|
Paris Now!!!Five Great Reasons, Despite Everything, to Get Up and Go.....By David RosengartenI know, I know. You're probably thinking of at least five reasons NOT to go to Paris right now.....political objections among them, for some of you. Me, I'm a food guy.......so when a long-planned Paris trip came around last month, I chose NOT to cancel it, and NOT to be afraid. I opted to visit my beloved City of Light once again, and to tell you what it's like right now. And I'm telling you it's, like, better than ever. Seriously. For five reasons that I can think of, I would passionately, unhesitatingly, urge you to push politics aside, and to get on over there toute de suite. Reason #1: The Parisians are mourning our absence. I'm not kidding. On this visit, as soon as people found out I was an American they'd get nostalgic on me. They'd say something like "would you please explain to your friends back home that we want you here? That we miss you?" The general manager of the Plaza-Athenée walked me over to the concierge desk. "You see that man? He has been helping out Americans here for 40 years. That man for 30 years. They are depressed. They want to continue to serve their friends. They have nothing to do with Chirac!" I took to the streets. At one corner, just after I passed the jammed McDonald's, my view of the mega-sign announcing the exhibit of Jackie Kennedy was blocked by a passing bus that had the words "Monsieur Schmidt" all along the vehicle's side, next to a huge photo of Jack Nicholson. Strolling around the Left Bank, I wandered into the Hotel d'Aubusson.....a great place on Rue Dauphine that has a lovely feel, and relatively gentle prices. When I asked for a brochure, they detected the accent--and, before you could say Thomas Jefferson, two smiling managers were giving me a tour of the rooms. "Normally, 80% of our customers are Americans. Many of them come back every year. We know they will come back again. But we are so very sad that they're not coming now." Reason #2: Obviously.....the toughest reservations are suddenly simple! I'm telling you: you could feel the empty spaces in Paris. So, a place like the Hotel d'Aubusson, which normally requires a reservation a month or two in advance, would be able to give you a room today if you walked in off the street. Imagine what that means for all the hotels, restaurants, operas and entertainments that normally are so hard to book. Yes, I understand: if your political beliefs are particularly virulent, you may not feel like taking advantage of this. But you won't believe the real diversity of opinion in Paris. And.....I remind you.....one of the great secrets of smart traveling is to visit a wonderful destination when the crowds have gone home, and you have the place almost to yourself. It's just like smart investing.....or smart shopping for anything. When the sometimes irrational "crowd" is overlooking something fantastic, you are handed a once-in-a-decade chance to pounce on a great bargain. For Paris.....that time is now! Reason #3: La Regalade. Well, here's one of the greatest dividends of the Tourist Exodus, if you buy my point of view: you may just be able to book a table at La Regalade. When I tried to book a table there last year, I was turned down.....even though I called six weeks in advance. I learned from a Paris magazine that La Régalade, along with Taillevent, was currently one of the two toughest reservations in Paris--in part because American foodies have discovered La Régalade, and made it a must on their foodie itineraries. So last spring there ensued six weeks of string-pulling, arm-twisting and name-dropping--which finally got me in, in June, resulting in one of the great meals of my life. And now......there's reason to believe that it's temporarily easier for all of us to get in. I'd heard that everything about La Régalade was simplicity itself--which, of course, can be a great thing. I'd been told that the room was plain and cramped, that the food was basic bistro food, that the staff was not particularly engaging. There turned out to be grains of truth, at most, in some of these things. Yes, La Régalade is in the un-charming 14th arrondissement, away from it all.....and yes, it strikes the eye as a get-down-to-business sort of '30s bistro. But it's not the modern, deracinated horror I feared, and it's not without its cozy neighborhood charm. Furthermore, the four-top near the coat rack at the front of the restaurant is not cramped at all, very spacious, a wonderful place to sit. Moreover, my quartet carried on a stream of conversation all night with our highly gracious, though highly pressured, servers, who loved talking about their food and wine with us. And what food this is! Yves Camdeborde, from Béarn, in the southwest of France, does indeed offer a number of elemental items, such as the whole roasted foie gras from the Gers (duck heaven), the melt-your-heart knuckle of long-braised veal served with a killer macaroni gratin, the awesome "double faux" filet of beef from the Aquitaine, and the extraordinary plank of home-made sausages, terrines, pork cracklings and cornichons that appear when you order the appetizer called Tout Simplement La Cochonaille de la Maison Familiale. But I was surprised to discover that, like Alain Dutournier 20 years ago at Au Trou Gascon, Camdeborde has a way of incorporating new ideas into southwestern cuisine that are never distracting, always true to the region's spirit. I loved the mi-cuit (semi-cooked) fresh tuna, marinated in pepper, served with a cold version of the bell-pepper Basque sauce called piperade, as well as crunchy garlic chips and a runny, fried quail's egg. And I almost stood up and applauded the Lasagnes de Homard --a pasta-and-lobster layering that was not nearly as rich as it was lobster-intense, a revelation for those like me who normally just want lasagna to be lasagna, and not in a French restaurant. Well, Yves Camdeborde has the killer instinct: he knows how to blow you away with either a pâté, or a schmancy tuna tower, or a southwestern version of noodles. The principles are the same: muchness, flavor, quality, logic, honesty. And, speaking of honesty, this restaurant is one of the most striking bargains in the world today: Camdeborde, one of France's most revered new-found chefs, will cook you a three-course dinner for 30 Euros--about $32 at current rates. Get there fast--the faster the better.
I love the look of this gorgeously preserved place: old columns with piles of corks in cupolas, grandmotherly floral tiles, a patina of yellow decay everywhere. The age, however, is only in the walls: the establishment crackles with passion, with energy, with the broad laughs of well-dressed businessman sharing a few pots of Côtes-du-Rhône during their life-affirming two-hour lunches.
But it's not just implements that make the difference. Smart ideas, in a way, compress the old bouchon food, give it new urgency. I went ga-ga for the concept of the "pot," (pronounced PO), actualized on the menu in several dishes. The name "pot" is always associated with Lyon's bouchons, because wine at those places is served out of clear, label-less bottles called "pots." But Saintaigne has wrought another kind of "pot"--one filled with food. The Pot de Poule au Pot en Gelée --that's two uses of the word "pot" for the price of one--comes to you in a glass jar with a lid that must be popped open. Inside, you'll find something like an incredibly deep chicken soup, only one day later--that is, it's served cold, like a left-over out of the refrigerator. The textural combination of cool, oozing liquidity, of chicken-fat-richness, of the velvety sheen of good sheet gelatin, is just off the charts, off the charts--like a Westerner experiencing in an authentic Chinese restaurant a new texture in a new dish that he never would have ordered himself. Probe further in that pot, and find the ridiculously tender, flavorful knobs of chicken meat, the carrots, turnips and parsley, the cold medium-boiled egg that still manages to spill its dark orange heart over the impossible liquid silk. It costs about 8 bucks.
Great tarts. Great soufflés......and you'd have to work hard to spend over $40 a person here, even with a few pots of red wine. Have I convinced you yet?
The single, large, ravishing dining room of Le Cinq is always glowing anyway--particularly at night, magical night, when the low, romantic lighting, spilling over the palm trees, creates dreamy chiarascurro effects on tables and floor. The exquisitely tasteful color scheme of the hotel itself--Calvin Klein beiges, tans, creams--informs the restaurant too, even though the design motif, with its heavily molded walls and ceiling, its wrought-iron entry gate, makes more direct reference to elegant1910 than to modernist 2003. But then comes the show-stopping clincher: invading the century-old grandeur of the room are the floral arrangements of Utah-born Jeff Leatham, whose lavish constructions are one of the George V's most talked-about features. In the dining room, on my last visit, vibernium, lillies and curly willow rose to the ceiling out of towering clear-glass vases, the vessels bunched together like the pipes of a church organ. The cutting-edge sensibility of these amazing arrangements does for Le Cinq, roughly, what I.M. Pei's pyramide does for the courtyard of the Louvre. There's more good news, of course. For here's a chef, Philippe Legendre, formerly of Taillevent, who, more than any other three-star chef in Paris, dares to present the diner with tradition. You can get frou-frou anywhere.....but you have to fight today to get tradition! As a recent Gault Millau magazine put it (while bumping up Le Cinq's rating from a respectable 15 to a three-star-ish 18), "Legendre is a hunter of culinary emotions, which he executes with tranquility, far from the Parisian fashions and brouhaha.....(He) works with the delicacy and the dexterity of a surgeon operating without anesthesia." On both of my recent visits, the doctor was in--though you might not have known it was this doctor from the dish names on the menu. For the opening document you're handed at Le Cinq reads like many other menus at creative restaurants today: there are lots of spins and twists that point away from tradition. Well.....forget what the menu says. Think of the menu as PR. Focus on what the plate says. A perfect example is the Bar de Ligne en Peau aux Epices et à l'Escabeche, Huile aux Agrumes --which I translate as line-caught bar, a bass-family fish, cooked in its skin with spices, a vinegar soak, and served with a citrus-flavored oil. Yada, yada. What you actually get on the plate is one of the most un-frilly, most fish-centric compositions imaginable. The bar is unbelievably creamy, tender, slidingly soft, with the minerally, almost striped-bass-like essential flavor of the critter itself dominating all. Everything in the ensemble is geared towards emphasizing that flavor--and towards echoing the sexy softness of the fish. There's no crunchy skin--just a soft, black, natural covering, ratcheting up the marine factor still further. There are similarly conceived vegetables in the mix: artichokes, carrots, fennels, onions, all of them distinct but soft, all of them with no distracting rabbit-food crunch, all cosmically in tune with the piscine thrust of the dish. Even the oil throws off only the most subtle of citric perfumes; its chief function is to do for the fish, in slightly more velvety fashion, what lemon has always done for fish. If you want the dazzle of spices and exotica, by all means have a crunchy, spicy fish in a red curry sauce at a Thai restaurant. If you want to see what the religion of fish has meant in France for hundreds of years, come here. I could say exactly the same for veal. Legendre's Côte de Veau de Lait Fermier Poêlée aux Câpres de Pantelleria--farm-raised, milk-fed veal chop sautéed with capers from Pantelleria--sounds trendy as all get-out, with the fashionable buds from an island off Sicily supplying the "heat." Oddly, however, when the waiter served the dish, he pointed out that the capers (in a mix of olive oil, balsamic vinegar, and shards of Parmigiano-Reggiano) were off to the side; he advised that I eat a good deal of the veal before I even taste the capers. I followed instructions, of course--and was rewarded with the most glorious, most haunting bites of veal in memory, a showcase of pink, juicy, tender, subtle meat, glossed with a jus just sticky and flavorful enough, surrounded by sweet diced vegetables in perfect harmony with the meat, partnered with a side dish of butter-engorged Robuchon-style mashed potatoes that functioned as some kind of eternal springboard for the other flavors. Then came the capers. This rocket, my friends, was already in flight; the first mouthful of capers with veal clearly represented the ignition of booster rockets, propelling this already remarkable dish into the stratosphere, culminating in green, sweet-and-sour tastes from a strange and wonderful planet I'd never before discovered. To be sure, the new-ish elements of Legendre's compositions occasionally steal some of the spotlight. His smoked lobster is not classic--but should be soon. His astonishing composition of langoustines in a foamy sabayon, covered by a thin sheet of "lasagna" that has been lacquered with Parmigiano-Reggiano and duck reduction--touched with cilantro, of all things--looks and tastes more creative than most Legendre dishes. But even in these cases the wisdom of tradition--both in technique and taste--stands behind all. And then, of course, you can always switch back to something like Andouillete et Lard Fermier Francomtois à l'Embeurrée de Chou Truffée --tripe sausage and meaty bacon from a farm in the Franche-Comté with heavily buttered (and truffled) cabbage, certainly the most soulful dish I have ever enjoyed in a three-star restaurant. Did it help that on both my visits Thierry Jacques, one of the restaurant's managers, was as sweet, and gracious, and accommodating as a maître d'hotel could be? I would have loved the place as much, even if the service had been less than triply stellar. But it's a good time to remember that the so-called "rudeness" of the French, even before now, was much more myth than reality. During these days in Paris, these days of international turmoil, I couldn't help but notice how eager everyone was to emphasize civility, to find personal peace in a time of war. I approached this last trip with trepidations for many reasons--but found myself peculiarly relaxed in Paris. If you're thinking that a trip to Paris today will bring you extra security fears, an environment of tension, an argument over every cup of café--my experience says you're wrong. My experience says that your first hunk of bread, slice of garlic sausage and bottle of Beaujolais, served with a smile, will make you really glad you reached out. La Régalade Aux Lyonnais Le Cinq Some Hotel IdeasI make no secret about it: my home away-from home in Paris is the Plaza-Athenée, on Paris' Right Bank, in the heart of an elegant neighborhood just off the Champs-Elysée. The director and I have been friends for a long time.....but that doesn't influence my powerful belief that you'll love this hotel too. Two things anybody would love about this place are the amazing warmth and efficiency of the staff, and the powerful feeling of Paris-ness that pervades every corner (see the July 23, 2001 issue of The Rosengarten Report for more details, as well as a review of the Plaza-Athenée's three-star restaurant, Alain Ducasse). I stayed at the Plaza-Athenée again on this last trip, and found the hotel to be functioning at the same brilliant level as ever. With every well-timed. immaculately choreographed visit of the extraordinary staff, you sit in your plush chair thinking "can it ever get better than this?" Last spring, I did wander several blocks away to stay at the Four Seasons Hotel George V--which I also loved with a passion. The Hotel George V opened in 1928, and was one of Paris' grand luxury palaces for many decades. It declined in the 1980s and 1990s--until it was taken over by Four Seasons, completely renovated, and re-opened to much deserved fanfare in December, 1999. Here, too, in this stunning hotel, you will find elegance, comfort and service at the very highest levels imaginable. In fact, if you're looking for a more international brand of comfort--the spa thing, the attention paid to children, the ease of business services--you may find yourself happiest here. International travel publications have gone bonkers with this hotel lately: it was recently voted "Best Hotel in France" by Travel and Leisure magazine, "Best Overseas Hotel" by Andrew Harper's Hideaway Report, and "Best Hotel in the World" by Forbes Global. That's an impressive line-up of kudos. Do keep in mind, however: in almost every detail, from the material selections in the rooms, to the doorman's tilt of the head, you will be sacrificing a tiny bit of that ineffable, only-in-France, Plaza-Athenée quality. The choice is yours. Unfortunately, prices are extremely steep at either establishment (you'll spend a minimum of $600 a night). Those who are looking for a great Parisian experience at a lower rate might want to consider a stay in one of the smaller hotels on the Left Bank. There are those who prefer the Left Bank in any case, as a home base; they claim that having access to the wonderful old streets of the Latin Quarter is more important to them than the luxury they can find on the Right Bank. Problem is: lots of the Left Bank hotels feature tiny, old rooms are prices way beyond what they should be. So it was with great glee, about two years back, that I discovered the Hotel d'Aubusson, just a 5-minute walk into the Left Bank from the Pont Neuf. The lobby's low-key--but once you walk back to the gracious sitting rooms and breakfast rooms, with their old wood-beam ceilings, you feel a twinge of Victor Hugo and beyond. Some of the rooms feature wood-beam ceilings as well; these are my favorite rooms, and, should you make a reservation here, you should definitely try to secure one. The price? As low as $275, ascending to about $425 for a Grand Luxe Apartment and Loft. Worth it, big-time. Hotel Plaza-Athenée Four Seasons Hotel
George V Hotel d'Aubusson David's newsletter, The Rosengarten Report, was just awarded a prestigious James Beard Award. The category was a new one, Best Food and Wine Newsletter in America, and David's must-have report, filled with testings and tastings and mouth-watering food rhapsodies, was the inaugural winner. To see what's in the latest issue and get your own subscription, visit www.fabulousfoodfinds.com. |
|
TM
Reason #4: Aux
Lyonnais. In October of 2002, Alain Ducasse teamed up with Thierry De La
Brosse, the owner of Paris' beloved, still-running, old-time bistro L'Ami
Louis; together, they set out to resuscitate another one of Paris' beloved
old-time bistros, Aux Lyonnais. Just a ten-minute walk from the old Les
Halles market, Aux Lyonnais had opened in 1890 as a Paris version of Lyon's
fabulous mom-and-pop bouchons --but, in recent years, had gone seriously
downhill. Anytime Ducasse attaches his name to a project, of course, it gets
major attention--particularly from Americans, who right now would have been
flocking to this just-opened small place had they not chosen to stay home.
There you go again: a trip to Paris today nets you a much easier reservation
for a wonderful journey backward in culinary time.
Most fetching of all
is what young chef Christophe Saintaigne--in collaboration with the other
dudes, of course--has done with the food. I have eaten extensively in the
bouchons of Lyon. This is not exactly that food. Nor is it a creative
version of that food; you will never, ever see a "modern" tweak in the food
itself here. What you will see is a brilliant concept: take the funky food
of the old bouchons, make it with only the greatest of ingredients available
in Paris, and re-cast the way it's all served so that contemporary diners
may feel they're in the hands of major restaurateurs. Yes, the food is
old--but the packaging is new. So.....rather than a baguette on the table,
you get a coarse sack, filled with cut pieces of great bread. You find a
blond-wood tub of amazing cornichons near your plate, with beautiful wooden
tongs. A criss-cross, zig-zag platform of shiny stainless steel rods holds
a bowl of cervelles de canut, the great fresh cheese spread of Lyon's silk
workers. You're off to a great start.
Spend 4 bucks more,
and you'll experience a pot beyond, believe it or not. The Pot de la
Cuisinière Lyonnaise is another cold treat--this time, the glass jar is
engorged with cured pork (from a young porker's knuckles), golden foie gras
fat, and chunks of foie gras itself. You can spread it on bread, or do as I
did: just mainline it, man (with a fork to your mouth, of course). Alongside
this pot comes a littler pot, this one brimming with the most amazing
concatenation of warm lentils I've tasted outside of Calcutta; it's the
resounding flavor of great Dijon mustard that lifts this earthy treat to the
highest of leguminous heights.
There's more. A
soulful salad of pissenlit, springy greens, tossed with bacon, potatoes,
herring bits, and another wonderful medium-boiled egg (this one warm). A
terrific board of 5 different dried sausages from Lyon, shaved razor thin, a
veritable salami seminar. A breast of pork, cooked since roughly the
Revolution, melting over a reduced-to-its-essence bed of cabbage and butter.
And, to top it all off, simply the most wonderful piece of resilient,
tender, lively calves' liver I've experienced in years, topped with a
garlic-and-butter-soaked, emerald-green swath of chopped parsley, surrounded
by glowing oven-roasted potatoes, the lot served in a rustic sauté pan with
an appropriately impressive handle.
Reason #5: Le Cinq. If
I haven't convinced you, let me give it one more shot--though this shot, I
warn you, will cost you at least $400 a couple. But it's worth it. On my
Paris visit last spring, I took a meal at the two-star Michelin restaurant
Le Cinq, in the sumptuous George V hotel (which was taken over a few years
ago by the brilliant Four Seasons chain of hotels). I flipped. I loved my
lunch. I've been saying to friends for months that this baby's gonna be the
next Parisian three-star someday. The only thing off was my timetable:
someday is now. Last month, Michelin rushed to bestow that coveted third
twinkler on Le Cinq--and I just had to drop back in to see what all the
excitement hath wrought. For there is something heady, something positively
intoxicating about a new three-star restaurant: all the energy that got it
there is still firmly in place, now joined by an air of festivity, a sense
of accomplishment, an almost palpable emotional inebriation. It happens to
only one or two restaurants a year in all of France, at most, and not often
in Paris. So I say from the bottom of my heart and my stomach: go now, while
getting a table's easy, and bask in the glow that occurs in Paris only once
in a blue moon.