Blizzards, Biarritz, and Boudin Noir
When you're desperate to travel, but don't have the time, all it takes is a little imagination.
It’s February 25th and I’ve just answered “yes” to the question of whether I’d like ice with my limonade. I’m seated on a boardwalk of sorts, taking long sips of the thick spring air, perfumed by the blooming cherry blossoms to my left. The sunlight is bouncing off of white facades across the vast open space below.
I barely have the heart to tell my friends back home, who have just risked life and limb shoveling out feet of snow from a record setting blizzard, that two days ago on the very same terrace and in the very same weather, I ordered a pair of n°2 oysters (n°2 is the gauge) supplied, according to the menu, by Monsieur Johnny (whoever the hell that is). I slurped them down, thus opening the gates to a flood of childhood memories, not of eating, but of being tumbled over by ocean waves twice my eight-year-old height. They had the same unpleasant brininess of a gulp of Atlantic sliding down the wrong pipe.
I began to believe that I really was on the coast, with the sound of seagulls squawking in the distance, until I looked up to waves of hurried travelers with suitcases and headphones stepping off the escalator to join me on this elevated pavilion, reminding me that I am not actually in Biarritz, but on the Rue d’Alsace in Paris’s gritty 10th arrondissement. The harbor below is one of iron rails, carrying trains from all across central Europe to platforms of Gare de l’Est. Mixed in with the luggage-pulling passersby are many local residents of this ethnically South Asian neighborhood, going about their business.
My fellow lunchers on the terrace of Café Les Deux Gares, on the other hand, are decidedly bobo (bohémien, bourgeois: French shorthand for hipster), drawn here by a list of natural wines and the seasonal sensibilities of Chef Jonathan Schweizer.
And who can blame them? While I can’t say I enjoyed that oyster-induced flashback of beach day tumbles, I did rather enjoy returning inland to a crunchy bite of Jerusalem artichoke—advertised on the menu as confited, but let’s be honest, it was just roasted—served with silky and sweet crème de ricotta et courge, and brightened by sprigs of dill and razor-thin cedra slices.
If the weather was no indication of the season, my main course certainly was: a hefty hunk of boudin noir with pommes grenailles, glazed carrot, cime di rapa, and a sweet and punchy sauce moutarde.
Café Les Deux Gares does an impressive job of walking the neobistrot tightrope, embracing the brighter angels of new-age cuisine, while forgoing the fluff. The boudin dish was hardy and honest enough to satisfy the most ardent sticklers for rustic tradition, but not without touches of modern finesse.
The bite and bitterness of the cime di rapa—not something you’ll see on traditional bistrot menus—rounded out an otherwise soft dish. Its broad leaves acted as a barbecue brush, basting my palate with intense, savory jus.
More bistronomique flares showed up in our dessert. Bergamot zest played a sweet melody over an otherwise classic île flottante—among the best I’ve ever had, not that I’m really in the habit of ordering île flottante—and although we were forced to have our cheese at the same time (we were told the kitchen would soon be closing), we could be thankful it was a mild and delightfully creamy Brillat-Savarin, and not something potent like a blue. I wouldn’t have liked the taste of roquefort with crème anglaise.
A signature bistrot blend of espresso rounded out the meal, with notes of charred earth and cigar butt. My friend, in his wisdom, ordered a noisette so as to soften the bitter blow with frothed milk. The coffee, plus a juicy glass of gamay, brought my three course lunch to just over 37 euros. Not bad for two imaginary hours of basking in Biarritz.
‘Left Bank Treasures’ Food Tour
If you follow me on Instagram, you may have seen that I have launched a very special food tour starting at the pantheon and cluminating with a tasting in a truly magical private péniche, right at Pont Neuf. The 3 hour experience with the first group of this tour is something I hope I’ll never forget.
If you’re coming to Paris and you want to taste your way through the city’s most charming neighborhoods, all while learning the stories behind every bite, you can check out my booking page here.
I look forward to having you!
Finally Switched to Substack
I don’t know what the hell took me so long, but you can now see my posts on your Substack feed, in addition to my website or in your inbox.
Feel free to comment on this post if you enjoyed it, or even if you didn’t honestly, have a good time! And if you really liked it, I would greatly appreciate if you shared it.
See you next week,
Max