I just came back from a week-long trip back East, which was wonderful (and comes with a couple of restaurant reviews, coming soon). Tomorrow, I'm headed to China for a little over a week. Should result in quite a few posts, I hope.
Just wanted to explain the scarcity of posts lately.
NEWSFLASH: The Washingtonian, DC's high society magazine of sorts, publishes a top 100 restaurants in DC list every year. This year, my favorite DC fine dining resto, Komi, has managed to unseat Michel Richard's long running #1 spot with Citronelle. I've eaten at both, and though Citronelle was excellent, Komi is quite special. Well done, Chef Monis. It is well-deserved. Thanks to Ben for the info.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Le Beurre Noisette
Again, I apologize for the crappy pics. I'd say I'm working on it, but that would be a lie.
So, I've raved about my 'bistronomic' meals in Paris (and boy will I be glad when I don't have to type that word again). Le Comptoir was robust French food, with no holds barred in the richness department. The suckling pig dish was phenomenal, one of my top ten dishes of all time (maybe). Chez Michel did regional specialties with the care of a fine dining restaurant. At Le Pre Verre, vegetables were the stars of the dishes, and the price couldn't be beat.
While all of those meals were excellent, it wasn't quite fine dining, nor was it trying to be. Though the skills in the kitchen and the quality of ingredients were top notch, these restaurants are still bistrots. I went to Le Beurre Noisette the night before I left expecting a similar experience. Instead, I ate one of the finest meals I'd had in a long time.
Le Beurre Noisette is located on a very residential side of the fifteenth arrondissement, close the edge of the Paris banlieue. The restaurant's decor is much more subdued that most of the other restaurants I'd been to on this trip. The tiny dining room packs in around 40 diners. There are no printed menus. Instead, the wait staff bring you a large ardoise with the day's choices, a 32 euros three course menu. In addition, there is a 6 course tasting menu available for 40 euros, which, judging by the variety and portion sizes that I saw on the table next to us, is an amazing deal. We didn't really have time for it that night, but it's definitely the way to go.
So, first cost-saving measure: the ardoise. It's big and heavy, and though they bring it to you, it's your job to hold it up as you decide. Is it smart? Maybe. While some customer satisfaction may be lost at the idea of working out your forearms and shoulders during dinner, the losses are surely recouped as the customers must decide quickly and not waste time chattering. Which brings me to something I've neglected to cover in these last few posts: the service at these restaurants is generally sub-par. I'm one of those people that doesn't really care about service if the food is excellent, but if you were looking for attentive, competent, caring service, you won't find it here. This is probably why I enjoyed these types of restaurants so much, and also one of the reasons why they can charge such low prices. Of course, the service wasn't terrible: our food was hot, not spilled all over us, and came quickly. And of course, it was way better than the crappy service we're used to in the US, especially in San Francisco. Still, at Le Comptoir, the waiter had the traditional 'French waiter' indifference going on; at Chez Michel, the grungily dressed waitresses always seemed to be in a panic; Le Pre Verre actually had excellent service, though the host was rude; and at Le Beurre Noisette, the two waiters/cum hosts/cum sommeliers were rushing around frantically, and managed to serve the table next to us their main courses twice.
In any case, the food was quite sublime. The meal starts off with gougeres, those little gruyere studded pate a choux balls. While in most restaurants where they've served these as a canape/amuse they've often been reheated, these tasted right out of the oven, and they're probably the best ones I've ever had. Of course, I haven't been to the French Laundry, so my opinion on gougeres is probably irrelevant.
I had a tough choice with the appetizers. Thierry Blanqui is famous for his carpaccio of pig's foot, and though I really wanted to try it, I'm a sucker for boudin noir, which was on the menu that night. I went with the boudin noir, which was phenomenal. House-made, of course, then smashed and seared, and served on a top of a caramelized apple sauce and a gorgeous salad of winter greens. The flavors were very traditional, but perfectly executed. Even more impressive was my dining partner's celery root soup, served over sauteed pieces of foie gras, breadcrumbs, and parsley. It was reminiscent of the artichoke soup at Le Comptoir.
The main courses really sealed the deal. My braised pork belly with celery root-truffle puree was wonderful. The piece of pork belly had been braised with with whole truffles, which had subsequently been used to scent the celery root puree. The pork belly itself was astoundingly meaty, showing again that it's not just technique that differentiates the US from France, but ingredients too. The additional licorice foam added a lovely touch of anise flavor. I was also impressed by the other dish, which was a brandade of haddock. Brandade has a very negative connotation for me, as it was a stodgy regular item in my primary school's cafeteria that I absolutely loathed. This one, however, was nothing like my childhood nemesis. Light and fluffy, with home-salted haddock retaining a somewhat fresh fish flavor. It was top with a perfectly poached egg, likely done in a controlled water bath, and the yolk enriched the brandade and cut through the salt of the fish. The dish was finished with crispy cabbage for texture and a parmesan foam.
Dessert was also excellent. My gateau breton, a sort of extremely buttery pate sablee topped with sliced poached pears (poached in almond milk), sliced almonds, cocoa powder and an exquisite caramel sauce would have been just fine on its own, if a little predictable. The biscuit was crumbly and not dry at all, and the pears had imbibed the almond essence, which paired very well with the caramel. However, the dessert was pushed over the top with a quenelle of honey-lavender ice-cream. It was a clinic in ice cream making, and the slight floral flavor turned something delicious into something refined.
As for the other dessert, it was one of my favorite chocolate desserts of the last year. A perfect dacquoise of milk chocolate and hazelnut meringue had pieces of roasted pears interspersed through it, and was draped in a thin layer of high quality dark chocolate. It was accompanied by two sauces, one white chocolate, and one dark.
To top it all off, we were served an excellent guimauve, and the best madeleine I've had in a long time. Petits fours? Not bad for 32 euros.
Le Beurre Noisette was a little finer than the previous meals I had on this trip. There's more flair involved in the food, and the dishware is more modern. Again, it is an exercise in restaurant management and business as much as a show of culinary artistry. You'll notice in my writings and in the pictures that several ingredients were repeated (pears, celery root, etc.), something which tends to be avoided by chefs here and in more expensive restaurants, but which I have no problem with. It eliminates waste, shows off the versatility of ingredients and unless you're ordering everything on the menu for yourself, isn't boring at all. Most importantly, all the dishes were well composed. I've been thinking a lot about composition lately, and how many 'modern' chefs are losing the flair for it, preferring a list of 'surprising' ingredients which give a shocking, sometimes pleasant, but rarely outstanding combination of flavors. I'll write more about it later, but needless to say, there is no doubting Thierry Blanqui's composition skills. Having had no expectations for Le Beurre Noisette, it was a tremendous meal, and my highest recommendation for those looking for a great meal at a reasonable price in Paris.
Le Beurre Noisette
68 rue Vasco de Gama
75015 Paris
So, I've raved about my 'bistronomic' meals in Paris (and boy will I be glad when I don't have to type that word again). Le Comptoir was robust French food, with no holds barred in the richness department. The suckling pig dish was phenomenal, one of my top ten dishes of all time (maybe). Chez Michel did regional specialties with the care of a fine dining restaurant. At Le Pre Verre, vegetables were the stars of the dishes, and the price couldn't be beat.
While all of those meals were excellent, it wasn't quite fine dining, nor was it trying to be. Though the skills in the kitchen and the quality of ingredients were top notch, these restaurants are still bistrots. I went to Le Beurre Noisette the night before I left expecting a similar experience. Instead, I ate one of the finest meals I'd had in a long time.
Le Beurre Noisette is located on a very residential side of the fifteenth arrondissement, close the edge of the Paris banlieue. The restaurant's decor is much more subdued that most of the other restaurants I'd been to on this trip. The tiny dining room packs in around 40 diners. There are no printed menus. Instead, the wait staff bring you a large ardoise with the day's choices, a 32 euros three course menu. In addition, there is a 6 course tasting menu available for 40 euros, which, judging by the variety and portion sizes that I saw on the table next to us, is an amazing deal. We didn't really have time for it that night, but it's definitely the way to go.
So, first cost-saving measure: the ardoise. It's big and heavy, and though they bring it to you, it's your job to hold it up as you decide. Is it smart? Maybe. While some customer satisfaction may be lost at the idea of working out your forearms and shoulders during dinner, the losses are surely recouped as the customers must decide quickly and not waste time chattering. Which brings me to something I've neglected to cover in these last few posts: the service at these restaurants is generally sub-par. I'm one of those people that doesn't really care about service if the food is excellent, but if you were looking for attentive, competent, caring service, you won't find it here. This is probably why I enjoyed these types of restaurants so much, and also one of the reasons why they can charge such low prices. Of course, the service wasn't terrible: our food was hot, not spilled all over us, and came quickly. And of course, it was way better than the crappy service we're used to in the US, especially in San Francisco. Still, at Le Comptoir, the waiter had the traditional 'French waiter' indifference going on; at Chez Michel, the grungily dressed waitresses always seemed to be in a panic; Le Pre Verre actually had excellent service, though the host was rude; and at Le Beurre Noisette, the two waiters/cum hosts/cum sommeliers were rushing around frantically, and managed to serve the table next to us their main courses twice.
In any case, the food was quite sublime. The meal starts off with gougeres, those little gruyere studded pate a choux balls. While in most restaurants where they've served these as a canape/amuse they've often been reheated, these tasted right out of the oven, and they're probably the best ones I've ever had. Of course, I haven't been to the French Laundry, so my opinion on gougeres is probably irrelevant.
I had a tough choice with the appetizers. Thierry Blanqui is famous for his carpaccio of pig's foot, and though I really wanted to try it, I'm a sucker for boudin noir, which was on the menu that night. I went with the boudin noir, which was phenomenal. House-made, of course, then smashed and seared, and served on a top of a caramelized apple sauce and a gorgeous salad of winter greens. The flavors were very traditional, but perfectly executed. Even more impressive was my dining partner's celery root soup, served over sauteed pieces of foie gras, breadcrumbs, and parsley. It was reminiscent of the artichoke soup at Le Comptoir.
The main courses really sealed the deal. My braised pork belly with celery root-truffle puree was wonderful. The piece of pork belly had been braised with with whole truffles, which had subsequently been used to scent the celery root puree. The pork belly itself was astoundingly meaty, showing again that it's not just technique that differentiates the US from France, but ingredients too. The additional licorice foam added a lovely touch of anise flavor. I was also impressed by the other dish, which was a brandade of haddock. Brandade has a very negative connotation for me, as it was a stodgy regular item in my primary school's cafeteria that I absolutely loathed. This one, however, was nothing like my childhood nemesis. Light and fluffy, with home-salted haddock retaining a somewhat fresh fish flavor. It was top with a perfectly poached egg, likely done in a controlled water bath, and the yolk enriched the brandade and cut through the salt of the fish. The dish was finished with crispy cabbage for texture and a parmesan foam.
Dessert was also excellent. My gateau breton, a sort of extremely buttery pate sablee topped with sliced poached pears (poached in almond milk), sliced almonds, cocoa powder and an exquisite caramel sauce would have been just fine on its own, if a little predictable. The biscuit was crumbly and not dry at all, and the pears had imbibed the almond essence, which paired very well with the caramel. However, the dessert was pushed over the top with a quenelle of honey-lavender ice-cream. It was a clinic in ice cream making, and the slight floral flavor turned something delicious into something refined.
As for the other dessert, it was one of my favorite chocolate desserts of the last year. A perfect dacquoise of milk chocolate and hazelnut meringue had pieces of roasted pears interspersed through it, and was draped in a thin layer of high quality dark chocolate. It was accompanied by two sauces, one white chocolate, and one dark.
To top it all off, we were served an excellent guimauve, and the best madeleine I've had in a long time. Petits fours? Not bad for 32 euros.
Le Beurre Noisette was a little finer than the previous meals I had on this trip. There's more flair involved in the food, and the dishware is more modern. Again, it is an exercise in restaurant management and business as much as a show of culinary artistry. You'll notice in my writings and in the pictures that several ingredients were repeated (pears, celery root, etc.), something which tends to be avoided by chefs here and in more expensive restaurants, but which I have no problem with. It eliminates waste, shows off the versatility of ingredients and unless you're ordering everything on the menu for yourself, isn't boring at all. Most importantly, all the dishes were well composed. I've been thinking a lot about composition lately, and how many 'modern' chefs are losing the flair for it, preferring a list of 'surprising' ingredients which give a shocking, sometimes pleasant, but rarely outstanding combination of flavors. I'll write more about it later, but needless to say, there is no doubting Thierry Blanqui's composition skills. Having had no expectations for Le Beurre Noisette, it was a tremendous meal, and my highest recommendation for those looking for a great meal at a reasonable price in Paris.
Le Beurre Noisette
68 rue Vasco de Gama
75015 Paris
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Le Pre Verre
Sadly, no pictures for this post. My last lunch in Paris was at this other star of the 'bistronomic' movement. With a focus on wine (hence the wordplay in the name, for you francophiles), Le Pre Verre takes affordable lunching to great heights.
Though they have a large a la carte lunch menu, the best deal is the 13.50 euro lunch 'formule.' One appetizer, one entree, a glass of wine, and a coffee. The food, of course, is of the finest bistronomic pedigree. Even weekday lunch reservations are tough to get.
The chef, Philippe Delacourcelle, is known around Paris as the 'spice-man', or something like that. Though he's fond of his spice cabinet, he uses it in very restrained manners, which is very French. Though I do love spices myself, fine cuisine is based on the subtlety of flavors, which can be lost in aggressive spicing.
My meal was actually quite sublime. The first course was a little cast-iron pot filled with different cauliflower preparations (raw, roasted, pureed), gently scented with garam masala. It was very reminiscent of a dish I had at Ubuntu in Napa, except that one was spiced with vadouvan. This version somehow managed to bring out the full spectrum of cauliflower flavors. Outstanding.
My second course, though a little less flawless, was still excellent. A small piece of sea bass had been baked slowly, and served with tomato preserves, turmeric, cumin and fondant potatoes. The portion was small, but at 13.50 euros, I wasn't complaining. Again, the spicing was present but not overwhelming, giving the dish a somewhat exotic scent without masking the quality of the ingredients.
Maybe lunch is the key to a great food culture. Most French people, regardless of their profession, still take the time to enjoy lunch. Many places of work provide lunch vouchers, which can be redeemed at many if not most restaurants. They drink wine, eat well and slowly, and then go back to work. In the US, going 'out' for lunch usually involves either a business lunch or a fast option. However, lunch can be a great way for finer restaurants to break even, or even make money. With a restricted menu and simpler dishes, chefs can have the cooks, who would have been there prepping anyway, work on the line at the same time. If this simple economic difference can make or break a great restaurant, our lunching habits may be the key to explaining the difference between our food culture and Europe's.
In any case, I'd love to go back and try Le Pre Verre's dinner menu.
Le Pre Verre
8, rue Thenard
75005 Paris
Though they have a large a la carte lunch menu, the best deal is the 13.50 euro lunch 'formule.' One appetizer, one entree, a glass of wine, and a coffee. The food, of course, is of the finest bistronomic pedigree. Even weekday lunch reservations are tough to get.
The chef, Philippe Delacourcelle, is known around Paris as the 'spice-man', or something like that. Though he's fond of his spice cabinet, he uses it in very restrained manners, which is very French. Though I do love spices myself, fine cuisine is based on the subtlety of flavors, which can be lost in aggressive spicing.
My meal was actually quite sublime. The first course was a little cast-iron pot filled with different cauliflower preparations (raw, roasted, pureed), gently scented with garam masala. It was very reminiscent of a dish I had at Ubuntu in Napa, except that one was spiced with vadouvan. This version somehow managed to bring out the full spectrum of cauliflower flavors. Outstanding.
My second course, though a little less flawless, was still excellent. A small piece of sea bass had been baked slowly, and served with tomato preserves, turmeric, cumin and fondant potatoes. The portion was small, but at 13.50 euros, I wasn't complaining. Again, the spicing was present but not overwhelming, giving the dish a somewhat exotic scent without masking the quality of the ingredients.
Maybe lunch is the key to a great food culture. Most French people, regardless of their profession, still take the time to enjoy lunch. Many places of work provide lunch vouchers, which can be redeemed at many if not most restaurants. They drink wine, eat well and slowly, and then go back to work. In the US, going 'out' for lunch usually involves either a business lunch or a fast option. However, lunch can be a great way for finer restaurants to break even, or even make money. With a restricted menu and simpler dishes, chefs can have the cooks, who would have been there prepping anyway, work on the line at the same time. If this simple economic difference can make or break a great restaurant, our lunching habits may be the key to explaining the difference between our food culture and Europe's.
In any case, I'd love to go back and try Le Pre Verre's dinner menu.
Le Pre Verre
8, rue Thenard
75005 Paris
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Pierre Herme
A little rest from the gastro-bistros for now.
The holidays are also macaron season in France. They're usually given as gifts, and a few bakers have managed to reach cult status for their macarons. Until this trip, I'd only tasted the famed products from Laduree. This time, we happened to be staying near Pierre Herme's latest boutique.
On Christmas day, Pierre Herme had set up a tent on a nearby square to help cope with the demand for his macarons. The line was at least 150 persons long. I wanted to try them, but every time we walked by the store, the line seemed to be getting longer.
Thankfully, when we were chillin' at the retirement home one day with our grandparents, my grandma received a package from her sister, who lives in the South of France. The package was cold, contained a plastic bag-type thing with a futuristic freezing contraption, and a case of thirty macarons of various flavors.
Over the next few days, my brother and I dug in, sampling flavors such as three different varieties of rare Mexican chocolates, coffee and caramel, and even rosewater (gross). On my last day, I bought seven macarons to give to Lauren, including combinations like foie gras-fig and foie gras-chocolate.
Herme's macarons, aside from being beautiful to look at, are an almost perfect expression of the treat. The meringue is just chewy enough while retaining lightness, and the ganaches are smooth, not too sweet, and perfectly balanced. After eating one, you realize why Pierre Herme's store looks like a jewelery store. The foie gras macarons, in particular, are outrageously decadent. While I enjoy the macarons at Miette in San Francisco, Herme's are close to perfect, and actually worth the price.
The inside of the foie gras and chocolate macaron.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Good article
Thanks to my pal James for this article.
I often read Francois Simon's blog, (he translates it in English too, if you're interested) and find his undercover videos quite funny. Though he's not the only one doing such things (another favorite blog of mine, tastingmenu, has a few videos of their own). I like that he challenges the fine dining establishment in France, especially the ludicrous prices of Alain Ducasse's restaurants. If he's a bit too acerbic, he's also extremely entertaining.
However, his failure to cook successfully for a few nights in a restaurant, as described in the article, is revelatory. There are plenty of home cooks (even good home cooks) who imagine they might be the next undiscovered Daniel Boulud. Often, I wonder if those cooks forget that we are far more forgiving of our own creations, and far less forgiving of the food in expensive restaurants, which makes sense. However, it does cloud judgment if trying to compare one's food to restaurant food. I used to think my food was the bomb before I worked in restaurants. What I learned, aside from how little I actually knew, was that the structure of restaurants isn't really replicable at home, no matter how hard one tries. This is why I get annoyed when Rachael Ray makes three course meals for each of her thirty-minute meals. Home cooking gets a lot more from simple dishes that require few components, I think. (Of course, you can make exquisite food in a home kitchen, but it's hard with the time constraints of a real job and the cost of ingredients).
When I was about to head to law school and changed my mind to go work in restaurant kitchens, my parents tried to steer me away from that choice by mentioning a lawyer in Montreal who they knew who is a self-described 'home chef' and has been cooking on the line at a modest bistro once a week (trying to get me to temper my passion). The Montreal Gazette had an article about him (which I sadly can't find right now) and his restaurant exploits, and it was clear that, aside from the rigors of working on the line, he had begun to rethink his skills. The restaurant had allowed him to put one dish on the menu, and he chose his rendition of beef wellington. He said that once he tasted it in juxtaposition with the restaurant's other dishes, he felt quite humbled.
Francois Simon once said he could cook a chicken 200 ways. Does that mean he could cook a chicken well 200 ways every time? To paraphrase Thomas Keller, professional cooking is about repetition. Only by repeating recipes, knife skills, techniques and developing one's palate through repetition can one get to the level of restaurant food. Of course, I'm not saying I couldn't make food better than an Olive Garden...I have to keep the comparisons relevant. However, even in my best efforts at fancy home-cooked meals, I can't replicate the food I make in restaurant kitchens. I guess that's why my favorite food critics are the ones who limit their roles to tasting and evaluating food, like Frank Bruni of the Times. I also like Michael Ruhlman's approach to home cooking: he went through culinary education at the CIA, worked in restaurant kitchens, has been a co-author on the French Laundry and Alinea cookbooks, and yet keeps his home cooking to a minimalist best.
I don't know what inspired this little post, but it's probably because I've found myself recently losing many of the touches I had developed in kitchens. I completely overcooked a steak the other day as I was distracted by something else. I also managed to partially screw up a braise (don't ask...). It's only been a few months since I last set foot in a restaurant kitchen, but the daily routine of mincing shallots, the reflexes of keeping different pots and pans working at the same time, the things that become almost like muscle memory and let you focus on the intangibles have left me a bit, and it's taken me by surprise. I guess these are the things that still make restaurant cooking valuable, and that we should remember before saying "I could do this at home." Cooking at home, we're a lot more forgiving.
More posts from France tomorrow.
I often read Francois Simon's blog, (he translates it in English too, if you're interested) and find his undercover videos quite funny. Though he's not the only one doing such things (another favorite blog of mine, tastingmenu, has a few videos of their own). I like that he challenges the fine dining establishment in France, especially the ludicrous prices of Alain Ducasse's restaurants. If he's a bit too acerbic, he's also extremely entertaining.
However, his failure to cook successfully for a few nights in a restaurant, as described in the article, is revelatory. There are plenty of home cooks (even good home cooks) who imagine they might be the next undiscovered Daniel Boulud. Often, I wonder if those cooks forget that we are far more forgiving of our own creations, and far less forgiving of the food in expensive restaurants, which makes sense. However, it does cloud judgment if trying to compare one's food to restaurant food. I used to think my food was the bomb before I worked in restaurants. What I learned, aside from how little I actually knew, was that the structure of restaurants isn't really replicable at home, no matter how hard one tries. This is why I get annoyed when Rachael Ray makes three course meals for each of her thirty-minute meals. Home cooking gets a lot more from simple dishes that require few components, I think. (Of course, you can make exquisite food in a home kitchen, but it's hard with the time constraints of a real job and the cost of ingredients).
When I was about to head to law school and changed my mind to go work in restaurant kitchens, my parents tried to steer me away from that choice by mentioning a lawyer in Montreal who they knew who is a self-described 'home chef' and has been cooking on the line at a modest bistro once a week (trying to get me to temper my passion). The Montreal Gazette had an article about him (which I sadly can't find right now) and his restaurant exploits, and it was clear that, aside from the rigors of working on the line, he had begun to rethink his skills. The restaurant had allowed him to put one dish on the menu, and he chose his rendition of beef wellington. He said that once he tasted it in juxtaposition with the restaurant's other dishes, he felt quite humbled.
Francois Simon once said he could cook a chicken 200 ways. Does that mean he could cook a chicken well 200 ways every time? To paraphrase Thomas Keller, professional cooking is about repetition. Only by repeating recipes, knife skills, techniques and developing one's palate through repetition can one get to the level of restaurant food. Of course, I'm not saying I couldn't make food better than an Olive Garden...I have to keep the comparisons relevant. However, even in my best efforts at fancy home-cooked meals, I can't replicate the food I make in restaurant kitchens. I guess that's why my favorite food critics are the ones who limit their roles to tasting and evaluating food, like Frank Bruni of the Times. I also like Michael Ruhlman's approach to home cooking: he went through culinary education at the CIA, worked in restaurant kitchens, has been a co-author on the French Laundry and Alinea cookbooks, and yet keeps his home cooking to a minimalist best.
I don't know what inspired this little post, but it's probably because I've found myself recently losing many of the touches I had developed in kitchens. I completely overcooked a steak the other day as I was distracted by something else. I also managed to partially screw up a braise (don't ask...). It's only been a few months since I last set foot in a restaurant kitchen, but the daily routine of mincing shallots, the reflexes of keeping different pots and pans working at the same time, the things that become almost like muscle memory and let you focus on the intangibles have left me a bit, and it's taken me by surprise. I guess these are the things that still make restaurant cooking valuable, and that we should remember before saying "I could do this at home." Cooking at home, we're a lot more forgiving.
More posts from France tomorrow.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Chez Michel
Thierry Breton, of Chez Michel, wants people to taste the food of Bretagne (Brittany). Yes, he's from Bretagne and his name is Breton. His menu at Chez Michel is rustic and doggedly regional. With haute cuisine, much of the regional subtleties in France had been lost to a sort of codified general French cuisine. However, though France may not be as geographically diverse as the US, there are very distinct differences between regions. France has mountains, valleys, vineyards, ocean fronts, sea fronts, Germanic ancestry, and several colonies to draw from. The food in each region has its own strong identity, as does the culture in general.
If I have regional affiliations, they are to Bretagne and the Rhone-Alpes regions, where my grandparents are from. I have a particular affinity for Brittany as it is where I spent most of my childhood summers, and where my grandma draws inspiration for much of her cooking. Since she is one of my greatest inspirations in cooking (she taught me how to properly season food, for one), it's no wonder I feel drawn to the food of Brittany. It's also probably why I've never been able to stand any crepes made in this country.
Thierry Breton opened Chez Michel not long after Yves Camdeborde opened La Regalade, no doubt inspired by his friend's success. They are both products of top Parisian kitchens, including the legendary Tour d'Argent. However, while Camdeborde retained a bit cosmopolitanism in his cuisine de terroir, Breton went for an all-terroir approach. Stepping into Chez Michel, you feel transported to a countryside restaurant room. Not an ounce of urban touches. Same goes for his menu.
Choosing Chez Michel as one of my dining destinations was done several years ago, and wasn't really my doing. I was reading Jeffrey Steingarten's article on these 'gastro-bistros' in The Man Who Ate Everything (one of my favorite food writing collections) and saw Breton's name mentioned. A few days later, I was speaking with my mom, who had just returned from Paris, and she mentioned that she had eaten at a great restaurant fitting the description of Chez Michel. I asked her if that was it, and she said yes, informing me that Breton was actually the cousin of a good family friend. One thing led to another, and I almost went to work for him, though I eventually chose California. Still, small world.
Breton wasn't there on the night in question (even chefs take vacations at normal times in France), but we still ate damn well. Chez Michel is in the 10th arrondissement, near a strip I would have avoided as a kid, but which has found popularity lately with its cheap rents and the canal St-Martin. As I mentioned before, everything about the restaurant is rustic, and the tables are packed in to every tight and inaccessible corner of the room, making service quite hilarious.
They start you off with a plate of bigorneaux, or periwinkles in English. My great aunt used to eat these by ton in my childhood summers, but I've never really taken a liking to them. Still, better than crackers. Comes with an excellent mayonnaise.
Then comes the house-made bread and Breton butter. I probably would have been content eating just that. The butter had that deep yellow and crumbly quality that many celtic butters have (the Bretons are celts, after all).
The menu at Chez Michel is composed of two parts. There is a roughly permanent printed menu, with three courses for 30 euros, highlighting the very traditional Breton dishes that form the core of Breton's arsenal. Then, the table is also presented with an ardoise displaying the day's specials, which are quite numerous, and which all have a surcharge. For our visit, the blackboard menu was very game-heavy, but we mostly stuck to the classics.
We ordered a pre-appetizer of foie gras and shaved truffles on a warm tartine with a sprinkling of fleur de sel. It was truffle season after all, and ended up being comped. Though it's hard to credit the kitchen for this, it was about as decadent and perfect as food gets. The slight heat from the bread softened the foie and released the scent of the truffle while maintaining its raw texture. The truffle was of a very high quality, maybe one of the best I've ever tasted raw.
Like at Le Comptoir, most of the appetizers require very little line work in the kitchen. There are the obligatory soups, but instead of charcuterie, Breton offers different raw-ish fish preparations, more in line with his coastal home region. These come to the table in little canning jars, with a simple green salad. My sardines, which had been quickly preserved with tomato 'tartare', salt and lemon, were a revelation. I've never tasted sardines this good. Our family friend Carole (also our gracious host) had a salmon that was also extremely fresh, but less interesting. My brother, the soup fiend, had a very typical soupe de poisson, which was also excellent. While the food at Chez Michel may be rustic, you can see Thierry Breton's skills in the flawless executions. I also loved that many of the dishes are served in a kind of 'family style' way, emphasizing the intended rusticity: for example, my brother's soup was served from a large pitcher which was left on the table to refill his bowl at will.
My main course was where the kitchen really showed its skills. I had a beautiful piece of cod, roasted and served on top of a ragout of chard legs, sauteed chard leaves and carrots. The skin was crispy yet tender. The dish was put over the top by the accompanying broth: veal feet had been braised in shellfish stock, giving the broth a meaty flavor and a consistency and mouthfeel almost like liquid gelatin. This made every piece of fish have a luscious texture. Carole had a sort of Breton-style bouillabaisse, whose Breton name escapes me. Though it looked like a bouillabaisse, the flavors were entirely different. The seafood was excellent, including four exquisite razor clams placed on top. I also loved the cast iron pot it was served in. The only low note of the night was my brother's dish, a daily special that was reminiscent of blanquette de veau. The veal chunks were dry and sparse, and the broth was underseasoned and watery.
Just as with everything else, desserts are homey and comforting classics. Chez Michel is supposed to have one of the best renditions of the Paris-Brest, that old French standard of choux with whipped cream of varying flavors. However, we went for different offerings that night. I had a kouign ammann, a layered pastry with tons of caramel and butter that I loved as a kid. It's one of the richest desserts out there, and Breton's is sublime, served warm on a wooden cutting board. Carole had the riz au lait, a traditional rice pudding which was again served family style in a large bowl to eat at will. Again, this was delicious and comforting. My brother, never really much of a sweet tooth, had the cheese platter, which was also all-you-can-eat. Like a home-cooked meal.
I must also mention the wine, which was robust and perfect for a cold winter night. The bourgueil from Pierre Breton (no relation) is one of those small-production organic wines championed by both Thierry Breton and Yves Camdeborde.
Looking around the other tables and listening in, we realized that a good portion of the guests at Chez Michel that night were foreigners. Since this isn't a neighborhood you'd go to as a tourist, it is clear that Thierry Breton's food has earned a worldwide reputation. I suspect that some of the out-of-towners might have been a little disappointed at the utter lack of daintiness in the food (at least the Americans behind us were). This is robust, rustic, country food, and a cuisine that may be lost if not the work of people like Thierry Breton. It also happens to be pretty damn delicious, and it helps to keep alive one of the roots of haute cuisine, which has to be France's greatest gift to the world.
If you're traveling to Paris and are looking for something a bit different, book a table at Chez Michel.
Chez Michel
10, rue de Belzunce
75010 Paris
Friday, January 09, 2009
Le Comptoir
Again, sorry for the crappy pics.
The first of these 'bistronomic' meals was at Le Comptoir, one of the more famous of these types of restaurants. The chef there, Yves Camdeborde, was one of the pioneers of this movement, opening the now-legendary La Regalade in 1992, which became the model for these 'bistronomic' restaurants. Joel Robuchon himself said that La Regalade wouldn't work when it opened, but after eating at Le Comptoir, you quickly see that Camdeborde is not only a great chef, but a great businessman.
Reservations for the dining room at Le Comptoir are very hard to come by during the week, when Camdeborde himself is in working the line and choosing the courses for the 45 euro tasting menu. Everyone in the dining room gets the menu. Sadly, we couldn't get a reservation for dining room (harder to get than many 3-Michelin star...around 3 months wait right now). However, Le Comptoir has an extensive a la carte selection that shows the range of Camdeborde's skills.
The appetizers are divided into a small section of two or three soups, and larger selection of charcuterie, pates, and foie gras preparations. They range from 9 to 16 euros, running a little higher than most 'bistronomic' places. Here lies part of the genius behind these business plans. Since most of the appetizers require very little work on the line (since soups and charcuterie are obviously made earlier in the day), Camdeborde doesn't need to hire as many cooks. Also, while the food is extremely refined, the presentations aren't ornate or ostentatious.
My brother's cream of artichoke soup was poured tableside, in a bowl containing chunks of sauteed foie gras, tiny tapioca pearls, and broken croutons. There was also foie gras pureed in the soup, which managed to remain incredibly light despite its creaminess. Absolutely wonderful, and the little tapioca pearls added a nice surprising dimension.
My pressed foie gras and confit pears turned out to be a huge slab from a terrine of foie gras, confit pears, and bacon. The foie was as smooth as any I've had in fine dining restaurants, though it was packed a little dense. Still, just the value of that portion was too good to be true. The confit pear and bacon added the requisite sweet and salty notes to the foie, but the real star of the dish was the little sad of toasted pine nuts, pears and chives served on the side. Well, maybe not the star, but the tour de force.
The real culinary tour de force of the evening was in the main course, their famed suckling pig dish. I'm usually pretty comfortable identifying the methods behind a dish, but this one was baffling. From what I can tell, they had boned the whole animal, made a roulade, kind of like a porchetta, and then poached it til tender. Afterwards, they had placed a round of pig skin on the slice of roulade, and seared and roasted it. Now when I say it was tender, I'm not doing it justice. Tender is a word reserved for top notch barbecue, or braised meat. This went beyond that. As soon as I touched it with my fork, it fell apart. Seriously, the resistance of jello, but it still retained the integrity of meat, in a way that's often lost in sous-vide cooking (which is why I scratched that option). It was served on top of lentille du puy with bacon in an intense pork broth subtly seasoned with espelette pepper. One of the best things I've ever eaten.
My brother's dish was the only low note of the night. It was a tuna 'a la plancha' with baby vegetables and provencal tastes. The seasoning and execution were good, but the dish lacked inspiration. I wish I could have convinced him to order something more on the offal side.
We skipped dessert as we were sitting outside and the heat lamps couldn't do much to combat the December cold. However, I have to note that the wine, a light 2004 bordeaux from the St-Emilion area, was a bargain at 25 euros. Fruity and complex, it was suprisingly well-paired with all of our food. (However, I don't think it's useful to compare wine prices in France to those in the US. Wine is just generally cheaper in France, as the market for it is entirely different.)
Camdeborde's food at Le Comptoir is good combination of rustic and modern. Presentations are simple, but the technique behind most of the food is excellent. The foie terrine, for example, was one of the best I've ever had, and could have held its own in any fine dining restaurant. And that suckling pig. Absolutely amazing. There were no flaws in seasoning and execution in any of the dishes, and most importantly, the dishes all had a lot of soul.
What was fascinating, in the end, is seeing how revolutionary Camdeborde's business model is. Reservations at Le Comptoir can have a 7 month waiting time, according to some. Yet he keeps prices low, the food is excellent, and the atmosphere populaire. If only we could have had the tasting menu, a steal at 45 euros.
Le Comptoir du Relai
5, Carrefour de l'Odéon
75006 Paris
And here's an article on Camdeborde in English.
The first of these 'bistronomic' meals was at Le Comptoir, one of the more famous of these types of restaurants. The chef there, Yves Camdeborde, was one of the pioneers of this movement, opening the now-legendary La Regalade in 1992, which became the model for these 'bistronomic' restaurants. Joel Robuchon himself said that La Regalade wouldn't work when it opened, but after eating at Le Comptoir, you quickly see that Camdeborde is not only a great chef, but a great businessman.
Reservations for the dining room at Le Comptoir are very hard to come by during the week, when Camdeborde himself is in working the line and choosing the courses for the 45 euro tasting menu. Everyone in the dining room gets the menu. Sadly, we couldn't get a reservation for dining room (harder to get than many 3-Michelin star...around 3 months wait right now). However, Le Comptoir has an extensive a la carte selection that shows the range of Camdeborde's skills.
The appetizers are divided into a small section of two or three soups, and larger selection of charcuterie, pates, and foie gras preparations. They range from 9 to 16 euros, running a little higher than most 'bistronomic' places. Here lies part of the genius behind these business plans. Since most of the appetizers require very little work on the line (since soups and charcuterie are obviously made earlier in the day), Camdeborde doesn't need to hire as many cooks. Also, while the food is extremely refined, the presentations aren't ornate or ostentatious.
My brother's cream of artichoke soup was poured tableside, in a bowl containing chunks of sauteed foie gras, tiny tapioca pearls, and broken croutons. There was also foie gras pureed in the soup, which managed to remain incredibly light despite its creaminess. Absolutely wonderful, and the little tapioca pearls added a nice surprising dimension.
My pressed foie gras and confit pears turned out to be a huge slab from a terrine of foie gras, confit pears, and bacon. The foie was as smooth as any I've had in fine dining restaurants, though it was packed a little dense. Still, just the value of that portion was too good to be true. The confit pear and bacon added the requisite sweet and salty notes to the foie, but the real star of the dish was the little sad of toasted pine nuts, pears and chives served on the side. Well, maybe not the star, but the tour de force.
The real culinary tour de force of the evening was in the main course, their famed suckling pig dish. I'm usually pretty comfortable identifying the methods behind a dish, but this one was baffling. From what I can tell, they had boned the whole animal, made a roulade, kind of like a porchetta, and then poached it til tender. Afterwards, they had placed a round of pig skin on the slice of roulade, and seared and roasted it. Now when I say it was tender, I'm not doing it justice. Tender is a word reserved for top notch barbecue, or braised meat. This went beyond that. As soon as I touched it with my fork, it fell apart. Seriously, the resistance of jello, but it still retained the integrity of meat, in a way that's often lost in sous-vide cooking (which is why I scratched that option). It was served on top of lentille du puy with bacon in an intense pork broth subtly seasoned with espelette pepper. One of the best things I've ever eaten.
My brother's dish was the only low note of the night. It was a tuna 'a la plancha' with baby vegetables and provencal tastes. The seasoning and execution were good, but the dish lacked inspiration. I wish I could have convinced him to order something more on the offal side.
We skipped dessert as we were sitting outside and the heat lamps couldn't do much to combat the December cold. However, I have to note that the wine, a light 2004 bordeaux from the St-Emilion area, was a bargain at 25 euros. Fruity and complex, it was suprisingly well-paired with all of our food. (However, I don't think it's useful to compare wine prices in France to those in the US. Wine is just generally cheaper in France, as the market for it is entirely different.)
Camdeborde's food at Le Comptoir is good combination of rustic and modern. Presentations are simple, but the technique behind most of the food is excellent. The foie terrine, for example, was one of the best I've ever had, and could have held its own in any fine dining restaurant. And that suckling pig. Absolutely amazing. There were no flaws in seasoning and execution in any of the dishes, and most importantly, the dishes all had a lot of soul.
What was fascinating, in the end, is seeing how revolutionary Camdeborde's business model is. Reservations at Le Comptoir can have a 7 month waiting time, according to some. Yet he keeps prices low, the food is excellent, and the atmosphere populaire. If only we could have had the tasting menu, a steal at 45 euros.
Le Comptoir du Relai
5, Carrefour de l'Odéon
75006 Paris
And here's an article on Camdeborde in English.
Thursday, January 08, 2009
From Paris
I just returned from a ten day stay in Paris. This is much less glamorous than it sounds. I mostly went to visit my family, most of which still lives in the Paris area. I spent many hours at my grandparents' retirement home outside of Paris, and others visiting cousins, old friends, and riding the Metro and RER. Though I didn't find much time (or money) to eat away at the food that often makes me wish I still lived there, I managed to fit a few delicious things in. I'm not going to get into too much detail about my entire visit: this is a food blog after all. However, I'll use this post to talk about how I think about eating in Paris, and then over the next few days I'll post a few reviews.
Going back to Paris is kind of strange for me. I certainly don't feel like a tourist; I grew up there and have spent more time there than anywhere else in the world. However, I haven't been able to go back that many times since I came to the US for college a little over seven years ago. Returning to Paris (or anywhere else, I assume) with the perspective of an 'adult' (I guess...) changes the way one looks at this city. With Paris, I've begun to see the romantic sides of the city, not just in the famous landmarks like Notre-Dame at night, but in the little everyday journeys that make it so special. Of course, there's more complexity to these thoughts, but I won't bore you with my emotional state and various identity crises.
In terms of food, this rediscovery and maturity plays heavily in my appreciation of things. Again, I am not a tourist in Paris. However, I often find myself reacting giddily to certain morsels of food consumed in Paris like an American tourist, having been deprived of the savoir-faire of everyday products for so long. I feel like an idiot for loving Acme baguettes so much after biting into even the most mediocre Parisian baguette. Even the random bistrot steak-frites can be a revelation, especially for the price. There are also the finer dining establishments, which I have a more recent affinity for. The appreciation of such things can only come later on in life, unless you grew up with incredible wealth.
Then again, I am a Parisian myself, and I don't just apply American standards for the food in Paris. I can be critical of my morning croissant, no matter how much better it is than anything I've had in America in recent memory. I also know Paris's limitations as a food city: though it is excellent for tourists, it pales in comparison to New York in its non-French food selections. There's good food from the former colonies (Vietnam, North Africa), and strangely, good Korean food too. However, almost everything else tends to be disastrous. The French don't like spicy food, so stay away from anything Indian or Mexican. In fact, a couple of years ago, I found myself eating in a "Mexican" restaurant in Paris. I don't know what was Mexican about what I ate, but I nearly threw it up in my mouth a little later. Gross. However, some things are changing, and the Asian communities in Belleville are strong enough in numbers now to provide quality Asian food if you're willing to go look for it. And then of course, there's the litany of bad bistrots. And while there are of course some excellent ones, Paris' domestic reputation for bad bistrots, which probably only exist because of the tourists (see below), is warranted.
Still, it is an incredible place to eat. From the bakeries to the hidden restaurants in the less popular arrondissements, there is more than enough to satisfy even the most curious of foodies for years. Even locals are continuing to discover and rediscover the countless hidden culinary joys of this city, and to debate which bakeries make the best croissants. Even when I was there, the restaurants I had previously researched were generally unknown to members of my family, and provided several happy surprises. And if the Parisian bistrot really does deserve its horrendous reputation in France, it is a testament to the quality of food in France in general. While we, in America, continue to look to a few major cities (and the odd regional specialties) to define our culinary landscape, the food France is quite splendid from Paris to the smallest of towns. The Michelin guide's criteria for two star and three star restaurants ("worth a detour" and "worth a special journey") speak volumes about the ubiquity of gastronomy in France.
Of course, I could write volumes about all of this, but there are already plenty of books written on the subject. I'm here to write about my trip. I guess that the eating portion of my trip could be divided neatly into three distinct sections and a few side dishes: bakeries, 'bistronomie', and luxury.
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Les boulangeries:
It's hard for me to go back to France without spending an inordinate amount of time in bakeries. I've always thought that if I hadn't gone the chef route, I would have loved to make bread. There's something so wondrous about the art of breadmaking, from the basic ingredients to the subtle but undeniable differences between good and great bread. If there's one thing that the French do better than anyone, it's bread and pastries. Walking into your average corner bakery in Paris will still yield something better than almost anything I can find in San Francisco.
There's also a childhood attachment to French bakeries that I can't shake off; I ate a baguette and a chausson aux pommes almost every day I was there. Though my family cooked very well when I was growing up, especially my grandmother, we rarely went out to eat. However, there was never a day when we didn't purchase at least a baguette from a bakery.
When I first get to Paris these days, I'll scarf down almost anything from a bakery, no matter how mediocre it is. After a couple of days, however, I start looking for the primo stuff. As you can imagine, there's a great debate over the best baguette/croissant/pain de campagne in Paris, or in France for that matter. (Jeffrey Steingarten, easily the best food writer in this country, has a great article on the annual bread-baking competition in Paris that tries to find the best specimen). (Of course, there's also a debate over whether or not baguettes are actually good bread. Just to settle that: baguettes are cheap white bread. They don't have the complexity of sourdoughs or other natural-rising breads. They are for the common people: the common baguette is actually the product of government regulation...but I won't get into that right now. Baguettes are delicious as an accompaniment to food, or as a vehicle for a sandwich. They're not the best or most refined bread in a French bakery, but they represent for me what makes France's such a superior food culture, as even the most pedestrian products are made with high standards. There are people on forums like egullet and Chowhound who have tried to say that since baguettes are so low on the totem pole of bread in France, it shouldn't matter who makes the best baguette. I think the baguette, as the symbol of culinary excellence in the lowest common denominator, is worthy of such reverence.) (Too many parenthetical sentences. Sorry). I began to ask around to find people's favorite artisanal baguettes, which I will use as a catch-all term for baguettes a l'ancienne, or sourdough baguettes...basically a natural-rising baguette.
After consuming too many carbs, I found a couple of legendary baguettes, one around the corner from where I was staying, in the fifteenth arrondissement. The Pichard boulangerie, on the rue Cambronne, makes an excellent baguette a l'ancienne. The crust is sturdier than the common baguette, but the dough retains the lightness of its more inbred cousin. Similarly, the baguettes at La Boulangerie Julien in the seventh arrondissement are stellar. These baguettes de tradition have much more flavor, the type of flavor that can only come with natural yeasts. This being France, these natural starters may have been around for over a hundred years, greatly adding to the complexity of the bread.
My favorite new discovery for this trip was somewhat serendipitous. I spent most days in Sceaux, just south of Paris, where my grandparents lived when I was growing up and where they are now in a retirement facility. On the way to their home, we passed the Franck Debieu bakery, L'Etoile du Berger, a new addition to the scene in Sceaux (ok, there's no scene at all, but there's plenty of good food). The line was out the door, and the awning proudly advertised artisanal products. One bite of his sourdough baguette, and I was hooked. Then I tried his other breads, and it was clear that I was in the hands of a master. Aside from the typical French country loaves and levain breads, there were several fruit breads, as well as more German breads with rye and pumpernickel flours, though they didn't feel as heavy as most German breads (yes, they let you sample). And of course, his pastries, notably the chausson aux pommes and croissants au beurre were out of this world. People in France have been talking about the new wave of bakers returning to artisanal ways, and it's clear that Mr. Debieu, who was behind the counter even on Christmas day, is a leader in his field. Before we left, we bought a galette des rois, traditionally served for the epiphany (in January), to have with our grandparents, as we had done as children. If you're not familiar with it, it's essentially a traditional butter pastry dough, filled with frangipane, in which the baker has hidden a small, usually religiously-themed porcelain figure. Whoever gets the figure becomes king (based on the three kings, of course), and can choose a queen. Vice versa if the winner is a queen. The winner receives a paper gold crown (see pics). Mr. Debieu's was, of course, one of the best I've ever had.
Of course, I didn't just eat baguettes. I chomped on plenty of croissants, chaussons aux pommes (my favorite), pains au chocolat, pains aux raisins, etc. The Julien Boulangerie also had an excellent doughnut soaked in brandy. In most cases, these pastries made me wish I didn't have to return to San Francisco. While we do make some good bread in the Bay Area, you really have to look for it, and then fork over too much hard-earned cash to pay for the fact that it's so rare. The croissants at Acme, for example, are only mediocre in comparison, and they cost $2.50.
Why do I care so much about bread? Because it says so much about a food culture that their most humble foods are treated with such reverence.
Boulangerie Julien
85 rue St-Dominique
Paris, 75007
Boulangerie Pichard
88 rue Cambronne
Paris, 75015
Franck Debieu (L'Etoile du Berger)
6, rue du Docteur Berger
Sceaux, 92330
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La bistronomie:
Oh, the French. They do some things so well. Then they go ahead and bestow on the world such atrocities as French pop music. Another crime against culture is their insistence on coining new, goofy terms for things that don't need naming (not that we don't do it either...I think specifically of the term "foodie").
If you're wondering what 'bistronomie' is, it's the name given to the trend (it's actually been going on for over fifteen years) of Parisian chefs who have trained in the top kitchens in France to open small restaurants, often in old bistrot spaces, serving affordable yet gastronomically outstanding food. This new-ish type of restaurant has given rise to Michelin alternative Le Fooding (another sad exercise in branding), an excellent guide to more affordable eating in Paris (though it's not a 'cheap eats' guide: more of a bargain dining guide. For example, L'Astrance's 70 euro lunch is in the guide).
At this point, I should clarify that when considering the value of things in France, particularly food, I considered a roughly equal exchange rate of dollar to euro. Of course, the euro was at around $1.40 when I was there, but I find it more valuable to analyze these eating experiences from the point of view of purchasing power. Assuming roughly equal salaries (with a 1:1 exchange rate), it tells me a lot more about what the average French person can afford. Since most of the places I went to are as much for locals as for tourists, it paints a better picture for comparative purposes to look at those prices in this way. Of course, if you're planning a trip to France sometime soon, you should feel free to convert.
Anyway, back to 'la bistronomie'. Since I am in no position to eat at Pierre Gagnaire or L'Arpege these days, I focused my reservation-getting on these types of restaurants. In any case, I would much rather travel to Michel Bras, Marc Veyrat or Pic than eat in Parisian 3-Michelin star restaurants. With price tags of over 300 euros, these restaurants are not in the price range of most French people. Anyway, many people now swear by these 'bistronomic' restaurants, promoting their experiences there above many 2 and 3 star restaurants. I now know why.
Though I will review each restaurant in separate posts, in keeping with the style of the blog, they were all revelatory meals, if only to see how these people have re-thought the way gastronomy can be packaged (more on this in later posts). The history of these places, like in much of the food world, is one of necessity. In the early nineties, the French economy was waning. Many of the sous-chefs of the great Parisian restaurants of lore like La Tour D'Argent found themselves wanting to break out on their own, but the economy wouldn't allow for another 3-Michelin star hopeful. In fact, I don't think any economy would allow for the number of hopefuls out there to each open their own gastronomic temple. In addition to the economic situation, many French diners were fed up with the pomp and circumstance of three-star dining. This is understandable: after working in restaurants, I've become rather disillusioned about high-end dining. While it can sometimes yield moments of revelation, it can be so disappointing that I've turned my attention to more casual, but technically excellent food. I often find that high-end dining is too often focused on presentation and other such frivolities that goal of fine cuisine falls by the wayside. The high end restaurants I do want to eat at (L'Arpege, Bras, L'Astrance, Le Bernardin) tend to be more focused on getting the most out of a few stellar ingredients rather than presenting a muddle of conflicting flavors to shock and awe easily-amused diners. And don't get me started on so-called molecular gastronomy.
The restaurants I ended up eating at really have nothing in common except for their size and price points. These 'bistronomic' restaurants don't connote a type of food, but a type of menu. Usually, they tend to have a three-course prix fixe menu with several options, for a price between 30 and 40 euros. Some even offer tasting menus. Many don't let you pick a la carte. As for the food, it can range from down-home French cooking to modern food worthy of the finest of dining rooms. At Le Comptoir, Yves Camdeborde's food was foie-gras centric in the appetizers and offal-centric in the main courses. I didn't get to try his tasting menu, a steal at 45 euros. At Chez Michel, which obviously kept the name from the restaurant's more plebian past, Thierry Breton makes 'terroir' cuisine of his Bretagne home. With French regional cuisine difficult to find in Paris, nevermind in the US (I did work briefly at a certain San Francisco restaurant supposedly specializing in Gascon cuisine, but I don't think that counts), it was fascinating to eat a different type of 'classic'. At Le Pre Verre, affordability took on a new name as I enjoyed a two course lunch with a glass of wine and coffee for 13.50 euros. Finally, the most modern of my 'bistronomic' meals came at Thierry Blanqui's Le Beurre Noisette, where the amateurish service did nothing to take away from the refined yet comforting modern French food. Reviews to come.
Though I will expound on these thoughts in the restaurant reviews to come, I was almost glad that I didn't gamble my money on a 300+ euro 3-Michelin star meal. Almost everything I ate was excellent, and my meal at Le Beurre Noisette ranks among my top meals of all time. I wonder if these kinds of restaurants could work, or even exist in the US. In a way, they do a much better job showing how far behind we still are when it comes to gastronomy. These places are packed every night, and their value comes from being to identify the savoir-faire behind the dishes. I think it would be hard to find that kind of demand from discerning diners here. However, the biggest obstacles to places of this caliber opening here is the difference in skill between French and American chefs. A chef like Thierry Breton of Chez Michel was around 30 when he went out on his own. Since most chefs in France start apprenticeships at age 14 or 15, that means he had 15 years of experience. I don't know of any US chefs who have been that patient, and it shows in the quality of the food. Of course, we do have the occasional wunderkind like Grant Achatz or Johnny Monis. However, it suddenly makes a lot of sense to me that my favorite Bay Area restaurant, Pizzaiolo, has a chef who trained for years before going out on his own. Another such restaurant is Prune, in New York City, where even brunch is a revelation.
Vive la bistronomie!
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Le luxe:
I love charcuterie. It is one of my greatest food passions, and so I spent a good deal of time in Paris trolling for good charcuterie. This being Christmas and New Year's season, many of these stores were packed with foie gras products.
I don't know why, but I am completely in love with the traditional luxury products of Western cuisine. Since I have no money, it's not a question of conspicuous consumption. I also wasn't raised to eat them on a regular basis; like most French families, we ate foie gras during the holidays. I also remember tasting truffle once, but not liking it.
However, although I generally love all food, I am totally smitten by foie gras, truffles and caviar. Maybe they are luxury products for this reason. Being in France over the holidays, and seeing the ubiquity of foie gras shops that sell other Gascon products, I couldn't help but think that this is another part of a great food culture. Of course, the average Frenchman, gastronome or not, can't afford to eat foie gras and truffles on a regular basis, but it's the fact that these things are appreciated and prized by all for special occasions that reveals a lot about the relationship that the French have with food.
And of course, when you walk down the street and see this:
We have yoga classes, they have foie gras classes. I know which one I want!
I spent a lot of time in these stores, mostly sampling different foie gras preparations, and shopping for luxury canned goods to bring home. Here is some of my yield:
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...et les autres:
Other things from the trip:
- The bad Parisian bistrot. The first night I was there, my brother and I found ourselves wandering around the rue Mouffetard, often remembered for that famous Henri Cartier-Bresson photograph. Rue Mouffetard is adorable, but it's also tourist central, and thus the food that comes along with it is pretty dreadful. Most of the menus offer the same 'traditional' French slog at seemingly affordable prices. We were too starving to do much thinking, and wandered in to the first warm space we found open. The meal was disastrous. I had a soupe a l'oignon that had no flavor whatsoever, followed by a dry boeuf bourguignon with the requisite three 'side vegetables.' I don't know which tourist first requested those random veggie sides, but there's nothing French about them. So weird. Mine had a pasta with a strange tomato product on them, green beans, and boiled potatoes. The dessert, an apple tart that tasted straight out of a factory, was the highlight of the meal. These places are sadly all over Paris.
- L'as du fallafel. I mentioned above that it's very difficult to find good 'ethnic' food in Paris. One exception to this is fallafel (that's how they spell it...). L'as du fallafel, on the rue des Rosiers in the Jewish quarter is probably the best falafel I've had outside of Israel. I've mentioned before that I am a falafel and shwarma snob, and these little fried balls satisfy all of my cravings. Adorned with just cabbage, tehini and hot sauce, as should be, they are a perfect expression of this sandwich.
- Public face. I grew up in the second arrondissement, and my local park was the Palais Royal, a beautiful park surrounded on all sides by galleries. It's a very French park, and thus not the best place for kids to play (not much green space, very manicured...give me the English parks of my later youth any day). However, as an adult, it's an architectural wonder. At one end of the park is a monument that consists mainly of black and white columns of varying height, created by Daniel Buren. It's a very public work of art, and I spent many hours roller skating there and jumping off of them as a child. The columns are currently being renovated, and so the entire area has been fenced in. However, to make sure that people can still see them, several 'windows' have been placed in the fence, which are framed by the same black and white stripes found on the columns. This is another area where Paris shines: placing the conservation of its many public works of art as a priority, no matter what obstacles may exist. They could have just fenced it in.
- Nursing home food sucks in France too. Check out this abominable fish with thick hollandaise and boiled potatoes.
- I'll also post about this in a separate entry, but Pierre Herme's macarons are works of art.
- Walking into a butcher shop or produce shop in Paris is such a pleasant experience. The meat is so good and the affordable. Chicken tastes like chicken. The produce is fresh, and tastes like it's supposed to.
- Another thing I miss is the color of egg yolks there. They are a deep orange, instead of the weird yellow we have here.
That's all.
Going back to Paris is kind of strange for me. I certainly don't feel like a tourist; I grew up there and have spent more time there than anywhere else in the world. However, I haven't been able to go back that many times since I came to the US for college a little over seven years ago. Returning to Paris (or anywhere else, I assume) with the perspective of an 'adult' (I guess...) changes the way one looks at this city. With Paris, I've begun to see the romantic sides of the city, not just in the famous landmarks like Notre-Dame at night, but in the little everyday journeys that make it so special. Of course, there's more complexity to these thoughts, but I won't bore you with my emotional state and various identity crises.
In terms of food, this rediscovery and maturity plays heavily in my appreciation of things. Again, I am not a tourist in Paris. However, I often find myself reacting giddily to certain morsels of food consumed in Paris like an American tourist, having been deprived of the savoir-faire of everyday products for so long. I feel like an idiot for loving Acme baguettes so much after biting into even the most mediocre Parisian baguette. Even the random bistrot steak-frites can be a revelation, especially for the price. There are also the finer dining establishments, which I have a more recent affinity for. The appreciation of such things can only come later on in life, unless you grew up with incredible wealth.
Then again, I am a Parisian myself, and I don't just apply American standards for the food in Paris. I can be critical of my morning croissant, no matter how much better it is than anything I've had in America in recent memory. I also know Paris's limitations as a food city: though it is excellent for tourists, it pales in comparison to New York in its non-French food selections. There's good food from the former colonies (Vietnam, North Africa), and strangely, good Korean food too. However, almost everything else tends to be disastrous. The French don't like spicy food, so stay away from anything Indian or Mexican. In fact, a couple of years ago, I found myself eating in a "Mexican" restaurant in Paris. I don't know what was Mexican about what I ate, but I nearly threw it up in my mouth a little later. Gross. However, some things are changing, and the Asian communities in Belleville are strong enough in numbers now to provide quality Asian food if you're willing to go look for it. And then of course, there's the litany of bad bistrots. And while there are of course some excellent ones, Paris' domestic reputation for bad bistrots, which probably only exist because of the tourists (see below), is warranted.
Still, it is an incredible place to eat. From the bakeries to the hidden restaurants in the less popular arrondissements, there is more than enough to satisfy even the most curious of foodies for years. Even locals are continuing to discover and rediscover the countless hidden culinary joys of this city, and to debate which bakeries make the best croissants. Even when I was there, the restaurants I had previously researched were generally unknown to members of my family, and provided several happy surprises. And if the Parisian bistrot really does deserve its horrendous reputation in France, it is a testament to the quality of food in France in general. While we, in America, continue to look to a few major cities (and the odd regional specialties) to define our culinary landscape, the food France is quite splendid from Paris to the smallest of towns. The Michelin guide's criteria for two star and three star restaurants ("worth a detour" and "worth a special journey") speak volumes about the ubiquity of gastronomy in France.
Of course, I could write volumes about all of this, but there are already plenty of books written on the subject. I'm here to write about my trip. I guess that the eating portion of my trip could be divided neatly into three distinct sections and a few side dishes: bakeries, 'bistronomie', and luxury.
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Les boulangeries:
It's hard for me to go back to France without spending an inordinate amount of time in bakeries. I've always thought that if I hadn't gone the chef route, I would have loved to make bread. There's something so wondrous about the art of breadmaking, from the basic ingredients to the subtle but undeniable differences between good and great bread. If there's one thing that the French do better than anyone, it's bread and pastries. Walking into your average corner bakery in Paris will still yield something better than almost anything I can find in San Francisco.
There's also a childhood attachment to French bakeries that I can't shake off; I ate a baguette and a chausson aux pommes almost every day I was there. Though my family cooked very well when I was growing up, especially my grandmother, we rarely went out to eat. However, there was never a day when we didn't purchase at least a baguette from a bakery.
When I first get to Paris these days, I'll scarf down almost anything from a bakery, no matter how mediocre it is. After a couple of days, however, I start looking for the primo stuff. As you can imagine, there's a great debate over the best baguette/croissant/pain de campagne in Paris, or in France for that matter. (Jeffrey Steingarten, easily the best food writer in this country, has a great article on the annual bread-baking competition in Paris that tries to find the best specimen). (Of course, there's also a debate over whether or not baguettes are actually good bread. Just to settle that: baguettes are cheap white bread. They don't have the complexity of sourdoughs or other natural-rising breads. They are for the common people: the common baguette is actually the product of government regulation...but I won't get into that right now. Baguettes are delicious as an accompaniment to food, or as a vehicle for a sandwich. They're not the best or most refined bread in a French bakery, but they represent for me what makes France's such a superior food culture, as even the most pedestrian products are made with high standards. There are people on forums like egullet and Chowhound who have tried to say that since baguettes are so low on the totem pole of bread in France, it shouldn't matter who makes the best baguette. I think the baguette, as the symbol of culinary excellence in the lowest common denominator, is worthy of such reverence.) (Too many parenthetical sentences. Sorry). I began to ask around to find people's favorite artisanal baguettes, which I will use as a catch-all term for baguettes a l'ancienne, or sourdough baguettes...basically a natural-rising baguette.
After consuming too many carbs, I found a couple of legendary baguettes, one around the corner from where I was staying, in the fifteenth arrondissement. The Pichard boulangerie, on the rue Cambronne, makes an excellent baguette a l'ancienne. The crust is sturdier than the common baguette, but the dough retains the lightness of its more inbred cousin. Similarly, the baguettes at La Boulangerie Julien in the seventh arrondissement are stellar. These baguettes de tradition have much more flavor, the type of flavor that can only come with natural yeasts. This being France, these natural starters may have been around for over a hundred years, greatly adding to the complexity of the bread.
My favorite new discovery for this trip was somewhat serendipitous. I spent most days in Sceaux, just south of Paris, where my grandparents lived when I was growing up and where they are now in a retirement facility. On the way to their home, we passed the Franck Debieu bakery, L'Etoile du Berger, a new addition to the scene in Sceaux (ok, there's no scene at all, but there's plenty of good food). The line was out the door, and the awning proudly advertised artisanal products. One bite of his sourdough baguette, and I was hooked. Then I tried his other breads, and it was clear that I was in the hands of a master. Aside from the typical French country loaves and levain breads, there were several fruit breads, as well as more German breads with rye and pumpernickel flours, though they didn't feel as heavy as most German breads (yes, they let you sample). And of course, his pastries, notably the chausson aux pommes and croissants au beurre were out of this world. People in France have been talking about the new wave of bakers returning to artisanal ways, and it's clear that Mr. Debieu, who was behind the counter even on Christmas day, is a leader in his field. Before we left, we bought a galette des rois, traditionally served for the epiphany (in January), to have with our grandparents, as we had done as children. If you're not familiar with it, it's essentially a traditional butter pastry dough, filled with frangipane, in which the baker has hidden a small, usually religiously-themed porcelain figure. Whoever gets the figure becomes king (based on the three kings, of course), and can choose a queen. Vice versa if the winner is a queen. The winner receives a paper gold crown (see pics). Mr. Debieu's was, of course, one of the best I've ever had.
Of course, I didn't just eat baguettes. I chomped on plenty of croissants, chaussons aux pommes (my favorite), pains au chocolat, pains aux raisins, etc. The Julien Boulangerie also had an excellent doughnut soaked in brandy. In most cases, these pastries made me wish I didn't have to return to San Francisco. While we do make some good bread in the Bay Area, you really have to look for it, and then fork over too much hard-earned cash to pay for the fact that it's so rare. The croissants at Acme, for example, are only mediocre in comparison, and they cost $2.50.
Why do I care so much about bread? Because it says so much about a food culture that their most humble foods are treated with such reverence.
Boulangerie Julien
85 rue St-Dominique
Paris, 75007
Boulangerie Pichard
88 rue Cambronne
Paris, 75015
Franck Debieu (L'Etoile du Berger)
6, rue du Docteur Berger
Sceaux, 92330
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La bistronomie:
Oh, the French. They do some things so well. Then they go ahead and bestow on the world such atrocities as French pop music. Another crime against culture is their insistence on coining new, goofy terms for things that don't need naming (not that we don't do it either...I think specifically of the term "foodie").
If you're wondering what 'bistronomie' is, it's the name given to the trend (it's actually been going on for over fifteen years) of Parisian chefs who have trained in the top kitchens in France to open small restaurants, often in old bistrot spaces, serving affordable yet gastronomically outstanding food. This new-ish type of restaurant has given rise to Michelin alternative Le Fooding (another sad exercise in branding), an excellent guide to more affordable eating in Paris (though it's not a 'cheap eats' guide: more of a bargain dining guide. For example, L'Astrance's 70 euro lunch is in the guide).
At this point, I should clarify that when considering the value of things in France, particularly food, I considered a roughly equal exchange rate of dollar to euro. Of course, the euro was at around $1.40 when I was there, but I find it more valuable to analyze these eating experiences from the point of view of purchasing power. Assuming roughly equal salaries (with a 1:1 exchange rate), it tells me a lot more about what the average French person can afford. Since most of the places I went to are as much for locals as for tourists, it paints a better picture for comparative purposes to look at those prices in this way. Of course, if you're planning a trip to France sometime soon, you should feel free to convert.
Anyway, back to 'la bistronomie'. Since I am in no position to eat at Pierre Gagnaire or L'Arpege these days, I focused my reservation-getting on these types of restaurants. In any case, I would much rather travel to Michel Bras, Marc Veyrat or Pic than eat in Parisian 3-Michelin star restaurants. With price tags of over 300 euros, these restaurants are not in the price range of most French people. Anyway, many people now swear by these 'bistronomic' restaurants, promoting their experiences there above many 2 and 3 star restaurants. I now know why.
Though I will review each restaurant in separate posts, in keeping with the style of the blog, they were all revelatory meals, if only to see how these people have re-thought the way gastronomy can be packaged (more on this in later posts). The history of these places, like in much of the food world, is one of necessity. In the early nineties, the French economy was waning. Many of the sous-chefs of the great Parisian restaurants of lore like La Tour D'Argent found themselves wanting to break out on their own, but the economy wouldn't allow for another 3-Michelin star hopeful. In fact, I don't think any economy would allow for the number of hopefuls out there to each open their own gastronomic temple. In addition to the economic situation, many French diners were fed up with the pomp and circumstance of three-star dining. This is understandable: after working in restaurants, I've become rather disillusioned about high-end dining. While it can sometimes yield moments of revelation, it can be so disappointing that I've turned my attention to more casual, but technically excellent food. I often find that high-end dining is too often focused on presentation and other such frivolities that goal of fine cuisine falls by the wayside. The high end restaurants I do want to eat at (L'Arpege, Bras, L'Astrance, Le Bernardin) tend to be more focused on getting the most out of a few stellar ingredients rather than presenting a muddle of conflicting flavors to shock and awe easily-amused diners. And don't get me started on so-called molecular gastronomy.
The restaurants I ended up eating at really have nothing in common except for their size and price points. These 'bistronomic' restaurants don't connote a type of food, but a type of menu. Usually, they tend to have a three-course prix fixe menu with several options, for a price between 30 and 40 euros. Some even offer tasting menus. Many don't let you pick a la carte. As for the food, it can range from down-home French cooking to modern food worthy of the finest of dining rooms. At Le Comptoir, Yves Camdeborde's food was foie-gras centric in the appetizers and offal-centric in the main courses. I didn't get to try his tasting menu, a steal at 45 euros. At Chez Michel, which obviously kept the name from the restaurant's more plebian past, Thierry Breton makes 'terroir' cuisine of his Bretagne home. With French regional cuisine difficult to find in Paris, nevermind in the US (I did work briefly at a certain San Francisco restaurant supposedly specializing in Gascon cuisine, but I don't think that counts), it was fascinating to eat a different type of 'classic'. At Le Pre Verre, affordability took on a new name as I enjoyed a two course lunch with a glass of wine and coffee for 13.50 euros. Finally, the most modern of my 'bistronomic' meals came at Thierry Blanqui's Le Beurre Noisette, where the amateurish service did nothing to take away from the refined yet comforting modern French food. Reviews to come.
Though I will expound on these thoughts in the restaurant reviews to come, I was almost glad that I didn't gamble my money on a 300+ euro 3-Michelin star meal. Almost everything I ate was excellent, and my meal at Le Beurre Noisette ranks among my top meals of all time. I wonder if these kinds of restaurants could work, or even exist in the US. In a way, they do a much better job showing how far behind we still are when it comes to gastronomy. These places are packed every night, and their value comes from being to identify the savoir-faire behind the dishes. I think it would be hard to find that kind of demand from discerning diners here. However, the biggest obstacles to places of this caliber opening here is the difference in skill between French and American chefs. A chef like Thierry Breton of Chez Michel was around 30 when he went out on his own. Since most chefs in France start apprenticeships at age 14 or 15, that means he had 15 years of experience. I don't know of any US chefs who have been that patient, and it shows in the quality of the food. Of course, we do have the occasional wunderkind like Grant Achatz or Johnny Monis. However, it suddenly makes a lot of sense to me that my favorite Bay Area restaurant, Pizzaiolo, has a chef who trained for years before going out on his own. Another such restaurant is Prune, in New York City, where even brunch is a revelation.
Vive la bistronomie!
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Le luxe:
I love charcuterie. It is one of my greatest food passions, and so I spent a good deal of time in Paris trolling for good charcuterie. This being Christmas and New Year's season, many of these stores were packed with foie gras products.
I don't know why, but I am completely in love with the traditional luxury products of Western cuisine. Since I have no money, it's not a question of conspicuous consumption. I also wasn't raised to eat them on a regular basis; like most French families, we ate foie gras during the holidays. I also remember tasting truffle once, but not liking it.
However, although I generally love all food, I am totally smitten by foie gras, truffles and caviar. Maybe they are luxury products for this reason. Being in France over the holidays, and seeing the ubiquity of foie gras shops that sell other Gascon products, I couldn't help but think that this is another part of a great food culture. Of course, the average Frenchman, gastronome or not, can't afford to eat foie gras and truffles on a regular basis, but it's the fact that these things are appreciated and prized by all for special occasions that reveals a lot about the relationship that the French have with food.
And of course, when you walk down the street and see this:
We have yoga classes, they have foie gras classes. I know which one I want!
I spent a lot of time in these stores, mostly sampling different foie gras preparations, and shopping for luxury canned goods to bring home. Here is some of my yield:
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...et les autres:
Other things from the trip:
- The bad Parisian bistrot. The first night I was there, my brother and I found ourselves wandering around the rue Mouffetard, often remembered for that famous Henri Cartier-Bresson photograph. Rue Mouffetard is adorable, but it's also tourist central, and thus the food that comes along with it is pretty dreadful. Most of the menus offer the same 'traditional' French slog at seemingly affordable prices. We were too starving to do much thinking, and wandered in to the first warm space we found open. The meal was disastrous. I had a soupe a l'oignon that had no flavor whatsoever, followed by a dry boeuf bourguignon with the requisite three 'side vegetables.' I don't know which tourist first requested those random veggie sides, but there's nothing French about them. So weird. Mine had a pasta with a strange tomato product on them, green beans, and boiled potatoes. The dessert, an apple tart that tasted straight out of a factory, was the highlight of the meal. These places are sadly all over Paris.
- L'as du fallafel. I mentioned above that it's very difficult to find good 'ethnic' food in Paris. One exception to this is fallafel (that's how they spell it...). L'as du fallafel, on the rue des Rosiers in the Jewish quarter is probably the best falafel I've had outside of Israel. I've mentioned before that I am a falafel and shwarma snob, and these little fried balls satisfy all of my cravings. Adorned with just cabbage, tehini and hot sauce, as should be, they are a perfect expression of this sandwich.
- Public face. I grew up in the second arrondissement, and my local park was the Palais Royal, a beautiful park surrounded on all sides by galleries. It's a very French park, and thus not the best place for kids to play (not much green space, very manicured...give me the English parks of my later youth any day). However, as an adult, it's an architectural wonder. At one end of the park is a monument that consists mainly of black and white columns of varying height, created by Daniel Buren. It's a very public work of art, and I spent many hours roller skating there and jumping off of them as a child. The columns are currently being renovated, and so the entire area has been fenced in. However, to make sure that people can still see them, several 'windows' have been placed in the fence, which are framed by the same black and white stripes found on the columns. This is another area where Paris shines: placing the conservation of its many public works of art as a priority, no matter what obstacles may exist. They could have just fenced it in.
- Nursing home food sucks in France too. Check out this abominable fish with thick hollandaise and boiled potatoes.
- I'll also post about this in a separate entry, but Pierre Herme's macarons are works of art.
- Walking into a butcher shop or produce shop in Paris is such a pleasant experience. The meat is so good and the affordable. Chicken tastes like chicken. The produce is fresh, and tastes like it's supposed to.
- Another thing I miss is the color of egg yolks there. They are a deep orange, instead of the weird yellow we have here.
That's all.
Wednesday, January 07, 2009
The Real Top Chef
This installment of Top Chef is really losing its umph. These 'chefs' can barely cook, and most of them are delusional.
However, we still have Tom "The Don" Colicchio to do the culinary establishment proud. Everything he says is spot on. He is principled, knowledgeable, and I hope people learn from what he has to say. Tonight, he gave us the quote of the day, the week, the month, year, fuck...the century:
With all the food mags and blogs talking about 'trends' for 2009, I only hope to see one trend: going back to basics. Learn how to actually make risotto. Stop serving "sushi" with mango, cream cheese, and other random ingredients that are an utter disrespect to pristine fresh fish. Stop making dishes that are defined by individual components that are no greater than the sum of their parts. We have gotten way ahead of ourselves when it comes to cuisine in this country. Let's slow down, learn, think, and go back to basics.In saying all of this, I am talking about restaurants in general, not Top Chef contestants. Sorry if that wasn't clear. I don't really care about that Top Chef that much!
Sorry if this feels like a diary entry.
However, we still have Tom "The Don" Colicchio to do the culinary establishment proud. Everything he says is spot on. He is principled, knowledgeable, and I hope people learn from what he has to say. Tonight, he gave us the quote of the day, the week, the month, year, fuck...the century:
"I don't think risotto makes a very good garnish. Risotto is a dish all by itself."
With all the food mags and blogs talking about 'trends' for 2009, I only hope to see one trend: going back to basics. Learn how to actually make risotto. Stop serving "sushi" with mango, cream cheese, and other random ingredients that are an utter disrespect to pristine fresh fish. Stop making dishes that are defined by individual components that are no greater than the sum of their parts. We have gotten way ahead of ourselves when it comes to cuisine in this country. Let's slow down, learn, think, and go back to basics.In saying all of this, I am talking about restaurants in general, not Top Chef contestants. Sorry if that wasn't clear. I don't really care about that Top Chef that much!
Sorry if this feels like a diary entry.
Monday, January 05, 2009
Blast from the past
A little delay on the Paris post. I'm feeling a little lazy about writing...
In the meantime, enjoy this fantastic clip:
I normally hate the "Check Please!" series on PBS. It is usually composed of three morons who take you to their favorite restaurants like Bucca Di Beppo and other such atrocities, and then talk about it with an unbearable passive-aggresiveness. The Bay Area version is particularly excruciating. However, Mr. Obama uses his 'debate' cadence to provide a mouth-watering description of Dixie Kitchen in Chicago. He is his usual charming self, and the other panelists can't help but smile when he riffs on their johnnycakes. I wonder if they could tell he would be president some day.
The full episode will air on January 16th.
In the meantime, enjoy this fantastic clip:
I normally hate the "Check Please!" series on PBS. It is usually composed of three morons who take you to their favorite restaurants like Bucca Di Beppo and other such atrocities, and then talk about it with an unbearable passive-aggresiveness. The Bay Area version is particularly excruciating. However, Mr. Obama uses his 'debate' cadence to provide a mouth-watering description of Dixie Kitchen in Chicago. He is his usual charming self, and the other panelists can't help but smile when he riffs on their johnnycakes. I wonder if they could tell he would be president some day.
The full episode will air on January 16th.
Saturday, January 03, 2009
NOPA
There are restaurants in San Francisco whose popularity baffles me. Of course, Chez Panisse comes to mind, but there are many other, usually "ingredient-driven" restaurants that have what seems like an inordinate number of advocates. NOPA is one of those, a newer player on the scene. It is the only real 'dining' establishment on the strip of Divisadero St. that marks the beginning of the so-called Nopa neighborhood, aside from some suspect Thai and Nepali restaurants. Well chosen location, as it is generally packed on most nights.
We first went there last year for a late-night meal. NOPA does do a couple of things well. They're open til 1am, a rarity in this sleepy town, and they give you an amuse-bouche. Aside from that, it's an extremely mediocre restaurant. It's the type of 'California cuisine' restaurant that we've tried to stay away from. That first visit yielded a forgettable duck dish and a fish dish with roasted sunchokes that I didn't finish (an accomplishment for me). However, the saddest part of the meal was a starter of arancini, those normally delicious fried risotto balls, that came out cold and with a bland tomato dipping sauce. Though the food wasn't really bad, the execution was poor, and it was the type of food that's easily made at home and thus feels very overpriced. We swore never to return again.
Last night, however, we were jonesin' for some good burgers. In DC, we loved going to Palena to eat their awesome $10 burger. It was the perfect combination of a home-style food made by a talented chef, and the price was right. Since we live near Nopa, and didn't feel like waiting for Zuni to switch to its late night menu, we headed over to try their supposedly great burgers. The wait for a table was an hour and a half when we got there, but we were able to get a seat at their free-for-all communal table after a half hour. The service was actually decent, considering how packed the place was, and we had our orders for medium-rare burgers and a side of grilled escarole. We also ordered a delicious lager called Toast (Slightly Burnt) from Moonlight Brewery. It had much more complexity than most lagers I've had, but still paired well with the food.
The amuse that night was a small crostini with a nice tarragon flavored Dungeness crab salad. This was by far the culinary highlight of the night. The burgers were mediocre, especially for a $12 burger. Mine was mid-rare on one side, but closer to mid-well on the other. Lauren's seemed almost mid-well throughout. The bun was dry, the fries that came with it were standard Sysco brand, and the accompanying harissa-feta dip was grainy and bland. It's sad when the best thing on your burger plate is the pickled onion. I wanted to send the burger back, but my empathy for cooks in the weeds on a Friday night stopped me. To top it all off, they charge you $1.50 for cheese, but don't specify it on the menu, or when the server offers it to you. That is simply unacceptable.
Though we actually quite enjoyed our side of grilled escarole with capers and breadcrumbs, we're in no hurry to come back. I feel like NOPA is one of those places that has been affected by the lax standard of San Franciscans. The ingredients are good, but there's nothing beyond that. The dishes are uninspired, the menu isn't cohesive or focused, and the kitchen seems to be lacking experience. In addition, NOPA's decor is tacky and has very corporate-looking mural. It's a perfect example of the crappy interiors of most San Francisco restaurants that other bloggers have complained about. I really wish that NOPA was good. I like their philosophy, and I actually had an excellent spanish tortilla with romesco at a fundraiser from their chef. However, it has to fall into that category of California cuisine restaurant that's not worth wasting money on.
Sorry about the lack of pics. I get self-conscious taking photographs of food sometimes.
NOPA
560 Divisadero St (Nopa)
San Francisco, CA
We first went there last year for a late-night meal. NOPA does do a couple of things well. They're open til 1am, a rarity in this sleepy town, and they give you an amuse-bouche. Aside from that, it's an extremely mediocre restaurant. It's the type of 'California cuisine' restaurant that we've tried to stay away from. That first visit yielded a forgettable duck dish and a fish dish with roasted sunchokes that I didn't finish (an accomplishment for me). However, the saddest part of the meal was a starter of arancini, those normally delicious fried risotto balls, that came out cold and with a bland tomato dipping sauce. Though the food wasn't really bad, the execution was poor, and it was the type of food that's easily made at home and thus feels very overpriced. We swore never to return again.
Last night, however, we were jonesin' for some good burgers. In DC, we loved going to Palena to eat their awesome $10 burger. It was the perfect combination of a home-style food made by a talented chef, and the price was right. Since we live near Nopa, and didn't feel like waiting for Zuni to switch to its late night menu, we headed over to try their supposedly great burgers. The wait for a table was an hour and a half when we got there, but we were able to get a seat at their free-for-all communal table after a half hour. The service was actually decent, considering how packed the place was, and we had our orders for medium-rare burgers and a side of grilled escarole. We also ordered a delicious lager called Toast (Slightly Burnt) from Moonlight Brewery. It had much more complexity than most lagers I've had, but still paired well with the food.
The amuse that night was a small crostini with a nice tarragon flavored Dungeness crab salad. This was by far the culinary highlight of the night. The burgers were mediocre, especially for a $12 burger. Mine was mid-rare on one side, but closer to mid-well on the other. Lauren's seemed almost mid-well throughout. The bun was dry, the fries that came with it were standard Sysco brand, and the accompanying harissa-feta dip was grainy and bland. It's sad when the best thing on your burger plate is the pickled onion. I wanted to send the burger back, but my empathy for cooks in the weeds on a Friday night stopped me. To top it all off, they charge you $1.50 for cheese, but don't specify it on the menu, or when the server offers it to you. That is simply unacceptable.
Though we actually quite enjoyed our side of grilled escarole with capers and breadcrumbs, we're in no hurry to come back. I feel like NOPA is one of those places that has been affected by the lax standard of San Franciscans. The ingredients are good, but there's nothing beyond that. The dishes are uninspired, the menu isn't cohesive or focused, and the kitchen seems to be lacking experience. In addition, NOPA's decor is tacky and has very corporate-looking mural. It's a perfect example of the crappy interiors of most San Francisco restaurants that other bloggers have complained about. I really wish that NOPA was good. I like their philosophy, and I actually had an excellent spanish tortilla with romesco at a fundraiser from their chef. However, it has to fall into that category of California cuisine restaurant that's not worth wasting money on.
Sorry about the lack of pics. I get self-conscious taking photographs of food sometimes.
NOPA
560 Divisadero St (Nopa)
San Francisco, CA
Thursday, January 01, 2009
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