Le Baratin (which oddly means ‘sales pitch’ or ‘sweet talk’), a little bistro hidden in amongst the labyrinth of Belleville, at a time was a secret between chefs and foodies alone – a haven where (as rumour has it) local chefs dine in their off time.  Since being published in Le Guide Michelin, amongst others, the restaurant has become a trendy destination for travellers, and (as it were) annoying food bloggers, however power duo Argentinean born chef Raquel Carena and her partner and resident wine connoisseur Philipp Pinoteu, have not let popularity get in the way of quality. This is a Paris institution for a reason.

On arriving at Le Baratin, rather fashionably late, I found a jolly Leon Troutsky sipping wine and joking with his comrades…and a cat in my chair. And like the cat who had got the cream for the last 20 years in this bistro he was very content and in no hurry to be moved. I loved this place already.

The menu is small but sufficient, in fact you want everything on it, and everything on it is worth getting. Nevertheless as we had managed to squeeze a reservation at the last minute we were pressed for time, so reluctantly went straight to mains.

I ordered the cannette (baby duck…which I guess is called a duckling, but for the sake of my conscience lets not go there) cooked two ways – magret et confit.  I always hesitate between the magret de canard (duck breast lightly grilled and served pink) and the confit de canard (duck thigh fillet pickled in salt for 24 hours, cooked slowly in casserole of duck fat and browned in a pan) so needless to say my inner gemini could not have been happier to have both on my plate at the same time. Served with a light jus and accompanied by perfectly crunchy buttery sauteed potatoes and crisp green asparagus tips, there was certainly nothing ugly about this little duckling.

For Leon Troutsky it was the slow cooked joue de boeuf (beef cheek) served atop a little vegetable garden of sauteed potatoes, carrots, radishes and fresh peas. This cheeky morsel was melt-in-the-mouth amazing. Tender and juicy on the inside with a sweet caramelised coat, the meat fell apart as your fork sunk in (as mine did numerous times).

For deserts I could not go past the chocolate fondant.  Typically this desert comprises a biscuit exterior encasing an oozing flow of warm melted chocolate. However the wonderful Raquel had done away with the biscuit, and instead had managed to capture the molten middle of flowing chocolate lava in a decadent square on my plate.

Leon Troutsky went for the chocolate mousse, which was as creamy and light as a good chocolate mousse should be, but it was no match for the fabulous fondant.

The fare is not inventive as some have suggested but it is good; very, very good. The atmosphere is warm and inviting, albeit loud, the wine list is well thought out and the food makes you go mmmmmmm.

What’s more, the €15 three course fixed price menu offered at lunch is nigh unbeatable.

Without wanting to sound like a true baratin…you really ought to go.

xoxo

Paris Stilton

It was pretentious, it was expensive, it was full of, well…schmucks, but lets face it, it never claimed to be anything else.  And with comfortable floral chairs, a perfect position for perusing the Paris jet-set, and a waiter that looked like Ryan Gosling’s long lost French frère, I certainly wasn’t complaining.

Three hours and two bottles of champagne later, totally ruinée by the Ruinart, Dolly Tatin conceded to trying her luck at the little Basque bistro/tapas joint of sorts around the corner (and incidentally, probably my favourite place in Paris), L’Avant Comptoir.  There are a plethora of Parisian restaurants containing the word comptoir, which means counter or bar, but none are as deserving of the name as L’Avant Comptoir, the brain child of Yves Camdeborde, which is quite literally just a counter, with one chef on a tiny plancha servicing the neverending flow of clientele who cram through the door day and night, seven days a week.

The walls are decorated with customer’s scribblings and pig memorabilia, there are slabs of butter, cornichons, mustard and hot bread for the taking, bottles of wine spill over the bucket onto the counter, and there is no real system for ordering; you squash up next to a trendy Parisian, you study the little pictured placard menus hanging above your head, you wait until the chef makes eye contact and then you go about reeling off every single tapas plate there is on offer, and times it by two. Yet somehow in amongst the chaos, mouthwatering miniature meals emerge.

Even more impressive, however, is the delectable delights the chef whipped up without meat and without fuss, for the darling Dolly Tatin. The luscious Lou Regalat morphed into an ambrosial bruschetta, the flavoursome fricassee de poulet became a succulent salad and the sandwichless chicken sandwich managed to lose all its fillings and still taste absolutely scrumptious.  Like Homer Simpson, I have always been of the view that you don’t win friends with salad, and yet everyone in the bar was crowding around Dolly Tatin and her fabulous meatless sandwichless sandwich.  If this was a movie it would be called  When Harry Met Salad; suddenly everyone at L’Avant Comptoir wanted what she was having.

But lets not get carried away here, you don’t go to L’Avant Comptoir for its tolerance of vegans. You go there for the incredible charcuterie boards, the sumptuous spicy sausage, the sweet, tender pork belly and the unforgettable foie gras, to name a few. The old faithful croquettes de jambon never cease to make me salivate.  A crunchy little shell encases a wonderland of oozing cheesy potato and jambon that I burn my palate on every single time. I have developed such a fondness of these little treats that the chef starts preparing two servings the minute I walk in the door.

Then there are the gauffres d’artichaut et jambon (waffles with artichoke and proscuitto). I am not sure what was done to the artichoke, but it was like a tapenade on testosterone. At once a slightly creamy, slightly salty, slightly sweet paste resting on a bed of soft airy waffle with thin morsels of jambon lounging on top. These were unbelievably good. Such was the look on my face when I bit into this inconceivably gratifying gauffre that Dolly Tatin could no longer take it. And in one fell swoop she ate one, and then another, and then a croquette, and then another, until she had sampled everything on the menu.

L’Avant Comptoir is one very cool place.  It is casual, inexpensive and friendly, the wine list is small but varied and the food is as consistently amazing as the line is long. I recommend this place to everyone who visits Paris, and no one ever leaves disappointed.

Heck, it was at this very comptoir that Dolly Tatin lost her veganity.

xoxo

Paris Stilton