Tondo - Bring your magnifying glasses

Fresh from manning the helm at the overrated (and now defunct) Roseval, chef Simone Tondo has now taken over the helm at the ex-La Gazzetta, a venue I've written about on this site a few times before.   La Gazzetta descended from the pinnacle after the departure of phenom Swedish chef Petter Nilsson and was just never the same.  It eventually closed in, what, something like early 2015?  In its place, with a modest sprucing up of the interior, is chef Tondo's incarnation, the aptly named Tondo.

As with Fulgurances (see my previous post), Tondo has quickly gotten a lot of positive buzz - Le Fooding, Telerama, all the usual suspects.

I've always appreciated the interior at 29 rue de Cotte - two large rooms, a well-appointed bar just past the entrance in the front room.  Co. and I were led to a table in the quiet, dimly-lit back room and quickly decided on the 7 plates for 60 euros menu over the 4 plates for 45 euros alternative.  What can I say that makes any sense?  Not much, many have told me.  What I mean is, the food looked great, but somehow underwhelmed.  There was nothing out of the 7 plates that made me drop my jaw (or my fork, whichever came first) and say 'wow, this is excellent,' or 'gee, this is amazing.'  Not only that, the dishes were rather miniscule.  Let's just head right to the pictorial stage of the festivities and you can judge for yourself.

The carte - click to read, or use that magnifying glass I suggested.

chef Simone Tondo, still young  (http://tondo-paris.com/equipe/)

A room with a view

The painting behind Co., minus Co.

Foccacia, oyster soup, etc.

More of the foccacia dish, half eaten (sorry)

This is the dorade

I don't know, potato and bok choi as a main dish?  Kind of a miss.

More fish - lotte this time (but not a lot of it)

The canette - probably the hit for me

Dessert 1 - baba et clementine  (doesn't work if you don't leave the bottle of rum on the table, hint)

Dessert 2 - pear and black chocolate

Not on the carte, but on my camera - I think they threw this in at the end, and why the hell not?

What's food without a little wine - this a 39 euro Syrah

To be fair, with 7 dishes, the plates don't have to be copious, so my magnifying glasses poke might be a little harsh.  This was a good meal, but nowhere near dazzling.  There was just something missing that could have put Tondo on the map for me.  A bit too pricy (159 euros for two) for just 'I guess it was pretty decent.'


TONDO     
29 rue de Cotte Paris 12
tel. 01 43 47 47 05
website:  /http://tondo-paris.com/

Déjeuner : Jeudi, Vendredi, Samedi de 12h15 à 14h
Diner : Mardi, Mercredi, Jeudi, Vendredi, Samedi de 19h30 à 22h

Time of the Season - 2012 Greatest Hits

It's that time of the year again when I say "It's that time of the year again."  Time to look back at another year on the restaurant scene, both here (Paris) and farther afield - this time as far as Chinle, AZ, where as you will read below, frightening things await.

As in the past, this is not intended as a 'best of ' list  in the sense of 'best restaurant in Paris' - I probably can't afford that one anyway - but rather in a more personal, 'this is the best restaurant I ate at in Paris this year' sort of way.

2012 Favorite: Le Chateaubriand.

I am sure this is old news, since many have long since waxed eloquently about this Paris venue, but when I think about the meals that really stood out this past year, Chateaubriand keeps coming to mind.  There was that great dinner Co. and I had with our pardners from the US of A, highlighted by an amazing turbot, fenouil, and poutargue dish (1st photo), and the follow-up this past November, with the memorable lait ribot, herbes, beurre noisette and tocino del cielo  dessert (2nd photo), 3/4s of which consisted of ingredients that rarely appear on dessert plates.  Chateaubriand has its detractors, but who cares?  It's to be expected when the chef - in this case, Inaki Aizpitarte - dares to take risks with creative manifestations that do not always work - but hey that's what experimentation is all about, sometimes you just can't reject the null hypothesis.  All I know is that I'm always surprised at Chateaubriand, and mostly in a good way, and I love when the place starts building a buzz as the evening unfolds with a diverse mix of diners and laid back bohemian servers.  I'm also impressed that those servers never fall through the trap door behind the bar, which curiously remains open for much of the evening (3rd photo).  And, yes, Monsieur Aizpitarte does uncannily resemble Joe Flacco, had the latter decided to give up quarterbacking for the Baltimore Ravens and become a famous Parisian chef.

 

 

LE CHATEAUBRIAND: 129 ave. Parmentier, 75011 Paris, tel: 01.43.57.45.95

Best New Paris Restaurant Movement: La Dolce Italia.

To be honest, this probably isn't a movement at all, and if it is, it was no doubt underway before I came upon it, but the influx of really good Italian restaurants in the capital is certainly a welcome trend.  Two quite enjoyable dinners in 2012 were had at the Italian spots, Caffe dei Cioppi and Vilia.  At the latter, the elegantly simple bowl of DeCecco rigatoni and parmesan cheese got me buying DeCecco pasta and parmesan cheese the rest of the year, though not with the same effect.  I wouldn't go so far as to call La Gazzetta an Italian restaurant because it is oh so much more, but I can at least mention it here because, after all, this is my blog and I can babble to my heart's content.  Seriously, Gazzetta continues to be a personal favorite that I get back to as frequently as possible, for some of the same reasons that keep me returning to Chateaubriand.

Finally, although it has nothing to do with Italy, our return visit (finally) to Septime proved well worth the wait.

CAFFE DEI CIOPPI: 159, rue du Faubourg St. Antoine, Paris, tel: 01.43.46.10.14 

VILIA:  26, rue de Cotte, 75012 Paris, tel: 09.80.44.20.15        

LA GAZZETTA: 29, rue de Cotte, 5012 Paris, tel: 01.43.37.47.05

SEPTIME:  80, rue de Charonne, 75011 Paris, tel: 01.43.67.38.29

Worst Restaurant of 2012, USA: Garcia's.                                                                                      My worst meal of the year was had more than 5000 miles from Paris, Garcia's in Chinle, Arizona, which is definitely a good thing.  Chinle happens to be well located for visiting such famous sites as Monument Valley and the Canyon de Chelly.  The Garcia's decision is clear-cut, there are no competitors, because this was probably the worst meal I have ever had anywhere - save that Montezuma revenge special of fried chicken that I had in a greasy spoon in old Jerusalem, but please, let's not go there.  If you search Trip Advisor for Chinle restaurants, the first comment that pops up for Garcia's is 'As good as anywhere in town,' which doesn't sound too bad until you realize the alternatives are Burger King, Thunderbird Lodge restaurant, and that place next to the Best Western that looks like it dropped out of horror film.  Garcia's is the Chinle Holiday Inn's restaurant, and it's not like Co. and I were expecting much.  One has to eat, period, and the options in the local convenience store didn't offer much as an alternative.  One thing Garcia's has going for it is an 'all you can shove into your big fat face (an apt description of the typical Garcia diner, however politically incorrect that may sound) salad bar.  I'm just glad I got to it before I saw another patron coughing and wiping his nose, and then selecting items from the bar.  Our waitress certainly was pleasant enough, but visually, she was a disaster, slaking my appetite even before I had a look at that salad bar. I don't remember what I ate or why, but Co. made a big mistake with the most expensive item on the menu, a sirloin steak.  When I asked about alcohol, I was told, sure - just get back in your car and motor 200 miles south, you'll find some, but you won't find any on an Arizona Indian reservation, which is where Chinle lies.  To my chagrin, I had to settle for a Kaliber non-alcoholic beer, my first and last, trust me.  At any rate, I am sure there are worse restaurants in the world, I just hope I never have to find that out for myself.

Worst Restaurant of 2012, Paris: Abri.             No, in my view, you do not have to actually eat at a restaurant for it to be named to a 'worst of' list, especially when one does such a crack job of alienating customers before they ever get to your door.  And getting through the door at Abri appears to be a pleasure that only a select few have ever experienced.  Paris was abuzz about Katsuaki Okiyama's Abri in 2012, a creative sandwich shop by day and supposedly wonderful tasting menu restaurant by night.  So how did they get a reservation?  Because each time I call Monsieur O, I get the very same response: 'complet.'  Being a paranoid ex-pat, I quickly began to think that Mr. O discriminates against would-be diners with heavy English accents, but once I called and he said 'complet' before I got any further than 'bonjour.'  When I asked in November when it would be possible to snag a dinner reservation for two, Monsieur O became, for him I guess, veritably prolific, spitting out the response 'complet a la fin de Decembre.'  In short, I don't care if Abri is the bee's knees or not, Monsieur O. can shove it where the sun don't shine.  With all the hassles I've had reserving at Septime, at least they gave me some advice as to when to call, which nights were better than others, etc.  Monsieur Okiyama apparently doesn't have the courtesy to do even that.  So my only conclusion is that he is restaurateur asshole of the year.  Ironically, the 2013 Le Fooding guide awards Abri a 'palmare' for 'Fooding D'Amour.'

 Biggest Disappointment of 2012, Paris: Roseval.

                                                            Speaking of that 2013 Le Fooding guide which, as always, is a great inexpensive guide to 400 French restaurants, the Palmare for 'Meilleure Table' went to Simone Tondo & Michael Greenwold's Roseval, where the ambiance 'screams modern elegance, and the food is simply ambrosial.'  Well, based on my one dinner there this past Fall, there was nothing overtly elegant about the restaurant's interior, especially the pompous and impolite servers, and the food was good, but far from ambrosial.  I guess Roseval has been anointed this season's hot new thing, but move along reader, nothing that interesting here.  Far less disappointing was L'Agrume, another personal favorite that just didn't wow me this year the way it has in the past.  A different menu every day, amazingly, but the price has gone up and they still lack those little extras that could take the place to another level.

 Best Comeback Restaurant of 2012, Paris suburbs: Les Magnolias.

        I've done my share of hyping Les Magnolias, but somewhere along the line, my return visits to said venue were increasingly spaced, a bad sign.  But  Co. and I returned during the summer and had a magnificent meal.  I would go so far as to say that the food was ambrosial and the setting in Le Perreux-sur-Marne elegant.

 

LES MAGNOLIAS: 48, ave. de Bry, 94 Le Perreux sur Marne, tel: 01.48.72.47.43

 

My Favorite Homemade Drinks of 2012.  Hendrick's gin on the rocks with a slice of cucumber.  And to soothe my aching stomach from consuming too much spice, there is nothing better than a White Russian composed of 2/5s Smirnoff Black vodka, 2/5s Kaluha, and topped off with milk, some ice, and well-shaken with a coffee foamer.

Best Place(s) to Buy Spices in Paris. 

 I don't deny that the multi-colored spice display at Galeries Lafayette Gourmand is a sight to behold and tempting as hell, but my recommendation is to look, but do not buy.  Why?  Simple - it's far cheaper to go to the Indian district's Cash and Carry shops, where one can find a diverse range of spices at miniscule prices.  Case in point.  I purchased 50 grams worth of paprika at Gourmand for a price around 7€.  At one of my habitual C&C's, I found a 400 gm. package of paprika for 1.99€.  You can do the math, and I detected no discernible difference in taste.  At same C&C, I picked up a 400gm package of hot madras curry powder for 2.99€ and a 1kg package of garam masala for 4.89€.  At those volumes, you won't have to make multiple trips to the store to resupply.  The two or three C&Cs I visit regularly are located down the strip from the New Pondichery restaurant (where I usually buy a few pieces of chicken tandori to go) on rue du Faubourg-Saint-Denis, right near the Gare du Nord train station.

Best Films that Didn't Make it to Paris in 2012:     The Master, Django Unchained, Lincoln, Zero Dark Thirty.  Best Film that Did:  Turin's Horse. 

Worst Films Appearing on Most French Best Films of 2012 Lists: Holy Motors, Cosmopolis (what is so fascinating about weirdos riding around town in a limosine?), Looper, Magic Mike, Moonrise Kingdom (a kid's movie).  In my view, these overrated films were interminable to sit through.

Disclaimer: Sorry about the line spacing, it is driving me crazy and nothing I attempt can get it to change.  Time for another White Russian.

 See you in 2013.   

Comments, feedback, gripes, glowing praises? - just click '(Aucun) Commentaire.' Spammers beware.

                  

 

Roseval - No Rosebud

I always gagged on the silver spoon. 
- Charles Foster Kane

Although Roseval apparently signifies some sort of potato, given that there wasn't a single potato on the menu, I'd prefer the allusion to Citizen Kane's 'rosebud' as the lead-in to this review of the new neo-bistrot in a quaint courtyard of the Menilmontant section of Paris.  With the damp stones glistening in the mid-October evening and the church of Notre-Dame-de-la-Croix looming just across from the pretentiously unpretentious facade of Roseval, who could resist?  A two-week wait for a reservation offered little impediment to Co. & I snagging a back corner table in the 20-seater platformed dining room. Once past the bar, we once again found ourselves initiating the evening as the first-to-arrive.  As we passed the bar, with waitstaff lingering, all eyes were on us - the welcome seemed genuinely friendly enough.

Rosebud . . . the symbol of the lost innocence of youth, and if anything, I couldn't get that reference out of mind during dinner at Roseval.  By the time our second dish had been served, the room was largely filled, with two two-seaters conspicuously standing unoccupied.  The procession of 20-somethings, each warmly welcomed like old buds, cheek-kissed, and greeted by the tag team chefs, Michael Greenwold and Simone Tondo, who both looking positively 20-something themselves, despite their pedigree of having served in the kitchens of the usual suspects, aka Chateaubriand, Rino, and Caffe dei Chioppi, all previously and copiously reviewed here.  Anyway, those 20-something patrons all looked so unlike anything I could remember of my youth, when neither myself nor my peers would go out for a casual dinner on a Friday evening and drop the equivalent of 40€ for a 4-course meal (already upped from July's 35€), or 47€ with cheese, or 65€ or 77€ accompanied by chef-selected glasses of wines, at one of the  aspiring trendier venues in the big city.  And given the no-choice fixed menu (see below), it's not like they could enact a 'why don't we take one plate and one dessert and share' policy.  No sled-riding for these young comers, probably sent off to the Alps by their well-heeled parents for indulgent ski vacations.

Given the lack of choice for food, I had extra time to peruse the wine list, and as I began my perusal, it was all Greek to me - actually, it was Italian, but you know what I mean.  At least the first four choices were Italian, and given our very satisfactory bottle last weekend at Vilia, Co. and I decided to continue with a good thing.  No Sardinian offerings this time, Roseval's Italian reds were from the Piedmont region and once again, I had no clue.  That's where our bouncy waitress, another exuberant Le Chateaubriand refugee, began to give advice, droning on in French to the point at which my addled brain was saying 'flip a coin.'  I was mildly admonished for leaning toward the two more reasonably-priced 'classical' bottles - whatever the hell that's supposed to mean - and not the heavily pushed 60€ bottle that seemed to be the bee's knees according to the waitress.  When the dust cleared, I ordered the 38€ 'classical' Langhe Nebbiolo 2010 (Babaresco), much to her apparent chagrin.  It was fine, but didn't turn out to reach the heights of Vilia's Sardinian.

The meal got off to a great start, albeit lacking a mise en bouche.  One of our neighbors, waiting for her gentleman companion, was brought a small plate of little white tidbits, likely some cheese, but perhaps some cubes of sugar that were never offered with my end of meal cafe, so if you want a mise en bouche at Roseval, tell your companion to circle the neighborhood for about a half hour before parking and you'll probably get one.  The great start was the dish of casserons (pulpe), poireau, and an egg yolk.  My photo is somewhat blurry, but this inky dish was terrific, with each ingredient making perfect sense in enhancing its overall Gestalt.  We greedily lopped up the vestigial ink with some very good country bread.

 

Talk about coming back to earth with a thud.  The cepes (enveloped in a single ravioli circle) - moelle - cresson follow-up didn't do much for me.  Served cold and very green, this one brought more pleasure to look at than to eat.

Ranked right in the middle in terms of pleasure-giving effect, the canette - betterave dish was pretty good, but absolutely smothered in betterave, both the red and white varieties.  Apparently the duo chefs knew better than we did how we prefer our meat to be cooked, because we weren't asked.  I had no complaint in that regard, but Co. was a bit disappointed the canette wasn't bloodier, although I'm not sure the dish could have gotten much redder.  The dish was half-eaten before it occurred to me that I hadn't photographed it, so here's what was left by the time the realization hit me.  If you are a long-time reader of this blog, you know I'm a big proponent of the potential wonders of cooking with betterave, but this one was a bit overwhelming.

At this juncture, our waiter brought us a freebie lead-in to the dessert, a very tasty cup of panna cotta.  I didn't mention the waiter yet, did I?  How could I forget.  This guy, albeit competent in serving, started grating on my nerves about halfway through the meal.  I don't know, there is something about a guy looking about 16 with that holier-than-thou smirk masquerading as a smile that seems to beckon 'hit me' that gets to me.  For some reason, he kept reminding me of Neil Patrick Harris's Doogie Howser, the precocious teen doctor of sit-com fame, which I guess is pretty funny.

Like frere Doogie, the dessert was competent, continuing the multitudinous sauce motif, though hardly spectacular.

With dinner done, I opted for a cafe and intoned to Co. that 'there will be no accompanying patisseries, mark my word.'  Little did I realize that there would be no accompanying sugar, either.  True, I never take sugar in my coffee - never - but how did they know that?  This just isn't done in a French restaurant.  To add insult to injury, once the credit card machine was brought to the table and I paid (total: 121€), frere Doogie brought Co.'s coat to the table and draped it over her chair.  No. 2 in things that just aren't done in French restaurants.  What is the message here?  Okay, you paid, now get the hell outta here.'  Sorry, here we pay and we linger - the French way.  It's not like there were customers waiting outside for a second serving.  I was a little taken aback when Co. beckoned the exuberant waitress to the table to point these things out, because Co. usually is pretty subdued, especially after half a bottle of wine, but the 'it happens' and 'he means well,' explanations definitely fell a bit short.

So what to make of Roseval?  Two talented chefs, no question (see Alexander Lobrano's photos of what appeared to be a more satisfying set of choices than we experienced, and from whence I borrowed the interior photo above) and a charming location, but the owners come up short with regard to customer relationship acumen.  It must be nice to pay one's dues at some successful venues in town and open up a spot where you can kibbitz with your 20-something friends, but the rest of us expect some respect.  Ultimately, you find more empty tables, like the one I don't intend to occupy again.  Rosebud, Rosebud, where art thou Rosebud?

Mr. Kane was a man who got everything he wanted and then lost it. Maybe Rosebud was something he couldn't get, or something he lost. Anyway, it wouldn't have explained anything... I don't think any word can explain a man's life. No, I guess Rosebud is just a... piece in a jigsaw puzzle... a missing piece.

          Jerry Thompson, Citizen Kane reporter 

        

ROSEVAL
1 rue D'Eupatoria
75020 Paris
tel: 09 53 56 24 14
website: www.roseval.fr