Bones - Skeletal Remains

So Co. and I finally got around to another much talked about neobistrot/wine bar in the 11th - quite simply, Bones, as in bare bones, dem bones: unadorned decor, stoney walls, basic ingredients.  King of the B's - beards (scruffy), boys (servers, save the one female on the waitstaff who was busily carving up a suckling pig at the bar), BO(effin)HEMIA.  I put my straightedge on the shelf last month and so fit right in amidst all the scruffiness.  If I didn't know better, I would have thought I had taken a time machine back to Seattle grunge.  Walk right in, sit right down at the wine bar in front or one of the little tables to while away an hour or two with your homies, washing down some oysters, jambon jambon, or the aforementioned pig, with a well-appointed, all-natural red or white.  Or, like us, reserve a table in the spatially challenged raised dining area and work your way through the server rotation.

Florent Ciccoli's venue, manned in the kitchen by Aussie chef (via Au Passage) James Henry (pictured), offers a bare-boned 4 plate tasting menu (40€; add 8€ for a cheese course), with a couple tasty amuse bouches to start.  For the evening of our visit, the menu belied the slowly unfolding Paris spring, with the obligatory May offerings of asparagus, oursin, and miel.  (Yes, it does snow in Paris, but not in May.) Noisy, but not overly so, I never could quite figure out what music was filtering out from the back amidst all the surrounding albeit low-key chatter.  But no need to further aggrandize, extemporize, improvise, or existentialize, we're talking Bones, so just the facts, Jack.


Interior:

 

 

 

The Carte:
 (click to enlarge)

Amuse Bouche 1:  oursin, ricotta, & oyster

                                       
 Amuse Bouche 2:  broth with smoked eel

1st course:  bonite, petits-pois, cresson

2nd course:  Asperge d'argenteuil, seiche, encre

 

3rd course:  Cabillaud (in lieu of the veau basque, the latter of which underwhelmed Co.):

4th course:  miel, noisette, lait de chevre

 

The verdict is a split decision - thumbs up from your's truly and a thumb horizontal from Co.  Bones comes off a bit like Chateaubriand's younger brother, energetically emulating but falling short of equaling the old pro.  Still, I had an enjoyable evening - the bonito and fish were really excellent, the bread homemade, the vibe hip, and the wine suitably imbibing - a reasonably priced Roussilon, aptly named (given the Aussie chef) HOP La Laffite (26€).  My guess is that it won't take much arm-twisting to drag Co. along for a return visit when, I am sure, it will be much more difficult to reserve.

BONES

43 rue Godefroy Cavaignac

Paris 75011

tel: 09 80 75 32 08

website: pretty much useless

Le Beurre Noisette - Hard's Gone Soft

Back in August 2010, Co. and I partook in a very satisfying dinner at Le Beurre Noisette, just under the gun before they closed up shop for an extended summer vacation culminating in an overhaul of the quaint and aged interior.  We've been meaning to go back ever since to discover the reincarnated LBN but just never got around to it, the restaurant situated -at least for us - on the other side of Paris in the far reaches of the 15th.  Well, as luck would have it, the Moose was back in town and up for a rendezvous near his Parisian abode, which just so happens to be a metro stop away from the aforementioned venue.  Alas, the 'other side of Paris' is always in the eyes of the beholder.  As I sat waiting for the Moose at a table outside Le Murmure Cafe, conveniently located just next to the Boucicaut metro stop, I could almost imagine the approaching Parisian Spring, punctuated at my first table by the reek of the garbage containers waiting to be emptied and, after moving to a table on the other side, the wafting fumes of an endless stream of cigarettes spewed out by the young clientele texting away at tables to my north and west. Maybe I should have titled this post 'Both Sides Now.'

At any rate, by the time we approached LBN following a six minute walk from the Lourmel metro, it was immediately apparent that times have changed, or at least the interior and clientele had, edging toward somewhat more upscale than neighborhood informal.  A warm welcome, quickly followed by a decent mise en bouche, after which the dreaded blackboard was brought to our table.  I get it, why print up a menu when your offerings regularly change, but the barely readable scrawled offerings on a slate tablet sitting on a chair beside the table, waiting to be snapped up and moved to another table, just brings me nothing but stress.  On second thought, just type up a daily menu, make 20 photocopies and, voila, you're in business. 

However, to the slate we return, with its four or five offerings listed under the obligatory headings of entree, plat, and dessert.  A three-course menu was priced at the just under slightly upscale 35€ level. Another gripe: the slate tablet carte format seems to beg for little additions in the form of price supplements.  A +3€ here, a +5€ there, and all of a sudden, the 35€ menu becomes €35 not really.  I know, whine, whine, and speaking of wine, the carte in this case offered some reasonably priced bottles, among which - at the lower end - I selected a Saint-Chinian 2010 (25€).  Once allowed to breathe, the initial fruitiness waned to tolerable, and ultimately, decent levels.

It was during the early stages of the festivities that the Moose decided to forgo the menu and select from the entrees (12€) and plats soir (20€).  Upon informing our waitress, no, he would not be having dessert, a sudden hush fell upon the room - forks were dropped, glasses were stopped mid arc, the hustling and bustling in the kitchen stopped dead. No, I exaggerate, but in France the dessert is sacred.  As I've often opined, the Moose marches to the beat of his own drum and if he didn't want dessert, well, it was his prerogative.  Knowing full well that the LBN's famous baba au rhum comes with its own bottle of rum, dessert was not an issue for your's truly, and so the 35€ menu, supplements included, was a no brainer.

Now to the food - sort of.  I admit, I'm a bit rusty, having taken one of my annual hiatuses and sticking to the humdrum, but reliable, establishments close to home for the past few weeks.  I had my tablet in hand, but I screwed up my camera apps and have little to show in the way of photos, including the shot of the blackboard carte.  Here's what I remember:  I started with a very tasty tagliatelle de seches - calamari strips arranged to resemble a pile of spaghetti, settled nicely in a subtle, vinegary sauce (+3€).  This being the asparagus moment in the capital, where the rarely-seen green stalks become increasingly prevalent in markets and restaurants, the Moose opted for an asparagus entree, much enhanced by some pieces of something pinkish, which we forgot to ask the waitress about - my guess, betterave.  But really, a 5€ supplement for an asparagus entree?  Check out this photo of my seches - I know, it looks veritably radioactive - believe me, in truth, it was a more attractive dish.

 

The Moose was unimpressed by his lamb and vegetables main plate, whereas I was perfectly contented by the cabillaud roti, accompanied by a bed of the more prevalent - in France, that is - white asparagus.  Nothing really creative about either dish, but the fish was succulent and satisfying.

As for the baba au rhum, I remembered something a bit more elaborate during my first visit to LBN, but memories can deceive.  After all, what is a baba au rhum if not for a small yeast cake accompanied by whipped cream and rum?  Pretty simple, and simple is what arrived at the table - the naked cake sitting all lonely in a shallow plate, the large dollop of whipped cream resting in anticipation in its little dish, and the bottle of rum.  Yo ho ho, the best part of this dish is the calibration - how much rum can I pour over the cake before the dish stops being a dessert and starts becoming a sot's delight?  And really, who's counting?  When it comes to DIY, I think this is my favorite dish.

So what to make of the new - at least since two plus years - Le Beurre Noisette?  Well, I've only been there twice - once before and once after the remodeling - but I can conclude that the ambiance has somewhat less of a casual, neighborhood feel.  Despite the more elegant trimmings (and elegant is overstating it), the venue remains comfortable, friendly, and rather informal.  Don't expect to be overwhelmed by creativity from the kitchen, but chef Thierry Blanqui does seem to shoot for somewhere between hearty and sort of interesting.  The annoying supplements notwithstanding, LBN does provide the little extras, a mise en bouche and a couple little patisseries at meal's end, albeit, which didn't quite compensate for their €5 espresso.  Both sides now.

LE BEURRE NOISETTE
68 rue Vasco de Gama
75015 Paris
tel: 01 48 56 82 49
website: lebeurrenoisette.com

Before checking out, I got the camera apps working more effectively during a recent visit back to L'Ecu de France not far east of Paris on the Marne.  You can check out my earlier review of L'Ecu, so I'll just share the photos here.  Less creative than previous visits, and the vast space was more populated by waitstaff than diners - to be fair, the night was chilled and overcast, and L'Ecu seems to owe its longevity (the edifice itself dates to 1716) to weekend lunches and receptions.  On the night of the recent visit with Co., now past the midway portion of April, the humongous fireplace in the foyer was raging, a fire that would have adequately roasted a good number of suckling pigs.  On the up side, if you ever want to be treated like royalty, you can either marry a prince or princess or head over to L'Ecu when only two other tables are taken.  A finally oiled machine - one waiter delicately delivers the rolls, followed by another who changes the silverware, another who pours the wine, another who brings the plates, another who delicately lifts a linen napkin to wipe your mouth, etc.  Pretty cool . . . if you're into that sort of thing.

Tuna tartare mise en bouche

 


Foie gras

Oysters

 

Pigeon

 Magret de canard

Creme brulee

L'ECU DE FRANCE
31, Rue de Champigny
94430 Chennevieres sur Marne
tel: 01 45 76 00 03
website: http://www.ecudefrance.com/

Le Dauphin - St. Aizpitarte’s Infirmary

Unable to snag a Feb. 15th post-Valentine's Day table at the more romantic Les Magnolias, Co. and I ventured out to the decidedly unromantic Le Dauphin, Inaki Aizpitarte's tapas wine bar a couple doors down from his remarkable Chateaubriand - the latter, as anyone who has followed this blog is well aware, is one of my favorites.  As pithily described at  phyllisflick's Paris Notebook site, when Monsieur Aizpitarte took over Le Dauphin, a previously non-descript Parisian cafe, he called upon Dutch architect Rem Koolhaas who transformed the space "into a modern white cube carved from Carrara marble." That's one way of putting it.  Another way is to sit at your little table surrounded by walls of mirrors and imagine butchers of yore happily splattering the marbled floors with blood and guts, ash descending from their cigarettes, sweat pouring from their brows.  Maybe it's just me, but the exaggerated clash of marble and mirror has that kind of effect on me.  When I say unromantic, I mean clinical.  The centerpiece bar is where the action is, with scruffy clientele mixing with animated scruffy bartender/servers.

Although I enjoyed experimenting with the vague list of tapas offerings, I kept thinking about how much more enjoyable an evening at Chateaubriand would have been.  Still, when it comes to the spate of contemporary and oh so French tapas venues popping up around town, you have to rate Le Dauphin up there with Aux Deux Amis and Au Passage.  For lack of better documentation, here's the bill listing the various offerings that comprised our dinner, followed by some photos - good luck matching the photo correctly with the itemized dishes on the bill.

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 Tasty?  Check.  Diverse?  Check.  Inventive?  Check, well, for the most part.  Unforgettable?  Not really. I must admit, any time I can snag a risotto in black ink without having to book a flight to Valencia, I'm a happy camper.  But that clinical atmosphere got to me, and not in a good way.  Honey, I love you, but give me Chateaubriand.

Mansouria - No Aces in the Desert

Paris is no desert, especially when it comes to Moroccan restaurants, but unfortunately Mansouria is no oasis in the crowd.  Funny, I used to think it was.  Last decade, Co. and I had probably made the trip over to the Faidherbe-Chaligny Bermuda Triangle for a Moroccan repast 4 or 5 times, but for some reason the restaurant fell off our charts.  As a longtime mainstay, we considered the ambiance and cooking a cut above average compared to your typical neighborhood Moroccan.  Co. always commented about how the lamb had that special something, and I always enjoy a tasty, steaming hot tagine.

And so it was about a month ago when I suddenly had the inspiration to return to Mansouria for something a bit off the beaten path of neo-bistrots/contemporary French cuisine.  Out of the metro bearing northwest instead of northeast, the latter in the direction of Paul Bert and his neighbors.  There she was, an impressive orange glow on the corner, and upon entry, nothing much had changed.  Inside, several small, well-appointed rooms await, but we were led - as is often a custom when the restaurant hasn't yet filled up - to a conspicuous table next to a front window.  Check out the website for some more photos of the various
Mansourian rooms.  Elegant, chic, very Middle Eastern, yes indeed.

Not one who usually opts for a fixed menu in ethnic establishments, I found everything I desired in the reasonably-priced menu Diaffa (28€) - the briwatte du fromage entry, poulet tagine with lemon and olives, and an unassuming refresher for dessert.

Co. went with the spicy shrimp fingers (Les doigts de la mariée, 8€), the aforementioned lamb couscous (20€), and a tea gourmand (accompanied by 2 cornes de gazelle - those half-moon-shaped almond pastries, 8€).  

And this is what the tagine and lamb looked like, respectively:

 

As perhaps suggested by the photos, the meal left us wondering why we had thought Mansouria was so wonderful.  My tangine was uninspired, and Co. opined that her lamb was lacking that special something, whatever it ever had been.  The accompanying dishes were pretty forgettable.  Service was friendly and attentive, and sure enough, it wasn't long before the place filled up, another busy night in the popular Triangle, location perhaps having a lot to do with Mansouria's longevity.  My two thumbs up went up for the couscous, delicate and fine, as it should be, and the little dish of overly spicy harissa I had requested.  I noticed the server issuing the same warning to each table, along the lines of 'you must be careful not to try this because it is so spicy.'  Is such concern really warranted?  I mean, when I ask for hot sauce, I only want to be warned when it isn't going to melt the inside of my mouth.  I have to admit, though, this one was pretty melt-worthy.

Overall, with a decent Moroccan red for a change (Riad Jamil, 26€), our dinner clocked in at 90€ for a truly unimpressive price-quality relationship.  Trust me, you can do as well, or better, at a far more reasonable price at your neighborhood Moroccan standby, which is where I'll be headed next time.

MANSOURIA
11 rue Faidherbe
75011 Paris
tel: 01.43.71.00.16
web: http://www.mansouria.fr/

Braisenville - Coal Dining

Braisenville turned out to be a pleasant surprise in the Parisian SoPi (south of Pigalle) area, where as you walk downward from the Anvers metro, you look over your shoulder - not too conspicuously, for fear of people thinking you are an uncool tourist - just to see the Sacre-Coeur glowing atop the Montmartre butte.  Surprise because Braisenville is another one of those neo-bistrots that's been getting a lot of buzz recently (a development that always leaves me wary), popping up reviewed on those sites replete with comments like 'my husband found the meat too under-cooked, but I was just giddy over the duck.'  With my American friend, Mr. T (no relation to the mohawked ersatz star of The A Team), we entered with open (and somewhat lubricated from a few drinks along the way) minds, the two of us left more than satisfied, although perhaps not exactly stuffed.

A couple of noteworthy gimmicks at Braisenville, one related to ambiance (a sort of retro-contemporary mishmash that looks like anything but your traditional French bistrot).   Aptly described on one site as 'a seventies’ California roadside kitchen,' you get the impression of more open space than is warranted, despite the long lines of tables, with some variations of sitting high stools and bar seats that enable conviviality with other patrons, and an open kitchen for the foodie voyeurs among us.   The other gimmick, the important one pertaining to food, is belied by the restaurant's name.  This is the 'ville' that masters the under-exploited cooking method of the 'braise,' which essentially involves searing the food first over hot charcoal and then simmering in sauce in a covered container.  The carte is also pretty quirky, and not completely self-evident, but the servers are attentive, and appeared to have no problem answering our many questions, in English for the benefit of the illustrious, but non-Francophonic, Mr. T.  There is a small selection on the left of the three-leafed carte labeled 'affinage,' where one has the option of starting off with a plate of offers like dry, smoked Spanish beef (13€), cheese (10€), and ham (Pata negra Bellota de Guijuelo or jambon blanc a la truffe, 14€ and 13€ respectively).  These offers tout upwards of 36 months of 'affinage' or 'refinement.'  We passed on the affinage offers and dove right into the 'Raciones' - think larger, and higher quality than usual, tapas. 


The carte recommends a selection of 3 or 4 plates salees and 1 sucree, which is exactly what your's truly and Mr. T. opted for, respectively.    You get to choose from 4 options each of vegetable (8-9€ each), fish (9-12€ each), meat (11-14€ each), and mineral.  No, no mineral, other than the water variety.  Ever curious about the lowly beet, I took up Braisenville's challenge to try their betterave Chioggia, jaune, rouge, blanche, etc. - that is, beets prepared in 6 different ways, with an ice cream concoction in the middle.  Not for all tastes, but I was impressed.  We also decided on the emulsion de ratte du Touquet, noix, pleurottes, chanterelles, cresson - yes, that is just one dish, which was one of Mr. T's highlights; chair de tourteau de l'ile d'Yeu, bouillon de canard, verveine, citron; encornet, butternut, mangue, citron vert; ceviche de bonite, leche de tigre, patate douce (a Braisenville self-proclaimed specialty, which really rises to the occasion with the sweet potato emphasis); magret, pickles de shiitake, poire, salsifis, miso (one of my highlights, despite the pear, which I usually detest, but not here), and filet mignon de cochon, panais, sauge, oseille sauvage.  Our sucrees, or more simply, desserts, included the 'sur le green' and chocolat, noix de coco, cacao, cardamone, both of which rocked (7€ a pop).  Have a look at some of the results:

 

Don't think I've forgotten the third page of the carte - there at the top marked 'a partager' stands an impressive offer - a 1 kilo side of braised Black Angus beef, another Braisenville specialty, and one that would probably make the actor (and I use that term with much trepidation) Mr. T. more than content.  Judging by the sides of beef we saw waiting to be served, it's pretty easy to see how that could satisfy a moderately sized rugby squad, so if you are up for beef and going as a couple, be sure to bring your appetite.  Remember mom's admonishment, 'Put down those damn chips, we're eating dinner in 8 hours.'

Overall, I was impressed enough with Braisenville to want to go back, something I may shoot for soon with Co.  The server promised that at least a couple new menu items are added pretty regularly, and there were some options I'd like to try that I didn't this first visit.  Before forgetting, Mr. T. and I washed our raciones down with, fittingly, given the Spanish buzz, with a reasonably priced rioja, which the waiter seemed to suggest was more limited in distribution than warranted, given I think I had the same rioja in Lisbon a few weeks earlier.

Oddly enough, no one seemed us worthy of ordering a post-meal cafe, something T and I didn't realize until our second drink at the rather weird little cafe around the corner, Jolis Momes, 5 rue Turgot.  No loss.

I don't quite get what the large painting at Braisenville is supposed to signify, other than conversation, but I'm sure there's a story - maybe next time.

BRAISENVILLE
36, rue Condorcet
75009 Paris
tel: 09.50.91.21.74