I’ve been visiting Le Relais de l’Entrecôte for nearly as long as I’ve lived in Paris – which isn’t to say I’d recommend it to just anyone. This restaurant is the definition of kitsch, with an almost Disneyland allure. There’s the no-reservations policy and ensuing line out the door and around the corner beginning as early as 6pm. There are the costumed waitresses in their black dresses and white aprons, who play the part of “gruff Parisian serveuse“ to a t. There’s the almost satirical way in which the recipe for the “secret sauce” is so closely guarded. (Most agree it’s made with mustard, chicken liver, tarragon, and a phenomenal amount of butter.) But I can’t help it – I love it. And recently, I got the chance to try it at the original location, Le Relais de Venise.
This restaurant in Paris’ 17th arrondissement was founded in 1959 by Paul Gineste, a winemaker from Lisle-sur-Tarn, originally as a means of securing a guaranteed market for his family’s wines. He admittedly didn’t put too much effort into the décor of his new spot: He left in place the Venetian frescoes and gondola décor from the pre-existing Italian restaurant, changing only the menu to feature just one dish: steak-frites, preceded by a simple green salad with walnuts and vinaigrette.
When Gineste died in 1966, there was some controversy regarding who would be the heir to the family cash cow(s). His daughter Hélène Godillot took control of the original restaurant, while his son, Henri Gineste de Saurs, opened a similar spot in Toulouse. Meanwhile, another of his daughters, Marie-Paule Burrus, opened Paris’ Le Relais de l’Entrecôte, with the same model and menu. Godillot has since licensed three additional locations of the Relais de Venise in London and New York, while Henri has branches in Bordeaux, Nantes, Montpellier, and Lyon. Marie-Paule’s restaurants, which were the only ones I’d visited until recently, include three in Paris and one in Geneva, as well as seven licensed restaurants in Beirut, Kuwait City, Doha, Dubai, Riyadh, and Hong Kong. She also controls the family vineyard.
Today, the formula is pretty much identical whether you visit the Relais de l’Entrecôte or the Relais de Venise. Either way, the prix fixe costs about 30 euros (29 at Relais de l’Entrecôte and 30 at Relais de Venise) and always begins with the same two questions:
How would you like it cooked?
And to drink?
Once your answers are scribbled on the table, your food is not long in coming.
The meal begins with a green salad tossed with a generously mustardy dressing and topped with toasted walnuts. I’d recently heard some critiques about the salad, notably that the vinaigrette ostensibly tasted industrial. But as a bit of a salad connoisseuse, I have to say: It’s not half-bad. The walnuts are tasty and nicely toasted, and the lettuce is fresh. This dressing, meanwhile, is redolent with mustard and extremely flavorful. Honestly, I’ve had far worse green salads at far nicer restaurants.
One thing that is a little bit crappy, however, is the bread. This is a bog-standard baguette ordinaire, and while I’ve definitely crowed my praise of such a thing – notably on The Fishwives of Paris podcast – this one was flabby, bland, and uninteresting. Frankly, they could do way better.
Neither of these things is the star of the menu, and it’s on the steak-frites that the restaurant should, of course, be judged. Within moments of your salad course’s conclusion, the steak will arrive in one of two cuissons, depending on your preference: I like saignant (rare), though à point (medium-rare) is even more popular, according to our quick-moving and brusque serveuse. Either way, the steak is served quite pink – nearly red – in the middle, with lashings of the delicious “secret sauce.” While the cut used is not technically the eponymous entrecôte (rib steak) but rather a faux-filet (strip steak), it’s tender and frankly delicious.
The fries, unfortunately, are less than adequate: They’re quite clearly frozen, and they’re fried until merely anemic. While second helpings are offered of both fries and steak, I sacrificed my chance at the former to keep more room for the latter – and for dessert.
This is, after all, the only time that you get any choice on this menu – and there is a fair amount of choice, with multiple cakes, pastries, and a lot of ice cream. My dithering over the myriad choices gave our serveuse a fair amount of grief, not that I’m surprised: Service here is at its most Parisianly brusque, and our request, at one point, for a second carafe of water, was met with a brusque non. Still, we persevered and ultimately followed our serveuse’s recommendation when it came to the sweet portion of our meal, opting for two house specialties.
Our first dessert was the “Nouvelle Tulipe d’Hiver” (8): a seasonal marriage of coconut ice cream with fresh kiwi and a veritable mountain of whipped cream scattered with a few pistachios. It was plated in a pastry tulip made with a sort of Russian cigarette dough. The quality of the individual ingredients could have been better, but it was, by all accounts, a lovely, light, and refreshing choice – especially as compared to the ostensible star of the dessert menu.
This imposing chocolate cake (8) is the restaurant’s namesake dessert, which meant that despite my general distaste for chocolate cake, I couldn’t quite help myself. Luckily, my distaste ebbs in the torte category, to which this dense, rich marvel definitely belongs. Each plate comes with two pieces of cake, one even richer than the other: The one in the back is a bit like a torta caprese; the one towards the front is like cold, barely-cooked brownie batter. (If you’re into that sort of thing, I’m sure it’s divine; personally, I thought I might go into a sugar coma.)
While the food here is perfectly decent, the fun of it really lies in the ambiance, which, to my mind, is the reason why people line up so early. (Yours truly was queuing in the rain at 6:25pm for a 6:45pm opening.) The quick-moving servers mean that even when the line stretches out the door and around the corner, you rarely wait for long: We were seated by 6:46 and eating by 6:57 – and seconds of steak had been served by 7:19. But while I was certainly pleased to finally visit the original location, it wasn’t worth the extra euro to trek out to the 17th arrondissement and dine in more cramped quarters than the Champs-Elysées outpost, which boasts a bit more space and light.
Le Relais de Venise – 271 Boulevard Pereire, 75017