There are two words in French for “spicy:” épicé and pimenté. The first refers to actual spices, which, it must be said, are rare in traditional French cuisine (thanks in large part to the 18th-century celebrity chef Antonin Carême, who believed that they denatured the core product. Carême encouraged French cooks to embrace, instead, the herbs that remain pervasive in cuisines from Lille to Provence.) Pimenté, meanwhile, is a literal reference to chili, a heat sometimes described, in French, as piquant – literally “pricking” or “stabbing.” Neither is really sought after in traditional French cuisine… much to the dismay of this chili head.
So it was with much surprise and enthusiasm that I embarked on the tasting menu at Octobre, which revealed itself to be far more creative – and pimenté – than I would have expected.
After all, this restaurant is located in the central, fairly touristy 6th arrondissement, just steps from the Seine, and at first glance, the menu looks just like that of any other contemporary Parisian restaurant, which is to say anchored in well-sourced, seasonal ingredients laced with international nuances.
You’ve got the choice to proceed à la carte or with the 89-euro six-course tasting, and since I love not making choices (it’s literally the only thing I ask for for my birthday every year), we went with the latter.
As always in French fine dining, “six” is an understatement, though here, the number isn’t padded with typical amuses and mignardises. Instead, the first course actually contains three small plates (or bowls, in this case). This dish, a signature of Chef Martin Maumet, featuring an ever-changing, seasonally-driven array of three hors d’oeuvres: one meat-driven, one seafood, and one plant-based.
On our mid-May visit, we started with generous chunks of banka trout topped with a smooth avocado mousse and a small slice of super-ripe, super-sweet kiwi. The bright dressing was spiked with a touch of chili, and the entire thing was scattered with a generous pinch of puffed rice, which added crunch and a touch of savory depth.
The middle dish was nearly unanimously our favorite: a chicken-shiitake ravioli in a satay-inspired sauce with miso. The filling was dense and quite mild in flavor, which suited the power of the sauce quite well, and the fresh basil added a lovely herbaceous note. This dish also dialed up the heat just a tad, though it was balanced by the richness of the peanut sauce.
Last, we dug into creamy, earthy hummus topped with fresh fava beans and a minuscule brunoise of green bell pepper.
This dish was even spicier than the first two, and this, combined with the intensity of the zingy citrus vinaigrette, was actually starting to make my tongue hurt a bit! (And I say this as a lover of both acid and heat.)
This might have been aided by a bit of bread bread, but I was avoiding it, given the uncertainty with which our servers responded to my buckwheat allergy… despite having signaled it before our arrival.
In fact, let’s pause here to talk about the service, which really was the only dark mark on an otherwise enjoyable evening. While the restaurant was barely a third full, we were regularly ignored, and our requests for more water were frequently forgotten. Our server didn’t even notice that he’d poured the last of our wine until the meat course was already on the table, at which point the inquiry as to whether we’d like to continue with red came a bit too late.
It’s difficult to set aside these issues to focus purely on the food, especially in a restaurant of this caliber (and at this price point). But I shall, if only because it is indeed delicious.
The first course was perhaps my favorite of the night, a combination of toothsome spelt and tender cuttlefish in a Thai-inspired coconut broth spiked with ‘nduja and laced with an almost cheesy umami flavor we couldn’t quite identify (but had a lot of fun trying!) The very crispy breadcrumbs were laced with dill, which gave a lovely fennelly herbaceousness to the dish.
Next, we had line-caught ikejime tuna from Saint-Jean-de-Luz in a yuzu-kosho beurre blanc sauce with carrots, spring peas, leeks and a quenelle of carrot purée. Those little touches of sweetness and earthiness were always welcome to balance out the acid- and spice-forward palette. I particularly loved the pairing of both a meatier and fattier piece of fish, and going back and forth between them offered a lovely interplay of textures and richness.
I typically find myself least enthused by the meat offering on a tasting menu like this one, so I was delighted by how much I enjoyed this veal rump with leek and roasted pepper. It was paired with a rhubarb-chili condiment, which really distilled this cornerstone of Maumet’s cooking down to its most intense essentials.
At this point, even my chili-loving palate was starting to be overwhelmed by the constant pummeling, but luckily, this plate offered some reprieve: Not only was the veal just barely seared, so that the rosy, mild interior could carry these bright, intense flavors, but technicolor blobs of a rich pistachio purée added a lovely balancing earthiness and sweetness to carry us through.
Desserts were nice enough but not my favorite part of the meal. I’ll admit I preferred the one I was originally less excited about: a quenelle of 70% Duarta chocolate ice cream settled atop a vanilla-specked rice pudding and surrounded by a moat of miso-infused dulce de leche. It was topped with a pecan crunch and a hazelnut praline, which lent lovely texture to the ensemble.
The strawberry dessert paired fresh berries and a touch of compote with a ginger-rhubarb sorbet, a few pieces of excellent meringue, and the barest touch of cream. I’ve found most of this season’s strawberries disappointing thus far, and it was perhaps this – a lack of real flavor in the fruit – that left me wanting. But I think it was more a question of generosity, which seemed to be lacking here.
Service aside, this restaurant is really a beautiful place to dine, with several dining rooms including a pocket dining room towards the back, perfect for smaller groups.
Overall, this is an exciting tasting menu that departs from the norm and eats light enough to make it more than manageable, even for diners less accustomed to the marathon of eating that is a typical French fine dining experience. I loved the surprising flavors and the brightness on the plate, and while there were indeed a few small hiccoughs, ultimately, I find Oktobre commendable, especially for the area.
Oktobre – 25 Rue Des Grands Augustins, 75006