If you’re at all interested in the Parisian dining landscape, chances are high that you read Mark Bittman’s recent piece for the New York Times, Four Paris Restaurants Worth a Metro Ride.
His assumption — and it’s mostly fair — is that most tourists don’t make it to the 10th, 18th, 19th, and 20th arrondissements. I said mostly: The area of the 10th around the Canal Saint-Martin, where two of his recommendations are located, attracts plenty of visitors (hoping to skip stones like Amelie, maybe?) and I’ve never not heard a fair number of American voices at Le Verre Volé.
Of the area around Philou, in the 10th, he says: “Some folks might even live around there; it seemed fine.”
I’m not going to get into the inanity of that remark (except to use the word “inanity” to describe it), and the list he’s put together is solid. I’m a fan of both Philou and Le Verre Volé, and I’ve had great meals at his fourth address, Le Baratin (and have, every time, received the “sneering” welcome he describes). I haven’t been to La Table d’Eugène, but have heard good things.
But, as one of the brave souls who lives in the 10th, it’s actually the restaurants in the center of town — never mind the bistro wonderland of the 15th — that require a commute. One that surely merits a ticket is Les Bistronomes.
(“Bistronomy,” if you don’t know, is a mash up of “bistro” and “gastronomy”, coined by Sébastien Demorand to describe a wave of classically trained chefs who were forgoing careers in starred kitchens to open bistros. Champions of the movement include Yves Camdeborde and Stéphane Jego.)
The bistronomes in question here are chef Cyril Aveline and floor man Sylvain Cravero. Aveline was the number two to Eric Frechon at Le Bristol. Cravero’s CV includes stints at the Ritz and the Crillon. Their professionalism is palpable in the welcome, the simple elegance of the room, and on the plate.
When I had lunch here last month, we started with a fantastic (and huge) pâté en croute, and lentils with Morteau sausage, both presented with an elegance that flouted the robustness of these hearty classics.
This time, the lovely Phyllis had a perfect poached egg in a truffle-scented sunchoke cream, served with toast. I took a more modern tack, starting with a salmon tataki served with capers, micro greens and, curiously, a lemongrass “milkshake” (their word, not mine). The tataki — thinly sliced raw salmon — was delicious. The airy shake would have made a nice addition to a composed dessert, but I don’t know what it was doing here. I took a sip, became confused, and decided to just ignore it.
I followed with scallops and an endive tourte and citrus sauce. This was a high-register dish, bitter and bright. The endive leaves had been cooked and formed into delicate disk that concealed pine nuts and raisins, a very French presentation of very old Italian flavors.
Phyllis had cabillaud “à la brandade”, which is to say accompanied by potato purée and roasted garlic, as though from a cook who wanted to make brandade and changed his mind at the last minute.
Dessert was ordered only for the sake of science, only. We were stuffed. Thinly sliced, honey-glazed pineapple arrived, flecked with vanilla bean seeds and served with a scoop of vanilla ice cream.
The bad news is that most, if not all of these dishes may no longer be available; we were told the other night that they would soon be starting the spring menu. But this is just another reason to return.
Not that I need one.
Les Bistronomes 34 rue Richelieu, 75001 Paris, +33 (0)1 42 60 59 66 closed Sunday and Monday. Lunch menus, 25/35€, dinner à la carte only, main courses 24-33€.
Read more about Les Bistronomes on Paris by Mouth