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/

 

Jaja - Dahling I Love You, But Give Me Park Avenue

Sitting here la la, waiting for my Jaja, a hm ahm. Sorry, I digress. I hope my readers will appreciate the elliptical title of this here installment, even though, as one should know, it was Eva who starred in the referenced pinnacle (or should I say 'nadir') of '60s American mindless TV, Green Acres, and not sis Zsa Zsa, may she continue to battle the grim reaper. Where was I? Ah yes, Jaja. It doesn't take much to get me off my butt and into a new restaurant venue in the heart of Paris, and so to Jaja Co. and I trekked last Friday night, after I read Sarah Emily Miano's favorable (with reservations) review in the online Paris Update newsletter. As suggested, Miano's review fell far short of a rave, but enough to pique my interest in the possibilities. Ms. Miano, who was saddened by the lack of pichets on the wine list (does it sound elitist if I add a 'tsk' here?), also effused that "The burger, when presented to a neighboring diner, had me drooling." Well, hopefully she'll grow with the job, but Ms. Miano is clearly no Richard Hesse, her resident predecessor at aforementioned newsletter. New York is where I'd rather stay, I get allergic smelling hay, I just adore a penthouse view. I don't know, I can't get that Green Acres theme song out of my mind now. I wish I could say the same for our 129€ mediocre meal at Jaja.

Location! Location! Right smack dab in the heart of the trendy Marais district in a quiet courtyard amidst the shops and hordes of passersby, one enters the glass front of the restaurant and still feels outside, the large front rooms doubling as a terrace with retractable roof during the warm weather months. There are other rooms in the back and downstairs, and these emulate less terrace than cave, images available at the restaurant's website gallery. Young, attractive, and efficient waitresses fanned out from their little tete a tete phone klatsch around the central bar as soon as the tables started filling up with casually attired patrons who looked like they had dropped in for a quick nosh. We are not exactly talking Michelin-level here.

For an idea as to what to expect in the way of dishes, here is a look at Jaja's online carte, little of which matched what was on offer during our visit (click to enlarge):



From the ala carte offerings for the evening of our visit (a 'menu' only available at lunchtime), I selected the poelee d'ecrevisses as an entree, or as they prefer at Jaja my 'first act', essentially a mound of Asian noodles sporting several bland crayfish. I lost interest midway in, so Co. obliged as I periodically snatched some of her fricassee de champignons, a competently prepared dish of smoky mushrooms - both opening acts overpriced at 17€. For the 'classics not to be missed' Co. went with the canard sauvage, while I selected a blackboard special of filet de barbue poele et puree de topinambours, priced, respectively, at 23€ and 26€. I can't complain about my fish dish, topped by what appeared to be a pistou sauce, but both dishes, while workmanlike, evinced little evidence of creativity. Desserts as well were hardly inspired - my tiramissu marron and Co's tartare mangue/ananas provided the obligatory sugar fix at the end of the meal and nothing more. Top notch, however, was the bottle of Languedoc St. Chinian, a bold red that kept me in good spirits even when having to pay the 129€ for an uninspired meal. No complaints whatsoever regarding the wine list - plenty of reasonably priced and interesting choices, including some foreign bottles.

Jaja comes to the Marais bearing something of a pedigree, having been conceived by the same folks behind Glou, another trendy spot also located in the Marais that I have not reviewed at this site. Take away that pedigree and stick Jaja in some burg off the beaten path and I wouldn't put much money on its chances for long-term success. In fact, take away the location and the nice terrace, I have no idea why Jaja would merit the detour. If you're in need of a refilling during a hectic shopping trip to the interesting shops of the Marais and are willing to pay for mediocrity, you know where to go.

jaja. That's correct, it isn't supposed to be capitalized and that period is part of the name. Sitting here la la Waiting for my Ya Ya a hm ahm Sitting here la la Waiting for my Ya Ya uh

3 rue Sainte Croix de la Bretonnerie
75004 Paris
tel. 01 42 74 71 52
website