Le China - Red No. 5

I have an odd and reoccurring thought which occupies me sometimes.  I understand it is entirely outdated and perhaps the surfacing of repressed memories from painfully watching Ben Affleck flounder in Pearl Harbour but, I wonder if World War 3 were to occur in my lifetime, would I be mandated to work in an ammunitions factory or as a nurse in a ward for injured soldiers.  

Despite being aware that modern warfare would not afford me or the rest of civilisation this option, I debate my worth in an urgent medical situation, my penchant for classically styled sundresses and cherry red lipstick or my complete lack of knowledge as to the operation of heavy machinery (and the fact that after a tipple I’d be precluded from operating this machinery anyway).  It is usual at this point I realise my mind is one warped vortex of procrastination and apologise to the uniformed photograph of my grandfather I keep on my mantel. Sorry Poppa.

The first time I visited Le China, a restaurant meets bar meets event space nestled behind Bastille, I cursed that I hadn’t popped my Chanel Rouge Hydrabase Lipstick in Red No.5 in my purse.  This place calls for such conspicuous Sunday afternoon retro glamour.

Sundays are our preferred evening to retreat to Le China’s brooding and jazz age decor.  If I'm not on my way to my favourite bistro (and sister restaurant) Le Petit Marche,  I'll be lazing back in deep leather couches, sipping cocktails and barely listening to the often present husky vocalist or sax player.  This 'occupation' easily carries us through the 6pm to 12pm happy hour...or hours. 

Although six hours consumed by smart and crisp cocktails like the Macao Spring Punch (a muddle of vodka, lychee, fresh strawberries, lime, champagne and Chambord) or the Sweet Cucumber (gin, cucumber, fresh int, lime and tart apple liqueur) can leave Monday mornings at the desk or in the kitchen a little precious.

Le China’s menu accompanies the bar offerings perfectly (or some would say vice versa).  Nibbling on plump dim sum or beef curry croustillant does the trick. And if the dim sum need some help, the main plates are a delicious fusion of asian and classic french styles.  Pork medalions with cocoa caramel or lamb fillet with Sechouan pepper usually join me at the table at some point in the evening.

I do have to warn you, some of the entertainment selections have been ‘interesting’.  I still can’t confirm or deny signing up to the SBAD fan club after they played what appeared to be a reunion tour date at Le China some month ago.  Aging rockers of a Sunday afternoon.  Wish I’d remembered my lipstick.

(Le China, 50 Rue de Charenton 75012 Paris, +33 1 43 46 08 09, Reservations not necessary, http://www.lechina.eu/)

Food Crush

I am going to try and write this post without using any of the following words and phrases: “new wave bistronomy”, “inspired by his basque heritage”, “unintimidating decor”, “thwarting convention” or “raw culinary genius”.

If you have been anywhere near a French food magazine or blog space recently you have probably already guessed I’m about to write about Iñaki Aizpitarte and his bistro Chateaubriand...either that or you’re trying to figure out the Basque roots of Daniel Rose. 

Chateaubriand was named 11th best restaurant in the world by this years S.Pelligrino World’s 50 Best Restaurant panel and I get it.  I really really get it.  My first night at the chilled bistro I  undoubtedly my vocal expressions of joy caused my friends to uncomfortably shift in their seats and feign ignorance as to our relationship when plate after plate of sexy, creative and really smart food sauntered to our table. More correctly, it was sauntered to our table by a gillette (the collective noun for perfectly tended facial hair) of smooth, understated and nearly earnest front of house staff who could each talk knowledgeably of the ever changing menu and ideally priced wine list.

I’ve been back three times in the past couple of months and on each visit the fixe menu (50 Euro for 5 courses which changes daily) has prompted this same reaction from me. Usually by the time a series of amuse bouche have been served (drunken prawns, seared tuna, ceviche jus) I realise that to maintain ongoing friendships I may have to dine alone next time...or only with my equally amused friends from culinary school. 

Aizitarte (who appears from my stalking online to have a penchant for leather and ‘bad boy’ themed photo shoots) has no formal training, having realised and committed to his culinary career relatively late for a chef.  I feel this translates in the fresh, often raw (actually raw, not of raw emotion, that would be a little too much hyperbole despite my obvious persuasion towards this restaurant) food offerings at Chateaubriand which feel unconstrained by the stereotypes of classic French cuisine (of which I am becoming a certified expert at Le Cordon Bleu, be it happily, one knob of butter at a time).  

The food at Chateaubriand focuses on divine produce, is clean in its construction and appears deceivingly simple in technique sometimes. Brittany cockles and razor clams, baby leek, herbs and Jerusalem artichoke crisps.  Delicious.

Poached cod, just opaque, with baby vegetables and a cauliflower emulsion, so calm in flavour and colour that I nearly overlooked in before the final ribbon of taste reminded me it was also delicious.

The perfectly seared beef fillet hidden beneath a salad of both cooked and raw beets, radish and leaves, dressed in a beet and mustard seed jus is bright and bitey.  Its always sad at this point when the course count tips in favour of the end and you can see other tables only starting out their menu. I would usually ask the waiter whether it is possible to take cheese and dessert to postpone the inevitable.  It’s France, the answer is always yes.        

As a culinary student, the pairings Aizitarte and his team plate are intimidating and exciting in equal measure.  Red fruits, raspberry dust, fried basil and red fruit sponge send little punches all over your mouth which are then soothed by a rice flavoured ice cream and a semi-sweet biscuit crumble.  The dish looks too amazing, perhaps a simple warning signal not to dine in white silk clothing? 

All I can say is go to Chateaubriand, believe all the hype, wear something suitably French and aloof and make sure you have a good list of friends to go back with next time just in case you are as incapable of restraint as I am.

(Chateaubriand, 129 Avenue Parmentier, 75011 Paris, +33 (0) 1 4357 4595, Reservations necessary for 8pm sitting)