatched garden chairs, hand-writing on the walls and really strange art. But the carte is strictly old-boy, old-school.
My dining partner started off with the leeks vinaigrette and I had the herring with warm potatoes - both classics and both classically prepared.
Then my companion had the "dish-of-the-house" a psve of beef with a really peppery sauce (like I've been told, the French usually detest) and I had a whole veal kidney which was enough for the entire French rugby team, both with fries that were terrible.
We finished by indulging in a chocolate "pudding" as the Brits would say, two coffees and our wine.
With that plus a glass of white at the start, our bill was 122.20 E.
Go? If you're into an over-the-top garrulous host, a weird colorful ambiance and huge Julot-type portions of ancient bistro preparations, be my guest. The decibel meter said it was only 83.8 dB but I could't hear my friend from 12 inches away.
John Talbott
I was surely born in France of a chef father and food critic mother.
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