On our third night in Paris, Manbacon and I decided to try out Chez Pommette, a little restaurant we'd seen the day before while exploring Montmartre. The red exterior and handwritten menu on blackboards made the place seem warm and inviting. However, a glance through the window showed only two people (a rather stern-faced middle-aged couple) in the restaurant, even though it was dinner time and other eateries nearby were packed. A bad meal at home is unpleasant but easily brushed off, but a bad meal on holiday, when you have so little time to try out all that a city has to offer, can feel devastating. I wasted stomach space on this? Still, it was getting late, and we were starving, so we entered with a little bit of trepidation...and received a warm welcome from the only waiter in the place, who told us to seat ourselves wherever we wanted.
|Carrot veloute (it's what fancy people call soup)|
I was craving duck, but a perusal of the menu showed no such meat on offer...until the waiter set the specials board down, and there it was, the magic word - canard.
We started with the carrot veloute - thick, rich and velvety, a world apart from lacklustre Tetrapack supermarket soups. It was intensely moreish, and went very nicely with the complimentary basket of crusty baguette slices on the side. I was trying very hard not to lick the bowl when I got to the bottom!
|Duck breast with potato dauphinoise|
We were both completely stuffed, but there was dessert to be had. I love ile flottante, and it's easy enough to make, but it's just never really occurred to me to make it at home for a fancy dessert. Anyway, this version was slightly marred by the ratio of meringue to custard. Too big a blob of meringue (also a bit too toothachingly sweet), sitting in a sad, shadow little pool of custard. More iceberg in a puddle than the delicate floating islands they are meant to be. Please sir...I want some more (custard).
Still, that wasn't enough to destroy what was overall a very enjoyable meal. One more thing - our little tip seemed to please the waiter inordinately. He smiled and waved to us so enthusiastically as we were walking out that I thought his hand might start a hurricane all on it's own. For a moment there, I thought I might have accidentally left him a €50 note. Maybe he's just always this happy when customers leave the restaurant? Will you let me know if you happen to eat there too?
86 Rue Lepic