When someone raves and raves about a restaurant, if you're anything like me, you start feeling a little skeptical. Can it really, possibly, be as good as they're saying?
No. Almost never. Unless your friend is talking about Les Papilles.
I first read about this charming bistro online . . . along with about a thousand other charming bistros. What made it stand out was when a friend recommended it personally: "You HAVE to go here while you're in Paris," he insisted. I was nervous about the fact that the menu was pre-determined (I'm fairly picky about meat dishes) but I called to make reservations anyway. This was not as easy as it sounds; between planned trips (we were leading a travel study group) and nights when the restaurant was either booked solid or closed, there was just one Tuesday that would work. I made the reservation by phone and had to call to confirm it that morning.
That evening was rainy, and after trying and failing to get a cab from the Metro station, we ended up walking (running, really) nearly a mile, making us about 20 minutes late. We arrived disheveled, overheated and rumpled in body and spirit. But the moment we walked inside, everything shifted. We were welcomed warmly without a trace of impatience; shown our seats and given a moment to collect ourselves; and given an introduction by the owner about the menu and wine options. After about three minutes of gawking at the shelves, he returned to offer a suggestion, which we gladly took. The velvety, fruity Beaujolais he prescribed was perfect.
And now, the food. Can I just say that I regretted every bite of bread and cheese I'd had at the hotel mid-afternoon in an effort to stave off hunger? I wished for an entirely new stomach with every course. First came a creamy green-bean soup with garnishes of fresh radishes, peas, croutons and basil oil. Then a filet mignon of roasted pork, swimming in a demi-glace with pine nuts, dried tomatoes, roasted shallots and wine, served alongside a creamy Parmesan-herb polenta. Brie cheese with hot pepper and homemade applesauce. And a panna cotta with raspberry coulis that was one of the most perfect custards I've ever dug into. Every bite was heaven. I ran out of superlatives halfway through the main course and settled for a teary, appreciative nod each time the waiter came to check on us.
Here's the really amazing part. We were the last table of the evening to be seated; due to the soccer game that evening (France lost to Sweden) there were a lot of empty tables, and soon we were the only diners left. I felt horrible about this, but the servers assured me it was their pleasure to serve us and even joked about having reserved the restaurant just for us. We chatted with them off and on as we ate and they tidied up, but the atmosphere was so relaxed, so comfortable, that I didn't feel a bit of awkwardness on our end or resentment on theirs. If only I could bottle that je ne sais quoi and release it in some of the dining rooms in my hometown, where I'd felt rushed and pressured to eat and run so the staff could do the same!
The bill for those few hours of heaven was just under 100 Euros: the four-course menu was an astonishing 33 Euros per person, roughly the same amount I paid for a glass of champagne and dish of ice cream at a posh cafe the next afternoon (and believe me, the irony was not lost on me!) You can pay a lot more for a great meal in Paris, but it won't get any greater than this.
This amazing meal was nearly a month ago, and I can still recall the details of every single course from memory; in fact, I waited so long to write it because I wanted my 100th review to be special, and I can't think of a meal I've enjoyed more. Ever. And I will echo my friend's words to any of you who are planning a trip across the pond: GO. You must. And I won't even insist on a shout-out when you write a glowing review of your own. read more