Havanita - Mother Cuba

Sweet deep Spring, me and Co. cruising the cultural circuit in Bastille on a crowded Friday night. Starting off with the final dress rehearsal, invite and press only performance of Wagner’s La Walkyrie at the Bastille Opera, a little Wagner goes a long way, so we weren't too depressed bolting after Act 1 and heading over to Café de la Danse. Tickets for the iconic Portugese musician Rodrigo Leão and his Cinema Ensemble group well in hand before getting hold of the opera ducats, so there we were, standing in the passage Louis Philippe, just off the well-trodden rue de Lappe, lingering before the doors opened a good 30 minutes late – probably should have stayed for Wagner’s Act 2. (By the way, at the snack bar at the Opera, I dropped a quick 10 spot on a thimble glass of red wine and a small bottle of water. I didn’t look at the price of the sandwiches.) On the way to the Café, I stepped into the long-standing, trendy Cuban restaurant & bar, Havanita and reserved for later in the evening – the place was already hopping at 7:30 pm.

After an extremely satisfying and impeccable performance of tango-infused Portugese
music by Leão’s ensemble, it was back to Havanita, slowly seeping through the madding crowd of trendy youth, doing their Mardi Gras thing on the packed rue de Lappe. Straight to one of the café-like tables, sinking into the deep leather chairs, we debated the merits of a

3-course meal with limited time before the last trains. Our dinner ultimately compromised by the hour, we still enjoyed a leisurely meal in the boisterous atmosphere of Havana, Paris style. This was our third, I think, visit to Havanita over the years, which I remembered more for its laid-back, casual atmosphere than its gastronomic offerings.

Barely able to comprehend the carte what with the conversations raging at a decible level just under screaming so as to be heard over the non-stop Caribbean music, we settled for an entrée split of crabe farci aux saveurs des caraïbes et son chutney de pomme (7.80€). This didn’t look nearly as good as whatever it was the guy to my left had ordered (which appeared to be some shrimp in a banana leaf or something to that effect), but better than what his date was having (guacamole d’avocat). It tasted pretty good, though, as crab should, accompanied with some greens. Maybe with all that racket in the place, it wasn’t surprising when our Iman lookalike waitress glided by and asked to be reminded of Co’s choice of plat, which happened to be pièce de boeuf grilleé d’argentine, sauce aux poivres de Jamaïque et sa pureé de patate douce (16.80€). This dish didn’t look as good as those to our left and right, and the disappointment on Co’s face told me everything I needed to know about Havanita’s beef dish. A big fan of Argentinian beef, it was evident that Co. had much better back in the day, including, coincidentally, during her trip to Cuba once upon a time. (When I mentioned to Co. how she may be the only person in Havanita to have actually visited Havana, she diplomatically corrected me – doing a quick study of the youthful clientele - by suggesting maybe not the only one, but definitely the first. Mmm, and I will probably be the last.) On a more upbeat note, I thoroughly enjoyed my main dish, the ceviche de dorade et gambas sur en lit de epinard (16.80€). This was a cold dish of marinated rectangles of dorade and, once I determined where they were (nope, not under the table), small morsels of marinated gambas. This on a bed of spinach leaves, dried tomatoes, and spidery red, white, and green sprouts. Accompanied by a side order of haricots noirs (4€ supplement), I was in heaven, not especially because the meal was so spectacular, which it wasn’t, but because it was just a nice change of pace from more typical French fare. There are many other dishes to choose from, but this is one I definitely recommend.

With time rapidly spinning by, we passed on dessert and café, despite Co’s temptation to swing for a croustillant de mangue (7.50€). That temptation was tempered when the aforementioned possibility showed up on the table to my right. Looked pretty good to me, but Co. wasn’t especially impressed. My meal was washed down with a few Cubanero beers (at 6.50€ a pop), Co. settling down to water after a long day. In short, for a post-Wagnerian tango-infused Portugese sort of late-evening meal, this was a good choice for laying back (no choice with those chairs – although there are normal tables for the less-spinally challenged) and slaking one’s appetite in a popular corner of Paris. Havanita looks like a good


spot for slaking one’s thirst as well, with a well-stocked bar and a plethora of cocktail choices on the carte. Alas, another time. For a restaurant that is more atmosphere than fabulously authentic Cuban cuisine (not even a bloody bottle of tabasco on the table! Sacre bleu!), it’s a little surprising that Havanita still packs them in after so many years, especially on a street where the neon signs change with such rapidity. It could be that Havanita has risen to the heights of a Bastille landmark, or that there are so few Cuban/Caribbean venues in Paris, who knows? But how I would love to see a truly authentic, cutting edge Southwestern American grille, Mexican cantina (though Celito Lindo next door to Havanita can be considered one of the better Mexican spots in town), Caribbean venue in Paris! Until that time, if it ever comes, spots like Havanita will have to do.




HAVANITA CAFÉ

11, rue de Lappe
75011 Paris
tel: 01 43 55 96 42
Even the website is noisy!

Agapes – Pour the Wine, Hold the Kids

Agapes – sounds familiar, doesn’t it ? So thought Co. and I as we passed the restaurant at the intersection of rue Poliveau and rue des Fossés Saint-Marcel, on our way a few doors down to L’Agrume earlier this month. Sure enough, a search reveals some other Agapes in France, one higher priced with apparently high aspirations in the 16th and one in my old vacation stomping grounds down in St. Palais in southwest France. But Co. and I are pretty sure we’ve never stepped inside any of these. If you’re not familiar with the language, the French ‘agapes’ essentially means ‘banquet’ or ‘feast’, so it’s not surprising more than one restaurateur has glommed onto it as a restaurant name. And it starts with ‘A’, meaning you’ll be listed right at the top of whatever list your restaurant is likely to be listed on. Anyway, we perused the displayed menu outside Agapes in the 5th and decided it was worth a try.

I wouldn’t dub Agapes Restaurant either the banquet place or the feast place, but I would say after our visit last Friday night that it is a worthy spot for a traditional French meal with a small degree of creative flair, reasonably priced, and tres auberge-like. Yes, I could imagine this spot somewhere out in the countryside, maybe on the way to a weekend of ski, with its warm and comfortably woodsy interior and its laid back, pleasant servers. With a smile.

One of those aforementioned servers kicked off our meal with a mise en bouche – two simple, but interesting morsels of bread accompanied by a mustard sauce. I was tempted to order a 2005 Bourgogne Pinot Noir “Louis Gras” (27.90€), only to be informed by our server that it wasn’t available – too bad, it’s been a while for the Pinot. This, however, provided the opportunity for a useful tidbit of information – he explained that the restaurant was about to go on a short hiatus for renovations and redecorating, so when you go, you will go to the ‘new and improved’ Agapes. Which explains the light stock in the cave during our visit. I settled for wine door number two, a perrenial favorite, a 2007 St Nicolas de Bourgueil “Domaine de la Cabernelle” (24.50€) – it was available and it did not disappoint. (More than once, the bottle was delicately taken from my hand by an accommodating server as I went to pour.)

The Bourgueil effectively washed down a tasty but unspectacular three course menu, priced at 30€. (The restaurant also offers a market-determined 5-course ‘Menu Gourmand’ at 56€, including apératif and café). [No food photos, but I swiped a couple representative images from the Agapes website.] I started off with an entrée of rouget barbet, accompanied by a sauce vigneronne and épinard-moelle. I really enjoyed this, but I am not a big fan of bone marrow, which essentially is what the ‘moelle’ refers to. Nonetheless, it was an inspired complement to the rouget. I was busily contemplating the little ceramic bowl inside of which rested a small cluster of greens – uhm, nope, can’t eat that part - only to eventually discover it wasn’t a ceramic bowl after all, duh, but a hollow bone, thus reflecting on the rouget preparation. The eyes – after the knees, they’re the next to go. With a 5€ supplement, Co. went with the foie gras de canard rôti, en terrine, fruits marinés (tangerines, I believe), sangria réduite. Co. is a tough cookie to crack when it comes to foie gras, having been raised on the stuff, but she seemed satisfied with this preparation.

On to the plates – for a main course I threw caution to the wind and ordered what normally isn’t my preference – unlike rouget, which is always high up on my ‘I want that’ scale – rabbit! Auberge, France, lapin – I don’t know about you, but they seem to go together for me, so there it was, râble de lapin fermier (i.e., the meaty breast), ses abats au beurre d’escargot, amandes grillées. Bearing in mind I am not a lapin connaisseur, this did the job for me, even if it didn’t knock my socks off, or untie my shoes even. Co. opted for the poisson de jour from Brittany which, if memory serves me correct, was a cabaillaud. I had a couple tastes and it was fresh and well-pepared. For dessert, I had a diet deadly Le cacao, basically a chocolate pudding with tuile craquante. I admit it, I’m a sucker for anything craquante in a dessert, so just stick that word in the description (in this case, crème et tuile craquante, viennois au fruit de la passion) and I am hooked. Just take that ‘craquante’ out of the description and what happens? You don’t want it. Well, this turned out to be pretty tasty. Co. took the orange-kiwi (minestrone au marsala, biscuit pistache) and seemed, well, to tell you the truth, I don’t know what she seemed. So there you have it, two 3-course menus, wine, and 2 cafés, for a total 92.30€.

Drum roll, please, it is now time for my monthly tirade. Having arrived rather early, we were seated in the roomier back room and it seemed like the place to be. By the main dish I was fully convinced how misguided our choice was, after glancing at the serene, calm atmosphere in the smaller and more somber front room. Directly behind our table, two couples who happened to bring along for dinner at a fine Parisian establishment – I hope you are sitting down – children! Two of whom were tamed, and the other, the young one dressed in a Batman T, untamed, with enormously distressing consequences. Now, one thing about eating out with Co. is that she always picks the seat facing the interior of the restaurant, leaving me contemplating activities on the street (if there’s a window) or the facing wall, where hopefully there is some artwork that I can memorize every fine detail of by dessert; otherwise, it comes down to, ‘is that an insect?’ So usually when we leave a restaurant, Co. will say something like, ‘hey Mort, you know that guy sitting a few tables away who…’ and I will respond with ‘there was another guy in the restaurant?’ Anyway, at first, I just assumed that those noises I kept hearing during my entrée were someone’s jungle sounds CD playing from next door, but by the time the little imp was lifting sugarcubes from the bowl accompanying my coffee, I
realized a ‘jungle music okay, but no kids allowed’ policy might not be misguided. True, I imagine most Parisian restaurateurs simply assume, what unthinking rubes would dare bring un enfant – a child, mon Dieu! – into my wonderfully French restaurant? Of course, this will not happen here! So in lieu of a ‘no kids allowed’ policy (which is not as rare as you might think in Paris), here is my advice to parents (choose one): (1) bring your kids to dinner, but sedate them first; (2) bring your kids to dinner, but keep them under the table, with a bowl of water (or milk); (c) on the way to dinner, drop your kids off at McDo; or (4) learn and apply the following term: ‘babysitter.’ I counted two or three moments where le petit Batman nearly tripped a server loaded up with plates. You know that look when a disapproving adult glances at a child - you know the one that says ‘I could strangle the little bugger’ – that’s the one I saw more than once at Agapes. Hey, you can’t fault Agapes – I doubt they fielded the reservation request with the addendum, ‘and don’t forget to bring your little monstres’! But it was a thorn in our side during the meal and the next time we think of Agapes I am sure we’ll be running for our Batmobile and speeding off in the other direction.


AGAPES RESTAURANT

47 bis rue Poliveau
75005 Paris
tel: 01 43 31 69 20
Internet site: www.restaurant-agapes.com (with video)

L’Agrume – Gracious Humility

Nice expression, ‘gracious humility,’ too bad I hadn’t thought of it first. No, that honor goes to New York Times Magazine food editor Christine Muhlke, describing L’Agrume as such in a recent article about some new, affordable hotspots on the Paris restaurant scene. Stealing that description for this installment’s review should make it pretty obvious that I agree. Nothing ostentatious or gratuitous in the delicate and inspired preparation of dishes at L’Agrume, which isn’t meant to suggest Parisian snobbishness. Quite the opposite, the atmosphere in the smallish gray/black modern two-room bistrot (one out of view downstairs) is laid back, comfortable, animated, and, of course, packed. And, as Co. & I were informed by under-40 chef/owner Franck Marchesi-Grandi’s conjoint/hostess, Karine Perrin, since that Times piece ran a couple weeks ago, packed more with Americans than French. And sure enough, the first table to fill after our arrival as the evening’s openers consisted of four vociferous Americanos, whom I overheard uttering ‘New York Times’ several times during their meal. When will discretion become the better part of valor so that some people—I’m not naming names—will remember my famous restaurant motto : you are not at home, so please…SHUT UP !

Power of the printed word – who says newspapers are dead ? The Times’ (that’s the fourth time, I know) mention of L’Agrume in toto comprised a mere 85cm (or 3.5 inches) – six sentences, yet enough to send hordes of English-speaking foodies off the beaten path to L’Agrume. Not that the restaurant needs any help – the word already had gotten out—yes, that’s right, hard to believe, even before my review—that L’Agrume’s 5-course menu dégustation represents one of the best deals in town, that town being PARIS. Of course, a little worldwide publicity doesn’t hurt.

Okay, down to business, bearing in mind that the 5-course meal—not the only choice, by the way, as there is an ala carte menu as well—is apt to change on a regular basis. No mise-en-bouche at the outset, but a nice little chat with the diminutive, black-clad Mme Perrin, got us settled comfortably into a nice little nook in the front by the window, but still in view of the open kitchen, where Monsieur Marchesi-Grandi was hard at work preparing the evening’s delicacies, aided by a young, female assistant. There you have it – two advantages to being the first to arrive : you have a non-harried hostess to chat up and you get your pick of tables. With two assistants handling the upstairs and downstairs rooms, service ran like a well-oiled machine late into the evening. First up was a finely prepared tartare de dorade grise lié à la chair d’araignée Pomelos et pomme verte. This is my kind of opener,
a perfectly constructed slightly salted mound of fish tartar with a sweet fruity counterpoint. My highest compliment : ‘More !’ Unfortunately, Co. smacked my hand and socked my jaw so that I wouldn’t bring undue attention to our table when I pulled out my phone and tried to snap a photo of the first course. But the accompanying photo (top) taken from the Paris Notebook blog’s review of L’Agrume bears a striking resemblance. (The other photo from Simon Says is of a L'Agrume fish dish not among those we sampled during our visit.) The tartar was followed by a dish consisting of vinegrette de pommes charlotte – asperges vertes et foie gras. Very French, very excellent foie gras. Next up, a small slab of bourride de Saint Pierre, the sumptuous fish accompanied by thinly sliced green peppers and chorizo. Fourth course consisted of extremely tender slices of basse côte de bœuf ‘Black Angus’ rôti, with carrots and red onions. Our hostess obliged without a moan, merci, when I asked to have the beef dish supplanted by a non-red meat offering. My substitute consisted of a satisfying piece of broiled dorade – more fish, true, but no problemo, bring it on. Our dessert brought the evening’s tally to a perfect five for five courses : fraises et coulis de pêches Blanches, crème fourettée vanillée et feuilletage. As far as I’m concerned, you can’t go wrong when you add a crusty feuilleté with fresh strawberries and cream, and if you are an impeccable chef like M. Marchesi-Grandi sneaking in a virtually invisible layer of white peaches, you really can’t go wrong. So to steal again from Ms. Muhlke, you can find fancier meals in Paris restaurants, but perhaps none so gracious.

If there was one drawback to the evening it was our wine. A tasty 2008 bottle of Bourguiel Gueil – Catherine & Pierre Breton at 32€ unfortunately had a very slight taste of cork throughout, but which really wasn’t immediately evident. So much for my finely attuned oenological sense of taste. The wine and end-of-meal espresso brought the bill to a 105€ total, almost criminal given the high quality of the meal. And there appears to be an even better deal awaiting lunch-goers.

In my research for L’Agrume, I was struck by this heading from the Simon Says blog: ‘La réponse au sadisme ambiant.’ Wait a minute, I know my French isn’t the greatest, but what the hell does ‘the response to ambient sadism’ mean? Please, someone, enlighten me. Well, the review itself also seemed a bit above my coherence level, so I turned, as most of us ex-pats ultimately do, to Google translator, recently rated by the New York Times (back again!) as the most accurate online translator to date. So here are just some English translated snippets from M. Simon’s unique tongue :

It is still accelerating Pretties narcissistic undergoing gastronomy. Here it is struck by a kind of unbridled exhibitionism with reality shows. This world is so peaceful unrecognizable in this new great dance agitated. Leaders and caring as if truculent Constant become Taras Bulba sadis young chicks to tears.

It is still far from what is really a chef: passionate but something a bit deeper than the dishes scraped with powdered ginger, yuzu and syringe sweatshirt with shaved Parmesan. Suddenly, there is something calm, velvety chestnut and plates subsided.

If this universe shines in big tables fly high, research and talent, it is inseparably associated with a more everyday, and closer to us. Long live the big names, but kudos to those working in the shadows, in neon! If they remain our favorite tables is that they want us closer, more friendly in their search reasoned. Here is an address and extra cut in the coupon so sentimental. It's called L’Agrume, a restaurant high to a grasshopper no bigger than a pancake.


OH-KAY….I’m sorry I just can’t compete with that sort of, ahem, eloquence. At the same time, I thank the restaurant gods that we were spared the syringe sweatshirt, and I am slapping myself silly for not having the acumen to recognize how L’Agrume is not unlike a grasshopper no bigger than a pancake. It is only fair, you can find Francois Simon’s words in their natural tongue at the Simon Says website. I must add M. Simon’s concluding assessment, which I think says it all: ‘You'll love this address simple, stark, it's like a javelin tasty. Yippee!’ Tasty javelin?! N’importe quoi.


L'AGRUME
15, rue des Fossés Saint-Marcel 75005 Paris
01 43 31 86 48
Métro 5 Saint-Marcel, Métro 7 Les Gobelins

Le Relais Guillaume De Normandy - Somethin' on the Dock of the Baie

As the sun ominously dipped behind La Baie de Somme, I stood outside the gates of the chosen restaurant for the evening, Le Relais Guillaume de Normandy, a chill emanating off the dark waters as night descended. I think it was at that point that I nervously intoned, ‘Uh, Co., I hate to say this, but I think we took a wrong turn in Eu and have ended up at the house of the Addams Family. . . da da da da, snap snap.’ A child neither of 1930s New Yorker cartoons nor 1960s schlock American TV, my French companion could only gaze wonderingly at this madman before her. It was that kind of week. Instead of visiting the Ferdinand Brasserie on the canal of Aarhus, Denmark as I had planned—the plans having been dashed by an Icelandic volcanic cloud of ash that served to ground my plane and 100s of others—I instead found myself spending a weekend vacation along the Normandy coast with Co. visiting a gothic seaside restaurant/hotel, among other assorted and asundry attractions. Well, I guess it could have been worse: to wit, I could have been awaiting another airport meal.

Despite the uncanny similarity to aforementioned macabre Addams house, a glance around the restaurant revealed a distinctly uncharacteristically Addams waitstaff and clientele. Although perhaps if one of our waitresses had been a bit more like Morticia and a lot less like Lurch, I probably would have enjoyed the dinner experience a bit more.

Contrary to expectations, the interior of Relais—widely rated online as a top restaurant in Saint-Valery-Sur-Somme (but definitely not a top hotel)—was sunnier than I expected, reminiscent of a decent Cape Cod seafood restaurant, but lo and behold, it offered no view of the bay as we had hoped (at least not from our vantage point in the restaurant’s main dining room).

The extensive carte offered four different menus—not including the ‘menu enfants—ranging from the 3-course 18€ ‘menu tradition’ to the 5-course 43€ ‘menu Baie de Somme.’ As fate would have it, we were tempted by the middle two four-course menus, with Co. enchanted by the 33€ ‘menu decouverte’ and me bewitched by the 26€ ‘menu terroir.’ To make a long story short, the choices comprising these two menus are reproduced below from the Relais’s website.

I started with the salad de mache, which came with two creamy circles of shrimp butter and mackerel spread and four thin slices of grilled country bread. This was a pretty simple and unimposing dish, but it suited me fine, especially as washed down with our slightly bitter choice of wine, a 2005 Victoria II Haut-Medoc (21.50€). Co. meanwhile was impressed with her langoustine and pork foot-filled pastry. The idea of anything edible coming out of a pork foot is so anathema to me that I nearly resisted tasting her dish, but Co. was diplomatic enough to have eliminated the porcine aspects of the two heaping forkfuls that she graciously set in the direction of my mouth and I’m glad she did. Moving on to the main dish, despite a disappointing mango embellished portion of barbue, a river fish on Co’s side, my filet de plie (plaice fish) in a sauce comprised of bouchot mussels and coques proved to be the highlight of the meal. This was a light and sumptuous fish, one of the tastiest I’ve had in a long time. It didn’t hurt that I followed this dish up with a circle of roasted chevre with honey and pignons on a small square of toast, which also beat Co’s choice of three cheeses and salad hands down. My gratin de pomme flambé with calvados also had the edge over Co’s choice of a strawberry dessert, which came enveloped within a crepe. What can I say? When you’re on a roll, you’re on a roll, and that 26€ menu turns out to be a clear winner when stacked up against its 33€ competition. Go figure. All told, skipping coffee, our evening racked up a more than reasonable sum of 80.50€. Try finding two 4-course meals with wine in Paris for that price, I challenge you.

Overall, this was a satisfying enough dinner, and if you happen to be cruising along the Normandy coast sometime, volcano ash cloud notwithstanding, the Relais certainly warrants a detour. In and of itself, it wouldn’t justify a 2 to 2-1/2 hour drive from Paris, but I guess that goes without saying. Although our trip was a short one, my research revealed a few additional hidden gems in the Baie de Sommes environs. Our mussels/frites/ salad lunch at the Restaurant Les Canotiers (on the port) in Le Crotoy was typical and satisfying, despite my failure to locate the recommended La Grignotine (5, porte de Pont) for the same. On the road in Picardie, we took a little spin to check out the carte at Le Cle Des Champs in Favieres and it is one I’ll definitely keep on my list – good potential there. Back in Le Crotoy I was tempted by L’Auberge de la Marine, whose hotel sounds like a real Addams Family nightmare, but whose food merits a lot of praise online and in the guidebooks. In Amiens, Les Marissons (68 Rue des Marissons) caused some real trepidation – elegantly situated on the town’s central canal – Co. yin-ed, having read some strong positive reviews, while I yang-ed, having read a number of terrible critiques online before our trip. If you’ve been there, please solve the mystery. We passed this time.

LE RELAIS GUILLAUME DE NORMANDY
Qaui du Romerel
80230 Saint-Valery-sur-Somme
tel: 03 22 60 82 36

Note: The hotel choices in the Baie de Sommes region leave a lot to be desired, but we fared more than comfortably at a B&B in Eu, a traditional manor hideaway where we reserved a 3rd floor suite for a mere 60 euros, the Manoir de Beaumont (route de Beaumont, email: catherine@demarquet.eu). Not exactly bristling with amenities (croissant breakfast, map, bathroom), no wifi, no TV, no radio. But at that price, who can complain?

Down and Dirty With the Sarkos at Big Ben’s

It is already old news, the Sarkos’ recent visit to the US to slum it in Obama-ville, but my once reliable and speedy DC contacts aren’t what they used to be.
Nonetheless, I can’t resist the opportunity to give equal discursion to the culinary predilections on US shores of the increasingly indigestable, hyperactive Napoleonic wanabee (give the man some Ritalin!) after giving coverage to the widely-beloved (well, more or less) O-man when he and Michelle visited Paris (see last June’s post).

For those who have followed the trajectory of Sarko’s career, you are already aware that his relationship with living beef and farmers (we’ll get to the cover girl models soon enough) has not been a smooth one. Back in February 2008, there was that nasty incident at the annual Paris Agriculture Show—one of the yearly highlights of the French political scene—Nicky lost his temper when a farmer refused to dirty his hand by shaking Sarko’s, throwing fuel on the fire that Sarko cannot connect with rural France. (It didn’t help matters that his predecessor, Jacques Chirac, would spend countless hours of his presidency schmoozing with cows and tasting produce on the farm.) Okay, he may have told the ‘stupid asshole’ to ‘fuck off’, but once cooler heads prevailed, Sarko was pushing hard for French cuisine to be listed by the UN agency Unesco, as part of the world’s cultural heritage.

All this is simply pedantic background leading up to the recent US visit. Ever eager to create a good impression with anyone other than farmers, we might well have expected the Sarkos to make a pit stop for Le Big Mac at a DC McDonald’s, just to make clear, ‘yo, Americans, no hard feelings over that freedom fries imbroglio.’ But where the Sarkos go, the Sarkos go in style, so forget the McDo idea, and say ‘bonjour’ to Ben’s Chili Bowl, a Washington landmark since 1958, a claim boldly displayed on the restaurant’s façade. Leading up to a black tie dinner at the White House, the Sarkos chowed down for lunch at the shabby U Street venue with Ben’s specialties, chili dogs and half-smokes (hotdogs with a somewhat spicy, cholesterol laden sausage center).

Ben’s may have a storied history (see the restaurant’s website), but let’s face it, a fast-food joint is a fast-food joint, and I can’t find evidence of anyone waxing euphoric over Ben’s burgers and dogs. This assessment from Richard Adams’ blog at guardian.co.uk, is hardly flattering, but probably pretty accurate:

Sadly, the only problem with Ben's Chili Bowl is that while the atmosphere is great, the food is mediocre, even by fast food
standards. The signature "chili" is oily and very salty, and is itself mild but
served at a ferociously hot temperature. Le Monde's Washington correspondent summed it up pretty well: "une institution devenue assez touristique où l'on mange des hot-dogs".

I realize, you are about to pass out from all the suspense, but now it is time to get down to everybody’s favorite question, ‘Just who is boning Carla on the side?’ Kidding! And no, for the last time, it was not me who set off those nasty rumors about extramarital sexual shenanigans emanating from the Elysée Palace. No, I am sure the question on everyone’s minds is, “So what the hell did they eat at Ben’s already, mon dieu?!” A simple question, I grant you, but as always seems to be the case in Washington, things are never what they seem, where there are at least three sides to every story. In this case, those sides appear to be fries, chips, and soda.

An initial report from TMZ claimed that Sarko ordered a chili dog, fries, and a Coke, while his favorite off the runway French pop singer opted for a turkey burger, which she apparently didn’t eat. As a nice embellishment to this unconfirmed report, TMZ had the prez leaving a $100 tip. Au contraire, according to the Washington Post, which asserted that both Sarko and his third lady had a “chili burger and a half-smoke,” while one of Sarko’s offspring from a previous marriage ordered a burger. Then there was the New York Times’ The Caucus,” which boasted of learning directly from Ben’s manager Doris Pollard, who served the French visitors: “The Sarkozys, accompanied by Mr. Sarkozy’s two sons by a previous marriage, had — get this — two half smokes each.” Flash!! Ex-Model, Svelt Yeh-Yeh Girl Gorges on Two, That’s Right Two, Half Dogs. Ooh la la. And didn’t the Huffington Post report that there was only one son, 12-year-old petit Louie, who lives with model #1 Cecilia Attias in New York, who was joined not by his brother, but by a friend? Details, details. Let’s face it, whatever they ate, and whoever was with them, it was greasy and not too healthy, and the preponderance of evidence suggests Carla had more than her fare share, as in ‘seconds.’ (Every time I tried to reach her personal number, she hung up on me. I say it again, I did not start those rumors!). According to Ms. Pollard, the former model “looked wonderful, in gray slacks and a black top. She’s so tall and stately and pretty.” (Is beauty in the eyes of the beholder or what?) But keep eating those double half smokes, my dear, and we’ll see what happens to that figure.

Meanwhile, back at the White House, Nickie’s American counterpart had a healthier lunch, what exactly I cannot say because I am not at liberty to disclose state secrets. When informed of the Sarko’s jaunt to Ben’s, Obama seemed impressed. Rather than ho hum the visit with a “been there, done that” (see accompanying photo of BO wolfing one down at Ben's), the svelt President commended the Sarkozys on their "discriminating palate."

If you are the French president accompanied by svelt wife numero trois, and you “drop all pretense” to visit a famous hotdog spot for lunch, isn’t that pretty pretentious after all? But let’s face it, it’s a far cry from old St. Nicolas’ favorite haunt in the French capital, the Michelin 3-star Hotel Bristol, where Elysée’s most admired chef, Eric Fréchon, holds court.


BEN'S CHILI BOWL
1213 U Street, NW
Washington, DC 20009
tel. 202-667-0909

Pramil - Achtung! Let's Fall in Love?

Latest excursion to Paris 3, not far from Republique and a short stroll from the Temple metro stop. Highly anticipated, Pramil was on some 'go to' lists and given this endorsement by Fooding 2010: 'charming decor, serious wine, sincere cooking...We say: "Let's do it, let's fall in love..." If that wasn't enough to pique my taste buds, here's another rave from an online forum (http://www.eat-out.net): We dined at pramil on our last night in paris, the atmosphere very intimate, service perfect, presentation perfect, farm fresh produce excellent, good wine list and menu variety well balanced, loved it !!

Now, let me be honest - honest Mort is what they used to call me on the streets of Baltimore - I don't necessarily disagree with these assessments, but unlike aforementioned citations, I did not fall in love with Pramil and ended up the evening with an indecisive yet decidedly south of positive reaction of 'eh'. Or as Co. phrased it, 'it was good but nothing to rave (sic) home about.'

Is sincerity enough anymore? Not in my book. If I'm going to spend 100 euros and up for a meal, I expect more than sincerity - I expect something pretty damn special, with a mise en bouche and some little patisseries thrown in with the cafe to boot. None of which were forthcoming from Pramil. The evening began with me and Co. being overtaken on Vertbois by a verbose contingent of Germans who, lo and behold, were headed to the same destination. They were already through the door and admitting they had not reserved when we made our grand entrance, me trying to project an expression that 'no way am I with them.' As they disappointingly filed back out through the door, the leader of the pack mentioned to the hostess, 'well, tomorrow night then', whereupon the hostess threw back that sort of expression that reeked of, 'don't count on it.' Let me understand - you visit a restaurant on a Friday night only to be told that it is filled. So you expect a different outcome on Saturday night? Wouldn't you at least ask if it were possible to book a table for tomorrow night? But then, what do I know, as I sometimes ask myself. Who can account for the affairs of men and state and, oh lord, unthinking tourists.

We were seated in the little room in the back - way back - with sun roof through which no sun was evident - this is Paris afterall. Pleasant hostess takes our order but wimped out when it came to recommendations. When I say I am hesitating between (a)Cake aux choux fleur avec confiture de piment and (b) salade de lentilles et calamars and wanted to know which was the more creative dish, I was basically informed that one's taste is personal. So French, so I opted for the one I didn't know (a). Co., also opting for the 30 euro formule, chose the asparagus soup with creme of fois gras. My cakes were probably difficult to make, but nothing spectacular. Nonetheless, the small dollop accompaniment of piment jelly really elevated this dish from the hohum. Too bad that dollop was so small. In discussing with the chef (M. Alain Pramil?) later, I was informed that 'it is so spicy, a little bit goes a long way,' not aware that yours truly drinks bottles of tabasco sauce for breakfast. In true love, who wants to settle for only one nice little bite? Co. seemed to have enjoyed her cream of asparagus, to the point that I was afraid she was going to lick the bowl, but in retrospect she dubbed it merely as 'good, no more.'

Moving on to the main dishes, I quickly downed the eight coquilles saint-jacques in a garlic cream sauce while Co. slowly worked her way through a plat du jour, a lamb salee, with fenouil and feve (green beans not unlike Japanese endamame). My sauce was quite good as the go-with the scallops and Co. described her lamb thusly: 'tender, tasty, and perfumed' (or TTP in restaurant blogging circles). Her myrtille (bilberry) and my homemade nougat glace desserts provided a solid but non-spectacular finish to a solid but non-spectacular meal. Co. preferred something light for drinking purposes, so I went with the Irancy Benoit Cantin 2006 super legere Bourgogne at 28 euros. Nice selection of wines, well thought-out choices with some unexpected surprises.

What can I say - this all probably sounds pretty good on paper and I would have to agree that it was all pretty good on paper (in fact the bill remained south of the century mark (91 euros for two 3-course meals and wine). Just nothing to rave home about. When it comes to love, who wants to settle for 'eh'?

PRAMIL
tel: 01 42 72 03 60
no web site

La Table D’Eugène - Jean Genie

No, not Jean Genet, not David Bowie, not Eugene Finkelstein (my lab partner in 4th grade), and not even the 19th-century French novelist Joseph Marie Eugène Sue (though you are definitely getting warm). No, La Table D’Eugène, an increasingly popular little bistrot in a multi-cultural section of the 18th is named after the street on which it rests, rue Eugène Sue, numero 18 to be precise. Co. and I reserved for Friday night, first serving (19h45; a second serving commences at 22h), and walked the short 1-1/2 blocks from the Marcadet-Poissonniers metro, nearly in the shadow of the Sacre-Coeur and the touristy district of Montmartre, huddled together in the still cold Parisian air, unaware that we were heading to our best meal of the still young year.

If there is one word that I hope characterizes this review site, it is “truth.” Try as they might to blackmail me with lobster tails, crates of champagne, and good old-fashioned cash to wax effusively about their venues, restaurateurs know I cannot be swayed (though when it comes to lobster tails, I am definitely open to suggestion). So let me begin my review of our experience at TDE by first debunking some claims that I have come upon online; to wit:

1. Impossible to reserve (paris.menupages.com) – Not! While this complaint may accurately reflect the rising status of the venue, this reviewer had no difficulty reserving a table for two at either serving four days before said reservation. True, it was packed by the time we left (and when a party of six arrives at 21h15, does that mean they are late for the first serving, early for the second, or just plain idiots?). If you wait the day before to reserve, or even worse as I watched a couple couples turned away at the door without any reservation at all, well, there’s always the shish-kabob place around the corner.

2. Too expensive (hungryforparis.squarespace.com). Nuh-uh. Everything’s relative, and as my long-deceased relative Aunt Rose (ex-owner of a steak house in Huntington Beach, CA many, many years ago) used to tell me, “In this life, Mort, you get what you pay for.” Our bill for two 35€ menus, a 23€ bottle of Vin de Table Sorga red, a 3€ supplement for a rabbit entrée, and two post-hoc cafés came to an incredibly reasonable 102€, pretty par for a just short of Michelin star-friendly meal, and more affordable than other lesser quality bistrots I’ve frequented over the years. And while I’m ranting, I’m surprised that Alexander Lobrano, author of the hungryforparis site, whom I generally find to be a very knowledgeable and engaging authority on French restaurants, also got the wine list wrong as well, calling it “top heavy”. I found an affordable bottle in nearly every category (25-35€), leading to a much wider and affordable selection than you’ll find elsewhere. Don’t get me wrong – Lobrano and I do agree that Eugene is a top spot.

3. Service is slow. (www.eat-out.net). Once again, I beg to differ. If attentive service is one’s definition of ‘slow,’ well then I give up, it’s slow. Two young servers among the best I can remember in a long time in a Paris venue proved efficient, not slow. Strange as it may seem, they really seemed to care. For example, as I settled into the wine list and pointed to a Cote du Rhone, our server seemed perplexed, ultimately dissuading me, explaining how the wine would definitely conflict with our dinner selections. I’m not one to nitpick when it comes to mixing and matching, but I had to let expertise take the place of valor when the server started raving about a cheaper, that's right, cheaper Vin de Table (which I never, ever would have considered, equating that term with a 3€ Fran Prix supermarket special), the aforementioned Sorga, and how it was the first run of an upstart southern vinyard that would superbly complement our meal. As I tasted the Sorga, he began to explain the taste, it’s piquancy, how it would yield a somewhat sparkling gaseous sensation under the tongue, and by the time I swallowed, he had perfectly nailed what had just transpired in my mouth but which I could never have adequately described on my own. I wonder how do they do that? He assured us that the sparkling sensation would subside after a few minutes of aerating the bottle and sure enough, it did. Okay, granted, it’s not like you don’t get recommendations from sommeliers in Paris restaurants, but this server and his partner throughout the meal kept checking, explaining, and lingering unobtrusively just to be sure, even when the room filled up, no copy of War and Peace required.

4. Colorful entrées almost make up for uneven main courses. (Fooding, Le Guide France 2010). If this ever was true, it either isn’t anymore, or the main dishes that Co. and I selected were just lucky choices. In fact, I think we both preferred the main course to the entrées, which isn’t intended to deride the latter.

I could go on, but it’s getting late and I really should start talking about the food, which, in fact, I already have begun to do. If there’s one thing I’ve learned since creating this site it is this: My handwriting after a few drinks is as bad as it is when I wake up in the middle of the night to scrawl down my next Pulitzer-ready idea, only to find complete gibberish in the light of the morning. So, until I find a better system, please bear with the following description, taken from my hastily jotted scribblings. Co. launched her meal with a rabbit dish, with the rabbit cooked two ways, a rable de lapin and lapin farcie with veal and ginger. This was an originally prepared and satisfying starter and probably eked out my choice, but only barely. I opted for a dish of gambas and chiperons, elegantly arranged on a bed of tiny vegetables. The chiperons were perfectly cooked, without the rubbery quality one often finds, and once consumed, the plate surprisingly held the remnants of an excellent balsamic (I think) based sauce that required three good sized scoops of the tablespoon. That leftover sauce was worth the price of admission in and of itself. Co. followed up with the roti bar on a bed of chou vert and spume and the following praise: ‘excellent, definitely, extremely tasty and tender.’ Thanks, Co. As for me, I keep heading in the direction of magret de canard, don't ask me why, it's just the way things are these days. My incoherent notes seem to suggest that the magret came with "eamach with greia”, which for all I know could be Gaelic for something tasty, but probably is just the Sorga talking. I do remember, aha, that the rosé-cooked magret was a pretty significant slab, topped with its crunchy skin and accompanied with pear soaked in wine and pear not soaked in wine, as well as a rectangular-shaped, slightly grilled rack of polenta. Overall, the combination was superb, although I’d still love to remember what that eamach with greia was all about.

Where did I read that Eugene’s desserts were disappointing? Au contraire, I am happy to report. Our dessert choices turned out to be the highlights of our meal, both the citron with sable dish and the chocolate dessert, but especially the chocolate dessert, which arrived as what appeared to be a medium-sized scoop of chocolate ice cream, but once topped with a cacahuète-based sauce at the table, magical things started to happen, recalling that Sorga-induced tingling sensation in the mouth and a crunchiness from somewhere. This was a metamorphic and memorable dish.

Overall, if you haven’t figured it out yet, our experience at TDE was really top notch, not yet at the level of a Michelin star, but it may not be long. The Fooding 2010 guide concludes its review with “Keep trying, Gene, you’re getting there!” Well, it’s probably gotten closer, and let's not forget that it is only a small step from genie to genius. A mise en bouche and/or a couple pastries with the café wouldn’t hurt, and what do Parisian restaurateurs have against music? With a relatively young, contemporary clientele, some cool vibes could boost the already convivial atmosphere.

LA TABLE D’EUGÈNE

Néobistrot
18, rue Eugène-Sue
75018 Paris tel. 01 42 55 61 64
No website!
Closed Sunday and Monday