Disclaimer: I was a guest of the property for this meal.
Six months ago, the 9th arrondissement gained the sort of local hangout I can get behind, boasting an ever-changing, mostly plant-based menu of dishes prepared in a central, open kitchen served with a smile seven days a week. Yes, this is one of those gems in Paris that just so happens to be open on a Monday, but in my humble opinion, that’s far from the only reason why it’s already become a popular hangout among Parisian chefs on their night off. The precision of these almost criminally reasonably-priced dishes is only compounded by their bold, daring creativity.
The brainchild of Luxembourgeois Jérémy Grosdidier and Michelle Primc, Pristine could easily have become the kind of small plates, natty wine trope I used to love and have recently been wont to bemoan. But this spot is boasts two unique characteristics that help it stand out from the melee. First off, in a rhythm that reminds me of Le Mermoz when Thomas Graham was still at the helm, plates “designed for sharing” are deliberately and thoughtfully staggered in their delivery, affording diners adequate time to enjoy them. This reduces that odd panic that often arises in places relying on this model, where you find yourself balancing the bread basket on your knees as you try to sample three dishes before they go cold. And seeing as the second tick in the Pristine’s plus column is the fact these dishes offer a keen departure from that “thing-on-a-plate” model I find so irksome, you’ll want that time to savor.
On this visit to Pristine, the menu featured nine savory options, seven of which were vegetarian, ranging in price from 8 euros for egg mimosa to 16 for chicken with caramelized onion and cabbage. We were counseled to order two to three per person; five between us proved more than sufficient, seeing as we also had our eyes on dessert. (But more on that in a sec.)
Dinner began with bread from Union and smoked whipped house butter, dolloped onto a saucer from a massive platter that reigned over the counter surrounding the open kitchen.
Its pronounced smokiness made it extremely moreish, but oddly, perhaps my favorite thing about it was the fact that it was served at room temperature, which made it easy to taste the lovely lactic flavors.
Soon thereafter, we received the two cold plates we had ordered. The leek baba ganoush saw sweet, melting leeks seasoned with earthy, smoky tahini and afforded a touch of brightness thanks to a sprinkling of sumac. Sesame seeds brought a welcome toothsomeness to the dish which, like most on the menu, was garnished with a smattering of assertive herbs including dill and baby cress.
The other cold dish narrowly escaped being named my favorite of the night: a combo of earthy, sweet slices of roasted beet paired with charred onions and dollops of light fromage frais. A scant drizzle of apple must lent some sweetness and a touch of acidity to the dish, and generous quenelles of dill pesto and a smattering of seeds were more than welcome accompaniments.
While each of the elements on their own were delightful, what I loved so much about this dish is the same thing that conquered my heart with Géosmine‘s mullet dish: the fact that it proved to be so much more than the sum of its parts. When combined in one mouthful, the elements formed a perfect symphony: an ode to plant-based sweetness and proof that even in February, there’s vibrancy to be found in seasonal ingredients.
Our first hot plate was a mushroom tart: a base of ultra-crisp pastry generously filled with a duxelles-style mushroom purée. Crowned with slices of raw mushroom and a honey-spiked vinaigrette, the tart departed from more classic seasonings like thyme to embrace the aromatic, almost vanilla tones of tonka bean. I loved that this dish was served on a warmed plate, a small touch, to be sure, but one that made it easy to enjoy it slowly, which a dish as creative, innovative, and well-executed as this one truly demanded.
Next we dug into a cacio e pepe-style chard, which for me proved to be the only miss of the night. Part of this is just personal: Chard is far from my favorite veggie, though I thought I’d kicked my aversion after sampling excellent dishes featuring the leafy green of late at d’Une Ile, Le Christine, or Bernard l’Oiseau. This version, by contrast, brought into focus the stringiness that usually makes me less than a fan. The egg yolk was decadent and rich, but some lingering egg white turned snotty in the cream-based sauce, and the goat’s milk tomme snowfall over the top didn’t provide enough acidity to balance the dish, which was wanting for black pepper or citrus, something to give it some oomph. (A lack of acidity pervaded throughout the menu, though it was somewhat remedied by a glass of Riesling from La Chimère Brand & Fils.)
The last dish was the one to dethrone the beetroot, albeit only by a hair: an open raviolo featuring a base of cubed, roasted butternut squash, reduced cream, sage, and a sheet of thick, homemade pasta over the top. The cream offered the acidity I’d been waiting for all night, but that’s not the only reason I loved this dish. While sage is usually assertive enough all on its own, here, it was married with what had proven to be the kitchen’s favorite, dill, and the cooperation between these two strong-headed herbs was as surprising as it was delicious. Despite at the outset seeming like one of the more classic offerings, this dish managed to surprise me and teach me something new about flavor, which, at the end of the day, is one of my favorite things about trying new restaurants.
We had honestly had our fill by this point, but dessert proved too tempting to ignore. I was drawn to the seasonal baked pear paired with cream and a crumble topping. Cinnamon was the predominant flavor of this dessert, with fruit that was a bit bland, albeit perfectly cooked. The crumble was nice and crisp, though as always with French crumble, I found myself missing the treacly notes brown sugar would have lent.
The chocolate mousse was the one that took the proverbial cake – and I say this as someone who likes neither chocolate nor mousse.
Far from too sweet or too rich, this mousse was airy and light, paired with a light, white whip that almost had the texture of beaten egg white. While the promised hazelnut oil didn’t shine through on the palate, the mousse itself was nevertheless a phenomenal success.
I loved so many things about this little restaurant, from the friendly service to the insider’s vibe to the mismatched serving ware to the fact that it’s open on both Sunday and Monday, when most everything is closed. But my favorite thing about it was undoubtedly the creativity of the dishes, the surprise and wonder I felt at each one. And as someone who eats out often (“more than anyone,” I was told, by one recent dining companion), that’s saying something – and the main reason why I intend to become a regular at Pristine.
Pristine – 8, rue de Maubeuge, 75009