Le Mary Celeste - Hipster H(e)aven

Who the hell is Mary Celeste?*  Who cares?  All I know is that after two visits in the span of four days to the new hotspot bar/snackeria Le Mary Celeste on the corner of rue Commines in the northern part of Le Marais, I conclude:  I really like this place.  Mary's owners now have their Paris troika with the firmly established Candelaria and Glass, reflecting a trend toward a new hangout movement - good drinks, good food, and good vibes.  Did I say youth?  True, nearly everyone is younger than me, but when I say youth, I mean, were those two girls sipping cocktails at the table next to me and the Moose last Tuesday evening legal?  (Who cares?)  Although jeans and scruffy beards lead the way, the venue is a melting pot of French, foreigners, young (them) and old (me).

I already gave it away, but if it's the rentree, the Moose is back.  When I arrived for our rdv at 7:00 p.m., the bar was already packed and Moose was sitting off to the far right at a small square of a table sipping a Brooklyn Lager beer.  A Brooklyn beer in Paris??  That's about as likely as Hollande getting reelected as President, or finding a legal parking space within 5 blocks of Mary C., but my eyes did not deceive - Brooklyn it was.  In fact, a big selling point for Mary C. is not the beer, but the cocktails.  I'll take their word for it, because me, with the exception of a gin martini - which my fellow ex-Baltimorean H. L. Mencken dubbed the one American invention as perfect as a sonnet - I'm not a cocktail guy.  So sue me.  When I drink, I need a glass, a bottle, and, sometimes, ice and a twist of lime.  That didn't quite work at Mary C. - I ordered a vodka and, displeased with the brands that I knew, opted for some French brand that tasted like rain.  That's not a good thing.  I fared better with their whiskey during my second visit as I bided time at the bar awaiting my evening's companions - Co. and Friends, ending up with a glass of the peaty Laphroaig, which did the job.  But at 8 euros a pop, 'glass' is an exaggeration.  More like 1-1/2 inches.  But I quibble - if you like cocktails, I think this is your place.  I came to that conclusion after reading David Lebowitz's gushing blog about the umbrella set, which is where I swiped the following drinks images from.

 

Even a non-cocktail drinker like myself is tempted by these babies, including the Rain Dog, a ton of ice doused in small-batch bourbon, mint, and amaro bitters.                                                                                                                Where was I?  Oh yeah, the Moose.  Before heading off to the meet, I received my reservation confirmation by email - the only way to reserve at Mary C., by the way - and was warned that Monday and Tuesday evenings feature a reduced carte consisting of bar food and 2 - 4 cold plates.  Big disappointment, but we were modestly impressed by the two plates we both ended up selecting - marinated lieu with radishes, a bit salty but very tasty, and some croustillant bread topped by trout.  So, without the opportunity to catch Mary C. on a full menu evening, I reserved for Friday night.  The bar was really hopping when I arrived around 7:30 p.m. and once my cohorts showed up, we were ushered to a slightly trapezoidal table towards the rear of the bar by the window, instead of the more secluded downstairs room by an open kitchen.  Our table was private enough to engage in copious conversation and drinking - a marvelous couple bottles of the Spanish red, Douro Muxagat Almeida 2011 (28€ per bottle) - yet still catch the bar activity. 

The food carte mirrored the cocktail carte you see above - a rectangular single strip of light cardboard, only with 'A Partager' written on the top - 'to share.'  (As you can surmise, Mary C. eschews formality.)  And share we did.  We ended up doing a round robin of virtually everything on the carte, with each plate rhythmically passed around the table among the four of us:  endives, poivron, courgette, crostini salami, ceviche, crepes, slow pig, lieu jaune (the same one as the other night), crudo lieu, and a fruit compote for dessert, each ranging from 6€ (e.g., the endives) to 10€ (e.g., the crepes).   A listing like this doesn't do the dishes much justice, each of which was imaginative enough to anticipate the next go round the table.  The ceviche and crepes both warranted second helpings.  The two Chinese crepes came stuffed with lamb and crudites, and reflected the Asian leanings of  multinational chef Haan Palcu-Chang, who changes the carte daily.  The tamarind-glazed endives were excellent as well - I'll take these in lieu of potato chips for munching anyday.  One of the dishes, I think it was the peppers, was topped by razor thin slices of luxurious parmesan.

 

 

Among the other dishes that chef Haan has conjured up, and which I avidly hope will make a comeback, are several spicy dishes, including radishes and cucumbers marinated in deep-fried Korean chili powder.  Other past hits: pickled topimambour; beef jerky; kimchi; Urchins Galicia; and eccentric oysters  (bouzigues, tiny Kumamoto, Blackwater and English wild flower Maldon; and fish tacos.  Wow.  I'm definitely going back.

Dinner for four:  two bottles of wine and 13 small plates: 171€

*Most of you no doubt do know who the hell Mary Celeste is/was - a British-American merchant brigantine that was found intact and abandoned in the Atlantic Ocean in 1872 and immortalized in Arthur Conan Doyle's tale of the ghost ship.  Unlike its namesake, le Mary Celeste in Paris is alive and well.

LE MARY CELESTE   

1 rue Commines

75003 Paris

no phone

reservations at: http://lemaryceleste.com/

 

Braisenville - Coal Dining

Braisenville turned out to be a pleasant surprise in the Parisian SoPi (south of Pigalle) area, where as you walk downward from the Anvers metro, you look over your shoulder - not too conspicuously, for fear of people thinking you are an uncool tourist - just to see the Sacre-Coeur glowing atop the Montmartre butte.  Surprise because Braisenville is another one of those neo-bistrots that's been getting a lot of buzz recently (a development that always leaves me wary), popping up reviewed on those sites replete with comments like 'my husband found the meat too under-cooked, but I was just giddy over the duck.'  With my American friend, Mr. T (no relation to the mohawked ersatz star of The A Team), we entered with open (and somewhat lubricated from a few drinks along the way) minds, the two of us left more than satisfied, although perhaps not exactly stuffed.

A couple of noteworthy gimmicks at Braisenville, one related to ambiance (a sort of retro-contemporary mishmash that looks like anything but your traditional French bistrot).   Aptly described on one site as 'a seventies’ California roadside kitchen,' you get the impression of more open space than is warranted, despite the long lines of tables, with some variations of sitting high stools and bar seats that enable conviviality with other patrons, and an open kitchen for the foodie voyeurs among us.   The other gimmick, the important one pertaining to food, is belied by the restaurant's name.  This is the 'ville' that masters the under-exploited cooking method of the 'braise,' which essentially involves searing the food first over hot charcoal and then simmering in sauce in a covered container.  The carte is also pretty quirky, and not completely self-evident, but the servers are attentive, and appeared to have no problem answering our many questions, in English for the benefit of the illustrious, but non-Francophonic, Mr. T.  There is a small selection on the left of the three-leafed carte labeled 'affinage,' where one has the option of starting off with a plate of offers like dry, smoked Spanish beef (13€), cheese (10€), and ham (Pata negra Bellota de Guijuelo or jambon blanc a la truffe, 14€ and 13€ respectively).  These offers tout upwards of 36 months of 'affinage' or 'refinement.'  We passed on the affinage offers and dove right into the 'Raciones' - think larger, and higher quality than usual, tapas. 


The carte recommends a selection of 3 or 4 plates salees and 1 sucree, which is exactly what your's truly and Mr. T. opted for, respectively.    You get to choose from 4 options each of vegetable (8-9€ each), fish (9-12€ each), meat (11-14€ each), and mineral.  No, no mineral, other than the water variety.  Ever curious about the lowly beet, I took up Braisenville's challenge to try their betterave Chioggia, jaune, rouge, blanche, etc. - that is, beets prepared in 6 different ways, with an ice cream concoction in the middle.  Not for all tastes, but I was impressed.  We also decided on the emulsion de ratte du Touquet, noix, pleurottes, chanterelles, cresson - yes, that is just one dish, which was one of Mr. T's highlights; chair de tourteau de l'ile d'Yeu, bouillon de canard, verveine, citron; encornet, butternut, mangue, citron vert; ceviche de bonite, leche de tigre, patate douce (a Braisenville self-proclaimed specialty, which really rises to the occasion with the sweet potato emphasis); magret, pickles de shiitake, poire, salsifis, miso (one of my highlights, despite the pear, which I usually detest, but not here), and filet mignon de cochon, panais, sauge, oseille sauvage.  Our sucrees, or more simply, desserts, included the 'sur le green' and chocolat, noix de coco, cacao, cardamone, both of which rocked (7€ a pop).  Have a look at some of the results:

 

Don't think I've forgotten the third page of the carte - there at the top marked 'a partager' stands an impressive offer - a 1 kilo side of braised Black Angus beef, another Braisenville specialty, and one that would probably make the actor (and I use that term with much trepidation) Mr. T. more than content.  Judging by the sides of beef we saw waiting to be served, it's pretty easy to see how that could satisfy a moderately sized rugby squad, so if you are up for beef and going as a couple, be sure to bring your appetite.  Remember mom's admonishment, 'Put down those damn chips, we're eating dinner in 8 hours.'

Overall, I was impressed enough with Braisenville to want to go back, something I may shoot for soon with Co.  The server promised that at least a couple new menu items are added pretty regularly, and there were some options I'd like to try that I didn't this first visit.  Before forgetting, Mr. T. and I washed our raciones down with, fittingly, given the Spanish buzz, with a reasonably priced rioja, which the waiter seemed to suggest was more limited in distribution than warranted, given I think I had the same rioja in Lisbon a few weeks earlier.

Oddly enough, no one seemed us worthy of ordering a post-meal cafe, something T and I didn't realize until our second drink at the rather weird little cafe around the corner, Jolis Momes, 5 rue Turgot.  No loss.

I don't quite get what the large painting at Braisenville is supposed to signify, other than conversation, but I'm sure there's a story - maybe next time.

BRAISENVILLE
36, rue Condorcet
75009 Paris
tel: 09.50.91.21.74

Hotaru - Wait, I Didn't Say 'Simon Says'!

Although I'm not quite ready to challenge noted French restaurant critic Monsieur Francois Simon to a duel, I feel that maybe he at least owes me a drink. A very big drink. Being the ever-compliant and exuberantly fledgling critic that I am, I duly loaded up my credit cards and proceeded to check out the culinary wonders of two of Simon's recent 'don't miss them' Parisian eating establishments, Le Baratin (panned here a couple installments ago) and, last week, Hotaru, the relatively new Japanese restaurant in the 9th.

Another laudatory online review for Hotaru preceded my visit, that of Richard Hesse, the restaurant critic of note for Paris Update. Though I feel his effusive praise for Hotaru also overdone, I wholeheartedly agree with his first two 'cons':
• Not cheap.
• The waitresses are lovely, but not easy to communicate with if you don’t speak Japanese.
And I can't say I disagree with his number one 'pro':
• Truly fresh fish

But I'm jumping ahead of myself. This was another solo affair on my part, again having planned dinner before a concert. I arrived shortly after the 7:30 pm opening time to find an Asian couple well into whatever they were eating - a large platter of some kind of fresh fish. By the time I packed up and left, around 9:15 pm, they were still ordering large platters of sushi and sashimi, washed down with pitcher after pitcher of, I presume, saki. I shudder to think of their bill, which had to hover well over the 200 euro mark. But I must admit, those platters looked mighty tasty.

At the outset, I humbly admit that I always have the feeling that I order wrong at Japanese restaurants. Having had plenty of opportunities to savor fresh raw fish in my long storied career as a diner, I usually opt for alternative dishes. And so I did at Hotaru. The menu itself was intimidating - long and complex and, don't forget, I didn't plan on spending the entire evening. So I took a shortcut and ordered completely off the little tabletop blackboard of chef's suggestions with its listings of entrees on one side and plates and desserts on the other. I am a big fan of tofu served in restaurants - one of the few opportunities I have to appreciate a dish that, in my opinion, is best served lightly fried on the outside and warm and soft inside (only rarely do I succeed at this in my own kitchen). Give me a well-prepared peanut sauce to accompany a large plate and you will find one happy camper at your table. There's a place in Baltimore, I could tell you about - disappointing in virtually every other category, but their tofu entree is memorable. But I digress. No surprise, then, I ordered the Hotaru tofu entree (9€), and followed that up with a fresh scallops plate with Japanese salad, the so-called Hotate fry (21€).

Ordering was no small chore. Remember Hesse's second con? Well, this turned out to be a con in more ways than one. I'm speaking of the wine. Try though she might, my waitress, with a limited facility in both English and French, seemed utterly perplexed by my question about whether I could order a half bottle of wine. Most restaurants, this is not a problem, and usually there are at least a couple demi-bouteilles on the carte. As she edged precariously closer to tears, she was rescued by another waitress who appeared to have a bit more seniority, as well as a few more words in her English and/or French (I can't remember anymore which) vocabulary. We arrived at a compromise. I would order a wine of my choosing by the glass, and before I would know it, I will have consumed a half bottle of wine. My big mistake, and I promise myself, it is a mistake I will not make again. I opted for one of my favorite reds, a St. Nicolas de Bourgueil (Les Perruches, 2006) at 7.50€ a glass. Before I had the opportunity to do my calculations in light of my projected consumption, I had already blown the chance to order a full bottle and save myself a couple euros in the process. Oh, well, you can't take it to your grave.

Moving on...first course, Hotaru tofu. A long wait for this baby, why, I don't know, because what arrived at the table was a small soup bowl. Planted in the middle was a little square of uncooked tofu in a puddle of what tasted like a soy/fish sauce combination. Resting on top of the tofu square was a tiny dab of wasabi paste. I maintained a pathetic smile on my face as I downed this dish in all of about one minute. And I took my time. Maybe because I love tofu so much or perhaps because chef Isao Ashibe prepared the bean curd concoction through some sort of magical coagulation of soy milk, or some combination of these possibilities, the tofu was silky and tasty. Nonetheless, I was expecting something quite different, more satisfying, original, and substantial. This was way too minimalistic for my taste. Thumbs down on the chef's suggestion for the entree. (The accompanying photo is not the actual dish I ate at the restaurant, but using a little imagination --pretend the little smiley face isn't there, you'll get the picture.)

The main dish was much better. The five pan-fried scallops with a light batter were good-sized and very fresh. They arrived on the same plate as a salad composed of a green lettuce and a white diced cabbage. It was difficult enough to have the waitress explain the sauce that came in a miniature pitcher. Sorry, but I can't explain her explanation (see Hesse's second con again). The sauce was relatively thick, but poured easily over the scallops and salad. I love sauces, virtually any kind of sauces, but this one was not completely pleasing, and a bit too salty for my taste (too much soy sauce again, I imagine). By the way, I almost forgot, again, as I failed to ask for rice when I ordered (assuming it would come with the dish). As she brought the scallop plate, the waitress asked, late as it was, if I wanted rice. Five times I had to repeat, 'oui, riz gluant, s'il vous plait.' Now my French is pitiful, but this is an expression I have had ample opportunities to practice during my years in France, so I think this would have been understandable to a two-year-old who knew anything about Asian food. (Pronounced, 'ree-glue-ahnt' am I right, or am I right?). But my waitress just didn't get it, and neither did I. If the rice I received was 'gluant' (i.e., sticky), it wasn't noticeable.

I started wondering, as I dug into the scallops with my wooden chopsticks, what would have happened if I had suddenly grabbed my chest, fallen to the floor, and started moaning 'ee-ooh-ant,' 'ee-ooh-ant'? Probably someone would have excitedly shouted, 'my word, this man needs some riz gluant!' Now my riz gluant request was much more comprehensible than that, so you wonder, what was my waitress's problem?

Although I hadn't originally intended to order dessert, given time constraints, I picked up quite a few extra minutes with that entree quickie and so I ordered the tantalizing green tea cheesecake dessert. Well, this turned out to be pretty interesting, although nothing like ecstasy-inducing cheesecakes I'm more familiar with back in the States. Two small triangles of green cheesecake arrived on a plate with a ball of ice cream, a handful of large grapes, peach slices, and a small mound of something sweet and brown that was never explained, but worked in the overall scheme of things. An interesting effort and a decent, though unspectacular, end to the meal.

The L-shaped dining room consists of about 30 seats and a bar. As described at the Internaute website, the room bears an ambiance "izakaya" (bistrot japonais), warm and sympathetic. Izakaya is another way of saying the spartan dining area is unobtrusive and uninteresting, especially when most of those 30 seats are empty, as they were during my visit. Only one other couple arrived during my meal, although perhaps this is the sort of place where people wander in well after 9 pm, I can't say because I was long gone. Where is your clout, Monsieur Simon? So that brings me to the final point, the con job I alluded to earlier. After having downed approximately 2-1/2 glasses of wine from the bottle, duly left on the table, I was charged 22.50€ for three glasses, a price I am more used to spending for a full bottle. I have no one to blame but myself for letting myself fall into that little trap. Nonetheless, my credit card would have suffered a much more substantial blow had I opted for one of the several rice wines listed on the menu. If you have to ask the price, then forget about ordering one of those. The glasses of wine helped jack my total bill up to 66€ (see Hesse's first con).

So what's the verdict on Hotaru? I'd say that it is a decent Japanese restaurant that is way over-rated by the two aforementioned critics. But as I pointed out earlier, I usually order wrong in Japanese restaurants, so maybe you'll have better luck. Like the other Japanese restaurants in Paris, it is not cheap. But if you have a couple hundred euros burning a hole in your wallet for some apparently tasty raw fish platters, put this one on your list. But, wait, I didn't say 'Simon Says.'

HOTARU
18, rue Rodier 75009 Paris
tel: 01 48 78 33 74
Métro: Notre Dame de Lorette