Paris, My Way

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Having been to Paris a dozen times in the past twenty years, I pretty much consider myself an expert on the subject — which puts me firmly in the camp of roughly a million other Americans who, at the drop of a beret, will tell you everything you need to know about how they enjoyed themselves over there.

But like anyone who vacations to the same spot again and again, one starts to feel a certain knowingness and possessiveness — a visceral connection to claim it as your own. But let’s not fool ourselves, I may be an accomplished tourist– familiar with Paris’s streets and sites, and able to orient myself quickly — but I’m simply an enthusiastic visitor. With the Olympics coming up this week, and Paris! Paris! Paris! being all over the news, the least I can do for my loyal readers, is offer a few travel tips should you find yourself headed there anytime soon, either physically or in your dreams.

We’ll start with some general advice, and sprinkle in some words of wisdom, heavily sauced with sarcasm…and a buttery Béarnaise, of course.

First, let’s concentrate on the important things.

 Getting there: Take Drugs! Get sleep! We’re talking on the airplane, silly. Benadryl works for me. Gummies for others. Steal your mother’s Valium if you have to, but knock yourself out for at least 4-5 hours of the flight.

You will arrive in the early morning. The airport, even at 8:00 am, will be a mess. Charles DeGaulle is either the biggest headache in travel (worse for departing flights than arriving), or just hugely annoying on par with dozens of other international hubs. It is never a pleasant experience so grit your teeth, get through it, and think of the meals ahead.

Clear passport control, get your bags, and find a cab. Parisian taxis are good and reliable and won’t try to cheat you; but Uber is better. It’s easier to find the cab stand at the arrival terminals than the rideshare pickup areas so hop in and show your hotel’s address to your driver on your phone. Once in town, stick with Uber.

The ride from the airport to the central arrondissments can take anywhere from 30-90 minutes to go 34 kilometers (21 miles) depending on traffic.  The only time it’s ever taken me less than an hour was at 5:00 am, on a weekend, in a driving rainstorm.

Don’t even think about going in the summer. The third time I went to France was in late June, 1998 and it was sweltering, crowded and miserable. And it’s only gotten worse the last quarter century. After two weeks of sweating through crowds and a dozen shirts, I vowed then never to return unless it was sweater weather, and I’ve kept that promise for 26 years. The good news is Paris is more north than people realize (roughly on the same latitude as Rolla, North Dakota(?), and late May is a gorgeous (and quite cool) time to go.

Once you do get there, say, this fall or when the Olympic dust dies down, here is how I attack la capitale de la gastronomie:

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Bring your best thick-soled walking shoes. Better yet, bring two pairs and don’t worry about being fashionable. Nothing brands you a tourist faster than showing off your shiny spats (or spiked heels) when all the locals are tromping about in clunky boots.

Speaking of fashion: scarves are to les hommes de Paris what feathers are to a peacock. As soon as the temperature dips an inch below 70, they wrap their necks in them as if they were trekking through Greenland. Bring one (preferably the size of a bedspread), or buy one there and wear it like a world weary Parisian in love with his blanket.

Final dress code note: Paris is a lot less formal than it used to be. However, in some of the tonier hotels and gastronomic cathedrals, without a sport coat on, you will feel as out of place as a Twinkie in a patisserie. So men: bring a blazer. Women: you’re on your own. These days you can get away with almost anything.

As for accommodations…

Decent hotels are everywhere. Paris is full of great small hotels with clean facilities and helpful staffs. Like everything else, prices seemed to have risen 50% in the past five years. Expect to pay at least $250/night for a decent bed in a smallish room, with plumbing that’s a lot more reliable than it was in 1994.

It may be a bit off-brand, but for twenty years, I was the king of the shitty Parisian hotel — Hotel Malte, Hotel Crayon Rouge, Hotel Therese, Hotel Cambon, Hotel Select, Hotel La Perle — from a Best Western near the Louvre to a hot sheet joint around Brasserie Flo in the Tenth that I used for a one-night stand {food, not sex} — were, for years, where I parked my solo self before trekking to a three hour lunch or four hour dinner.

Then, marriage civilized me. Like most wives, The Food Gal® has more refined sensibilities when it comes to these things, and doesn’t appreciate the charms of tissue-thin linens, pillows the density of cotton balls, and showers the width of a golf bag. For her I bite the bullet and try to book Le Relais Saint-Germain (in the heart of the Left Bank), or Grand Hôtel du Palais Royal (a block from the Louvre and Palais Royal) so she doesn’t have to walk over the bed to use the bathroom.

Regardless of where you cool your heels, it’ll be late morning when you arrive in town and your room will not be ready. This means you’re going to have a few hours to kill before you can wash off the airplane grime — which is why sleeping on the transatlantic flight is so important.

Another travel hack I’m fond of is a bit harder to cultivate, but it comes in particularly handy when you have to wait hours for your room:

Ritz Paris: 5 Star Luxury Palace Hotel & Spa - Place Vendôme(Towels so fluffy they barely fit in my suitcase)

Have rich friends! The kind who, in the before times, would’ve been bossing around porters with Goyard streamer trunks strapped to their backs. If you’re fortunate enough to befriend someone in the carriage trade, they might let you hang out at The Ritz (above), Hotel Lutetia, Mandarin Oriental or Cheval Blanc (where the $2,000/night rooms are always ready) before you crawl back to your hovel to begin a week of listening to other people flush their toilets.

Wherever you are, you’ll be dead tired (it’s the middle of the night your time), and in need of a shower. And, if you haven’t read this blog, you’ll find yourself standing in the middle of some hotel lobby, smelling like dried sweat and musty airplane cabin, and wondering what to do until 3:00 pm. This is where planning comes in. This is why leaving meals to chance, especially in a target-rich environment like Paris, is dumber than ordering a cheeseburger on the Champs-Elysee.

Image(Braserrie Flo)

Book a lunch venue for the day you arrive at a nice cafe/bistro within a few blocks of your hotel. Decent bistros are more common in Paris than baguettes these days, and with a little research, you can find a foodie favorite. Consult Paris by Mouth if you want to be in-the-know and au courant, and reserve a week or so before you arrive, knowing that your first meal on French soil will probably leave your waiter wondering whether it is you or the aged Espoisses he’s sniffing.

Here’s a sampling of places which barely scratches the surface of all the cornucopia of dining choices which await you, sort of in alphabetical order:

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Allard

Au Pied de Cochon

Bouillon Chartier

Le Bistrot Paul Bert

Brasserie Floderer

Brasserie des Prés

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Chez L’Ami Louis The link is to one of (the famously dyspeptic) A. A. Gill’s most acerbic reviews in which he savaged the place. Enjoy his prose, but ignore his vitriol. He must’ve been feeling more splenetic than usual, because L’Ami Louis is famous for a reason(s), and the reasons are it has some of the best poulet, foie gras, a haystack of  frites the size of your head (above), and baba au rhum in France. The hardest thing about it is securing a reservation. (Use a concierge.) The staff is gruff, but actually quite nice.

Flottes

Juveniles

La Bourse et la Vie

L’Assiette:

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Le Dôme

La Rotonde

Le Bon Georges

L’Ami Jean

Le Chardenoux

Le Grand Colbert

Le Procope

Le Servan

Le Severo

Lipp

Ma Bourgogne

Rotisserie D’Argent

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You could build a two week vacay around eating in only these and not have a bad bite. But there are bigger fish to fry in Gay Paree (see below).

As you can see, I lean heavily classic when it comes to French food — from cuisine bourgeoise to haute. If you want trendy (lots of tweezers,  Franco-Sino  mashups, high-wattage outposts from some enfant terrible) you’ve come to the wrong place. And If you’re looking for cheap eats, you’re really at the wrong address. That said, the street food of Paris is quite the bargain, and worth checking out.

Begin with a Day One lunch and you’ll start your visit with a thorough immersion in French food culture before you’ve even had a chance to unpack your bags.

After lunch (With a mandatory carafe of wine? Bien sur!) you’ll be more tired than Gerard Depardieu walking up a flight of stairs, but resist mightily the urge sleep. Stagger back to your hotel, and retrieve your bags from the lobby, check in, shower and change, and then….do anything but fall asleep. You’re full, you’re exhausted, and nothing sounds better than hitting the rack….but it’s only 5 in the afternoon. Collapse then and you’ll wake up at 2 am, rarin’ to go with nothing to do,  Dozing off on your first day is a serious rookie mistake and will consign you to days of waking up in the wee hours and conking out in mid-afternoon, which will rob you of days of eating enjoyment.

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This is where French café culture comes in to save the day. We guarantee that there will be a cozy one within a stone’s throw of your hotel. Find it, plop yourself in a chair, order a café crême, double espresso,  or café allongé, and caffeinate yourself to the nines. Take your time. Play on your phone. Read a book. They don’t care if you’re there five minutes or five hours. Once the jitters set in, that’s your sign you can make it a few more hours until a respectable bedtime.

Image(Avg. number of times crossing Le Pont Neuf when in Paris: 10)

Walk your ass off – our second favorite pursuit in the City of Light, and the reason we actually drop a pound or two on every trip. Pick a different neighborhood every day and then start walking. It almost doesn’t matter in what direction — (almost) everything there is to see in Paris is within a four mile radius of the Louvre, and picturesque strolls are everywhere. A few of our favorites. St. Honore du Faubourg (shopping!), Rue de Montorgueil (food), Rue Caulaincourt (gorgeous neighborhood in Montmartre), Rue de la Roquette (Bastille delights), Rue des Martyrs, Rue Rambuteau (cafés galore), Rue des Franc Bourgeois, or the entirety of Saint Germain de Prés, you get the picture.

“The best of America drifts to Paris. The American in Paris is the best American.” – F. Scott Fitzgerald

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Have a drink at Harry’s New York Bar. All Americans do. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Then leave cocktails to the sheeple waiting at Bar Hemingway at the Ritz. As good as the drinks are at both of them, you’re here for the food and wine, pilgrim, not to booze it up. Getting drunk on vacation is for this side of the pond. And Germans.

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Adopt a wine bar.

Better yet, explore two or three. Wine is as much a part of French culture as sugar water is to ours. Going to Paris and not drinking wine is like touring Italy and skipping the pasta. You won’t find better French wine anywhere in the world, or at better prices. Here’s few of our faves:

Lucien Legrand Filles et Fils

Dilettantes Cave à Champagne

Willi’s Wine Bar

Ambassade de Bourgogne

La Cave des Abbesses

Most likely you’ll still be full from lunch, so plan on a tipple and light bite at one of these (all of them offer snacks to full meals), and then head to your home base to hit the hay. Don’t ask me to recommend natural wine bars though. We have nothing in common if you enjoy imbibing alcoholic kombucha dappled with scents of mouse droppings and hints of musty closets and sweaty feet.

Get the museums out of the way. My wife had been to Paris three times before she stepped inside the Louvre. Every time we’d walked past it she’d whine, “I want to see the Louvre.” To which I always replied, “There it is, now you’ve seen it. Let’s go to lunch.”

Pro tip: Hit the Louvre early on day two so you won’t have to put up with such misguided caterwauling. You’ll still be getting your sea legs, so schedule a private or group tour as early in the day as you can. We’ve had wonderful luck through Viator, and when you sign up for the small group tour, often it’s just you and the guide. Don’t forget to tip the guide (about 20 euros/pp is appropriate, more if they spend extra time with you, as ours did.) If you’ve got the energy, cross the Seine and knock out the Musée d’Orsay in the afternoon. Dispose with those and you can forever pat yourself on the back for being more cultured than the slack-jawed rubes you call friends back home.

Eat cheese.

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Slurp  oysters.

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The French are the biggest oyster and cheese eaters in the world. Paris is the apotheosis of shellfish appreciation, and glories in its fermented curd culture, so take full advantage.

Skip the Eiffel Tour. It’s a total shitshow these days. You wanna see La Tour Eiffel? Look up from anywhere in Paris and you’ve seen it. Ditto Notre Dame. The approaches to both are crammed with screaming toddlers, obnoxious Instagrammers, and hordes of tour groups speaking everything from Cantonese to Swahili.

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Do not miss a river cruise.  This should be mandatory for first-time visitors. We did a lunch cruise a year ago and the food was remarkably tasty, as were the house wines. The dusk and evening cruises are supposed to be spectacular. Whenever you go, it will be three of the best hours you’ll spend in the city.

Restaurants! Restaurants! Restaurants! Remember, Paris isn’t just the ancestral home of the restaurant, it is also the food capital of the world with at least 44,000 restaurants (cf. New York City, which has four times the population and half as many food outlets). Equally impressive is the fact that most of its temples of gastronomy are open for lunch — and the food is just as good, the portions a little smaller, and the tariff a bit shallower. Plus, you have the added bonus of being able to spend the rest of the day walking it off.

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This territory has been covered extensively on this blog before. To summarize, consider your options:

Guy Savoy might be the best restaurant in the world.

L’Ambroisie is the pinnacle of classic cuisine in an historic setting, and even though the menu is entirely in French, they are extraordinarily friendly and patient with clueless Americans.

Taillevent might be the swankiest place on earth to have lunch. If you don’t want to spring for such an upscale extravaganza, Taillevent’s wine-centric spinoff —  Les 110 de Taillevent  — comes highly recommended by our staff:

Wine Full GIF

The legendary La Tour D’Argent may be the most spectacular combination of food, wine and setting on the planet. The wine list alone is worth a trip:

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Pro Tip: Do not despair. Trying to navigate this tome is more futile than trying to parse French genders. Do what the pros do: Ask for it respectfully; accept it religiously; peruse it solemnly; then point to a region and a price point and throw yourself on the mercy of the sommelier. In multiple visits they have never steered me wrong.

Pierre Gagnaire continues to be one of gastronomy’s most inventive chefs. He’s may be in his 70s, but his restaurants haven’t lost their fastball. Gaya — his cozy seafood refuge, tucked into a Left Bank neighborhood —  remains a stunner, toggling between tradition (impeccable Dover sole, below) and innovative takes on things that swim:

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Another eye-popper is the over-the-top Le Clarence — ensconced among the sconces in a re-tooled 19th Century Golden Triangle mansion. Renowned for its elegant cuisine, Chateau Haut-Brion collection and chariot de fromages, this joint is so fancy, you can be excused for thinking the staff is looking at you as if you have a bone in your nose or a papoose strapped to your back.

Arpège retains its 3-star status, with many glorifying its exaltation of turnips, lettuce and the like. Others claim it is past its prime. We are firmly in the latter camp.

Le Climats — a perennial favorite for our annual Burgundian bacchanalia — has closed, and Le Grand Vefour (a must-stop for 27 years) seems to have shed its Michelin history and re-made itself into a glorified bistro. Pity.

If we were to chase les trois etoiles again, it would be at Alléno Paris au Pavillon Ledoyen or Le Prés Catelan. Or Lasserre. We’ve never been, but it’s on our short list. Maybe some day we’ll get there, to Lasserre. In the meantime though, we’ll mostly leave these temples of excess to the nouveau riche gastronauts who frequent them.

not that there's anything wrong with that seinfeld GIF by myLAB Box

You will enjoy yourself much more, and save a little coin, by sticking with lunch at a Michelin 1 or 2-star — where everything is almost as perfect, and what little isn’t is only known to those inspecting the place with a microscope.

Pro tip: Lunch is the right move. After a morning of cultural enrichment, museum fatigue, shopping, or some other waste of time, a proper dejeuner on day two is perfect for your first big deal meal. This is when the big game hunting begins in earnest. Do you want to see what’s new on the gastronomy scene? Visit an old reliable? Surround yourself with luxury? Or try something edgy and out there? It’s time to step up your game and take the Michelin plunge in the last place on earth where the stars actually mean something.

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And don’t leave without at least one meal at Le Train Bleu – still the most visually spectacular restaurant in the world. Be forewarned however, cheap travel and Instagram have turned what was once a beautiful sleeper (attended to solely by lovers of Belle Epoque decor and those waiting for a train at Gare de Lyon) have made it a favorite of the selfie-stick set. It’s probably a tad more breathtaking at night, but tables are easier to come by at lunch. The food is remarkably good for such a large operation. So is the service.

For those not wanting to spend a car or house payment on a meal: most sidewalk cafés have perfectly serviceable set menus (always a fixed price for three courses) which will keep you alive. And don’t underestimate the gastronomic joys of le jambon-beurre or a Breton galette (basically a buckwheat crêpe) — both of which are easily found on the street, food stores or in the boulangeries which dot the city.

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Spend a day in Montmartre. But make it a weekday. Weekends are more crowded than Disneyland on the Fourth of July. Go early, grab a kouign-amann at Le Pain Retrouvé (above) to fuel your quads as you traverse the steep streets:

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One full day won’t be enough but it will give you a nice taste of life in the village where Amélie roamed, and one which Toulouse-Lautrec might still recognize. For lunch: duck into Le Coq et FilsAntoine Westermann’s ode to poultry. It’ll be the best $150 you ever spend on a yardbird:

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Hit a farmers market.  This is recommended even if you’re not in Paris solely to eat and explore the food scene. (Quelle horreur!)  The sheer variety of seafood, vegetables, cheese, prepared foods and meats puts eating in America to shame. Since you’re a tourist, you mostly will be gawking instead of buying stuff, so set aside an hour or so to gawk to your heart’s content. The vendors tend to be way friendlier than they used to be.

Visit Père-Lachaise — only if you feel a kindred spirit with Oscar Wilde or Jim Morrison. Otherwise, skip it. The neighborhood is way out of the way, with little to offer but seedy streets until you get closer to Place de la République or the Marais. Plus, it’s full of dead people. Lots and lots of dead people. Underneath mountains of concrete. It’s a Catholic thing.

Cultivate a French Connection.We have a friend. Let’s call her Babette. We can’t claim Babette as our own since we met her through close friends, but now she’s part of the family. She’s Parisian, successful, insouciant, funny, thin, beautiful — one of those gals who falls out of bed looking like she just stepped out of Chanel — and always there to guide us to a hot spot, or help secure a reservation.  She also has the worst taste in men since Britney Spears. There have been so many Jacques, Gilles, Françoises and Hervés we can’t keep them straight. Most of them look like they came straight from Central Casting, or were runner-ups in a Jean-Paul Belmondo lookalike contest. Whatever. This steady parade of suitors somehow makes Babette even more charming. It’s all so very very French, right down to the cigarettes, nonchalant melodrama, and scarves the size of bed spreads wrapped around everyone’s necks:

Lenny Kravitz Oversize Blanket Scarf Was A Runway Trend

Don’t bother learning the language. My travails with the French mother tongue go back half a century. After failing to learn it at least a dozen times, I’m now simply grateful for Google translate, and for the two generations of Frenchmen who have grown up learning English in school. I’m looking forward to my teenage grandson becoming fluent, ready to serve as my translator and squire me around France in my golden years, as long as I’m paying for everything.

Les Invalides is a must — especially for history and military buffs. Perhaps I’m remembering my visit(s) through a rose-tinted haze, but I seem to recall The Food Gal® being riveted by the intricacies of the French 75 field gun, and questioning whether Napoleon was premature in releasing Marshal Ney’s cavalry at Waterloo.

Image(The Food Gal® pondering the intricacies of French artillery)

Pretend you’re a Frenchman — which is best done by exploring every inch of the Luxembourg Gardens and the Jardin des Tuileries. Pack a lunch, grab a seat, and watch the world walk by. There are no two more romantic parks anywhere in the world. It’s only about a 30 minute saunter between them, so set aside a day for urban hiking, provision yourself at Marché Maubert or Marché Saint-Germain and go nuts.

Hotel bathrooms are your friend. The one downside of walking for hours on end (and finding yourself miles from your hotel) is you are always keenly aware of your bladder’s capacity. While small cafes and restaurants frown on you popping in just to empty your vesica urinara, larger hotels always have facilities on the first floor, and generally don’t mind if you use them (as long as you are dressed like you could be a guest). I’ve been told public toilets dot the sidewalks all over Paris, but my chances of using them are roughly the same as the Louvre being turned into a Wal-mart.

Eat (and drink) in Montparnasse. Just the way Hemingway and James Joyce did. The cafes – La Coupole, La Closerie des Lilas, Le Dôme, La Rotonde, Le Select —  are legendary. The seafood is impeccable, and the atmosphere straight out of the Roaring 20s. These are the joints that literally created the term “café society”,  and each is an eyeful, generally welcoming, with copious indoor and outdoor seating. This makes them especially attractive for those who haven’t booked in advance. Being a bit removed from the tourist corridor also means you’ll be rubbing knees more likely with locals than cargo shorts. A visit to at least one should be on every foodie’s itinerary.

A Floor-By-Floor Guide to Galeries Lafayette Paris Haussmann – Blog(Toilet paper and big screen TVs on Aisle 4)

Shop the way human beings were meant to: in department stores. Department stores in America are an endangered species, but Galeries Lafayette (above), Le Bon Marché, Printemps, BHV, La Samaritaine— are shrines to civilized shopping and still going strong in the City of Light. Most are architectural gems in their own right, and whether you’re buying or browsing, it is time well-spent. Added bonus: most have restaurants/food halls/gourmet grocery stores associated with them which are a treat unto themselves, and a perfect place to plan a picnic.

Make a pilgrimage to Poilâne. It’s roughly the size of my closet, and many Parisians scoff at its international success, but this is where it all started — the shop that made the world fall in love again with French bread.

 “Paris is a place where, for me, just walking down a street that I’ve never been down before is like going to a movie…Just wandering the city is entertainment.” – Wes Anderson

What have I missed? Strolling the Seine. Poking around the Jardin du Palais-Royal. Soaking up the history of the Place de Vosges. Croissant hunting (this award-winning knockout is from La Maison d’Isabelle):

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Copper cookware browsing at the iconic E. Dehillerin. Haute couture.  Immersing yourself in the cacophony of the Marais. Exploring the Trocadero, Champs-Elysee, Bois de Boulogne . The Opera House (Palais Garnier), Catacombs, Arc de Triomphe (another shitshow, but give it a whirl), Musée Cluny, the Sorbonne, the Latin Quarter, Pantheon, and a dozen other museums. (One of these days, we’ll get to Musée Carnavalet, the museum of the City of Paris.) It’s all there for the taking, or you can simply stroll around for days, snapping jaw-dropping pictures until your thumbs get tired.

Hemingway called Paris a moveable feast and truer words have never been written. But it is much more than just the best food city on earth. Paris my way will always be the greatest banquet in the world for the intellect, the senses and the soul.

Take us home, Edith:

 

EATING LAS VEGAS 2023 – The 52 Essential Restaurants

Image(Grumpy gastronome grades great and egregious grub)

Remember reading? When one had to digest actual words on a printed page (or screen) when researching restaurants? Nowadays, attention spans  are shorter than a housefly’s, and the written word is deader than Duncan Hines. 

Sad but true, and a reality it is time to face. So rather than crying in our Burgundy, we thought it better to go out in a blaze of glory….and by “blaze of glory” I mean a 7,300 word salad of salacious searching for serious sustenance to share with our fellow fressers.

As an aging boomer who doesn’t have the time, talent, or energy to concoct cheese-pull /butter-dunking videos for those infected with Tik Tok brain, I’ve persevered this year because I love the chefs and the restaurants, and because I wanted to take one last spin around my beat — territory I’ve covered since Bill Clinton was in his first term.

As always, the following represent what they have for twenty-eight years: my list of the most important and delicious restaurants in Las Vegas. The places that have left a mark; who do the finest cooking at the highest levels of their craft; and to which I would take a well-traveled epicurean, should one ever give me a month to feed them the best Las Vegas has to offer.

Most of them also represent my favorite places to eat, and since the older I get, the choosier I’ve become, the intersection of “the best”, favorites, and “essentials” has now merged from a Venn diagram into a single circle. Of course I do not confine my dining to only 52 restaurants, and for that reason, there is an “honorable mention” list of places where you’ll find me and The Food Gal® popping into throughout the year.

Agree or disagree, these are all the product of judgments based upon my repeated visits over years, even decades. And remember: everything comes with the #BeingJohnCurtas guarantee: All opinions valid or your money back!

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 00 Pie & PubMike Vakneen is a pizza savant and Chinatown is now his playground. The bar is too large (it dominates the narrow room), the chairs uncomfortable and the wine list woeful. But the wood-fired, spongy-soft/crusty-charred pies are nonpareil. And the apps alone are worth the price of admission.

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1228 MainIf Esther’s Kitchen ignited Main Street’s culinary revolution, 1228 Main legitimized it. Some have decried a celeb chef’s (Wolfgang Puck) corporation exploiting the organic, small-caliber, artisanal feel of the neighborhood, but at some point, the junk stores, muffler shops and tattoo parlors had to go, and what better replacement than a three-meal-a-day bakery/restaurant run by some of sharpest pros in the business.

Since Sébastien Polycarpe (second from left, above) was named Pastry Chef of the Year is this year’s Desert Companion Restaurant Awards, our staff thought you might enjoy the indelible prose (written by a master wordsmith) bestowing those accolades upon him:

Sébastien Polycarpe

PASTRY CHEF OF THE YEAR – SÉBASTIEN POLYCARPE

 It is the fate of the pastry chef to toil in obscurity while alchemizing carbohydrates into the things that most delight the human palate. Celebrity chefs may abound, but those laminating puff pastry or kneading dough in the wee hours largely go unnoticed by customers swooning over crispy baguettes, butter-rich croissants, and impeccably decorated fruit tarts. Sébastien Polycarpe is no stranger to both worlds – having worked below decks as executive pastry chef for Caesars Palace – as well as in the spotlight of such luminaries as Alain Ducasse and Guy Savoy. A native of southwest France, he spent ten years at Caesars before joining the Wolfgang Puck galaxy of pastry and savory superstars. He doesn’t think of himself as a revolutionary, but with the opening of 1228 Main earlier this year in downtown Las Vegas, he and his pastry team have transformed the Arts District into a mecca for lovers of all things buttered, caked and baked.

Having someone with Polycarpe’s resumė pushing out world-class pain au chocolat, cheese Danish, and cherry-walnut bread daily is one thing; having him and Puck Executive Chef Kamel Guechida (a former Pastry Chef of the Year) patrolling the ovens is like having your lemon-olive oil cake and eating it too. Between them, they’ve raised the pastry bar downtown, and there’s no going back. “We couldn’t have done something like this ten years ago,” he says, “but the local food scene has really changed for the best.” A decade ago, one couldn’t imagine a veteran of the world’s greatest French restaurants rolling out mille-feuille and spackling sumptuous cakes on Main Street, but there Polycarpe is every morning, plying his tradecraft in full view of appreciative, salivating customers, anonymous no more.

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8 oz Korean Steakhouse – Sometimes I think Chinatown is in danger of being overrun by conveyor belt sushi, cheap-ass pho parlors and ACYE Korean beef. 8 oz. bucks this trend and sets the standard with quality banchan and steaks worthy of any purveyor of prime. Unlike what some gwailos think: all Korean steakhouses are not created equal and 8 oz. is the exception that proves the rule.

Ada’s Food + WineThere are only three things that can get me into the depressing, soulless confines of Tivoli Village: Al Solito Posto, the wines of Kat Thomas and the cooking of Jackson Stamper. I also like the outdoor patio here, where (unlike its sister restaurant) I can drink and dine outside eyeshot of the godforsaken Echo & Rig, and its constant stream of fading MILFs, aging Boomers and desperate bachelorettes.

Memebase - haters gonna hate - Page 9 - All Your Memes In Our Base - Funny Memes - Cheezburger

Al Solito Posto – stands out in a crowded category as one of our best suburban Italians — challenged only by Osteria Fiorella for pasta supremacy. Also worth a bite: Milano, La Strega, D’Agostino’s, Aromi. We’re amazed Amalfi by Bobby FlayBalla and RPM still make a go of it amongst tough competition, but our meals there in the past year were quite satisfying, though not enough to make us scurry back.

Anima by Edo – The food, the wine, the service, the cocktails, the pasta, the tapas….there is nothing not to like about Anima except what a pain in the ass it is to get to (unless you live in the southwest part of the valley). Spanish food may have had its day in Vegas (both Pamplona and Jamon Jamon flamed out on west Sahara, despite paying almost nothing in rent), but both of Oscar Amador Edo’s restaurants (Anima and EDO -its smaller-bore/bigger sister) have kept the Iberian flame alive with some of the best cooking you’ll find, this side of Madrid.

Aroma Latin American Cocina  – Nueva Latina in Green Valley makes about as much sense as a salsa band at a Mormon social, but what Steve Kestler is doing here is remarkable — both for the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it location, and the array of flavors he packs into his menu. He’s kept the lights on for a couple of years now, and that alone is astonishing.

Azzura CucinaHenderson’s best Italian in a ship-snug setting, serving standards, but significantly stronger (in flavor and appearance) than anything Water Street has ever seen. This was Desert Companion’s Restaurant of the Year this year (in part for its bold move in gentrifying this moribund street), but breath is being held and fingers crossed until we see what lasting impact it might have.

Basilico Ristorante ItalianoItalian country cooking is an endlessly replicated genre, but a visit to Francisco Di Caudo’s grown-up dining room is an energizing reminder of how irresistible it can be when handled with focus and skill. Go for the slightly esoteric, perfectly made pastas, like dimpled foglie d’ulivo, perky malloreddus and slippery, thin-skinned plin dell’ alta langa, but don’t let it be at the expense of the olive oil-soaked focaccia, or the intensely flavored desserts and ice creams, like none other in town.

Bazaar Meat by José Andrés – I wish they’d change the menu at least a little bit, but BM still showcases some of the best beef in town, and suckling pig, and an Iberian-focused wine and cocktail program which is unbeatable. Spanish food may never supplant Italian in the hearts and stomachs of Americans, but Vegas can proudly say that it still has two of the best in our humble burg.

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Bouchon – After spending weeks in France, this was our first meal upon returning. Although the oysters were a disappointment (hard to beat Ostrea edulis straight from the Cancale Basin), our meal checked most of the Gallic boxes for refined cooking, and flavor extraction.  The room (going on 20 years old) has held up well and the service is always good-to-great.  Everything from the roast chicken to super-focused sauces to the superb moules marinere are straight from Thomas Keller’s Left Bank playbook. It’s also the only place in Vegas where you can routinely find boudin blanc (above) and sweetbreads on the menu. Unlike its competition (Mon Ami Gabi and Brasserie Bardot) they actually offer seasonal specials here, and you don’t have to fight for a table with the slack-jawed cargo shorts crowd.

Brezza – They don’t call it an Italian steakhouse but that’s exactly what it is. Non-beef eaters will find plenty to like, too, including gutsy pastas, inventive apps, and a dream of an Italian wine list. All overseen by award-winning chef Nicole Brisson at prices which aren’t the hose job you’ll find at Carbone.

B.S. Taqueria at The Sundry- The B. S. stands for “Broken Spanish” and it’s the best Mexican food we had this year. With Viva! by Ray Garcia in Resorts World a close second. Same chef, terrific tortillas, serious south of the border stuff.

Cipriani – The classiest midday repast in all of Las Vegas, with also the best service of any uber-busy, upscale restaurant you’ve ever been to. In a town not known for lunching, it remains the best see-and-be-scene power lunch spot anywhere on the Strip. I am bored to the gills with most Italians, but still eat here at least three times a month. That should tell you something.

Chengdu Taste Zero atmosphere; incredible Szechuan food. Pro tip: go early (5:00 pm) for dinner or weekday lunch. Or be prepared to wait.

China Mama – After a fire, they relocated from one shopping center with terrible parking to another with even worse parking…and the food didn’t miss a beat. Regardless, you should persevere head straight to the “Pastry” section of the menu, where you’ll find the Steamed Juicy Pork Buns (aka xiao long bao), and Mama’s Special Pan Fried Pork Buns  — as essential to a meal here as chopsticks and hot tea.  Crispy duck, jumbo shrimp, and dry pepper chicken (festooned with an avalanche of them) hold their own with those dumplings, as does sliced-fish with pickled mustard. Other menu items – ranging from the simple (cucumber salad with mashed garlic, to the sublime “Awesome Meatball in Clay Pot” – are by turns gutsy and refined: all of them bursting with eastern Chinese pungency, not Americanized blandness. China Mama did for Chinese food what Raku did for Japanese — raise the bar and bring in line with what the better, specialized purveyors of these cuisines are doing in southern California.There’s no turning back, and the days of gloppy egg foo yung are deader than Mao Tse Tung.

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CUT – In a category with lots of serious competition, this place is a cut above (sorry) – mainly because Wolfgang Puck lets Matthew Hurley play with his food, which he does seasonally to great effect, refusing to rest on his sirloins. Nicole Erle’s desserts (above) are also a wonder of refinement not usually found in cheesecake/chocolate cake catechism of steakhouse sweets.

Delmonico  – Now one of the old guard of Vegas steakhouses but still one of the best. No one does a better Bearnaise….or creamed spinach. Don’t sleep on the gumbo or barbecue shrimp, either. They may have been on the menu since day one, but they’re still the closest you can come to a legitimate taste of N’Awlins in the High Mojave.

EDO Tapas & WineWhat can we say about Oscar Amador Edo’s hidden gem that we haven’t said a hundred times by now: the best, most inventive Spanish in Vegas. Blink and you’ll miss it amongst the lineup of karaoke bars and noodle parlors pinched into a narrow space in an overwhelmed-yet-underwhelming strip mall. But the food is the best Spanish you’ll find in a space that doesn’t have José Andrés’ name attached to it.

Elia Authentic Greek Taverna – Whole fish, supple octopus, gorgeous, oregano-dusted lamb chops, oven-roasted lemon potatoes, superb tomato salad, gigante beans, and the big 4 of savory dips (tzatziki, tarama, tyrokafteri, and skordalia), all pay homage to the kind of food that Greeks take for granted — be it at home or in the neighborhood taverna. The all-Greek wine list is well-priced, and the welcome makes you feel like you belong.

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Esther’s KitchenThe restaurant that saved Vegas. Or at least downtown Las Vegas. Until James Trees opened EK in late 2018, Main Street looked destined to become another urban failure, on par with the decade of misfires on East Fremont. But because of its success, the Arts District is now crawling with foodies and families most nights, and is now considered a target-rich environment by restaurateurs lusting to get in on the action. It’s only a matter of time before big money starts turning the area into a glorified outdoor mall, so revel in these days while you can legitimately say you had a front row seat to the progenitor that spawned a restaurant revolution.

James Trees in a white shirt and black apron

Since James Trees was named Chef of the Year in this year’s ‘s Desert Companion Restaurant Awards, our staff thought you might like to read the award-winning, deathless essay he received in recognition thereof (written by someone you know and love):

CHEF OF THE YEAR – JAMES TREES

There have been years when this category was hotly contested, but this time it was a no-brainer. No single chef has made a bigger impact on the local dining scene than James Trees. And no one is continuing to push the envelope like Las Vegas’s own prodigal chef, who returned to the fold, after decades of working in the world’s greatest kitchens, to kick-start downtown’s restaurant revolution. Not content with resting on his laurels after the success of the white-hot Esther’s Kitchen, he has continued to look for additional mountains to climb and, against all odds, conquered multiple challenges in the past few years, setting a new standard for excellence in the process.

Coming on the heels of Esther’s triumph (surviving, even thriving through Covid), many thought him foolish for taking his talents to Tivoli Village. But Al Solito Posto single-handedly resuscitated the dining scene in a shopping center previously known more for restaurant roulette than a proper cacio e pepe. Neck and neck with ASP’s accomplishments has been the resurgence of Ada’s Food & Wine – mere steps away, and an underrated restaurant in its own right — one oenophiles have taken to like a fat cat to a California cab. If these weren’t enough to keep him busy, his plate is also full with plans to open two new places in the Arts District (one a French bistro, the other concept still on the drawing boards, but certain to reset the paradigm for what it means to dine downtown). And did we mention all of this is taking place as Esther’s gets ready to move into bigger/better digs just a few feet from its current location?

Taken together, you have not only Las Vegas’s busiest but also its most influential chef. Not bad for a kid who started out as a teenager working in the Mirage Hotel before heading to the Culinary Institute of America, and then honing his craft under the tutelage of everyone from Heston Blumenthal to Michael Mina. In an industry fraught with failure, Trees stands as a testament to moving through the ranks until you have the chance to do things your way, and then making the most of it.

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Estiatorio MilosYou’ll pay through the nose, but you’ll also taste the freshest fish (and best Greek food) Las Vegas has to offer. Bargain hunters go for the lunch special, which still ain’t cheap ($30), but a far sight from a a five-pound, $400 Fagri, we recently landed, which, to be fair, fed six.

Ferraro’s RistoranteAs long as Gino Ferraro is still pouring wine from his excellent, all-Italian lista des vini, Ferraro’s (the godfather of Vegas’s upscale Italians – since 1985) will be an essential stop on any gastronomic tour.

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Fine Company by Roy EllamarAnother home run from the Lev Group. Roy Ellamar knows breakfast like a Spaniard knows anchovies, and by the time you read this he will be open for dinner. Amidst the pre-fab mediocrity of downtown Summerlin (which is neither a town, nor down of a town, nor downtown of anything), this brightly lit spot shines like a beacon of chef-centric authenticity.

Golden SteerAn icon which came out of Covid smelling like a roast…of old school prime rib. Great steaks, béarnaise, tableside Caesars, and enough history to fill a Rat Pack museum. There are better steaks and sides to be found, but no one can match the vibe-i-est of old Vegas vibes. Haven’t been in six months, but the wine list falls woefully short of almost every other steakhouse in town. Belt down a few martinis and you won’t notice. No matter your state of sobriety, you’ll notice that scoring a table here is harder than finding an eight-ball at choir practice.

Guy Savoy  – We haven’t been since Covid, when service was strained, place settings wrapped in paper, and all the restrictions gave one of our most beautiful rooms all the charm of an emergency room. Even then, the cooking was well nigh perfect and the flavors so intense they practically jumped off the plate. Anyone who poo-poos French food has never had Savoy’s trademark artichoke soup, or “peas all around” — dishes that will make you rethink your relationship with vegetables. Truth be told (HUMBLE BRAG ALERT!) we’ve now been to Guy Savoy in Paris (three times in past two years) more often than the one in Caesars Palace. But for the closest facsimile of one of the best restaurants in the world, the Vegas version will do just fine, merci beaucoup.

Harlo Steakhouse – the best off-Strip steakhouse, period. But they know it and charge accordingly. And by “charge accordingly” we mean the same wallet-bending experience you find twelve miles to the east. The whole point of Harlo was to bring Strip-quality strips to Summerlin, knowing the well-heeled set wouldn’t balk at the prices. And they haven’t, but you might.

Hiroyoshi – Anyone who eats Japanese on the Strip is a fool. All the best stuff is in the ‘burbs, and this little gem is as obscure (and excellent) as they come. Good luck getting one of the 30 seats, though. Since the pandemic, this tucked-away joint on west Charleston as been busier than the Tsukiji market on a Thursday.

Izakaya Go – Raku has better yakitori; Monta has better ramen. Kabuto and Hiroyoshi do better sushi, and Toridorkoro Raku grills better chicken, but none of them put it all together at a better price point than IG. A solid, all-purpose Japanese restaurant so varied and friendly you can visit it weekly and never get bored (and we do).

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 Jaleo -The paella pit alone is worth the price of admission. On it lies a rectangular grill, fronted by several small bonfires that blaze away underneath pans the size of a manhole cover. In those pans are the purest, smokiest expression of Spain’s most iconic one-dish meal. If you’re the sort who gets excited by these things, you can stand and watch the flames lap up the sides of steel loaded with various proteins and veggies on their way to becoming the best paella in America.You can sit at the highboy tables beside the pit, or at the cocktail bar. Or hunker down in the large, low-ceiling room at one of low-slung banquettes, and pick from a variety of gin and tonics – practically the Spanish national cocktail. Weekend evenings should be avoided — when both food and service are stressed to the max, and large parties whooping it up all around makes serious menu contemplation impossible. Whenever you go, get a G&T, pile on the paella, and by all means, fill up on tomato bread.

Also worthy if you find yourself hankering for Spanish in the Aria and don’t want to fight through a phalanx of sloe-eyed bimbos posing at a selfie wall: Julian Serrano.

Joël RobuchonIt’s funny that the older I get, and the more financially comfortable I’ve become, the less I want to spend a car payment on dinner. Maybe it’s because dinner a deux at the late great JR’s will now set you back something closer to a house payment. Even though I haven’t been in over three years, it’s still one of the greatest restaurants in the world. I’d bet my house payment on it.

Kaiseki Yuzu – So fine, so personal, so much like the sort of Noren-draped spot you’d stumble upon in a Shibuya alleyway. It is prix fixe and intensely seasonal and simply the best Japanese experience in all of southern Nevada. For a quicker, more casual meal (primarily sushi/sashimi), book one of the six seats out front and prepare to be blown away.

Lotus of Siam – I like the old one. Not the really old one (the original one in Commercial Center, closed for years now), but the second oldest one on Flamingo Road. The one in Red Rock feels like a copy of a copy — too big and corporate for our tastes. Regardless,  the Riesling-heavy white wine list remains one of the best in America, and twenty four years on, the northern Thai specialties still can take your breath away and make your eyeballs sweat.

Main Street ProvisionsEverything about MSP is almost perfect: the long, comfy bar, hand-crafted cocktails, warm greeting, generous service, and a menu notable for its burly finesse — flawlessly executed veg and carefully chosen proteins, all packing a punch. Owner Kim Owens cut her teeth in the steakhouse trade and knows how to keep the carnivores as happy as the finicky hipster “foodies” and clueless tourists — the types who like the idea of good food more than the reality. The wine list is gently priced and perfectly fine — for the downtown crowd if not this persnickety critic.

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Marché BacchusWith Bradley Ogden at the helm, this wine bistro finally has the cuisine it deserves. Like the superb bird above.

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Matteo’s Ristorante Italiano – It has neither the pedigree of Cipriani, the ambition of Vetri, nor the flamboyance of Carbone. The design is comfortable but a bit cold. But don’t let any of that deter you. Tuck yourselves into one of the heavy chairs, leave your Italian preconceptions at the door, and experience the most interesting pastas in town, as well as a culinary tour of all Italy. The all-Italian wine list is priced to sell and almost as interesting as Eduardo Perez’s cooking. And by all means, take the cannoli. It is worth the price of admission, as are all the desserts, which put the sweets at most Italians to shame.

In any normal year the above overwhelming, breathless recognition graciously bestowed would be a feather in any restaurateur’s cap, but in 2023 Matteo’s took home the coveted, often-imitated-never-duplicated Desert Companion Strip Restaurant of the Year prize, so our staff thought even more of the unforgettable sentence stylings of a certain well-fed correspondent were worth your rapt attention:

STRIP RESTAURANT OF THE YEAR – MATTEO’S

Even with an impeccable pedigree, the success of Matteo’s was hardly assured. When it first opened on New Year’s Eve 2018, it was called The Factory Kitchen – after its namesake in southern California – a name compelling but confusing to anyone who didn’t live within a mile of downtown Los Angeles. Then co-owner Matteo Ferdinandi lent his name to the proceedings, and it came storming back as a contender for the best Italian in town, with a menu as bold and ambitious as any on the Strip. Four years on, it now thrives on Restaurant Row in the Venetian/Palazzo, pouring forth a culinary tour of Italy worthy of Stanley Tucci – a journey which will open your eyes to the possibilities of real Italian food.

Guiding you from Sicily to the Cinque Terre is a team of restaurant veterans who have been setting the standard for this cuisine for decades. Chef Angelo Auriana spent years helming the kitchen at Valentino in Santa Monica when it was widely considered the finest Italian restaurant in the country. He and Ferdinandi had the good sense to tap two Las Vegas virtuosos – Eduardo Pėrez and Paulo Duran – to manage the back and front of the house. Pėrez is a pasta master who had worked his way up from Guatemalan dishwasher to running the kitchens of Spago. (You might recognize him from a national Modelo beer commercial.) Duran has been charming Las Vegas customers since his days at B & B Ristorante. Put all four of them in the same room, and you have a powerhouse of talent presenting authentic, highly refined cooking, in a casual space, which is as far from chicken Parm as Naples is from Nashville. That they do so at a reasonable price point, in comfortable space (that feels cozier than its size belies), with a nice bar, and thoughtful, gently-priced wine list, is incredible. At a time when the Strip feels ever more corporate and unfeeling, Matteo’s represents something in short supply: a restaurant where Italian aficionados can feel right at home.

 

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Monzú – Gio Mauro is doing pizzas and pastas like no one else in Vegas. His rectangular Sicilian pies are strewn with top-shelf ingredients (and would cover a small desk), and his pastas as different from your standard Bolognese as Piacenza is from Peoria. We’re talking Carbonara with smoked goose guanciale, Paccheri alla Genovese swimming in stewed onions and braised veal, and Pisarei e faso (bread dumplings) thick with sausage and borlotti beans. One menu glance tells you this is not your mother’s Maggiano’s. Nor is it priced like a special occasion restaurant: the wine list (above) is an all-Italian dream come true, and the 32 oz. rib eye ($89) costs half of what it would on the Strip. Even with Gio’s success, this is still the great, unsung gem of local Italian ristorante.

Mott 32 -As slick as Peking duck skin and just as satisfying. A huge, expensive, well-financed chain of upscale Chinese eats, with a luxurious vibe and ingredient-forward cooking calculated to appeal to purists and tourists alike. The lighting is diffused and muted, but not too much, and the young women dotting the place are as sexy and shiny as a lacquered Chinese box. Dresses are short, black and tight, and the cleavage so profound, this joint’s nickname ought to be Mott 32D. But don’t let the comeliness fool you though, because the food is the tits as well — with a bases-covering menu of everything from Cantonese dim sum to hand-pulled noodles to Peking duck. That duck is the centerpiece of every meal here and it deserves to be — its bronzed, brittle, gleaming skin, precisely flensed from succulent muscle, and  having the bite-resistance of a thin potato chip, caresses perfectly-carved slices of deeply-flavored meat. Duck doesn’t get any duckier, nor Chinese any swankier.

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Naxos Greek Taverna – now competes with Elia as our best off-Strip Greek, simply on the strength of a more ambitious menu, bigger bucks behind it, and a slick casino location. Elia remains close to our hearts as a go-to taverna you can visit like an old friend and never tire of the conversation, but chef Mark Andelbradt (a very sad update: Chef Mark Andelbradt died of a sudden illness in early 2024) sends out some astonishing mezze, seafood and savories which its smaller competition doesn’t have the firepower to match. And you won’t find a better braised lamb shank (above) anywhere. Desert Companion’s New Restaurant of the Year 2023.

New Asian BBQSometimes you don’t want fancy. Sometimes it is not about new and exciting and more about the tried and true. Chinese comfort food fills this bill better than any — with the kind of cuisine that has been satisfying immigrants and Americans since the California Gold Rush. (Fun Fact: there are more independently-owned Chinese restaurants in America than there are all the KFCs, McDonald’s and Taco Bells combined.) Step into the narrow foyer of New Asian and you enter a world of shimmering, honey-glazed pork ribs, tea-smoked chickens and lacquered ducks, hanging from hooks and signalling food both soothing and familiar.  Service is perfunctory and punctual (as it is in thousands of restaurants like this around the globe), and no one lingers so turnover is fast. Solid dim sum, seven days a week and the best Peking duck deal on SMR road.

Oscar’s SteakhouseOscar’s hums with old school cool….right down to slugging martinis with our ex-mayor…who may be getting long in the tooth but whose steakhouse is even better than when it opened. Credit Ben Jenkin’s for bringing Oscar’s into the upper tier of beef emporiums, and for conjuring one of the great double cheeseburgers in the history of burgerdom.

Osteria FiorellaDespite a serious upswing in competition, still one of the best Italians in the ‘burbs. Marc Vetri rarely makes a menu misstep, and Vegas is lucky to have him and his crew at two hotels (Palms and Red Rock) elevating our taste-buds with tonnarelli caci e pepe, rigatoni with sausage ragu, and the best double-cut pork chop this side of the Schuykill.

Partage  – We love Partage even though we don’t go there anymore. The food is superb (if you can look past their affinity for smoking everything from the cocktails to ice cream); the wine list a French-filled winner; and the service always as smooth as Hollandaise on a halibut. But we have zero interest in “food as art” tasting menus anymore, so until Chef Yuri Szarzewski opens his more casual spot a couple of doors down, we’ll keep lauding this place and encouraging people to dine here…even if what we’re mostly craving is a simple steak frites and a profiterole.

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Peter LugerSee my review here, go order the steak for two (which actually feeds three), and thank me later. Awesome burger, too, and open for lunch, which is a YUGE plus for those craving a midday slab of sirloin.

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Just for strips and giggles, here’s our list of the best of the rest when it comes to premier purveyors of prime. Each is worthy in its own right, and would be the top steakhouse in town, almost anywhere else in America that isn’t New York, Chicago or California. So, even though we don’t consider them “essential” to the Vegas food scene. If you have a favorite, based upon atmosphere, service, or a particular cut or side dish, who are we to argue?

Barry’s Downtown Prime

Bavette’s

Carversteak

Gordon Ramsay Steak

Hank’s Fine Steaks

Jean-Georges Steakhouse

Ocean Prime

Prime

Strip House

Strip Steak

SW Steakhouse

Vic & Anthony’s

RakuJust slightly older than this website, Mitsuo Endo’s intimate izakaya sparked a revolution when it opened in January, 2008 — igniting a demand for sophisticated Japanese cooking on an avenue previously known for bubble tea, mochi, and moo goo gai pan. Over the years it has expanded slightly, but lost none of its charm or refinement.  It also spawned a number of competitors, none of which have managed to knock it off its crown as the Nipponese king of Spring Mountain.

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Scotch 80 PrimeIn my Bottom 10 (below) I write about how much better steakhouses have become in Las Vegas over the past ten years. Consider this a prime example. Marty Lopez’s food is as far from the dated steaks of THE Steakhouse as the rebooted Palms Hotel is from Circus Circus.

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SoulBelly BBQLas Vegas is no longer the barbecue wasteland it was a decade ago, but world class ‘cue is still rarer than pulled pork at a bar mitzvah.  Luckily we have SoulBelly to sooth our savage breast, with world-class brisket, hot links (above) and sides worthy of a Texas roadhouse. Also worth a taste: Wild Fig BBQ.

Shanghai TasteChina Mama is two doors down, and Xiao Long Dumpling is across the street, and the just opened (and excellent) Palette Tea Lounge also with walking distance. So why do we prefer Shanghai Taste? Because it is small, simple, brimming with buns, and loaded with the flavors of eastern China — all emanating from an open kitchen behind large glass windows adjacent to the cracker-box-sized dining room.  The turnover is fast and the service never fails. A picture menu also makes navigation easy for gwailos.  Like a lot of better spots up and down Chinatown, you’ll find the experience more enjoyable on weekdays, when you’re not competing with selfie-stick tourists, head-in-their-phones Asian teens, and the worst drivers on earth competing for a parking spot.

Sparrow + Wolf Sparrow + Wolf is sleek and small (60 seats) and smells of wood smoke — all indicia of the haute-eclectic-bistro cooking that has taken over America in the past decade. Gastronomades who wander the earth searching for oases of ingenious edibles have already pitched their tents here. Intrepid gastronauts, addicted to traveling where no man has gone before, have been here since day one.  Simple gastronomes who revel in chef-enhanced, high-quality ingredients will not be disappointed, either.   Chef Brian Howard specializes in high-wire cooking without a net, and when he pulls it off, the results are thrilling indeed. The wine list matches the menu and the crowd, even if it doesn’t match what a wine snob might want to drink.

Sushi Hiro – the best Japanese spot not on Spring Mountain Road, which entices sushi hounds from across the valley to make the trek to Henderson. The fact that it is on godforsaken Eastern Avenue causes The Food Gal and yours truly great distress when we are craving the cleanest fish, in a decent-sized restaurant, with accommodating chefs, which doesn’t require a second mortgage or a reservation weeks in advance to enjoy. But the trip is always worth it. Just let them know how much you want to eat and to spend and be prepared to be dazzled.

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Yummy Kitchen – CLOSED ;-(     They don’t get much more tucked away than Yummy Kitchen, tossing its chili crab and other Singaporean-Malaysian delights inside an Asian supermarket, far across a parking lot at Spring Mountain and Decatur. The crabs are still-moving fresh, and the garlic shrimp, roti, Hainanese chicken, and Malay curries will save you plane fare to Disneyland-with-the-death-penalty.

Chef Marc Vetri in the dining room of Vetri Las Vegas on the 56th floor of the Palms Casino Resort.

Vetri Cucina -Even at its most basic level, Italian food is soothing. Average Italian food satisfies the way pop music does: it is catchy and forgettable. Great Italian food, like great opera, will take your breath away. Vetri, if you let it, will take your breath away. The qualifier is important, because, splendid as it is, Vetri, like opera, isn’t for everyone. There are no easy answers here, toe-tapping is kept to a minimum, and crowd-pleasing isn’t in its vocabulary. But  like all great Italian food, it often accomplishes more with less. Consider the following: Clichés of all kinds have been canned. Pizzas are kaput. Soups and scampi have been scuttled. Meatballs are missing in action. Place settings are Spartan; Caesar is nowhere to be found. No giant hunks of cheese or curled ribbons of prosciutto will be ceremoniously brought to your table. The chicken Parm crowd is not welcomed.

But if you have the chops for a modern Italian food experience — like the best ristorante in Italy are putting forth these days — you’ll think you’ve died and gone to Bergamo. All of it served in a nonpareil setting — 56 floors up, overlooking the Strip – a location that puts to lie the old adage about the higher off the ground you get, the worse the food is. Your dinner here should start with foie gras pastrami with brioche and mostarda. From there, proceed to emerald green Swiss chard gnocchi with brown butter, tonnarelli grano arso (toasted wheat pasta, with seafood); and then dark, slightly gamy slices of roasted baby goat. For something lighter, dive into a squid and artichoke galette, raw fish crudo, and a pickled veggie/antipasti platter, followed by simple spaghetti, swirled with chunky San Marzano tomatoes and basil.

If you in the mood to dance with the big boys, then take down a compacted disc of veal tartare garnished with crisp sweetbreads, a sweet onion crepe (really more like a thick, sweet-savory, puck-sized tart) served with white truffle fondue, followed by either a whole roasted branzino, or a brontosaurian bistecca Fiorentina (also for two). Like the sea bass, it is enough to keep 3-4 trenchermen occupied. Mere plebes will be happy with a gorgeous stuffed guinea hen breast, thinly-sliced porchetta with tuna sauce, casoncelli alla bergamasca (Lombardy’s crinkled version of ravioli), and the cutest little bone marrow raviolini you’ve ever seen.

After that, you’ll want to navigate the wine list, which isn’t exactly chock full of bargains, but at least the prices don’t match the altitude — which means there’s plenty of drinkable stuff mere mortals can afford.

HONORABLE MENTION

Are any of these “essential”? Well, to our well-being they are. Although maybe less than iconic, most of these venues are places we couldn’t live without, i.e., they make our life in Vegas a much tastier place. Some we visit monthly; others maybe once a year. A select few we hardly ever get to (hello, Japaneiro!) but we love what they bring to the table.

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Cafe Breizh

Good Pie (A serious oversight when I first published this a few days ago, now corrected with apologies to Vincent Rotolo.)

Lamoon

Legends Oyster Bar

Letty’s

Japaneiro

Joe’s Prime Steaks and Seafood

Kabuto

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PublicUs

Rainbow Kitchen

Rebellion Pizza

Rincon Buenos Aires

7th & Carson

Shang Artisan Noodle

Sin Fronteras Tacos

Trattoria Nakamura-Ya

Water Grill

Win Kee HK BBQ & Noodle

Yukon Pizza

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Yu-Or-Mi Sushi

Winnie and Ethel’s

And now, food fans, the one(s) you’ve been waiting for…the best of the worst…restaurants so rancid I wouldn’t eat there if the meal was comped and they were pouring DRC for free:

BOTTOM TEN

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Cathédrale – The only thing interesting about this Tao Group clone of a clone of a decent restaurant is the l’accent aigu over the “e”. The decor looks like a mash-up of every bad design idea currently in vogue (Hard surfaces! Giant lamps! Ginormous/pointless chandelier-thing!), and the food either by-the-numbers, all-over-the-map (Crudo! French! Pasta!) or downright felonious (20 second crepes Suzette – don’t ask). Be forewarned: no matter when you go, the joint will be crawling with women who’ve memorized the Vanderpump Rules.

Hasalon – The whole thing reeks of cynical corporate calculation and forced fun. Every night at 8 o’clock it turns into a disco for the party-as-a-verb crowd…because, you know, everyone loves partying on schedule, don’t they?  This buzzkill is proudly announced at the beginning of your meal, as if they expect everyone to be excited about choking down $47 hummus (with lamb ragu!) and farm-raised fish before the “fun” starts….EXACTLY AT 8 O’CLOCK! …which means that’s when you start shouting at each other over ear-splitting 80s rock. I didn’t think anything could make me hate Israeli-Mediterranean cooking, buy Hasalon did it in one, absurdly-priced meal. Strictly for showoffs and saps and those who think Adam Sandler is funny…but I repeat myself.

Lago – I know it’s been over a year, but I’m still recovering from PTSD (Post Traumatic Shitty Dinner syndrome) since our meal here. On the other hand, I should be grateful for the place, since it gives me somewhere to recommend when I want to visit revenge upon the chicken Parm crowd.

Michael’s – Michael’s charges $42 for this crab cake filled with more saltines than shellfish:

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The Steakhouse at Circus Circus –  charges $27 for a much better one:

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So why are they both “Bottom 10” material? Because the crab was the only decent thing we had at Circus Circus, and you have to endure the indignity of walking through a Wal-mart of a hotel (South Pointe) to get hosed by Michael’s. (Circus Circus is more akin to a trailer park filled with snotty kids and meth heads.) Both stand as testaments to a time when tourists would endure these insults because they were the only games in town. There is no longer a reason to subject yourself to such insults unless you’re the type who enjoys gargling with razor blades or taken to the cleaners by hotels who think you’re too stupid to notice the supermarket food they’re slinging at eye-watering prices.

Majordomo (CLOSED!) – You’ve got to be one whale of an arrogant idiot to fail with a steakhouse in Las Vegas. Paging David Chang….

M.Y. Asia (CLOSED!)

The Bedford by Martha Stewart

Martin Yan’s cash-grab disaster didn’t last five months. Martha Stewart’s shameless brand-whoring will probably still be with us when they implode the Fountainebleau. But count her (and him) as the last of the breed: long past their prime “names” with enough clout to pull the last of the Baby Boomers into an eatery by promising nothing more than a familiar face fronting predictable mediocrity. Together with Chang’s flame-out, they represent the final phase of Vegas’s celeb chef obsession. Going forward, educated palates are more excited about Evan Funke bringing Mother Wolf here from SoCal, than whatever crap Guy Fieri is slinging. Look closely and you’ll see that neither the Fountainebleau nor Durango Station is hyping anything more than really good cooking from highly competent chefs — the polar opposite of Bobby Flay, Gordon Ramsay and Giada slapping their names on a door and laughing all the way to the bank. Celebrity chefs may have put Las Vegas on the map, but it’s time we put them out to pasture in favor of those who are actually at the stoves.

Vic’s – So bad we thought we were being punked. Then we looked at all the gray hairs waiting to sway to the song stylings of someone who hasn’t had a hit record since 1977 (or some Disney-fied musical), and everything made sense.  Strictly for the not-quite-yet-in-a-wheelchair crowd, who’ve thrown on the good golf shirt just for the occasion.

Viet Noodle Cafe – Worst meat we’ve had on Spring Mountain Road in a decade. Cheap ingredients, poorly cooked, slung at people who are only there for the price. We normally leave small Asian purveyors alone, but this gristle-fest was a new low.

Final Thoughts…

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When I started writing about food back in the Stone Age, the Monte Carlo Restaurant in the Desert Inn (above) was the ne plus ultra of Vegas dining Now we’re overloaded with French chefs from France, impeccable Italians, and Asian credentials only exceeded by the SoCal food scene. Right along side them are neighborhood joints springing forth to feed an ever-surging appetite for their cooking. With all of this in front of us, and decades of drum-thumping behind me, it’s tempting to say, “My work is done here,” and ride into the sunset.

I am not retiring, just dialing it back to a more rational level — as in 3-4 restaurants a week instead of the 8-10 I’ve averaged over the past thirty years. But my compulsion to eat myself silly all over Las Vegas is just not there anymore. And writing is hard, a real pain in the brain (ask any writer), so I’m dialing that back, too, and this will be my last Essential 52 list.

To come full circle from the beginning of this piece, writing is also not the reward it used to be. Reading these words, you’re probably among a thousand or two hungry souls. A dozen years ago, our audience was ten times that. Some months, a hundred times. Thus do I often feel like a musician who once had a much bigger stage, and now plays in local cafes to a few fans. Gratifying, but often not worth the work.

But I’ll continue to file things on these pages whenever the muse strikes.

In the meantime, follow me on “X”, Instagram, and Tik Tok (yes, I’m on Tik Tok, as absurd as that sounds, and is!), and tune into our podcast (Eat. Talk. Repeat.) weekly to get the scoops on my gastronomic gallivanting. Between them, you can expect me to stay in the game, in some manner,  until they pry this keyboard from my cold, dead fingers.

Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukah, and Happy New Year, from all of us at #BeingJohnCurtas:

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Paris 2023 – Lunchtime in the City of Light

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(Ed. note: It seems half the people we know are heading to Paris this year (Can you say: “pent-up demand”?), so we thought we’d suggest a few places for them to eat, particularly for those looking for the classic over the au courant.)

DEJEUNER ALL DAY  – Lunchtime in the City of Light

Lunch kills half of Paris, supper the other half. – Charles de Montesquieu

I like to break into my Parisian tours de degustation slowly, first as a tourist, then as a persnickety critic, and finally as a unapologetic sybarite — the kind  who likes to bathe in hedonism like asparagus in Hollandaise. Before completely surrendering to unfettered omnivorousness, it’s fun to play tourist for a few days, and there ain’t a more touristy way to dejeuner the day away than floating down the river on a sightseeing boat.

After that it’s batten down the hatches and and all hands on deck as we stormed Paris’s cathedrals of fine dining like a sans-culottes at the Bastille. Finally, we visit an old friend who, at 123 years old, is more ravishing than ever, especially at midday when dappled with sunlight streaming through her magnificent windows.  hese four iconic experiences explain why we love lunching the day away in Paris these days, rather than dining ourselves into a stupor at dinner.

BANKS FOR THE MEMORIES

Our Bateaux Parisiens lunch cruise was booked by our staff (aka #1 Son), who wanted his family to get the full visite de la rivière checked off toute suite, before they settled into a week of museum-hopping and crowd-battling.

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Amazing but true factoid: despite being crazy about Paris (and this being our twelfth visit in thirty years), this was the first time we have ever been in Seine about it.

Ugh-eye-roll GIFs - Get the best GIF on GIPHY

The sights, as one would expect on a sunny, cool Spring day, were glorious. What was unexpected was how good the food was. For 109 euros/pp they served four courses (and unlimited wine) that would be right at home in an upscale bistro.

They keep it simple, but there was no faulting our four courses of chilled broccoli soup; pâté en croûte; beef cheeks (they offer multiple choices which change seasonally) including chicken supreme below, salmon steak with pilaf, buckwheat with pesto and desserts from Maison Lenôtre — each course demanding pleasant enough attention on its own (as did the more-than-serviceable wine) which is pretty hard to do when you’re competing with the world’s most eye-popping architecture.

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The staff even did me a solid when I, in typical ready-to-overspend clueless American mode, was ready to grab the wine list and throw down a hundred euros for a bottle.

“Monsieur, your wine eet comes with zee meal eet eez pretty guud; you might want to try eet before you order somezing else.”

Image(Chip off the old Bordeaux)

And we did, and he was right and eet was. So much for taking advantage of ignorant tourists. In Vegas, they would’ve up-sold you a bottle in a New York-New York minute and never thought twice about hosing you.

You can sense the pride the French take in their culinary heritage with meals like this. In almost any other country, on something so touristy it practically screams “fanny pack”, they would slapdash something onto a plate and call it a day’s gouge. Here, the meal would pass muster at almost any gastro-bistro. It may not be inventive, but it checks all the boxes for an introduction to the cuisine. And the sights are unbeatable.

IN GUY WE TRUST

At the top of gastronomy with Guy Savoy, in pursuit of the fourth star - The Limited Times

From the elevated to the ethereal is the only way to characterize lunching on the Seine one day and then heading to the warrens of Guy Savoy the next day in search of a seasonal tasting menu of the sort you only find in Paris. (Ed. note: my disdain for tasting menus is well-documented, but I make an exception in Paris, at Guy Savoy.)

You walk up immense stairs to the entrance to five separate rooms, each holding four tables and illuminated both by the sun reflecting off the river below and the luminescent modern art hanging from the walls — themselves worth a room-by-room viewing once the tables start emptying. The effect is one of dining in a private club, cosseted by muffled sounds, subtle but attentive service, and nothing to distract you from what appears on your plate.

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Savoy retains his excellent standing in the Paris pantheon of destination dining despite losing a star in the last Michelin Guide, and absorbing the occasional jabs from bloggers like Paris By Mouth, who found the food bland and boring. Meg Zimbeck’s palate is one we respect, and there is a back-story to her not recommending the restaurant, involving reservations, cancellations, and terrorism(!) which we won’t get into here. All we know is we’ve eaten Savoy’s food multiple times on two continents over twenty years, and with the exception of the iconic Parmesan-Truffle soup (above) and few standard amuse bouches (like the silver-skewered mini-burgers), we have never had a bad bite, or the same bite twice.

Having sung Savoy’s praises so many times before, it almost seems redundant to comment on the effulgence of his cuisine — such as sea urchin so bracing in its haunting, dusky salinity you feel like you’re eating it straight from the Atlantic floor.

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As if to guild the lily, Savoy then dresses the mahogany-colored organs of this echinoderm with scallops and caviar in a confluence of flavor which somehow merges into a single gestalt of ocean intensity:

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He follows this brininess with a slice of sweet, in this case a Daurade Royale (gilt-head bream), which is cooked and sauced as all seafood dreams of being:

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Each of our courses in the tasting extravaganza toggled between acutely focusing the palate and then soothing it. It’s as if you’re eating more of something than the thing itself. Vegetables were treated simply and given their due, and nods to seasonality were everywhere, such as in a spring lamb chop, no larger than the base of a thumb:

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It takes a rarefied skills to make food like this work, and to our palate, Savoy never fails to hit the mark.

Lunch is the right move, because even after clocking in at three hours, you still have plenty of time for sightseeing, and walking off all those calories from tous les fromages, in the afternoon.

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Tariffs start at 250e for three courses (which is more like six courses once you factor in all the extra tidbits they bring you) but you can get north of that quickly if you opt for the full tasting Monty, or go nuts with wine.

The wine list is comprehensively French and full of bargains, if you fancy finding bottles in a restaurant for only double what they cost in a shop. In Las Vegas, the big Strip hotels think nothing of charging throat-clutching 4-500% markups, making every other wine list in the world look like a good deal to us. Be forewarned: if you’re looking for wines under a hundy in these Michelin-starred temples, you’re barking up the wrong tree.

This high-toned, exceptional cooking is perhaps not as innovative as it once was, but there is no faulting the recipes or their execution. And I’m still dreaming about the urchin and that lamb chop.

TALLY HAUTE

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Most temples of Parisian gastronomy are famous for their chefs, but Le Taillevent has always been known for its owners. The Vrinat family opened it in 1946, and moved to the present location (formerly a duke’s mansion, later an embassy) a few years later. For decades now, it has kept the gourmet flame alive as the most classic of sanctuaries — a refuge for those seeking the finest cooking in the most subdued of rooms.

People can be taken aback by the simple decor. At first glance, it is a bit tan on tan bland, but the welcome — from the smiling doorman to the maitre’d to the waiters — is so charming you quickly forget that you’re dining in what used to be a Paraguayan reception area.

You will also come to see your surroundings as a frame designed to showcase the cuisine, which is more modern than you might suspect from the oak-paneled rooms.

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The ladies menu don’t have prices. Which is a throwback in all the best ways if you’re a traditionalist. If you’re not, I’m guessing they size you up quickly and let everyone in your party share in the sticker shock. But no one in the room looks like they’re taking in laundry to make ends meet, and most booths are populated by well-suited businessmen who know their forks:

Image(Waiter, what’s this fly doing in my soup? The backstroke, sir.)

Places this tony probably aren’t used to excitable Americans whooping it up over whatever they’re eating and drinking, but we were paying (through the nose) for the privilege, and the staff was more than happy to let us enjoy ourselves. So much for the supercilious French. A sprinkling of gastro-tourists completed the tableau, which was anchored by our corner — two couples out for a whale of a time who didn’t mind spending a house payment on lunch.

And the menu couldn’t be easier to navigate: three or four course lunch menus are offered (from 90-210-275 euros), or ordering a la carte from five starters, six mains, and five desserts, with unlimited cheese from the outstanding trolley being another 30e (more on this below). The simplicity is deceptive, because what seems straightforward soon becomes a lesson in kitchen choreography, as variations on a theme appear with each course, as dishes are bestowed and cleared with almost magical alacrity.

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Consider our appetizers: skipjack tuna with cabbage atop matelote sauce; langoustines “boudin” with coral butter; and smooth chunks of cuttlefish and small crispy shrimp suspended in a puddle of squid ink (above) — all of them accompanied by a separate riff on the same subject, calibrated to expand your thoughts about each ingredient.

This is high-wire cookery, and in less skillful hands might be a mess on the plate and a discordant assault on the senses. But in the hands of Chef Giuliano Sperandio every ingredient sings in harmony.

Image(Here’s a tip: eat more greens)

Almost on a dare, someone ordered the “green vegetables” — and what arrived was a melange of asparagus in an extraction of fava beans (above), served with another bowl containing a scoop of pistachio mousse floating in a sea of sorrel sauce — each bite a study in veggie intensity. The combination of greenery needed to achieve this level of chlorophyll-laden lusciousness is more than just a patronizing nod in the direction of vegetarians, it is a celebration of all that they hold holy, and a prime example of why vegetarian cooking is too important to be left to vegetarians.

Before we leave them, though, we would not be worth our gastronomic stripes if we didn’t mention food and wine pairings,  such as the aged Comté gougeres (of which we could’ve made a meal), sipped with a Henri Giraud rosé, while a fragrant, citrusy Didier Dageneau Pur Sang played the role of a complimentary sauce to those langoustines and shellfish. (None of these bottles was cheap — our wine tariff came to about $1,000 for four bottles — but on this side of the pond, our indulgences would cost three times as much.)

We stuck with the white wine theme through the mains, as a Hubert Lamy Saint-Aubin ’17 married well with turbot with caviar sauce, roasted blue lobster, John Dory with peas and bottarga, and a rabbit loin and rack:

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…the lagniappe in this case being a stew of thumbnail-sized kidneys in mustard sauce:

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…from an animal so young it could’ve been frolicking with Guy Savoy’s preternatural lamb.

As mentioned, the kitchen loves to sneak in these little plates alongside the main event, each carrying through the theme: in the rabbit’s case with those kidneys, and with the roasted lobster, another helping of crustacean under a shell of charred coffee mayonnaise which genuflects to the classic Newbergs of yore:

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Each dish an example of the French art in making things taste like more of themselves. Which was also present with one of the most stunning desserts we’ve ever eaten, made from an ingredient we don’t even like. In this case baked grapefruit blanketed with a grapefruit gelee — giving this overly tart, often acrid citrus fruit a whole new dimension, and single-handedly changing our minds about it:

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Lest you think this stuffiness translates to the staff, consider my attacking the cheese cart with all the gusto of Homer Simpson at a doughnut shop:

Image(It doesn’t get any cheddar than this)

All of this is being served so seamlessly you barely notice the passage of time. The mood of the restaurant is convivial, but civilized. If you want to geek out over every plate, the bi-lingual staff is there to help. If your conversation whips from food to wine to whatever suits your Parisian fancy, I can’t think of a more luxe place to indulge. If you missed the point: none of this comes cheap (our final tab came to $1,100/couple with about half of that being wine), but experiencing food this perfect is an indulgence every galloping gourmand owes themselves at least once in a lifetime.

A final word about stars: In recent years both Savoy and Taillevent have been demoted to two stars from three by the famous Guide Michelin. Having eaten in Michelin-starred restaurants for thirty years, I am fairly conversant (at least for an American) in the distinctions which goes into these coveted awards. In France, these ratings are gnashed over with archeological precision. However, to customers (even experienced ones) the distinctions can be hard to parse. The difference between a one and three-starred establishments are fairly easy. A solid one-star experience (like the Burgundian Les Climats) the fuss and accoutrements are a little less fine, the cuisine isn’t as inventive, nor the techniques quite so bedazzling.

Figuring out what the inspectors look for in three-star establishments (and why they knock some off that pedestal), is much harder to discern, but my guess is a lot of it has to do with who is the most “modern” in their approach to cuisine. (Only one of the current three-star Parisian restaurants – L’Ambroisie – could be considered “traditional”.) In that vein, Savoy and Taillevent are traditionalists with a twist, with one foot in both worlds, and all the better for it, no matter what a bunch of trend-chasing arbiters say.

CHOO CHOO-ING UP THE SCENERY

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 Ah, understatement. The French are known for it. Such minimalists, dontcha know? Brutalist architecture, earth tones aplenty, all cinder blocks and right angles…sometimes you feel like you’re stuck in East Germany, circa 1972.

I kid. I kid.

But a point needs to be made here: modern restaurant design — all hard surfaces, exposed beams, and flat color palettes — is about as interesting as a barndominium.

Which is why we dine in Paris: as salve for the soul and to soothe our senses. For if there’s a cure for everything that is wrong with 21st Century decor, it is lunch at Le Train Bleu — the most spectacular (and Instagrammed) restaurant in the world.

Image(Toto, we’re not in Taco Bell anymore)

We don’t just go for the eye-candy, even though it is so dazzling they could probably get away with serving rancid headcheese and still be packed to the rafters.

The food — which has always been better than it has to be — seems to have gotten an upgrade. The tartare de boeuf, which used to be huge, is now is more hockey puck than small football, and garnished like there’s a micro-green aficionado in the kitchen. Thankfully, it has lost none of the beefy tang we remembered from a decade ago. Our bread was warm and fresh and served with Échiré butter, and even the side dishes — a bright green salad and thick-cut, creamy-crispy fries — were exemplars of the form:

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The Food Gal® — perhaps because her liver was rebelling from a steady diet of foie gras and pâté de campagne —  swooned over her tightly-composed Spring salad, and called it  a welcome respite from all the charcuterie we had been force-feeding her:

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And the staff surprisingly cheerful for a place that expects to turn your table over at least five times a day. All of this is happening in a huge restaurant in a bustling train station with a constant flow of famished travelers, curious tourists, and gawkers traipsing through — a place that could easily get by with thoughtless service and indifferent food, but instead seems to take as much pride in what is on the plate as in what is overhead:

Image(Work. Work. Work.)

One lunch for two is hardly a reliable sample size, but from our vin rouge colored glasses it looked like everything about LTB had been spruced up, both in and out of the kitchen, since our last visit in 2012.

Cuisine this polished from such a large operation, in such an overwhelmingly beautiful space, catering to thousands of people a day, is a mind-blowing achievement. Instagram, Tik Tok and the like have obviously been good for business (in years past, the place always felt slightly forlorn to us), but this grande dame of Parisian dining has come roaring back. As have all Parisian restaurants.

Vive la France! And Happy Bastille Day!

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