The eponymous covered markets that give Les Halles their name may be no longer, but the neighborhood still bears many traces of what Emile Zola once dubbed the belly of Paris, from Au Rocher de Cancale, the lone oyster spot remaining on the rue Montorgueil, which has since become more of a haven for pastries than bivalves, or the all-day brasseries and bouillons like Au Père Tranquille, Les Cloches, Pharamond, and Au Pied de Cochon that once served a blend of bourgeoisie and forts des Halles, those literal “strong men” who worked nights unloading the produce, meat, fish, and more that culinary pros would flock to the markets to buy and serve. Upper and lower classes, then, would unite in these spaces, where they could tuck into hearty food at all hours: Breakfast for the forts, nightcap for the revelers, to counterbalance all that cabaret Champagne.
Au Pied de Cochon’s claim to fame was once that it had no locks on the (pig-foot-shaped) doorknobs: Open since 1947, it once served 24 hours a day, until Covid led to its first closure. Ever since, the brasserie does indeed shut between 5 and 8am and between 11 and 11:30am, but other than that, everything remains much the same as it was when I first visited in 2018 while reporting for Vice, down to the onion soup the team here claims was the first to boast the cheesy topping that earns it the moniker “French” abroad and “des Halles” within the Hexagon.
In other words, this is the place that claims to have invented French onion soup as we know it, and as a big fan of the dish with fond memories of the one I’d tried back in 2018, I was more than happy to join a friend there on a recent evening.
Let’s get any unpleasantness out of the way from the get-go: I did not enjoy the soup this time around. Don’t get me wrong: The broth is still excellent, and far from over-salted (a frequent problem with this particular dish). The onions are lovely and caramelized, if a bit thin on the ground.
The bone I’m picking is with the topping. The cheese itself is clearly Emmental, which, while admittedly traditional, pales in comparison to the Comté (or even Cantal) that most ones worth their salt are using these days. It isn’t gratinéed for nearly long enough, so the shreds are still visible in the (admittedly generous) mass, and the ho-hum baguette layered beneath it isn’t toasted, so it quickly becomes a soggy mass that congeals with the cheese.
So don’t come here for the soup.
Come for the escargots, which are buttery and decadent and ultra tender, unlike the erasers masquerading as escargots in many other spots.
Come for this “salad,” named after Saint Antoine, protector of pigs (and thus of charcutiers), which sees a bed of beautifully dressed greens redolent with Meaux mustard topped with tiny sautéed potatoes and a jumble of pig parts from a crispy pig’s foot and snail croquette to ventrèche from star charcutier Eric Ospital to that tangle of crispy pig ears on top. The oeuf mollet is unremarkable, served cold and liquid inside rather than jammy…
… but this pork croquette was to die for. On my next visit, I’ll be ordering a whole plate of them, served with grainy mustard cream sauce.
The menu also boasts a host of other choices, mainly geared at those who, like the French, believe that tout est bon dans le cochon: Everything in the pig is good. Appetizers may include blood pudding ravioli with shellfish sauce; for your main, choose from among the eponymous pig’s foot with bearnaise sauce, the pork shoulder slow-cooked for 14 hours, or a piggy play on shepherd’s pie topped with parmesan. Non-pig-adjacent classics are present too, like massive seafood towers, AAAAA andouillette, what I’m assured is excellent marrow bone or a “classic” that’s nearly impossible to find these days: frogs’ legs. There’s even one (!) vegetarian option: a veggie crumble.
At the end of the day, Au Pied de Cochon is a testament to another time, perhaps the museum-brasserie par excellence. But one can eat well here, and given the genial service and gorgeous dining room, I frankly can’t see why you wouldn’t opt for the experience, at least once.
(Just don’t get the soup.)
Au Pied de Cochon – 6 Rue Coquillière, 75001