HUNGRY GERALD

Joy. Back to Le Stella, HG/BSK’s favorite brasserie in Paris. Loacted in the posh 16th arondissement, Le Stella serves a virtual encyclopedia of the great dishes of classic bourgeois cuisine — the type of food Moms, Aunts and Grannies of a certain class put together for family dining. On the other hand, Stella also serves, perhaps, the best oysters, shrimps, clams and other sea critters in a manner you would never eat at home. You can see them all stacked on Ice at the entrance to the brasserie on Rue Victor Hugo. As long time habitues, HG/BSK and Beautiful Granddaughter Sofia were greeted with welcoming kisses, hugs and handshakes from Christian, one of Le Stella’s elegant and capable managers.(Sofia received her first ever hand kiss). Chilled white Sancerre was poured and the party was off to the races. A plateau de fruits de mer containing the freshest, briniest oysters, clams, shrimp, mussels, langoustines, bulots, tiny snails, etc. To follow: Poached raie smothered in capers, fish broth and melted butter (plus some boiled potatoes) for HG. BSK/BGS tucked into a rack of lamb (cooked to the proper shade of pink) that rested on a very generous mound of buttery haricot verts. Crisp pommes frites. Much red Fleurie was poured. Dessert was light and luscious ile flottane. A magical meal in the great down home Paris tradition.

A chic dinner at Neva, cutting edge food on a corner of Rue St. Petersbourg in the 8th arondissement. Beautiful, slightly austere design in shades of grey. Outstanding deco-like chandeliers. The chef is a young Mexican woman and her husband is in charge of the desserts. A potent team. The Mexican influence appeared in the ceviche-like starters of scallops (some raw, some very slightly grilled) with an assortment of very delicate, thinly sliced vegetables. BSK and Beautiful Granddaughter Sofia had mains of pork shoulder with barbecue sauce and potatoes done in three ways–pureed, grilled. smashed. All adorned with deicate chips of potato. Absolutely surreal spuds. HG had sweetbreads, crisp fried but mellow interiors. Accompanied by three varieties of beets, thin sliced and cubed. Moistened with meat juice. Very inventive, light and delicate cuisine but with assertive flavors. Dessert was just downright voluptuous. “Deconstructed” chocolate. Globes of rich chocolate in special glass serving bowls. Hot chocolate syrup was poured over the globes whose tops melted, revealing interiors of vanilla ice cream. Hot fudge sundaes Paris 2014. The bistro is named “Neva” after the river that runs through the beautiful city of St. Petersbourg (as mentioned the bistro is on Rue St.Petersbourg). Clever.

All started out wonderfully with visits to a pair of small museums that border Parc Monceau (HG believes this is the most beautiful park in Paris). First visit was to Musee Nissim de Camondo. This is an exquisite town mansion furnished with a treasure trove of eighteen century furniture, rugs, sculpture, paintings, carpets, etc. The attention to detail is startling and personal. It reflects the superb eye, the passion for collecting and the personal vision of the late banker, Moise de Camondo. He wanted an “artistic home of the 18th century.” And, he achieved it. The home was to be inherited by his son. Unfortunately, his son, Nissim, was an aviator in the French army during World War One and was killed in an air battle. In 1936, a year after Moise de Camondo’s death, the mansion/musem opened to the public. De Camondo had bequeathed the building and all of its contents to the French nation in memory of his son. The tragic history of the family continued. His daughter, Beatrice; her husband, Leon Reinach and their two children, Fanny and Bertrand, were murdered by the Nazis in Auschwitz. This was the end of the Camondo family. The other museum, also housed in a mansion, is the Musee Cernuschi. Henri Cernuschi (1821-1896) was an extraordinary man. An Italian patriot and a strong believer in the Republican idea, Cernuschi accumulated a large fortune as an economist and investor. He was an informed collector of Asian art and his vast collection is housed in the museum. There are many treasures but HG/BSK were most struck by the ancient Chinese pottery and terra cotta figures. HG/BSK and BGS had an early dinner at Atelier Rimal, a much heralded Lebanese restaurant on Boulevard Malesherbes. A disappointment. Mushy kefta. Below par mezze and pastries. Okay. Win some lose some. A restaurant to avoid.

Off to market day on nearby Boulevard des Batignolles. Picked up cheese, charcuterie, fresh pasta, salad greens, olives, two types of tapenade (black olive and green olive). BSK tucked a long baguette from the corner bakery under her arm. Casual dinner at home (Beautiful Granddaughter Sofia slightly ill). Ate the market’s delicious offerings, drank red Corbieres and then were off to nearby Pathe Wepler to see Le Loup (Wolf) de Wall Street. Basically, Goodfellas translated to the hysterical penny stock market of the 1980’s. Bad boys acting badly. Lots of nudity featuring young ladies with surgical enhancements. Martin Scorcese’s manic and creative directorial energy infuses the film and makes it worthwhile. For HG however, the mad, macho life of drugs and hookers did not seem very appetizing.

Happy discovery. A small restaurant with distinctive decor, a warm and welcoming staff and food that is an elegant riff on old time French classics. That’s Table des Anges on Rue des Martyrs jut south of Pigalle. Yan Duranceau, the chef, has worked with some of the greats. Yan’s technique is flawless and his ideas are original. BSK and Beautiful Granddaughter Sofia loved their entrees of smoky room temperature cauliflower puree adorned with thin slices of speck (for another note of smoke). For mains, HG/BSK dipped into lighter than air quenelles. These were served in appetizing cast iron casseroles that included, besides the quenelles, spinach, carrots, potatoes and leeks. Rich sauce nantuä (thoughtful chef eliminated the crawfish from allergic BSK’s serving). Carnivore BGS had a steaming braise of unctuous ox cheeks stewed in red wine with mushrooms and other good things. Dessert was pistachio creme brulee. Drank a dry and tingling Macon-Villages white and Fleurie, one of HG’s favored reds. Lovely dining. Don’t miss Tables des Anges when you’re in Paris.

Day Two in Paris was New Years Day. Most restaurants closed. Brasseries open. HG made a dinner reservation at long beloved Le Vaudeville, an old, art deco establishment opposite the Paris stock exchange, Le Bourse. While most Paris brasseries have gone downhill, HG has always loved Vaudeville’s great oysters, bustling waiters, the signature dish of grilled cod with truffled potato puree, the exuberant Ile Flottante dessert. And the atmosphere was always very chic and Parisian. Well, the 2014 Vaudeville was a disaster. Avoid it when you are in Paris. Dinner started badly with the maitre d’ unable to find the HG reservation even though it had been made by the head of the Flo Group (owner of Vaudeville and many other once-good brasseries) PR department. Finally gave us a table in a dark hole, worst table in the house. HG would not accept it. Got another table which proved to be the target of cold winds. Finally got a comfortable table. Service was ludicrous. Didn’t pour wine. Didn’t provide carafe d’eau after being asked three times. Food was just okay and prices were astronomical. Special (bad) holiday menu and none of the old time favorites were available. Ambience? The restaurant was 100% tourists from Germany, Italy and Japan — plus many louts in dirty sweatshirts. Looked up at the ceiling and the paint was flaking (just ready to fall on an unsuspecting diner). That about sums up Le Vaudeville.

HG/BSK (plus enchanting Beautiful Granddaughter Sofia) arrived in Paris Dec. 31. The weary trio shopped for some basics and then snoozed for a few hours (HG rented a two bedroom apartment in the Quartier d’Europe, a neighborhood in the 8e that borders the 9e, 17e, 18e and is close to many metro lines). Showered, refreshed and hungry, the destination for New Year’s Eve dinner was Bourgogne Sud on nearby Rue de Clichy. This is a bistro that features cooking from the Burgundy region, a cuisine that is rich, flavorful and makes good use of the region’s wonderful white and red wines. The holiday menu (a steal at 38.90 euro a person) started with a plenitude of escargots. These had been removed from their shells and cooked in a special metal plate that had indentations to contain the escargots and the lush garlic-parsley-butter sauce in which they were bathed. The best snails HG ever tasted. Big. Plump. Juicy. And, not overwhelmed with garlic. There was also a big platter of excellent (reminiscent of New York’s Russ & Daughters) smoked salmon and gravlax. A good baguette to soak up the escargot butter and Poilane bread with the salmon. And, before this gala beginning, the warm and welcoming host, Gilles Breuil, plied our party with flutes of champagne and slices of lovely Rosette salami. Pouilly-Fuisse was the ideal wine to drink with the entrees. For mains, BSK had a generous plate of perfectly grilled scallops. BGS had the signature dish of boeuf bourgignon and HG dove into a big quenelle de brochet in a rich sauce nantua with abundant crayfish. Wine was Moulin-a-Vent from Beaujolais. A trio of pleasant desserts including a chestnut Mont Blanc. Digestif was marc (from Burgundy, of course). The atmosphere in Bougogne Sud was happy and jolly. Gilles Breuil keeps the great traditions of Parisian bistros alive . He is to be thanked. If you are in Paris, don’t miss Borgogne Sud.

Some 35 years ago, HG/BSK were ambling about the right bank of Paris near the Place de Victoires when they were seized with midday hunger. They entered a likely bistro, Chez Georges. Very plain spoken. Motherly waitresses. Lots of mirrors. An old fashioned, down home place filled with delicious aromas and absolutely jam packed with happy Parisians. HG/BSK had no reservation but the boss made us welcome: He installed us near a corner of the serving bar and poured some glasses of excellent Brouilly. Five minutes later, HG/BSK were seated and happily devouring a Salad Frisee. First time ever. A lush salad of crisp frisee with plenty of lardons (crisp bits of fried salt pork) and topped with a runny poached egg. An oil/vinegar/mustard dressing. Oh, my. Chez Georges is still in business serving bistro classics. Unchanged (though under new ownership). Prices, of course, have quadrupled. BSK reproduced this salad for dinner last night. Substituted good bacon for the salt pork. The salad was better than Chez Georges. Maybe it was the freshness of the greens. Maybe it was the perfection of the poached egg. BSK followed this with another classic, not from Paris but from Rhode Island: Squid with spicy vinegar peppers and garlic. HG first ate it at Hemenway’s in Providence. Hemeway’s version features breaded, deep-fried squid. BSK just gives the squid a quick saute in a super hot pan. BSK’s version is better and lighter. HG is a very fortunate fellow.

The changing fashions in food have long fascinated HG. For example, beets, once despised, have become not just chic, but ubiquitous — you can hardly find a menu that doesn’t include some form of a beet and goat cheese salad. HG has always found a beet (like vinegar) to be an enemy of wine. Nevertheless, in Paris the top bistros du vins have betteraves on their cartes. Raw fish was only found at Japanese sushi bars. Suddenly, raw tuna and chopped tartares of tuna and salmon became featured players. Even Italian restaurants (possibly influenced by the massive success of Esca and David Pasternack) have crudos among their appetizers. For a time, steak was dismissed as a boorish, unhealthy and unfashionable food. There was a reaction and carnivores rejoiced as more than a score of upscale steak houses opened in New York. “Small plates” have become fashionable. Is there sticker shock when hearty appetites do some big time grazing on these “small” plates with big time prices? Foam, sous vide, molecular are among the gastronomic buzz words of the past decade. HG, a conservative, is skeptical about these arcane techniques. Restaurants used to take pride in offering imported food from faraway places. Now, the very best chefs (like Marc Meyer of New York’s Cookshop, Hundred Acres and Five Points) are determinedly “locavore,” a trend HG endorses with enthusiasm.

BEET FOAM

Le Stella is a brasserie/bistro on Avenue Victor Hugo in the very affluent, posh 16th Arondissement of Paris. Few tourists among the conservatively dressed, well mannered clientele — mainly residents of the neighborhood who are as conservative in politics as they are in dining habits. No Asian, Italian, Spanish or (heaven forbid) American influences have invaded the kitchen. The menu is pure Eternal France. As one food writer has put it: “The dishes are what Grandma would have cooked (if she was a very good cook) or what would be on the menu if you took Grandma out for Sunday dinner.” Like any proper brasserie, Stella has a vast bank of oysters, other bivalves and crustaceans outside the entry door, manned by guys with striped shirts, fisherman’s hats and shucking instruments (of course, a rugged Breton fisher-guy selling oysters is a clear signifier of the freshness of the seafood). HG/BSK have often launched their dinners there with some oysters and a bowl of bulots (sea snails) with freshly made mayonnaise. If HG wishes a light repast he moves on to pickled herring with potato salad. Then soupe de poisson (with some assertive rouille). Cheese course is rich St. Marcellin (accompanied by a glass of the very nice house Bordeaux). Finale is the sumptuous Ile Flottante. A glass of Vielle Prune (a strong digestif). At other times HG chooses steak tartare with pommes frites; tripes a la mode de caen; blanquette de veau; choucroute (a Wednesday special); tete de veau (admittedly a special taste); grilled pig’s foot. And, there are times when HG switches from an oyster starter to diving into sizzling escargots or the more delicate pleasures of smoked salmon with blini or a frisee salad. A happy choice is to share a carre d’agneau (rack of lamb) with BSK, a lady who is an adventurous eater but has not developed a passion for tripe or the interior and exterior of a calf’s head. Service, under the supervision of manager Christian, is friendly and professional. One warning: On a visit to Stella (without HG/BSK) intrepid SJ ordered the Andouilette, a house specialty. SJ thought this was a spicy, New Orleans-type pork sausage. Wrong. Stella’s Andouilette is a chitterling sausage, a sausage with rather intense barnyard odors and the distinct flavor of pig shit. Like fressing up tiny little song birds, this is one French food passion HG (and SJ) doesn’t share.