Five Paris Bistros - Chez L'Ami Jean, Chez Michel, L'Os à Moelle, Repaire de Cartouche, L'Entredgeu
I was having lunch at Chez Georges, not the one near the Port Maillot but the one just off the Place des Victoires in the 2nd, and the place was full and absolutely buzzing. I had just finished doing some damage to a large pot of very tasty pork rilletes, and now a plate with three deftly grilled rib lamb chops were placed in front of me. Sitting beside the chops was a small pile of haricots verts. You know the French kind. Thin as toothpicks with ends that wither into threads so thin you could use them to sew buttons. The lamb was done just the way I liked it—charred on the outside and rosy in the center. A sprinkle of fleur de sel to finish it off and you had a classic bistro dish. But then I tasted the haircots verts. Before I say anything further I should tell you that I'm pretty much a meat guy and I usually view the vegetables as being perfunctory. But I don't dismiss them to the point of not trying them, so after a couple of forks of lamb I tasted the haricots vert. Surprisingly they had a superior flavor. In fact they were so good that I actually took a second, and then a third forkfull.
It was at that point that I noticed the owner of the restaurant rushing past my table. I called out to him, "Monsieur Bernard" (Bernard, whom I know for many years is the son of George the original owner of the bistro), "the haricots vert are especially delicious today." Now the typical protocol when you compliment a restaurant owner on the quality of his ingredients is his offer of thanks, combined with a slightly prolongued smile and the offer of a slight nod of the head as a way to accent the thanks. Sort of like a living accent égout. But Bernard missed his cue and instead a serious look came upon his face. After pausing for a second he looked at me with a slight frown and said, "They come from Kenya, that's the business today". The irony of the situation wasn't lost on either of us. We looked at each other for a moment while I struggled to find the words to respond. Before I could utter a sound he shrugged and that freed us from being tied to further conversation. We nodded at each other as a way of acknowledging our mutual disappointment. Then in a flash Bernard was off to tend to another table.
It is amazing what someone can say when combining a few words with a shrug and a nod. In this instance the combination made profound statements about not only food, but the aspirations of today's French youth and how the European Union interacts with the global marketplace. But it spoke volumes about the way that France has changed over the past 20 years, and how the ingredients that were once grown within France's borders are now sourced elsewhere. But what was left unsaid was that the France that he and I grew up to love, and which we both still romanticize, is slowly disappearing. To be honest I'm surprised he told me. It would have been easier for him to adehere to protocol and take the compliment in stride. But he and I share a passion for things gourmandise and he trusted that I was a soul mate who would share his pain.
When you view our interaction within the context of how my dining habits had changed over the years, the truth was my interest in traditionally styled Parisian bistros had waned. In fact at the time of my lunch at Chez Georges, the number of traditional bistros I still enjoyed were down to less than a handful. That was a drastic change from when I started visiting the country in the 1980's, and where bistro meals were a large part of the motivation for my visit. The decline appeared to be caused by a combination of factors, ranging from the cooking not being as robust due to proprieters getting older, to bistros being sold to restauteurs who operated multiple locations and where the sauteés and braises were now somewhat more generic. But now Bernard had added the outsourcing of ingredients that were historically frown within France to that list. In many ways his admission was the icing on the cake, and an awakening to a reality that I had known for quite some time, but which I hadn't been able to fully admit to.
But during the same period of time that traditional bistros were in decline, a new generation of chefs who had committed their careers to bistro-style cooking came along. These chefs were different than the meres and peres who pioneered the craft bistro from the 1930's onward. This group of chefs were formally trained, and the products of some of the top kitchens in France. It happened accidentally, a product of the French economic downturn of the early 1990's. The preceding decade was the peak period of French haute cuisine, and restaurant kitchens were full of takented seconds and line chefs who had aspirations of opening their own restaurants. But when the economy went bad, it became too risky to borrow money to open a formal restaurant. But entreprneurial spirit is not something that can be easily quashed, and instead these chefs changed their course and they opened reasonably priced bistros instead. The result was a new type of bistro cuisine, one that was based on traditional recipes but prepared with the culinary skill of a multi-star Michelin chef.
Once these restaurants started to open it didn't take long for the concept to catch on. If I remember the year correctly, Gault Millau Magazine published an article in 1993 where they coined the phrase "Bistro Moderne" as a way of describing the restaurants opened by this group of chefs.Within a short period of time a few began to stand out above the others, with the most notable being Eric Frechon, who is now the chef at the Bristol, Christian Constant at his Violin d'Ingres (where he now operates a more formal restaurant), and Yves Camdeborde for his scrumptious La Regalade. Gault Millau had noticed something important. On its face the food coming out of these kitchens seemed like it was traditionally styled, but the reality was that when you peeled back the onion, what you found was a highly evolved cuisine prepared with sophisticated culinary technique. It wasn't ling before I abandoned traditional bistro completely, aside from the occassional meal at Chez Georges that is. But I began to reserve my bistro meals in for the Bistro Moderne, a few of which I have written about in this article.
My favorite is Chez L'Ami Jean on rue Malar in the 7th. It was always a traditional Basque bistro, one I frequented for many years, and then taken over by Stephane Jego who was a second to Yves Camdeborde at La Regalade. CLJ was never an important bistro but one I always enjoyed. In fact I have fond memories of going there with my twins when they were ten years old. Mrs P and I were having dinner but the boys had already eaten "Poulet McNugget Frites" for dinner. We sat down at a table and as soon as the waitstaff heard that the boys weren't eating, various puzzles and a deck of cards magically appeared so they would be distracted while we ate in peace. Then when it was time for dessert, a gigantic bowl of chocolate mousse was placed in front of them and the cards were swept away just as quickly as they appeared. But then one day the food seemed tired and I just stopped going. But I had heard that Stephene Jego had reinjected vitality into the cuisine so I figured I would go see what all the fuss was about.
It was a Tuesday afternoon in June and I was by myself. The waiter placed the blackboard menu on a chair in front of me and so many dishes looked good that I actually ordered five courses. The food began arriving and I realized that while the dishes gave the appearance of bistro cuisine, the level of technique, finesse and creativity that was present was at a much higher level than what I was used to finding at a bistro. I started out with a lobster bisque, served in a pitcher with enough soupm in it to feed three people, with a soup bowl holding a pile of cracked pistachios and bits of what I believe was cherval beside it. Then thin slices of veal, strips of lard and more pistachios and then drizzled with mustard. Moving to fish, cured salmon serrved with bacon and a coarse pesto made from parseley. The food was somewhat of a revelation. Though it has the distinct earmarks of bistro cuisine, it was sophisticated beyond anything I had been served and certainly an imporvement over what I was used to at a traditionally styled bistro like À Souseyrac or Chez Pauline.
The savory finale was a plate of some wonderfully braised beef cheeks, perfectly mijoté, served with a small pot of pommes purée. Even the dessert, gateau de riz a la "Grand-Mere", served with roasted pistachios, raisins and Basque cherry jam was superb. It was a meal fit for a king, or for people who would like to to explode after eating lunch. But most importantly it was an excellent demonstration of how bistro cuisine can be reinvented by a chef with formal culinary training. On my next visit Jego served a piperade glacé with some Bayonne ham, and a large pot of stewed shoulder of veal with mashed potatoes. The veal stew was very clean yet remaineed traditional. But the glace could have been served in a modern restaurant in the Basque region, but distinctly and clearly tasted like piperade.
A few months later a lunch at Chez Michel was nearly as enjoyable as my meals at Chez L'Ami Jean, although far less substantial in terms of the amount of food that I ate. The cuisine at Chez Michel is more traditionally styled, though you can easily taste that the same level of culinary expertise is present. Goose neck stuffed with a combination of minced goose and pork and then studded with pistachios was delicious. But a brandade de morue with an olive puree and a mesclun salad was good enough to make my list of the Top 50 Dishes of the Year. In its own way, the juxtaposition of the simple the dishes that Breton strived for, combined with the high level culinary technique, made his food the food stand out even more. Another bistro cut from the same cloth is L'Os à Moelle which is tucked away in a corner of the 15th that doesn't attract many tourists. Except for the ones that are visiting the restaurant and the cute wine bar that the same chef operates across the street. I enjoyed a very good cream of langoustine soup and then some monkfish of exceptional quality served with sauteed spinach and green beans. But while I found the quality of the cooking to be superb, and I would have no problems going back, I also found that the cuisine didn't have the same spark as the regional cuisines found at L'Ami Jean and Chez Michel.
Repaire de Cartouche is in the 11th and a few blocks from the Place de Republique. They have an exceptionally well stocked and well priced wine list, so much so that it is worth going just to drink wine and think of the food as an afterthought. The style of cooking is more rustic than at the other bistros, and I guess the the best way to describe the cuisine is is hearty, fatty and filling. A meal of morels baked with eggs and cream, followed by a rather large portion of lard with lentils, shallots and fava beans was a cardiologist's nightmare. Just look at the hunk of fat in that picture. Friends tell me that the restaurant is at its best during the fall when game is in season and one of these days I will manage to get their during the height of fall. L'Entredgeu is run by another chef from Yves Camdeborde's stable and is located in the 14th near the city line. In my experience it is actually the hardest of the bistros mentioned in this article to get into, but that might be because of the low prices. While the food was perfectly fine, I thought it was easily a cut or two below the others. A risotto of scallops with a crispy slice of Bayonne ham had good flavor but it hardly resembled risotto and was more like a cream of rice. And while a dish of veal cheefs with cumin and carrots was perfectly mijote (rendered until soft), it didn't have the same level of flavor as dishes like the L'Ami Jean veal shoulder had.
In many ways the cuisine at these restaurants is more old-fashioned than what you would get at a traditional bistro. But it is cleaner and many of the impurities (read fat and off-flavors) that were historically present at traditional bistros are missing. Some people might not consider that as an improvement, but you can put me in the camp of people who do. In fact I wish some of these chefs would open restaurants that are somewhere in between bistros and formal restaurants. Maybe something like a tasting menu for a 75-90 euro price point. Oddly enough it is something that doesn't really exist in France. But maybe the time has come. These chefs are certainly talented enough to do it.
Hi congrats on a great site, I always enjoy reading your reviews. I'm spending this weekend in Paris and was hoping you could give me a nudge in the right direction with regards to bistro etiquette. Do they require reservations for lunch and dinner or are walk-ins acceptable as they would be in a UK gastro pub for example? Regards, Tim.
Posted by: Tim | December 12, 2006 at 01:42 PM
Thanks Tim. Restaurant etiquette in France is very different than it is in the U.K. and the U.S. and reserving in advance is pretty much mandatory. In fact some restaurant owners take it as an insult if you show up without a reservation. I'm not sure how the custom started but I've shown up at restaurants without a reservation and have been turned away even though there were empty tables. So I suggest you reserve a few days in advance.
Posted by: Steve Plotnicki | December 12, 2006 at 02:24 PM
Thanks Steve, much appreciated.
Posted by: Tim | December 13, 2006 at 10:29 AM
I'll be in Paris in January, and am looking for new places to try... I've been reading through your archives now for nearly an hour, and there is still so much to catch up on! Thanks for such careful attention to detail.
Posted by: Jennifer Jeffrey | December 13, 2006 at 01:16 PM
Please: it's accent aigu, not égout. In your review as it stands, you're basically saying that Monsieur Bernard has gutter mouth.
Posted by: zennun | June 01, 2007 at 02:47 PM
Steve,
Thanks for yet another very nice review.
I beg to differ about the haricots verts, however. French haricots verts are indeed delicious, but they do not keep over a few days (when they start being fool of strings) and their seasons is very very short -- basically June and July. Kenyan ones, on the other hand, are available all year, keep very well, and the good ones taste particularly good, though less so than the ones you migh get at Passard today, who came from their garden this morning on a first class seat in the TGV.
I do think you have a romantic vision of France, but it is in the sense of a very excessive assumption of its decline -- and the place it comes from. As far as food is concerned, that is (let us not discuss the rest...). Producers of high quality vegetables, like Thiébault or Jancar, are doing well and are more and more numerous. The reality of international trade are what they are, and shape mass market, but luxury in France is doing well, also when it comes to food.
Speaking of which, you gave me the idea of posting about haricots verts on my blog. Please visit.
Posted by: julotlespinceaux | July 10, 2007 at 09:26 AM
Great website! My wife and I will be in Paris for a total of 11 hours (on a cruise) and wanted to have a 2-3 lunch at a bistro in Paris. We have travelled extensively in the wine regions of France with great memories. Looking more for great atmosphere, friendly people, and some fantastic wine and food. Please help!!!
Posted by: Rich Binder | July 08, 2008 at 09:11 PM
If I could, I would go to each and every bistro you suggested!
but If I do that, I will book the flight at LMT.I'd love to go to Paris soon!!! OMG.
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