Dinner.
We had dinner last night at a neighborhood joint in the 6th. Which I have always felt is the place to stay in Paris - close to the Jardin du Luxembourg, easy walk to the river and St. Germain and the good jazz clubs. Le Timbre is a small place always fully booked. Six tables on one side and six on the other. The fascinating aspect of this arrangement is there is no space wasted between the tables, which means that once you are in your seat you are not leaving, for a good while, which is a perfectly fine arrangement given what is coming your way. The kitchen is open and staffed, alone, by the owner and chef, Chris Wright - a Brit. He will prepare every aspect of every course of all of the meals. Did I mention that he was alone? Chris is also the sommelier, retrieving the wine from the cellar himself, obviously this precious chore cannot be trusred to any other. Did I mention Chris is alone in the kitchen?
When we entered it was the Chris that greeted us, as he always seems to be present in every aspect of every meal even while he is cooking. His greeting was warm with his hands full of pigs’ cheeks, and he directed you to our seat while the waitress held the table out for Alison to enter the table bench. It seems, at least to us, that all the women are directed to sit on the bench side of the tables. We didn’t actually notice this until later when all the rest of the 10pm reservations had shown up and we saw there were 12 women against the walls And 12 men facing them. I’m not sure what happens when a gay couple shows up. As there was no space between the tables we were cozy with an older Parisian couple on our right and a fasionable young Parisian couple on our left.
Yes, there was a waitress, the only other employee in the joint. A smiling, yet gruf and incredibly efficient and able girl that the French countryside is famous for producing. Champagne appeared before us, followed by a Cote du Rhone chosen by Chris, who would suddenly apparate from the kitchen to a table-side with a bottle of wine. If you were speaking with either the chef or the waitress, at any given moment they would dis-apparate in mid-sentence to attend to some aspect of cooking or retrieving the dishes. I am stil unable to tell you how he was able to create 24 entrees and 24 plats much less the 24 desserts all by himself in an open kitchen which is smaller than mine. I am still wondering if it was some kind of magic that isnstill a solemn secret between the female patrons and him as they were the only ones allowed to watch facing the kitchen as the men faced the walls and their dates.
But the food. The food. I started with a the Croustllant de hure de cochon and Alison had the Terrine, made from the same pigs. The pig’s cheeks were sublime, and the terrine a perfect complement - Ali and I were tag-teaming this particular pig. The flavors burst out in our mouths, this was no ordinary pig, but obviously a pampered pet of the chef for at least a yer of comfort and bliss before paying the ultimate price for the sublime flavors that were coursing through our heads. We both ordered the Canard confit roasted with, nay infused with shallots. The confit was the most tender And naturlly flavorful as I have ever tasted. Dinner was complete well after midnite, Alison was released, along with the other ladies from their tabled barriers, And we promenades through the 6th to a post-dinner cafe reliving each taste.
