Steel blue sky in the morning. Sunny all day but cool enough to demand a top-coat.

Taking advantage of this pleasant winter weather, we spent a leisurely couple of hours at the Beauveau market. Walking from the Métro stop Ledru-Rollin, we turned a corner near Place d’Aligre, the market’s nominal center, and found ourselves in the hubbub of commerce—merchants at their stalls briskly selling clothes, miscellaneous merchandise and every kind of food, not only on the Place itself but on streets radiating from it for over a hundred meters in each direction. We sensed that the pace of business had peaked by the time we arrived, about 10:30 am. The dozens of clothes stalls had already been rummaged by then. Even the fruit and vegetable displays, though constantly replenished, had fallen into disorder.

We sat outdoors at a café with coffee first as beverage and then as an excuse to dally in the pale sunshine. Then we walked to Place de la Bastille, took the Métro to the Marais area (St-Paul) and thence walked to the restaurant we had selected for lunch:

14 rue CharlesV, Paris 04. Métro St-Paul

With its inconspicuous location on a quiet street in the Marais area, its comfortable semi-private nooks, discreet lighting and soft carpets, the restaurant seemed a suitable venue for an illicit romance.

But that was just a first impression. As soon as we saw the menu we realized that the decor was secondary—at l’Excuse the focus was on food. One item that caught our attention was épigramme d’agneau des Pyrénées au jus de romarin, which is braised cutlets and breast of lamb coated with breadcrumbs and fried, served with braising juices and rosemary. If we had not already decided on a wine, St-Veran Ets. Loron 1995 (demi F68), that would not have been suitable with it, we might have ordered this elaborate, old-fashioned preparation simply on the strength of the charming anecdote of its origin: A socially ambitious eighteenth-century Parisian hostess, misunderstanding the word épigramme heard in a favorable report upon a rival’s affair (something along the lines of "the epigrams were delightful") instructed her chef to prepare that dish for her own dinner party. The puzzled chef, forced to extemporize, did so brilliantly—and the "épigramme" was born!

Another path not taken, that might have given us a glimpse of the haute cuisine as it flourished in the grand households of nineteenth-century Russia, was pojarski de volaille—chicken scraped off the bone, minced and reformed on the bone in a mixture with milk and breadcrumbs. Perhaps on the next visit….

To lubricate these ruminations we had as an apéritif Champagne Huot (2xF38).

French at Table Department: At a nearby table we observed a family group including a little girl in a high chair. The tot dined with grave appreciation of the kitchen’s efforts on her behalf, all the way through to the adults’ coffee. Then she amused herself with picture books. Here was an example how, in France, the appreciation of a nice lunch is instilled at an early age.

Salade verte: A ring of mâche, with leaves of herbs, lettuce and radicchio piled in the center, served with a small amount of a pleasingly tangy vinaigrette.

This vinaigrette was the first instance of what we came to perceive as the chef’s tendency to strike a flavor balance favoring acid over sugar. Most of his dishes gave rise to an agreeably piquant or "bright" feeling on the palate.

Velouté de moules au fumet de champignons was an instance of the chef’s leaning to acid: A vibrant tasting, medium-thick soup with a definite taste of mussels.

Brandade de morue fraîche aux épices douces: Purée of potato and fresh cod spread thickly upon a piece of just-cooked cod, and surmounted by brittle translucent wafers of what might have been potato skin, mildly accented with cress. The garniture was a cheese-tasting risotto made up of fully distended, separate grains of rice.

Dos de sandre aux échalotes confites et jus de viande: A pleasant-flavored filet of perch served with chives on a bed of preserved shallots, with meat juices dribbled around the fish.

Assiette "Tout chocolat et cacao amer." The components of this agreeably decadent dessert were: (1) A rich chocolate mousse, (2) A physalis (cape gooseberry) whose tart flavor made a pleasing contrast with chocolate, (3) A slice of chocolate cake resembling a stiff mousse, topped with coffee-flavored cream, (4) A soufflé with a semi-hard crust and nearly black, bitter chocolate inside.

The soufflé had occasioned a wait of some twenty minutes, but the time passed quickly in these soft-edged surroundings. Particularly since we didn’t lack entertainment; the child, released from her highchair, had a wonderful time at play under the tables of the now almost vacant dining room while the adults lingered over digestifs.

Petit baba au rhum et fruits exotiques: Juice-saturated babas with the light texture of sponge cake, arranged in a ring filled with a colorful mélange of kiwi, mango and mandarin. The sweetness of this dessert was set off by a touch of tartness, achieving a balance like that of a German Riesling.

Moka d’Ethiopie was our choice of the several coffees offered. Beside the expected chocolate flavors, we found in this brew a bracing jolt of acid—another instance of the chef’s leaning to bright flavors.

The total at l’Excuse was F627.

***

On a Friday evening, restaurants being crowded, the sensible thing would have been to follow our usual practice of dining at home. On this occasion, however, with the recollection of the previous Tuesday’s excellent terrine and tasty sourdough still dancing in our heads, we gave in to a sudden urge to make a second visit to our friendly neighborhood bistrot:

49 ave Jean Moulin, Paris 14. Métro Alésia.

The place was complet, fully booked, but we secured an early reservation after swearing we would leave at nine.

The terrine and the bread matched our fantasy.

Foie gras d’oie chaud poêlé au pain d’épices: Goose foie gras served with asparagus and a salad of mâche leaves accented with croûtons of spiced brown bread and finely diced shallots. Alas, the foie gras was not seared hot enough, and so lacked flavor. A reminder that foie gras is, after all, only liver.

In retrospect, we thought the chef must have hurried the cooking of the foie gras to avoid giving us an excuse to stay past 9:00 pm. Moral—avoid rush if possible, but when dining in a hurry it’s best to order the sort of thing the kitchen likely has ready ahead of time.

Salade verte: A larger portion of the above mâche salad.

Poulet de Gers rôti, poêlée de salsifis au jus: Roast chicken served with its cooking juices and pan-cooked salsify. As expected for poulet d’appelation—chicken raised in large pens rather than cages—this poultry (from the Gascogne region of southwest France) had a definite and good flavor and a solid texture. The salsify was disappointing, though. The pale stalks, fat as asparagus, looked fine, but they were practically insipid and quite lacked the characteristic aroma that is the inspiration for the nickname "oyster plant."

Tarte fine sablée au chocolat, café mousseux: Dark, bitter chocolate in a slightly brittle sweet-chocolate pie crust, topped with coffee-flavored whipped cream.

Tourtière pommes, pruneaux, glace Armagnac: Armagnac-sprinkled prune and apple pie with Armagnac-flavored ice cream. This rustic southwest-style dessert brought our dinner to a satisfactory conclusion, comfortably ahead of the deadline.

We’d had time to drink only half of a bottle of le Haut-Lieu Vouvray sec Huet 1994 (F105). We took the remainder back to the apartment to sip while contemplating poulet de Gers (we blanked out all recollection of salsifis).

The total at la Régalade was F519.