Le Villaret - Mort's Pick

Yes, yes, I know, ‘Mort’s Pick’ is a pretty lame blog instalment heading, but as you probably know if you’ve been a regular follower of this blog, Le Villaret has long been one of my preferred bistrots in the French capital. And if you can think up a snappily witty twist on ‘Le Villaret,’ I will eat my beret. Le Villaret is all about the food, so who needs gimmicky teasers anyway?

At any rate, my last visit to this venue, just a short walk from the Parmentier metro stop on the unimposing and discreet rue Ternaux, was a little unsettling, as all the familiar faces – owner and staff – were gone. As I eventually was informed that the restaurant had changed owners, I was relieved to see the familiar chef Olivier poking his head from the kitchen as he always seems wont to do. Nonetheless, Co. and I arrived on Friday night with some degree of trepidation, not knowing what, if any, changes the V. had undergone. And, I am happy to report, the changes are few and positive. Standing out among the positives is an extremely affordable 32€ menu, featuring three or four choices for a 3-course meal. I always expected to pay a bit more than usual at Le V., primarily because a la carte was essentially the only choice. Now, in addition to the standard menu, there also is an affordable menu de degustation for 50€.

I’ve always found the V. to be comfortable and welcoming. The relatively small-sized interior is handsomely short of who gives a ratatouille, with some timber strips along the walls suggestive of an earlier life as ski lodge. If you arrive shortly after 8 p.m., as we generally do, you can expect the near empty dining room to be filled and convivial by the time you’ve consumed your mis-en-bouche, entrée, and one-third of your bottle of wine. But enough about atmosphere, as mentioned, the V. is all about food. I was immediately attracted to the 32€ menu, and had already decided on the following lineup by the time Co. had foraged her reading glasses out of her purse:
Entrée: Salade tiede de bulots et pomme de terre et vinegrette. Plat: Filets de rouget poeles et pancetta, fenouil a la grecque et olives de sicile. Dessert: Le baba ua rhum, crème vanillas, salade de mangue a la citronelle.

I was smugly satisfied at the alacrity of my decision making, as the ultimately accommodating waitress began to answer Co’s questions about whether it would be possible to order an entrée from the menu a la carte, from which it was mysteriously absent. And by the time I had drifted into contemplation about whatever lofty thoughts had drifted into my Bunnahabhain single malt-crossed mind, I was quickly lured into a discussion about the possibility of swapping the joues de porc offering on the 50€ menu de degustation (MEG), which I do not eat, for a fish alternative. (As is always the case, with the MEG, it is all or nothing – if one person orders it, everyone at the table must abide.) One glance in Co’s direction, and I realized that asking her to forego the MEG, with its promised langoustines and coquille St. Jacques would have serious repercussions during the remainder of the weekend, so the Mort abides, the Mort abides.

As I try to interpret my generally incoherent notes, please follow to the best of your ability my description of the 6-course meal (including two dessert courses), misspellings included. The festivities began with a mis-en-bouche consisting of a crème de courgette, a hint of pleasures to come. First up from the menu was another soup, this time a crème de rouget with small morsels of corizzo and croutons. This was a fish soup off the beaten path, yet without doubt it worked. Moving on to solids, the next entrée consisted of queues de langoustine with salade de mache, round baked potato chips (for want of a better term), and xeres vinagrette. This was excellent – the three meaty strips of langoustine (including two tails) were sweet and delectable, their flavor enhanced, not diluted by the xeres. This dish was followed by another winner consisting of the coquilles St. Jacques simmering in a sea of lentils au foie gras. I suppose these dishes were supposed to serve as entrees, but were uncommonly sized for a degustation menu, which more typical of Paris restaurants substitutes breadth for quantity. As Co. welcomed the arrival of her joues de porc with persil, I rejoiced at the arrival of my replacement fish, the rouget dish I had contemplated from the start. Neither of us found any reason to complain at this fortuitous turn of events. The two desserts represented odd and unanticipated choices. First up was a dish consisting of two ice creams (chocolate and guanaco) and a sliver of qumquat. Long before the finale, some sort of pear concoction with mint grand duque, Co. had grown pale before the quantity of food we were consuming. I was holding up fine, but then I hadn’t eaten a crepe stuffed with confecture before leaving home as had my lovely, but somewhat undisciplined dinner companion. Once again, my philosophy is as it has always been, single malt whiskey, oui, crepe, non, especially when a degustation menu awaits.

By the time I was busy draining the last two drops out of the excellent Corbieres La Pompadour 2007 Castelmaur (25€) and contemplating lofty thoughts involving the aforementioned langoustines, I noticed the elegant chap sitting at the next table offer from his finger (!) a taste of a white sauce that had accompanied his dessert to Co. The finger to finger swap left Co. in a bit of a flustered dilemma, but ever polite, she obliged, and upon tasting the truffle sauce agreed that it was more than inappropriate for a dessert. The sauce was quickly replaced by a more dessert-friendly white sauce which – all things fair in finger to finger combat – our neighbor obliged me to try, only this time it, thankfully, arrived by spoon. Le Villaret – it’s that kind of place. Friendly, subtle, and inconspicuous, but always surprising.

LE VILLARET
13, rue Ternaux
75011 Paris
tel. 01 43 57 75 56
no web site (too bad!)
Closed: Saturday lunch and Sunday

Note: Valentine's Day dinner at La Dinee, albeit two days before the actual event, was another great choice, as expected. While the meal didn't reach the heights of our visit last summer, it did not disappoint. What did disappoint were the numerous empty tables in the restaurant. A cold, unfriendly late Winter Friday night, two days before Valentine's Day may, in part, explain the lack of diners, but La Dinee definitely merits our support.

Le Vilgacy – Gagny With a Spoon

Continuing the tour of the Parisian Netherlands (aka Seine-Saint-Denis), next up, Gagny, the last stop before I re-focus on Paris. I had eaten at Le Vilgacy once before, a lazy, hazy summer evening about 3 years ago, when it seemed that every other restaurant in the Paris metropolitan area was either closed or sleeping. My memory of that evening is rather dim, but I vaguely remember Co. and I having the place largely to ourselves. Situated on a quiet, residential street—a relatively short stroll from the train station—if it weren’t for the vertical neon “Restaurant” sign out front, you’d half think you were out for a quiet evening at the neighbors. Well, however vague my recollections of that first visit may have been, I do remember that we were surprisingly pleased by the effort made by the chef to add some creativity to traditional French dishes. So when Co. happened to espy Le Vilgacy on a list of Michelin-recommended restaurants in the Paris metro area, we decided it was time for a return visit.

Once again, I’m compelled to say that you can’t go very wrong by venturing out to the Paris suburbs for a change of pace, and with its intimate little courtyard in the front, Le Vilgacy could be particularly entrancing once the weather turns warm (unfortunately, that wasn’t possible during our first visit). The recent visit, deep in the throes of a frigid February, found the warm and welcoming interior close to filled. First to the agenda, then to the details about what Le Vilgacy gets right and where it goes wrong. First up, a mise en bouche, which consisted of a medium-sized shot glass filled with a homard mousse and a tiny slice of magret fumé. As per our usual wont, we went with the three-course “menu,” which to our delight, also included a fourth course of cheese (sequentially, course #3, of course). Co. started off with the entreé croustillant de St. Jacques au coulis de poissons rouge, a delicately prepared dish that I would have opted for had Co. not gotten to it first. Instead, to better sample the carte sans redundancy, I went with the uninspired salad buissonniere aux deux magrets. There’s not much you can do with such a dish, which makes me wonder why it was added to the menu in the first place, but it was a change of pace to have two types of duck slices. Prior to the second course, we were provided with a refreshing palate cleansing in the form of a glass of pamplemousse (grapefruit) ice—non-alcoholic, you can’t have everything. For the main dishes, I selected the ballottine de volaille aux ecrevisse, whereas Co. swam with the fishes with her steak d’espadon roti ratatouille au basilic. Once again, I think for originality, Co. had the edge with the swordfish steak and its subtle tomato-basil accompaniment. My surgical attack on the three crawfish lined up in a row in the savory brown sauce that covered the chicken revealed nary a morsel worthy of ingestion—one by one they ended up in Co.’s delicate hands, which always seem to prove to have more shellfish probing potential than my clumsy mitts. Next up, the aforementioned cheese course, and for a ‘menu’ addition, it was pleasing for once to have the entire array brought by tray to the table for perusal, rather than to have the selection made for us (usually that selection will be nothing more than a dab of camenbert and chevre). For dessert, we were seduced by the delice chocolate framboise (me) and bavarois aux peches au caramel chaud (Co.), both amply satifying terminal stops. All of which was washed down by a vibrant 2004 Saumer, Manoir de la Tete Rouge 253, which I strongly recommend (34€).

In short, after two visits to Le Vilgacy, I’d have to conclude that the restaurant clearly warrants a trip out to Gagny, with reliably interesting dishes that stray not very far from traditional French cooking. At Le Vilgacy, you also will be warmly welcomed by the owner who, I can assure you, will strike up a conversation with you at your table. That is always nice, to be warmly welcomed in a French restaurant without having the waitstaff treating you as if you have plague and, even healthy, would not be worthy of sharing the same air, much less a table in their restaurant. But this is where Le Vilgacy gets into some trouble, the waitstaff. No, it is not a problem of excess haughtiness, it is that there appears not to be a waitstaff. With two rooms to tend to and one owner doing all the work, the festivities rather quickly slow to a crawl (was that an oxymoron?). A slow crawl. No, a very slow crawl. And with extended conversations at each table, my best suggestion is to take along your copy of War and Peace, which you should be able to knock off rather efficiently between courses. The explanation this time, when I sort of “ahem-ed” in response to the query about whether the service might not have been a tad slow, was that the help hadn’t shown up that night. Curiously, the owner had mentioned that as a constant thorn during our first visit to the restaurant. My suggestion—hire someone competent and reliable. Surely, there’s a “Hiring Restaurant Help for Nuls” tome out there for assistance.

Le Vilgacy does a lot of things right—a reasonably priced menu (35€), good quality dishes, warm atmosphere, a couple mise en bouches offered along the way. With the chatty owner, before too long, you find that another table or two have joined your discussion. For our part, it was the implications of the French smoking ban, which according to the owner, has driven some patrons outside for a smoke, left turn to their car, and back on the road. . . without paying! When Co. jealously inquired as to why a couple tables had received a crème bruleé with foie gras (one of her un-guilty pleasures) mis en bouche and we hadn’t (answer: they had ordered an aperatif), it wasn’t long before the owner had brought the tasty tidbit to our table gratis. A bit more courageous experimentation in the kitchen and a waiter or two could propel this restaurant to greater heights.

LE VILGACY
46, av. Henri Barbusse
93220 GAGNY
tel.: 01 43 81 23 33

website: http://www.vilgacy.com/

Total: two 4-course menus + wine = 104€

Next up: Yours truly will take Co. for St. Valentine’s dinner (two days before the actual event) for a return to La Dinée, a sure thing, you can bet on it.

Shalimar - An Indian in the Suburb

Have to keep discovering new places, I keep telling myself, so where do Co. and I end up for our first 2010 foray into Paris and beyond? Back to a sure thing, Les Magnolias, the Jean Chauvel gem in the beyond of Le Perreux-sur-Marne. What more to say that I haven’t already said about this Michelin restaurant, other than that Monsieur Chauvel keeps experimenting and modifying the mysterious and unexpected carte—for example, Cabillaud rôti au four au “Moromi 3 ans d’âge” laqué de sesame noir soufflé (main dish) and Macaron rougi de “Grenade – Campari” et cassante Opaline scintillante ganache au chocolat lacté (dessert, wow). Ferran Adrià of El Bulli in Spain, the consensus pick for most famous restaurant in the world, must take a two year vacation (2012-13) to figure out how to upgrade his menu. M. Chauvel just keeps on keeping on.

Sticking to the sticks, our second stop in January happened to be a couple Paris suburbs over from Le Perreux in Rosny-sous-Bois, where we returned for the 30th or 40th time to our favorite Indian restaurant in the Paris metropolitan area, Shalimar. But first some background. Welcome to Rosny – otherwise known as the gastronomic wasteland to the east. Just a short, 16-minute ride on the RER E from Gare du Nord and one short block walking from the Rosny-sous-Bois train station, Shalimar is a pearl in the wasteland. For a rapidly-growing, multicultural suburb of Paris (pop. nearing 50,000), where one finds a populace ranging from gleaners rifling through the trash bins at after-hours Fran Prix to high-powered plumbers, ingénues, and Paris Opera dancers, there is not a gourmet restaurant in site. Oh, you have your oddly named “Pro Evolution Snack” spot and assorted pizzerias and Turkish sandwich shops, along with the eminently avoidable El Rancho Tex-mex facsimile at the Rosny 2 commercial center, but the closest to anything gastronomic would have to be Monteuil’s Villa 9 Trois (which we found disappointing in the early days and never went back) and the aforementioned Les Magnolias. Which brings us to the ever-popular and always packed (at least on weekends) Shalimar.

What’s so great about Shalimar? Well, it’s not that the food is exceptionally creative, gourmand, or original - it is just plain excellent (Tandori and curry specialties) and, oh yeah, the prices can’t be beat. Need I say more? Probably not, but as usual, I will anyway. Once seated in one of the two relatively small, but comfortable rooms (seating for 50), after a warm greeting by the Pakistani owner, an aperatif (rosé kir) is offered, along with a pampadon. You can find the full, never-changing (my one main gripe) carte online at the restaurant’s website, so I’ll just focus on my favorites. For an entrée, there are two exceptional hits here, the cailles tandoori (two succulent Cornish hens accompanied by tomatoes, cucumbers, lemon, and some lettuce, 8€) and the gambas tandoori (one of the costliest items on the menu, but well worth it for a couple mammoth-sized, extremely tasty shrimp, 17€). Either entrée, accompanied by dessert, would essentially sate a moderate appetite. Glutton that I am, I typically follow up the entrée with a fish dish, and my current favorite is the Machi Shaslik, a copious, grilled plate of chunks of tandoori fish with generous amounts of thinly diced red and green peppers that arrives at the table still sizzling. Not quite spicy enough for my taste, the owner obliges my predilection for 5-alarm hotness and often slips a spicy plate of curry sauce as a go-with. The sauce is impeccable – it’s slow-building fire doesn’t overwhelm the taste of the fish, only enhances it. A side order of raita (yogurt and cucumbers, 4€) provides a nice counterbalance, along with a plate of palak paneer (Indian cheese cooked with curried spinach, 8€) or dal tadka (lentils, 7€). Co. typically opts for a lamb dish, of which there are ten possibilities to select from.

Sandwiched in-between the pampadon and the entrée is the Indian bread, if one goes that route, and what other route is there? At Shalimar, I highly recommend the stuffed paratha, accompanied by a small tray with bowls of Indian pickles, mint sauce, and a sweet mango chutney. The stuffed paratha (3.50€) is a flat, lightly fried bread about the size of a small pizza, stuffed with ground vegetables. All told, our typical bill usually runs around 60-65€ for two – one cailles dish, two main plates, two side orders, Indian bread, and a bottle of wine. Try to beat that.

As much as I’ve desired to finish off a meal at Shalimar with dessert (the Shalimar halwah has caught my eye), it has never been possible, even for a glutton like your’s truly. One day, perhaps. Nonetheless, as regular customers, it is nice to know that a cognac (for me) and mango lassi (for Co.) will accompany l’addition. Treat your customers well and they will come back – voila, Shalimar’s secret for success.

SHALIMAR
25, rue du General LeClerc
93110 Rosny-sous-Bois
tel: 01 48 54 00 41
(directions available at website; carryout possible)

Note: It would be unfair to write off other possible stopping points for food in Rosny, however few they may be. I can recommend the more than serviceable Moroccan restaurant just a couple doors from Shalimar, Le Maroc (17, rue du Général Leclerc, tel. 0148 94 71 07), which serves up some very nice tagines at user-friendly prices. And there is a Japanese venue in the center of town scheduled for opening in a couple weeks. Sign of better days to come for foodies in Rosny?

Paris Restaurant Musings at the End of a Decade

I promised to continue my tour of the rue Oberkampf restaurant scene and, as far as I’m concerned, a promise is a promise. A couple years ago, Le Café Charbon, a Paris institution and one of the oldest cafes in the capital, was beginning to do some interesting things with the food, although this has always been more of a drinking establishment than restaurant, hovering somewhere in-between neighborhood and trendy. I remember some decent lunches and a fairly understated but eclectic dinner menu, as I fuelled up before concerts in the groovy back room (the chandeliered Le Nouveau Casino). My last visit, sometime last Fall, suggests that they’ve given up on the food. Casual reigned, with burgers, salads, and the like ruling the day. Too bad, but I still consider it my first option in the area if I want to while away some hours chatting with a friend over drinks. Not the greatest selection of single malts, but what can I say, sometimes you have to slum it. And despite the comments online about Le Charbon being snobbish or apathetic or cold, well, if you can’t handle what often passes as Parisian warmth, there’s always Cleveland.

At any rate, a couple weeks ago, there I was in Le Charbon musing over the state of the world, humanity, and other sundry topics, with my Jamaican friend, Rastaman. I was in a Jack Daniels kind of mood and R-man was in a hot chocolate sort of mood – you can’t account for tastes – and so on we mused, both of us gradually warming up in our own idiosyncratic ways. Before the clock hit 8:30 p.m., we both realized that we had warmed up enough to start thinking about other needs, such as food, and with the words ‘casual’ and ‘cheap’ and ‘no reservation on a Friday night’ entering into our musings, we headed out the door and straight ahead, across the street to another Oberkampf institution, L’Occitanie. Only when I took a gander at the façade and awning did I have the odd impression of the something was happening here, but you don't know what it is, do you, Mister Jones variety. There was the old reliable next-door neighbor, Chez Justine (oddly, all closed up for the evening!), and viola!, the name L’Occitanie up there in the upper right corner of the front wall. Not exactly the bright neon variety, I nonetheless felt assured that I hadn’t taken a wrong turn in Denmark, or something like that. As I later learned, this was L’Occitanie no more, having been replaced by a third Au Pied de Fouet location in the city during the Spring of 2008. Am I out of the loop, or am I out of the loop? Originally installed in in the 7th (45, rue de Babylone) some 150 years ago, a second Au Pied was inaugurated in the Latin Quarter (3, rue Saint Benoit) in 2007. And then there was a third, all specializing in southwest cuisine.

We squeezed through the body-challenged entrance to find a boisterous, packed room of Parisians doing what packed rooms of Parisians often do, happily eating, drinking, and conversing. Sans reservation, Rasta and I stood in the front for a short five minutes at which time a tiny square of a table suddenly materialized amidst the others and we squeezed in. I’m sure I’ve already commented about the close seating in many Parisian restaurants. Well, Au Pied gives new meaning to the word ‘close.’ Think intimate, think people at the next table sitting on your lap. But no one seemed to mind, so why should we? This is the sort of place that positively reeks of old Paris. Think simplicity, authenticity, cheap. My shrimp appetizer, for example, consisted of a half dozen whole, peeled shrimp lying naked side by side on my plate next to a glop of mayo. Not exactly creative, but with the Chinon and bread, guess what? This did the job. I followed this with a confit de canard ‘Maison,’ (10.50€), which arrived with the duck sitting on a bed of mashed potatoes, pieces of duck perfectly cook, falling without effort off the bone. Simple but hearty. Rastaman went with the supreme de volaille and had good things to say about the sauce (as in ‘this sauce is really good’). For dessert, we continued with the tried and true, a tarte Tintin and a daily special rhubarb tarte. All for the ridiculous price of 48€ (wine, one appetizer, two plates, two desserts, one café). No wonder they are packing them in like sardines.

It wasn’t much more than a week or two before the aforementioned foray along Oberkampf that I was back with the Moose for an impromptu dinner at L’Estaminet, about a block further along rue Oberkampf. This is another establishment that can best be described as friendly, young, and packed. So packed that, after a ten minute wait at the bar, we were reluctantly guided downstairs to a room that the waitstaff had hoped to close off for the rest of the evening. This was the first time since the smoking ban that I had been in the cavelike rooms in the restaurant and the first time I could actually breathe as I ate my meal. At L’Estaminet, there is more of an effort than you find at Au Pied to add a little creativity to the preparation of dishes and my verdict on this occasion was that the results are hit and miss. The hit was my risotto aux cepes et magret fumé entrée (7€), a big surprise, given that this dish has often been a big disappointment elsewhere (Oslo being the most recent I can recall). This was tasty and warming, with copious slices of magret and I would go back for that dish alone. My main dish, however, the nage St. Jacques et rougets, coulis de langoustine vapeurs et legumes (17€), was the reverse – a big disappointment for a highly anticipated dish. The sauce and diced vegetables overwhelmed the scallops and rouget, and by the time I was halfway through, I was bored.

Now just a hop, skip, and jump away from the new decade (the 10s?), out of curiosity I pulled out my old agenda for January 2000 to find out how I started the decade eating-wise. There it was, clear as day, one of my favorite bistrots in the 11th, not far from Oberkampf, but closer to Parmentier, Le Villaret. This is a restaurant that I sorely neglected this year, with only one visit since the new ownership arrived. This is definitely on my list to review for 2010.

Before ringing in the new, my hat (if I had one) is off to the meal of the year, personally speaking, at Ze Kitchen Galerie, during a recent dinner with Co. and our pardners from Texas, J. L. and Tina ‘Brigitte’ Marie. Unfortunately, without notes and without an updated menu at Ze’s website, I can’t provide a description of my entrée that would do it justice, but it was a slightly cooked piece of dorade with thinly-sliced pieces of ginger and mango. Intriguing, creative, delicious. For the plate, I opted for the canard de ‘challans’ and foie gras grilles, jus betterave, and ginger. Wow. One last time, year of the beet. And, of course, the white chocolate, wasabi, pistachio sauce, and green tea epic dessert. I almost forgot what a killer dessert that is. Almost.

A dinner with Co. at the Mark Singer restaurant La Cave Gourmande, came a close second. With my notes long since having disappeared (new year’s resolution no. 1: keep notes!), it is literally a meal beyond description. The restaurant with two names, two large rooms, and one petite waitress (Mrs. Mark Singer?), the meal was creative and pretty close to perfection. Details to come, after next visit, I promise. But that dinner at Ze Kitchen was at that level beyond perfection. I can’t wait to go back. Bring on the 10s, I’m ready.

CAFÉ CHARBON
109, rue Oberkampf
Tel: 01 43 57 55 13
no website

AU PIED DE FOUET
96, rue Oberkampf
Tel: 01 48 06 46 98
Website: http://www.aupieddefouet.com/France/Presentation/11eme

L’ESTAMINET
116 rue Oberkampf
Tel: 01 43 57 34 29
no website

MARK SINGER RESTAURANT LA CAVE GOURMANDE
10, rue du Général Brunet
Tel: 01 40 40 03 30
no website

ZE KITCHEN GALERIE
4, rue des Grands Augustins
Tel: 01 44 32 00 32
website: http://www.zekitchengalerie.fr

Le Marsangy – Gotta Lovett

A lot of catching up to do. With Parisians finally bundling up against the first cold wave of the season, and none too soon I might add, those corner bistrots, brasseries, and cafés in the capital look even more tempting than usual, warm and inviting. And I’ve been taking advantage. The blogger’s plight: so many restaurants in Paris, so little time.

Sandwiched around a terrific meal at Mark Singer’s La Cave Gourmande and leading up to what no doubt will stand as my dinner of the year on Monday night at one of Paris Restaurant and Beyond’s faves, Ze Kitchen Galerie, there were more than a few meals I never got around to reviewing. The blogger’s plight, redux. A couple of casual, traditional haunts in the 11th were worthy of note and memory (the others long forgotten). One of which was Le Marsangy on avenue Parmentier, a no-frills, solid bistrot with fresh ingredients, a carefully chosen wine list, and a proprietor (or patron-chef d'orchestre, as one customer reviewer put it) who increasingly reminded me of Lyle Lovett the deeper I got into the Pinot Noir (that's the real Lyle to the left, by the way). Le Marsangy is a rather small establishment, but nonetheless, I had less a feeling of other diners breathing down my conversation than in much larger venues. I remember wood, glass, and a lived-in feel, just like you’d expect from a neighborhood bistrot in Paris off the tourist trail. My pate salé de caille with lentilles was original without
flamboyance. Along the way, Co. appreciated her wild boar (sanglier au airelles), but was disappointed with the giant shell pasta in lieu of a preferably more compatable mashed potato accompaniment. Hey, it was a try. Co. had much kinder words for her panacotta aux cerises dessert, and the plat de fromage was formidable, from which I constructed one of my more memorable selections of cheese this year.

The aforementioned Pinot Noir went down well with our plates, but a bit too light for my taste. Next time, I’ll ask Lyle for advice, because I have a feeling he certainly could be helpful. This is someone who obviously takes his wine seriously, the entire list reproduced exquisitely on the far wall, a job that must have been quite an undertaking. The blogger’s plight: so many bottles, so little time.

Overall, for a three-course meal for two, with a bottle of wine, the tab came to a reasonable 87€. Le Marsagny isn’t the sort of place you go hunting for the gourmandise experience, but it’s the sort of place you’d be happy to spend a comfortable evening with friends. I just wish I had a bistrot like this in my neighborhood.

LE MARSANGY
73, avenue Parmentier
75011 Paris
tel. 01 47 00 94 25
Web site: none

Coming Next: More From the 11th.

Hotel du Nord - Not in Kansas Anymore

As the French rentrée reared its predictable head back in early September, I sat sipping my second, or was it third, copiously poured glass of brother Jack D. at the Cork & Cavan pub along the Canal St. Martin, listening to the Moose enthusiastically impart his stories about his habitual haunts along the adjoining Quai de Jemmapes. When he mentioned the hordes of youthful, trendy Parisians congregating outside the Hotel du Nord just up the quai, I made a mental note to check out the hotel’s restaurant menu. The rest is history: For our latest dinner excursion, Co. and I ventured over to the Hotel du Nord to see what all the fuss was about.

Our evening began with some sick stories from the bartender and a couple of his colleagues with whom we were bantering as we waited for the final preparations of the dining room. Hotel du Nord, which dates back to 1885, is a venue along the canal immortalized by the Marcel Carne film of the same name, the one where Arletty yelps, ‘Atmosphere! Atmosphere! Atmosphere!' and then storms away from Louis Jouvet. That’s right, definitely not in Kansas anymore. As the bartender recounted the history of the drink Le Petit Gregoire – trust me, you don’t want to know –it became eminently clear that the youthful staff actually enjoyed themselves on the job,quite a change from the more typical waitstaff at some of the other noted venues in town, where pained expressions and tightly buttoned waistcoats rule the day. At the bar, we sipped glasses of St. Nicolas while we took in the – for want of a better term – atmosphere.

Once seated, we perused a menu pretty close to the one at HDN’s website. I went with the salade chinoise craquante (9€) and the millefeuille de thon cru à la japonaise, artichauts marineés et petals de tomate séchée (15€). In this case, my entrée was far from inspiring, but the millefeuille main dish was really terrific – multi-layered with a finely baked pastry and lightly cooked tuna, perfectly complemented by the artichokes and dried tomatoes. Co. also was rather disappointed by her entrée of raviolis de chevre frais au basilic et copeaux de parmesan (9€), both from a quality and quantity perspective, but appreciated the main dish, noix de saint Jacques, buerre d’orange, quinoa rouge et legumes croquantes (23€). So a real switch – for once a restaurant that excels at the main courses rather than the appetizers, whereas we often find this to be the other way round. Whether this has anything to do with the relatively youthful crowd and, we noticed, their tendency to stick to budget by only ordering a main dish, is mere conjecture or the part of your’s truly. Our meal was washed down with a Pinot Noir Bourgogne Maison Louis Latour 2007 (28 euros), and it must have been pretty good because it was emptied well before our twin cheesecake cassoulet deconstructé (I know this doesn’t sound right, but it’s what I have in my notes, albeit roughly scribbled after finishing that Pinot) arrived. Our 3-course dinner, with wine and espresso came to a respectable 112.40€.

When you dine at HDN, you get the whole experience. True, pretty decent food at
fairly reasonable prices if you choose carefully. But it’s not just about the food – it’s about the trendy bobo clientele, the gothic waitresses, the bawdy bartenders, and the interesting ambiance. In short, it’s all about the atmosphere.

HOTEL DU NORD
102 Quai de Jemmapes
75010 Paris
tel. 01 40 40 78 78
website: www.hoteldunord.org

Le Barracão – Driftin’

Drifting along the always effervescent rue Oberkampf in Paris 11 the other night, a distinct Autumn chill firmly in air, I needed a venue to slake a hunger I worked up after another tough day of the racket that I call work. On my way to Le Vin Qui Danse at 128, I instead stumbled into Le Barracão at 108 after a quick glance at the slate menu hanging out front. Trust me, the stumbling nature of aforesaid evening goes directly against my principle of never venturing into a restaurant in Paris by chance alone. But for some reason, maybe the Charlie Byrd Brazilian albums I’d been listening to recently and the espadon on the menu, I decided, why not?

A narrow and relatively small establishment with prominent bar in the front room, I was led into a cozy, candlelit back room. Looking at the Brazilian flag draped across the ceiling and the decrepit posters to my right, interesting wall mural on the left, I recalled having been in this place before, at least a decade ago with Co., deep in the heart of our Routarde period. It thus goes without saying that this is a good sign – longevity – especially in the Oberkampf/St. Maur area where restaurants and bars come and go like the whims of a schizophrenic Gemini (old stalwarts like Le Café Charbon and Occitanie excluded, of course). Nonetheless, I wasn’t born yesterday, and I know that largely with the exception of Asiatic and N. African, when Paris goes ethnic, the result tends to be mediocre at best (Italian, Spanish), and often just plain awful (Tex-Mex).

I knew I was in trouble when I glanced at the one-paged cardboard menu. I knew this because it was so dark I could not see a single word on the menu, even with the aid of my reading glasses and paper-thin metro map magnifying glass. I nearly set the thing on fire with the little table candle, at which point the waitress kindly brought me a miniature flashlight. It’s one thing to dim the lights to convey a romantic atmosphere, quite another to invite patrons to role-play the blind. Was there something they didn’t want us to see, like, for instance, the food? Anyway, the flashlight was a nice touch – it is definitely going on my Xmas list.

As for the food, I can say it did the job with dishes that probably hadn’t been altered one iota since my original visit back in the ‘90s. I launched the evening’s festivities with a half litre bottle of Chilean rouge (13€), which reeked so intensely of cork that I nearly swooned. Thankfully, the waitress swooped it off the table with an alacrity that suggested much practice, leading me to contemplate once again the eventual demise of the cork altogether. Not one for cocktails (I prefer my liquor straight up), Le Barracão looks like a good bet if that’s your thing. Two young couples at a nearby table seemed to be perfectly satisfied with their mojitos and multi-colored concoctions, and the menu listing for cocktails seemed copious.

Once my wine was replaced I was on my way to shedding the day’s tensions and kicking back. Shortly thereafter the entrée arrived, a ceviche de poisson (8€). I couldn’t really see it, but I knew it was there. I could vaguely make out a kind of circle of tartare-like fish concoction with lime, slices of avocado, salad, and tomato. The lime was essential to temper the overt fish taste, and the overall impact was my realization that I’ve had better. Still, I was hungry, warming up from the wine, and feeling pretty good, so I gave it the benefit of the doubt. This was followed by a moqueca de espadon (14.50€), a large pot of small squares of swordfish, rice, onions, and coconut. This was hot—but not in the spicy sense—and hearty, and so filling I left a few squares of swordfish, which had become a tad boring by that juncture. Overall, 35.50€ for the meal. At that price, it’s not surprising that we’re not exactly talking about authentic and/or gourmand Brazilian fare. The dead giveaway was the menu, which threw in the Mexican standards, guacamole and quesadillas. No black beans, no hot sauces, no Caetano Veloso, Chico Buarque, Djavan, or bossa nova on the soundtrack. But you can’t always get what you want. Sometimes, though, you get what you need, and in that case, Le Barracão might just do it for you.

LE BARRACÃO
108, rue Oberkampf
Paris 11
tel: 01 43 55 66 06

Note: Driftin', one of Tim Buckley's most haunting creations. I've been listening again to his Live at the Troubadour 1969. It doesn't get much better than that.