We interrupt our Japan travelogues for a report on Le Bistro.
Two visits in 3 weeks pretty much sums up how much Family enjoyed Le Bistrot. Well, I walked in thinking how easy it was to fall in love with the vibe. While waiting for our table to be ready, we hovered around a plush red buttoned couch (lovely!), peering in to find a restaurant that looks cosy but not elbow-knockingly so. Throw in a couple of Toulouse-Lautrec posters, a ceiling-to-floor island, monochromatic furniture and VOILA, I feel up for a friendly game of boules.
The prix fixe menu reads like a casting call for classic French bistro food, featuring an ideal 5-8 options per course (sufficient variety but concise enough to share chef's attention).
Always game for raw salmon, my appetizer the Duo of Salmon was a great opening act. Home-cured gravlax draped on top a mould of salmon and bleu d'Auvergne mousse, served with mesclun salad, it was a well-coordinated duet of rich and creamy with somethin' savoury. We were off to a good start.
The Crab & Artichoke Rémoulade, minced crab and onion salad with artichoke heart battonets in dijon mustard and chive mayonnaise, delivered an unorthodox but refreshing performance.
Though I'm comfortable with selected innards (anything within the torso), it's not something I would go for on a non-Truth-or-Dare basis. I heaved a breathe of courage before helping myself to my sister's gratinated casserole. Wow. Though the beef tripe moonlit as a honeycomb sponge which soaked up the essence of white wine, tomatoes and onions, it retained its gamy taste with a vengeance.
On our second visit, apart from the tripe, we had the gratinated onion soup. The French onion soup always catches me off guard. The melted Gruyère and caramel brown body creates an impression of decadent savory goodness but instead, a sweet mellow tiptoes from within.
The second act, our mains, by no means played second fiddle to the commendable opening performance.
On any given day, I would have gone for the duck confit but mum ordered it so I decided to go for something else. The Duck Leg Confit with potato purée and honey-mustard vinaigrette was stellar. Tender meaty duck legs doublet, almost crusty skin, it was oui magnifique.
Scaling the Mount Everest of contentment, my dad and I conquered 400g of hunky dory chargrilled Black Angus beef. Bearing the traits of a good steak (read: to-die-for texture, smoky charred-ness and peekaboo-i-see-you FAT trimming), this was one solid performace.
On my second visit, I received my weekly dose of omega-3 from the pan roasted salmon fillet, stuffed with ratatouille, with bell pepper coulis and basil-infused oil. This could have been done with less oil since the salmon is a fatty fish, but it turns out the oil indeed serves another useful purpose- it becomes a lubricant when one attempts to mop up the ratatouille and coulis with bread.
The chargrilled rack of Yorkshire pork also won itself fans around the dinner table. A couple of us were visibly shakened by the inconceivable tenderness of the thick slab and amazingly, this feat was repeated on both visits. Topped with mushroom velouté and pear compote, the rack earned the bistro more praise though at the expense of the British. "Oh damn, I'll be thinking of these when I'm in Durham. Why can't the British do something right with their meats?!" my sister exclaimed.
Anglo-French rivalry for dessert anyone?
As I am the only one in the family cursed with a sweet tooth, we only ordered ONE (sad lonely soul) dessert to be shared on both occasions.
A creme brulee in trio of flavours, vanilla bean, orange and mocha. Though predictable, it was delightful luscious, with my favourite being the old-fashioned vanilla bean.
On my second visit, we had the financier aux pistaches, an almond, pistachio and nut brown butter cake with tangy raspberry center, served alongside vanilla bean ice cream. It doesn't take a rocker scientist to figure out: Warm comfort cake + Kickass Ice cream = Cowabunga Hands-off-my-dessert Satisfaction
The pleasant service matched the great food and small-town decor. Sure the bread could have been served warm and the lighting made brighter. But I love the greenhouse structure, the stencil-sticker roses pasted on the windows and even the giant white wooden communal chair, which reminds me of the wooden stools I had when I was a kid. Oh when you're in love even the silliest things like hanging naked bulbs seem to spell 'luuurve'.
Two visits in 3 weeks pretty much sums up how much Family enjoyed Le Bistrot. Well, I walked in thinking how easy it was to fall in love with the vibe. While waiting for our table to be ready, we hovered around a plush red buttoned couch (lovely!), peering in to find a restaurant that looks cosy but not elbow-knockingly so. Throw in a couple of Toulouse-Lautrec posters, a ceiling-to-floor island, monochromatic furniture and VOILA, I feel up for a friendly game of boules.
The prix fixe menu reads like a casting call for classic French bistro food, featuring an ideal 5-8 options per course (sufficient variety but concise enough to share chef's attention).
Always game for raw salmon, my appetizer the Duo of Salmon was a great opening act. Home-cured gravlax draped on top a mould of salmon and bleu d'Auvergne mousse, served with mesclun salad, it was a well-coordinated duet of rich and creamy with somethin' savoury. We were off to a good start.
The Crab & Artichoke Rémoulade, minced crab and onion salad with artichoke heart battonets in dijon mustard and chive mayonnaise, delivered an unorthodox but refreshing performance.
Though I'm comfortable with selected innards (anything within the torso), it's not something I would go for on a non-Truth-or-Dare basis. I heaved a breathe of courage before helping myself to my sister's gratinated casserole. Wow. Though the beef tripe moonlit as a honeycomb sponge which soaked up the essence of white wine, tomatoes and onions, it retained its gamy taste with a vengeance.
On our second visit, apart from the tripe, we had the gratinated onion soup. The French onion soup always catches me off guard. The melted Gruyère and caramel brown body creates an impression of decadent savory goodness but instead, a sweet mellow tiptoes from within.
The second act, our mains, by no means played second fiddle to the commendable opening performance.
On any given day, I would have gone for the duck confit but mum ordered it so I decided to go for something else. The Duck Leg Confit with potato purée and honey-mustard vinaigrette was stellar. Tender meaty duck legs doublet, almost crusty skin, it was oui magnifique.
Scaling the Mount Everest of contentment, my dad and I conquered 400g of hunky dory chargrilled Black Angus beef. Bearing the traits of a good steak (read: to-die-for texture, smoky charred-ness and peekaboo-i-see-you FAT trimming), this was one solid performace.
On my second visit, I received my weekly dose of omega-3 from the pan roasted salmon fillet, stuffed with ratatouille, with bell pepper coulis and basil-infused oil. This could have been done with less oil since the salmon is a fatty fish, but it turns out the oil indeed serves another useful purpose- it becomes a lubricant when one attempts to mop up the ratatouille and coulis with bread.
The chargrilled rack of Yorkshire pork also won itself fans around the dinner table. A couple of us were visibly shakened by the inconceivable tenderness of the thick slab and amazingly, this feat was repeated on both visits. Topped with mushroom velouté and pear compote, the rack earned the bistro more praise though at the expense of the British. "Oh damn, I'll be thinking of these when I'm in Durham. Why can't the British do something right with their meats?!" my sister exclaimed.
Anglo-French rivalry for dessert anyone?
As I am the only one in the family cursed with a sweet tooth, we only ordered ONE (sad lonely soul) dessert to be shared on both occasions.
A creme brulee in trio of flavours, vanilla bean, orange and mocha. Though predictable, it was delightful luscious, with my favourite being the old-fashioned vanilla bean.
On my second visit, we had the financier aux pistaches, an almond, pistachio and nut brown butter cake with tangy raspberry center, served alongside vanilla bean ice cream. It doesn't take a rocker scientist to figure out: Warm comfort cake + Kickass Ice cream = Cowabunga Hands-off-my-dessert Satisfaction
The pleasant service matched the great food and small-town decor. Sure the bread could have been served warm and the lighting made brighter. But I love the greenhouse structure, the stencil-sticker roses pasted on the windows and even the giant white wooden communal chair, which reminds me of the wooden stools I had when I was a kid. Oh when you're in love even the silliest things like hanging naked bulbs seem to spell 'luuurve'.
3 comments:
Is the 400g steak, the cote de boeuf from the menu?
Hey there,
No, it was a daily special.
Yeah! Salmon duo and the steak. That's what I want.
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