Preface: a few weeks ago I ate at La Bonace in the 19th and had a lovely, no, terrific meal. When Colette, my wife of 56 years comes to town, we go to the best of my last quarter's finds, usually those rated over 6.8/10. I admire folks who go eight times, before writing places up, but the New York Times has never seen fit to reimburse my expenses the same way they did my great late friend Johnnie (R.W.) Apple's or even Sam Sifton's. So here's my second take on a place I told my readers to go to last month.
1.0 La Bonace in the 19th was as welcoming this month as last but the carte looked suspiciously less adventuresome and more tilted to vegans. Oh, oh. In fact, very little spoke to me, a fat-loving carnivore, but with two lovely ladies out by the Canal d'Ourcq, what could I do?
Well, for firsts, between the salad of crudités and the tabouli with parsley and lime, there was no problem, I ate the bread and had a glass of wine while awaiting the main show. The ladies unenthusiastically ate some of their tabouli.
Then Colette had the bland merlu with a ton of lentils, which she tried to improve with salt, pepper and lemon without success, my co-blogger friend had the grilled eggplant and polenta that she deemed overcooked, and I had the strips of echines de porc on somethings I'd rather forget, which could not be improved by salt, pepper or appeals to Buddha.
For dessert, Colette and I had melon, strawberries and Greek yogurt, and our friend the coco tart, neither exciting to the palate or bone.
Our bill, with two bottles of decanted Moisset and 3 coffees, was 109€ or 74€ a couple.
Go back? No, and let me count the ways; blah, veggie food, lack of sound-baffling, and no cushions on the designer furniture to buffer one's aching spine from hard wood.
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