An American Masters Paris

Bouchon Beverly Hills
www.bouchonbistro.com

The French must tire of their tropes (see berets, baguettes). A trip to Paris reveals their cuisine has evolved beyond the bistro, with molecular gastronomy and multiculturalism shaking the house that Escoffier built. Perhaps it's nostalgia for summers and studies in Paris, but I still cling to the classics of French cuisine. I've got a bad case of Francophilia (she writes, sporting a marinière stripe romper).

While diversity abounds in L.A.'s dining scene, I yearn for more French-run bistros, like in my former stomping ground, NYC. We've got glimmers of it, with Cafe Stella and Maison Giraud, but on this Bastille Day, I'm craving Gallic goodness. Ironically, the Frenchiest fare in town comes from an American legend: Thomas Keller.

Like Julia Child, his Bouchon outpost in Beverly Hills has Mastered the Art of French Cooking  Sure, the interior feels more Paris, Las Vegas, than the City of Lights, but the menu--a who's who of bistro classics--is quintessentially French. Stunning seafood towers, steak frites, pâté de campagne and tarte au citron will whisk you across the Atlantic.

With exquisite food and impeccable service (GM Stephen Cook made it his mission to find us shade during a sunny, al fresco brunch), Bouchon is a lovely place to linger. Or, if you're in the mood for an afternoon nibble or a pain au chocolat, head downstairs to Bar Bouchon and Bouchon Bakery. Good things come in threes on Canon Ave.

Pain d'epi

Bouchon's bread is worth the trip alone. Here, they serve a wheat-stalked shaped pain d'epi, the crustier cousin to a baguette. Though in a fancy setting, the bread is set directly on the table familiarly,  encouraging you to tear off hunks for butter slathering. Make like a Français, and "saucer": mop up the last morsels on your plate with bits of bread. 

 Pâté de campagne

This thick slab of country-style pâté smacks of Paris. With traditional accompaniments--cornichons, Dijon, watercress--savor this porky pleasure. 

Laitue

J'adore the simplicity of a French salad. Bibb lettuce, fresh tarragon, parsley, chive and an uncomplicated dressing (Dijon, canola oil & red wine vinegar) create a palate cleanser perfect for our decadent meal.

Boudin noir

Lyon's legendary blood sausage, boudin noir, comes with silken, whipped potatoes and apples, bruléed to bring out their caramelized goodness. This wintry dish evokes après-ski in the Alps. 

Croque Madame

As comforting as grilled cheese with a wallop of French finery, this grilled brioche, ham, and cheese is topped with a hens egg and creamy Mornay sauce.  Breakfast for dinner? The croque is offered day-to-night, though this may be my new hangover cure. 

Quiche du jour

A masterful version of the 70's classic. This thick, deep-dish spinach and Gruyère quiche is miraculously dense and fluffy at the same time, thanks to the transcendent custard filling.

Chicken and Waffles

A sophisticated spin on Southern comfort. Instead of fried, the chicken is roasted with herbs and lemon and the waffles are bacon & chive. 'Tis the "gravy", a sauce Chausseur made from veal stock, bacon, and mushrooms, that drenches this dish in gourmet.

Tarte au citron

Grab a slice of this luscious lemon tart, which features a buttery, pine-nut crust and crunchy, bruléed top.

Bouchons

These eponymous chocolate minis (bouchon=cork) are a cross between a brownie and dense cake. Dunked in decadent, chocolate sauce alongside vanilla ice cream, they embody Keller's signature blend of the culinary and comfort. For all the bakers in the house, check out the recipe here

Bar Bouchon

www.bouchonbistro.com/bh-barbouchon

The casual cousin to the upstairs restaurant, Bar Bouchon offers a more intimate setting. Choose from the convivial, circular bar or the verdant terrace. With chalkboard menus, wicker chairs, and zinc tables spilling out onto the patio, the ambiance is très Parisien. 

Hobnob with the wealthy without dropping mad cash at Happy Hour, which features $4 beers and $5 glasses of wine, This summer, grab a seat outside to watch al fresco movies and concerts at Canon Gardens from the patio. 

The happy hour menu offers inexpensive, fancy-schmancy snacks like $5 deviled eggs and truffled popcorn. 

Foie de Volaille

 If I wasn't in public, I'd dip a spoon straight into this velvety, chicken liver mousse. With the toast soldiers, arranged Jenga-style, I can eat like a lady.  

Bouchon Bakery
www.bouchonbakery.com

I've contemplated moving to Beverly Hills...that's how good Bouchon Bakery is. Evoking a French boulangerie and patisserie, this jewel box of a shop showcases an exquisite array of baked goodness. Though open all day & night for your pastry pleasure, early birds will be sure to catch their choice of confections. 

On the left, don't miss the kouign-amann (aka Brittany butter cake) an orgasmic mix of caramelized sugar and buttery dough. Center, the classic croissant is equally flaky and fluffy. Move over Nabisco. The Better Nutter, a peanut butter sandwich cookie, elevates the childhood fave to epicurean heights. 

Good Gallic In A Petite Package

Buvette West Village Sept. '12
http://www.ilovebuvette.com/
eat: Terrine de Campagne, Carottes Rapées, Poulpes, Tarte Tatin
sip: Arneis

buvette 
noun (f)
1. a refreshment stall or counter
2. a snack bar at a theater, train station, beach, etc.

In French, and English for that matter, the diminutive "ette" connotes feminine (coquette) or little (cigarette), so it is implicit that buvettes are small.  Buvette, Jody Williams' Gallic gem, is indeed petite, but that's all it has in common with it's casual joints across the Atlantic.  Chef Williams' version--which she calls a gastrothèque-- is a pleasure chest of French delights, from fresh-baked croissants and housemade charcuterie, to classic coq-au-vin and cassoulet.   It is spot-on-Parisian without being too precious, yet with the amiable waitstaff, you avoid the oft French tradition of snooty service.

Tucked away on a picturesque, tree-lined, West Village street, Buvette feels at home amidst the gorgeous boutiques and fashionistas who frequent the neighborhood.   Inside the beautiful spot, tin-coffered ceilings, a zinc-top bar, an idyllic garden, and exposed brick walls make for an inviting and aesthetically-pleasing setting.   Waiters sport classic, striped aprons with a touch of personal style, like bow-ties.

Making most of the minimal space, the primary decor element is the food itself.  Jars of cornichons & olives, bottles of wine, a jambon slicer, baked goods, baskets of fruit, and an old-school citrus press adorn the café, creating a homey, culinary collage.  Accompanied by my foodie friend, Shari, who I met while studying in Paris, we are equally smitten with Buvette's likeness to our favorite French haunts.

The pop-up cocktail menu: whimsy that works. 

Arneis

  

Our waiter suggests Arneis, a Piedmontese white.  This light and crisp wine with hints of pear is a lovely daytime quaff.  One wall of Buvette features a chalkboard wine map to help geographically guide your sipping selection.

Terrine De Campagne

Don't be fooled by the diminutive size.  Each morsel of this country-style terrine is packed with porky pleasure. Wrapped in bacon, the smoky, intense pâté is served with a briny trifecta of cornichons, olives, and, my fave, caperberries.  It is served with a delectable, house-baked Pain de Campagne 

Carottes Rapées

Carrots are elevated to star status in this simple salad.  A mélange of grated carrots, pistachios, lemon, and vinegar is surprisingly delightful. It's just the thing for a hot, end-of-summer day.

Poulpes

 Ordering octopus is risky for it is so often incorrectly cooked (a.k.a. rubbery).  Here, the cephalopod is perfectly prepared and deliciously tossed with capers, shallots, olives, and refreshingly crunchy celery.   

Tarte Tatin

Throughout our meal, the tarte tatin teased me from its perch in my line of sight.  Sweet & gooey caramelized apples are crammed into a buttery crust and topped with tangy crème fraîche.  Stick a fork (or two, which our waiter so attentively did) in it - I've found taste nirvana. 

When we are presented with our bill, it is inscribed with the colloquial French translation: la douloureuse.  While its primary definition is "painful", here the word jokingly refers to the distress of having to dish out dollars.  I can't help but think that after such a lovely meal at Buvette, it should be called "happiness" (le bonheur) instead.

Diner Avec Mon Père

I have my father to thank for many things--my smarts, my indefatigable work ethic, the simple pleasure of napping in the sun--yet there are two which are particularly poignant this Father's Day.

1. My enormous appetite, which is more akin to that of a sumo wrestler than a ballet dancer.  Thankfully, I'm blessed with my mother's speedy metabolism, so can chow down without dire, physical consequences.

2. My amour for all things French.  Thanks to my father's Québécois heritage, I was seduced by the romantic language at an early age.  Dad encouraged me to pursue my passion--for he had always struggled with learning French--and years followed with foreign exchanges, studying in Paris, and trips to Francophone countries. Now, I'm a full-fledged Francophile, as one may surmise from my blog's Frenchy name.

Last January, I accompanied Dad to Paris for a work trip, which wonderfully coincided with his birthday.  Since I'm the obsessive eater in the family, he let me curate our dining itinerary. I was left with the challenge of finding a spot to suit both of our needs; none of that nouvelle cuisine--with teeny portions, exotic foams, and exorbitant prices--would do. We needed a bistro with hearty fare to fill our ravenous stomachs yet not empty our wallets.  


While Bistrot Paul Bert had received abundant praise from bloggers and guides alike, it was the enthusiastic endorsement by Richard, a childhood friend's father who lives in Paris, that sealed the deal. A personal recommendation trumps all, especially when given by a man who used to make "Chocolate Decadence" cakes as a side business.   Located in the 11th arrondissement, Bistrot Paul Bert is packed with locals and tourists alike.  The vibe is friendly and convivial, partly thanks to tables so close together that you can't help but converse with fellow diners.  The 3-course prix fixe dinner, scrawled on an oh-so-French chalkboard, is a mere 34 euros.  How could we resist?

Terrine de Campagne Maison
Why does terrine always taste better in Paris? Made in house, this country terrine is remarkably rich thanks to generous nuggets of pork fat. The vinegary, pickled cauliflower and carrots are a lovely, acidic compliment.

Feuilleté de Sot l’y Laisse
When I queried our waiter to define "sot l'y laisse", he explained it was the part of chicken that "only a fool would leave".  Us Anglophones refer to it as the "oyster"--the tender morsel of dark meat on the back of a bird.  Stuffed with sautéed mushrooms and cream sauce in a buttery, flaky puff pastry, it is a gussied up version of Chicken Pot Pie.  I'd be a fool to not have ordered it...

Entrecôte de Boeuf
There's a reason why food blogs and guidebooks rave about Paul Bert's steak frites.  The rib-eye is charred crisp on the outside, rare inside, with an outer belt of juicy fat cinching the steak. The mouthwatering, fresh-cut frites are magnificent.  Note to first-timers: the French like their steak rarer than usYanks, so rare=saignant, medium rare=á point, medium=bien cuit.  

Carré d'Agneau
Not the dainty lamb chops I'm accustomed to, these thick cut, honking chops are well-suited for winter appetites.   They look so delicious that the woman at the next table changes her order to match mine.  The rare meat is rosy pink, enrobed in succulent fat, and served with delectable roast turnips, parsnips, and potatoes in thyme. 

Tarte Tatin

This French classic is essentially an upside-down apple-pie kicked up a notch thanks to the browned-in-butter apples. Blanketed in a salty caramel sauce and paired with cool, whipped cream, it is the best I've ever had in Paris and beyond.

Paris Brest
This frou frou, donut-esque dessert is made with flaky, choux pastry, filled with luscious hazelnut cream, and dusted with powdered sugar.  Though big enough for a party of 4, Dad and I polished it off, whooping with glee after each bite. 

I lost my father last September, so sadly this turned out to be our last trip together.  During this time of grieving, I'm heartened by memories of our travels together.  We shared shark fin soup in Kyoto, schnitzel in Zurich, and digestive biscuits in Oxford.  We'll always have Paris, Dad.  

Bistrot Paul Bert

18, rue Paul Bert

11e Paris 75011

01.43.72.24.01