While my mom was in town on a recent visit, she had her heart set on a luxe lunch. There was only one problem: So many fine dining restaurants these days are resorting to prix fixe menus, which, among other things, help mitigate the soaring prices of ingredients. And my mom, for as much as she loves food, tends to be a pit picky – especially where things like offal and shellfish are concerned. So imagine how excited I was when I remembered that Thibault Sombardier, of Mensae and the now-shuttered Antoine (which I adored), is now at the helm of Les Parisiens, a restaurant on the ground floor of the 7th-arrondissement Pavillon Faubourg Saint-Germain hotel. A chef I loved a mere 10-minutes’ walk from the Musée d’Orsay, where we were planning to visit the Van Gogh in Auvers-sur-Oise exhibit? (Phenomenal, btw.) It almost seemed too good to be true.
And yet it wasn’t. This meal was everything we hoped for and more, beginning with the bright, airy dining room, which provided the ideal setting to observe the veritable deluge Paris has been undergoing for the past… month? Maybe? (The song is right – it drizzles here. A lot.)
Mama Jean got the ball rolling with this gorgeous avocado and shrimp tart (and she even gave me a bite). With a shatter-crisp phyllo base and a gorgeous topping of edible flowers, this tart was as delicious as it was beautiful, boasting a creamy, herbaceous texture and plump, perfectly cooked shrimp.
My salmon tartare with smoked milk was just as beautiful. The sprigs of dill added loads of fresh flavor, and the crispy potato strands on top balanced out what could have been a too-soft texture. Those little beads of salmon roe could get a bit overpowering at times – a few less would have suited me just fine (and I am a lover of brine), but this is just a detail. I dragged crusts of bread (the rye-wheat loaf from Benoit Castel) through what was left on the plate until I feared I had moved past delicacy.
We hemmed and hawed for quite some time before deciding to order the whole roasted dorade, or bream – and it did not disappoint. Perfectly cooked with a burnished, caramelized skin, it was served with a hollandaise zabaglione that afforded welcome brightness and was just rich enough. (Plus, it was filleted tableside – always a bonus.)
The head and all the trimmings were served in a little bowl so we could help ourselves. (This was totally my piece.)
Since the dorade didn’t come with a side dish, our server recommended we order one. And while the richer offerings like mashed potatoes or casarecce pasta with ham and Comté cheese would have certainly been delicious, we were both delighted by the freshness of this simple halved lettuce heart generously drizzled with house-made vinaigrette.
For dessert, there was no contest: As firm fans of fruit-based desserts (got it from my mama), we had to order this seasonal chouchen soufflé. A base of apples caramelized in cider was topped with the lightest, most ethereal soufflé flavored with chouchen, a Breton mead. (I realized in penning this that it’s traditionally made with buckwheat honey, which means I totally dodged a bullet.)
The service here was the one low point of the experience. Not to say it was bad, but it could be a bit brusque and under-informed at times, and for the cadre and the price, I wouldn’t have minded a bit more pomp and circumstance. That said, this was only the case for one of our servers, so I’ll chalk it up to a bad day and throw this one on my list of places I can wholeheartedly recommend.