Sharon Bowman
Sharon Bowman
A few years ago, Spring was a restaurant in the 9th arrondissement of Paris. Tiny (14 seats, I think), run only by its American, French-trained chef, Daniel Rose. That spot then closed, and the long transition began. Those in the thumb-twiddling and eating business waited and watched. A new place was found in the 1st arrondissement, but needed extensive renovations. In the interim, a store, the justly named Spring Boutique, was opened a stone's skip away. It purveys wines (zick ass selection, courtesy of Josh Adler, of America), choice charcuteries and hams, and other products, with special appeal to foodies and transplants of the transatlantic sort. It may be the only place in Paris to purchase agave syrup. Or Lpez de Heredia. C'est dire that it's a service to the good of Parisian humanity.
Before I prolong this to mumblemumble-worthy lengths, I'll just say that this summer, the restaurant opened. And, interestingly, during the renovations of the spot for the restaurant, it was discovered that there were 17th century vaults underneath. Which required a couple more months to renovate, and which now house a wine bar.
Which me, I finally hit (syntactically correct sentence in the language of Molire).
It did score high marks on my bent and folded, pencil-smudged ledger of wine bars.
Laundry List
a) 17th century vaults under Seine-lapped shores of 1st arrondissement in Paris.
check.
b) Chef of inspired talent.
check.
c) American dude with great taste doing wine list!!
check!*
d) Mood lighting.
dude. In alcoves in 17th c vaults. I'll bring my next conquest here, def.
e) Jamn ibrico.
in da house, sweating that pig fat onto plate, as warmed up.
f) Leg of pig wearing a garter of saucisson sec.
OTT, to nice effect.
g) house-made foie gras torchon with fleur de sel in thick rounds.
...
g) Egly-Ouriet, Vacheron Sancerre rouge "Belle Dame," Arena Patrimonio rouge, and a glass of Zind-Humbrecht Gewrz to see. Which was v dry.
And so it goes.
But everyone's American?
And no one can translate "line-caught merlu." 'Cause, like, what's merlu?
Regret of night: a baked onion stuffed with braised oxtail with a bordelaise sauce. I thought: pass. Neighboring tables ordered and ate: sh*t x 10. It looked really good. (In my defense, I was picturing mostly onion with a bit of oxtail. In reality, it was maybe one or two layers of onion, baked shimmery, and a delicious-looking shredded oxtail type of thing inside overflowing. Boo hoo!)
ETA: Or Texier.
*The sail of enthusiasm fills with a great gust of wind, clearly. An American friend with me, who'd been in Spring Boutique beforehand, said, "It's like walking into Chambers Street! Only with its own eclectic angle, of course." The Zeitgeist is there.
Before I prolong this to mumblemumble-worthy lengths, I'll just say that this summer, the restaurant opened. And, interestingly, during the renovations of the spot for the restaurant, it was discovered that there were 17th century vaults underneath. Which required a couple more months to renovate, and which now house a wine bar.
Which me, I finally hit (syntactically correct sentence in the language of Molire).
It did score high marks on my bent and folded, pencil-smudged ledger of wine bars.
Laundry List
a) 17th century vaults under Seine-lapped shores of 1st arrondissement in Paris.
check.
b) Chef of inspired talent.
check.
c) American dude with great taste doing wine list!!
check!*
d) Mood lighting.
dude. In alcoves in 17th c vaults. I'll bring my next conquest here, def.
e) Jamn ibrico.
in da house, sweating that pig fat onto plate, as warmed up.
f) Leg of pig wearing a garter of saucisson sec.
OTT, to nice effect.
g) house-made foie gras torchon with fleur de sel in thick rounds.
...
g) Egly-Ouriet, Vacheron Sancerre rouge "Belle Dame," Arena Patrimonio rouge, and a glass of Zind-Humbrecht Gewrz to see. Which was v dry.
And so it goes.
But everyone's American?
And no one can translate "line-caught merlu." 'Cause, like, what's merlu?
Regret of night: a baked onion stuffed with braised oxtail with a bordelaise sauce. I thought: pass. Neighboring tables ordered and ate: sh*t x 10. It looked really good. (In my defense, I was picturing mostly onion with a bit of oxtail. In reality, it was maybe one or two layers of onion, baked shimmery, and a delicious-looking shredded oxtail type of thing inside overflowing. Boo hoo!)
ETA: Or Texier.
*The sail of enthusiasm fills with a great gust of wind, clearly. An American friend with me, who'd been in Spring Boutique beforehand, said, "It's like walking into Chambers Street! Only with its own eclectic angle, of course." The Zeitgeist is there.