This story originally appeared on the Gents Cafe Newsletter. You can subscribe here.
Due to their working class and fast-paced origins, the bistro might have easily been neglected from the annals of gastronomic history. Yet, much like the London pub scene, many of these establishments have transformed from humble origins to culinary leaders. What began as a tumbler of wine and a few slices of saucisson has evolved into something rarefied, deeply wholesome and, depending on the establishment, sublimely palatable. It may therefore surprise readers to learn that only one Parisian bistro has ever been awarded a coveted star.
Benoit was opened in 1912 by Benoit Matray, a butcher by trade. His simple eatery became popular amongst the vendors, vagabonds and vagrant artists who tumbled out of the fabled Les Halles market, which offered all manner of comestibles under its vast, glass-and-cast-iron canopy. They fed Paris and Benoit fed them. It was one of the bistro’s regulars to invent the now famous slogan: “At your place, Benoit, we drink and feast like kings.” Yet, after struggling to keep pace with modern appetites, the restaurant was sold to Alain Ducasse in 2005. No stranger to a Michelin Star or twenty-one, it was under the guidance of Ducasse that Benoit earned the coveted recognition.
The restaurant itself had the timeless essence of any great Parisian bistro, but with a neatly curated look. Etched glass windows partitioned tables, folded newspapers hung from brass railings and gilded monogrammed plates sat elegantly upon starched white tablecloths.
I opted for the three-course lunch menu at the reasonable price of €42, a gesture of recognition for the once-affordable spirit of the bistro. Fresh bread was served with a slab of butter, that had been expertly carved from what can only be described as the Mother Butter. The immense brick was displayed on a marble plinth and professionally quarried throughout the service de déjeuner.
The meal was a delight. Gougères, savoury choux pastries enriched with gruyere and black pepper, melted in the mouth. My stater of white asparagus with crème mousseline was fresh and light. A silver dish of complimentary lemon sorbet that was disarmingly tangy and a Crème Brulee that would rival any in Paris. However, it was the main course that had a lasting impression. The dish of candied cod fillet with chard, spring onions and jus looked simple, but the juxtaposition between the appearance and the flavour could not have been greater. The fish, delicate, mouth-wateringly succulent, and ever-so-faintly citrusy was paired with a deeply rich and intensely dark sauce. It was that rarest of things: unique.
There is a particular and sad loss, familiar among those who have witnessed great beauties of hospitality heritage become lost to the bulldozer of mediocrity and whitewashing known as gentrification. To improve can so often mean to destroy. However, Benoit stands as the great exemplar of transformation. What Ducasse and the team have achieved by walking the proverbial tightrope on which heritage and innovation balance, has forever rewritten the narrative of one of France’s greatest treasures, the bistro. As I stepped out of Benoit into a warm Spring day, I left with a smile on my face knowing that just off the Rue de Rivoli there is a place where all are welcome to drink and feast like Kings.
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