My first visit to Le Cadoret was uneven and ultimately disappointing. While the apps and desserts were both creative and delicious, the mains were poorly executed, with basic flaws including sides that were either undercooked or pre-fried and stale, barely-there sauces, and nearly-raw proteins. But things have changed under the new ownership. Clément Vezat, Pierre Forest, and Benoît Baud, the trio behind Buttes, have brought in Chef Alice Neman (ex-Auberge de la Roche) to revitalize the restaurant slightly, and in their capable hands, it attains the greatness of a neighborhood restaurant with a true soul.
Much of what was so attractive about the previous Cadoret remains true. The restaurant toes the line of a bistro, with all-day opening hours from 8:30am from Tuesday through Saturday. The resulting space blends a daytime café vibe, complete with an affordable chalkboard prix fixe (22 euros for two courses, 25 for three), with the allure of a serious restaurant come evening.
The à la carte dinner menu features two to three hors d’oeuvres, four appetizers, two to three mains, and two desserts, for a selection that remains rooted in the tenets of French tradition with some unapologetic international twists. There’s also an ever-changing trou normand (9) and a cheese selection (13). With such a tight menu, our group of four managed to order almost everything – and there were very few complaints.
Gougères (8) were hefty and flavorful, filled with a Comté cream tinged with a hint of jalapeño that managed to be flavorful without too overwhelming a kick. One of my tablemates compared them to a gourmet jalapeño popper, and I’m loath to admit that I can’t think of a better comparison, so I’ll quote her instead.
The tempura potimarron (8) was a bit more subtle though wonderfully executed, with thin slices of the winter squash coated in an airy batter and paired with an exquisite salsa macha.
The subtlest of the appetizers were the creamy raw scallops (16) served with seasonal clementines. While the promised crème crue was a bit thin on the ground, the flavors here were excellent, and the simplicity of the dish felt apt given the exquisite core ingredients.
A hefty wedge of pommes dauphines (15) came with a sweet-and-savory umami bomb of a topping marrying caramelized Roscoff onions, capers, and bone marrow. It tasted like Christmas on a plate.
I had never heard of scorsonère (14) before seeing it on the menu, and as a lover of both vegetables in general and salsify in particular, I had to order it. It boasted some similarities with salsify, aka oyster root, albeit with a bit more of a fibrous texture. It was served in a rich pecorino sauce and a hazelnut vinaigrette, which, together, brought a heaping helping of both richness and acidity. The power-packed flavor could really only work in a portion of this size, but work it did, and I devoured it with gusto.
Three of the four diners at our table opted for steamed trout in crab bisque (30). The rich fish and sauce were paired with leeks and a barely-there topping of bitter greens, and this dearth of veggie was the only complaint I heard as folks wiped their plates clean with the hearty sourdough.
I meanwhile went for the roast chicken (28), which was delicious if a bit poorly named. The chicken seemed not to have been roasted but rather cooked low and slow so that the breast was as tender and juicy as Hunan chicken. The one bit of dark meat I got was perfectly crispy, but the skin on the rest was woefully flabby, and I pushed it to one side in favor of the intriguing brioche sauce, which tasted a bit like a brown butter emulsion. A few limp leaves of radicchio brought welcome bitterness to the ensemble.
If this sounds like a rave, it is – with a caveat. The service here was odd bordering, in some moments, on ineptitude. Our gougères, for example, were delivered as a trio, at which point our server looked at our four-top and asked if we’d like one more. (We would, yes, but it would have been perhaps apt to ask us when we’d ordered.) A plate of bread similarly boasted just three slices, and when we asked for more, we were brought two dishes of four in rapid succession, an overcompensation for the previous lack. There were other oddities, like the empty plates that sat for long minutes on the table before our server finally came to see the dishes, devoid of even a smear of sauce, and ask us if we were done. These might seem like small details, but they added up – and it was a shame, given the mastery in the kitchen, to experience moments of inattention (or, frankly, just a lack of common sense) on the floor.
Dessert is often disappointing in small restaurants like this one, without the means or space to employ a full-time pastry chef. And yet, somehow, Le Cadoret managed to wow us all the way to the end. Sticky toffee madeleines (11) were a clever wink at the chef’s British roots, served warm under a generous blanket of toffee sauce with a lovely spoonful of crème crue.
The quince soufflé (13), meanwhile, boasted all of the pleasantly grainy texture of an actual quince and was perfectly paired with brioche ice cream. While the menu claims it’s meant to share, I easily could have polished this off on my own – and would have had my dining companion not suggested we share it as well as the madeleines, and frankly, I’ve never been so thrilled to have more than one dessert. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that despite shining from the very first bite, the desserts are the best part of the new Le Cadoret.
Le Cadoret – 1 Rue Pradier, 75019 Paris