7.2 Chez Fred Depuis 1945, 190 bis Blvd Pereire in the 17th, 01.45.74.20.48, (Metro: Hummm) closed Sundays is a place two of my food writer pals took me to separately under the old regime and was touted as “the” Lyonnaise food center in Paris. So I was hesitant to return but the fact that it was now “under the houlette of Hullo”, nice alliterative ring to it, non?, from Monsieur Bleu, whose chef David Crozat, also came from M. Bleu, persuaded me.
The place looks exactly the same as it did when Simenon ate here, but they’ve got a voiturier and dropped quenelles from the menu, ok.
My good friend, another Berkeley Prof (two days in a row now), and I, looked at the carte, both wanting the salad frisée but knowing it would be yuge, so, we did what sensible old folks do, we split it: PS. We still struggled to finish it, but it was gold standard, from dressing to ham chunks. Then he had one of the daily specials, a bavette with frites, which were better than Paris average, a low bar I admit; and I had confit de canard, so, safe choice but boring? Not at all. Really good with crispy crunchy potatoes Dauphinoise.
Our bill, with a bottle and a half of wine and one coffee, was 121€? Db’s = our voices, because we were the only customers inside.
Go? Look, people think I’m into trendy little gastrobistros in the 11th with Japanese chefs. Ok, I am, but remember, my Ancestry, 23 and me, etc., DNA is pure peasant Normand. Plain confit de canard sourced well, done well with endless potatoes is returning to my roots. Ok?
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