Interior - chandeliers, zinc and graffiti. Not pictured: matador art and Mexican wrestling masks

Hens' eggs with cream & truffle

Bacon-wrapped salmon stuffed with pied de veau and surrounded by sea snails

A piece of cod a top a pile of boeuf carrottes

Lamb saddle with a blanket of black truffle atop a knob of (maybe) suckling pig

The famous rice pudding with salted caramel cream and nougatine

A miniature Saint-Honoré

Dining at the anglophone table

I felt like a stalker last night at L’Ami Jean. I walked into this place carrying more back-story than should ever be brought to a restaurant. I knew of love affairs that had taken off because of chef Stéphane Jego’s cooking. I’d heard about marathon sessions in which the most serious eaters I know couldn’t finish everything that was served. I’d been checking the Facebook page, on which they post the daily changing menu, for several months. And I’d been writing about it for years* without ever having been.

Virgins who wait too long before sex have a similar problem. We want it to be special, so we keep putting off the deed. I mean, it’s not like I didn’t have the opportunity, during these last years, to hook up with L’Ami Jean. But the timing was never right. I always seemed to think of it, and then perish the thought, when booking for a table that included one of the following: a vegetarian, a picky eater, a girl without the strength of Sophie or Barbra… someone who would interfere with the pig- and gut-feasting for which the restaurant is known.

I started 2012 with a list of restaurants that I really, finally had to visit, and L’Ami Jean was at the very top. When Cédric suggested that we grab a bite after the Stein expo on Saturday night, I knew I had found my moment. I called three days in advance and had no problem booking for the second, later service.

So there I was, standing in the doorway last night, trying to convey with my eyes all that had brought me to this place. “Yes, we have booked (and are so very excited)… under the name of Zimbeck (that’s not French but I’ll eat anything)… for two people (and we mean business).”

My telepathy was not well-understood. The man behind the bar suggested a 15 minute wait, but didn’t ask us about drinks or to take our coats. Instead, he continually reached over our heads to take everyone else’s coats and serve everyone else’s drinks. I finally wrangled two coupes** before being seated at a large table with eight other Anglophones.

I was beginning to regret not coming for the first time with a friend who was already known to the house. But that’s not the way that most of our readers get to experience a place. It was an inauspicious start, but things were about to become much better.

We ordered carte blanche, an €80 option including whatever Jego wants to make. I had starved myself all day in preparation for this feast and was more than ready to eat. The meal began on a soothing note with crouton-dotted crème de parmesan soup. Nothing wild, but quite nice as a base for an empty stomach. Next up: two hens’ eggs with mushrooms, cream and truffles. It didn’t make sense, having two dishes in quick succession that were largely composed of frothy cream. Especially since the truffles (they’re not yet at the peak of flavor) didn’t add very much.

After all of this moaning, let me say very clearly that the next three dishes were among the most delicious I’ve ever eaten. To wit: a perfect salmon nugget, wrapped in bacon skin and stuffed with a lucious sliver of pied de veau (calf’s foot), all surrounded by a sprinkling of tiny bulots (sea snails). A luxurious piece of cod atop an intensely flavored pile of boeuf carrottes (beef & carrots). Lamb saddle, served rosy and wearing a toupée of micro-planed truffle.*** Hiding under the lamb was an unnamed knob of what tasted a lot like suckling pig.

I know from the aforementioned Facebook stalking that Jego sources from Terroirs d’Avenir and other great producers. The base product is impeccable. But the real joy comes from watching/eating what the chef does with these ingredients. Jego’s tweaking of classic bistro flavors doesn’t feel, as is so often the case, haphazard or goofy. Those three great dishes each conveyed a feeling of comfort while also sharing – and this is difficult – something new.

My earlier complaints about the welcome dissolved in the wake of Jego’s food. And the Anglophone table turned out to be delightful – we shared an Armagnac with a couple of Maltese experts in Bordeaux wine who have been coming to L’Ami Jean for years.  The problems I mentioned (and a few others I didn’t) stem largely from having two seatings and not enough time to devote to every table. If they had only one seating, prices would be higher, it would be harder to get in, and not as many people would have the pleasure of discovering Jego’s food. It’s a trade-off that I can live with.

Practical information

Address: 27 rue Malar, 75007
Nearest transport: La Tour Maubourg (8)
Hours: Closed Sunday, Closed Monday
Telephone: 01 47 05 86 89
Website

Read other trusted reviews on our website Paris by Mouth

———————————————————————–

* When I say that I had written about it, I mean short blurbs (not proper reviews) for guide books like Frommer’s Paris.

** Everyone at the bar was drinking Jacquesson (Champagne) with ice cubes. Are we doing that now?

*** The dish was outstanding, but I’m not sure that shaving truffles this fine is the best way to maximize their flavor.

Dining room at Albion

Foie gras at Albion

Salad with blue cheese, pancetta and apple at Albion

Filet mignon de porc with caramelized onions and boudin noir at Albion

Salmon at Albion

Lemon posset at Albion

Menu at Albion

Open kitchen at Albion

Tables at Albion

Exposed stone and wine shelves at Albion

Wines of the week at Albion

Wine list at Albion

Wine list 2 at Albion

Wine list 3 at Albion

Exterior at Albion

For practical information and a collection of trusted reviews, please see our page for Albion on Paris by Mouth.

Egg with pork belly, tomato reduction and pickled red onion at L'Office

Velouté of mushrooms with soft-boiled egg at L'Office

Carre d'agneau (lamb chops) with cabbage, endive and Jerusalem artichokes at L'Office

Chocolate with caramelized bananas, banana ice cream, and hazelnuts at L'Office

Eating at the bar at L'Office

For practical information and a collection of trusted reviews, please see our page for L’Office on Paris by Mouth.

Years ago, if you wanted to drink interesting wine and nibble some inexpensive food, your options were limited to wine bars serving platters of charcuterie and cheese. A handful of Paris places offered more in the way of padding, but the options were always simple – more hearty than arty.

The opening of L’Avant Comptoir in October 2009 kicked off a wave trickle of wine bars serving truly interesting food. Aux Deux Amis, Spring Buvette (RIP) and Le Dauphin followed within a year, and Frenchie has more recently opened a wine bar across the street. These places have a few things in common: small plates, impeccable ingredients, and small production/natural wines. They’re also refugee establishments, providing shelter for clients who couldn’t score a seat at the restaurant, or for former employees who have jumped the mothership. Aux Deux Amis falls into the latter category, as does my new crush Au Passage.

I knew that Audrey, former front-of-house mistress at Spring, was  somehow involved with this new wine bar in the 11th (she’s the girlfriend of one of the owners), but it was a pleasant surprise to also see James Henry behind the stove. James used to do the cold apps and desserts at Spring, and the evening menu at Au Passage is very much in this wheelhouse. Aside from a couple of fatty comforts (burrata, rillettes), most of the small plates could have easily been starters at Spring – they featured pristine produce (Joël Thiébault and Terroirs d’Avenir) and were bright with both color and acid. Flavor pairings were unexpected and, for the most part, successful. I loved the anchovy bass line in a dish of “courgette, ricotta” and the coriander flower in an escabèche with clams and chinchard (reminiscent of mackerel). I was less convinced by the sprinkling of pomegranate on a plate of “saucisse, carrotte”, but I can forgive the out-of-season and overplayed garnish when the dish was otherwise totally delicious. Desserts followed the same Spring format of crustless cream + fruit/chocolate + crunchy bits, but they make more sense in a laidback wine bar than a Michelin aspiring restaurant. Another nice touch: bread from Thierry Breton (Chez Michel) in the same style as (but better than?) Poujauran.

As for the wine, we tasted three and were enamored with two. The red Sancerre from Pinoz Dauny was a great way to begin, and we were delighted by the Verre de Poêtes recommended by Jean-Charles Buffet. I didn’t love the Boisson Rouge dessert wine, but 2/3 isn’t bad when one is prowling for new and interesting wines. We washed the sugar from our mouths with a smoky white whiskey and still managed to escape for only €40 per person.

In a nutshell: Au Passage is what happens when a business minded wine nuts open a large and relatively inexpensive space and spend their money on ingredients and talent. Prices are low, there enough tables and turnover to make booking a real possibility, and the menu changes every day. All this will probably add up to a habit. The rentrée will bring loving reviews and longer waits for reservations, so go and get it while you can.

Au Passage (closed August 7-22 for summer vacation & renovation)
1 bis passage Saint Sébastien, 75011 Paris
Tel: 01 43 55 07 52
Open Mon-Sat for lunch (1 dish for 9.50€, 2 for 13€, 3 for 16.50€) and dinner (small plates, most around 8€)
Facebook page

I visited L’Agrume back in February 2010, just a week after this bistro had opened in the bottom of the 5th. My first thought: God, this place is ugly. With silver sponge-painted walls, pumpkin curtains, and art that was meant to resemble a bar code, it looked like something I might have created back in 1986 if you had asked me to do “sleek” with only $50 worth of materials from Hobby Lobby. I didn’t take a picture of this interior, and nobody else seems to have either. It’s as if we were averting our eyes, the way one does when confronted with an unfortunate mole.

Having said this, I don’t usually care about décor. An ugly room can be a testament to the chef’s single-mindedness if the food turns out to be fantastic. The food, however, turned out to be just fine. A mozzarella dish with truffle and black asparagus resembled the room – showy but mismatched, trying but failing to feel expensive. A well-cooked merlu (hake) was overwhelmed by orange sauce. A chocolate truffle floating in clear mint gel left a light Listerine taste in my mouth. Despite the room, and the fact that each dish was just a few degrees off from where chef Franck Marchesi-Grandi seemed to have been aiming, I still found L’Agrume to be an honest neighborhood option.

Two months later, Christine Muhlke wrote about it for the New York Times, and L’Agrume landed on thousands of “must-try” lists.  I read her review with a sense of bewilderment, not understanding the comparison with Yam’Tcha, Frenchie and Le Chateaubriand. But other writers loved it, too. A quick scan of the opinion on Paris by Mouth shows rave reviews from Alexander Lobrano, François Simon, Emmanuel Rubin, Caroline Mignot, John Talbott and Phyllis Flick. In the face of all this, I assumed that I must have gone on an off-night, gone too early, or gotten it wrong.

I returned this week with a well-informed friend who is visiting Paris for two weeks. He came here to eat, and has been making his way around Rino, Hidden Kitchen, Frenchie and other good tables. I wasn’t surprised when he told me L’Agrume was on his list. This happens a lot, and will continue to happen for years thanks to that single NYT piece. I was excited to try it again, to better understand what I had missed the first time around.

It was exactly the same. The provincial dining room, the sweet and bubbly hostess, the uninteresting wine list, the goofy tableware… nothing had changed. Except the fact that we were now surrounded by English speakers. The prix-fixe proceeded much as it had before, with a series of small plates that tasted good but ever-so-slightly amateur. Yes, I know that the chef worked for Ducasse (who hasn’t?) and that he’s making something (not the most) of seasonal produce. But a dish of smoked mozzarella with Roma tomatoes and basil oil is not something that people cross the ocean to eat. The same goes for white asparagus in Parmesan broth, and a dessert of whipped cream on peaches.

I don’t mean to sound overly harsh. But I now feel comfortable in saying, after a second visit fifteen months later, that L’Agrume is a well-intentioned and often delicious neighborhood restaurant where you can eat five courses for €37. The service is kind, and the interior is entirely without pretension. It should not be a destination for food-minded visitors to Paris. There is nothing particularly French, nor (successfully) innovative about the place. I’m glad that the restaurant exists, but I can’t same the same about that NYT review that will continue to send travelers to L’Agrume for years to come.

Food Intelligence, the source of 90% of the news that we republish on Paris by Mouth, recently reported on some big changes at one of my favorite bistros, Chez Michel. Responding to Bruno’s luscious photos (and in absence of any other plan), I booked a last-minute table on cold-and-rainy Wednesday for a dinner with my former roommate. On my way out the door, a visiting food writer in similarly unbooked straits asked for some advice on where he could go. So Food Snob turned up too, along with James Syhabout and some other culinary pals. I fawned over James, who was utterly delightful on the Omnivore stage, and then settled in for my long-overdue dinner with Kate.

Bruno’s news, that Thierry Breton had ripped out several tables and installed a giant oven in their place, is true enough. A beautiful sight, the stove is tucked away in a different section of the restaurant and not a part of the main dining room. It enables Breton to do a lot of slowly baked dishes, like a potimarron purée that’s ladled from the charred and hollowed squash itself. My volaille fermiere luttée en cocotte (a chicken pot pie studded with morsels of foie) was done in that same oven and served with roasted scorsemères (salsify). The oven also enables Breton to collect and use the crazy delicious jus as condiment. There’s a flagrant drizzle of these roasting juices atop his starter of scrambled, truffled eggs, but their profoundly comforting flavor permeates other dishes as well.

As for the price, it seems on paper to be a big jump from 35€ to 50€. But anyone who abandoned the previous prix-fixe to answer the siren call of the supplements carte can tell you that it was was always 50€ anyway. The pricing now is just much more direct. My only grumble: Chez Michel used to have a staggering cheese course and on this night, with this price jump, offered only fromage blanc. It was a very good one, flecked with the bright green chives and shallot, but come on…

The aforementioned Snob delivered his approval by Skype this morning,  although we agreed that the kouign-aman was not so miam-miam. Including far too much wine (a Charles Hours’ Jurançon, a bit of Foillard Fleurie,  some bubbly “tant-mieux” VdT ), our tab for two was around €165. A less indulgent pair could escape for €40 less.

Chez Michel
10 Rue de Belzunce, 75010
Closed Saturday and Sunday
01 44 53 06 20

> Read other trusted reviews for Chez Michel at Paris by Mouth