Friday Night Dinner Blog

The Menu:

Early Dinner at Chez Dumonet

Mâche salad with shaved black truffles

Duck confit with steamed green beans and spinach

The Story:

They say the quality of ingredients is what makes a meal.  Then again, they say a lot of things.  In my opinion, nowhere is this theory more blatantly proven than in Paris where the par between great, mediocre and crappy food is absolutely mind-blowing.

DW and I have our usual spots in Paris, little holes in the wall we’ve discovered with the help of friends and people like David Lebovitz and Clotilde Dusoulier whose websites have proven invaluable resources.  Thankfully my French has helped me navigate the treacherous local attitude when it comes to allergies.  Most of the time, I have no problem explaining myself and my needs to a relatively sympathetic ear. 

However, this time, we wanted to try new things, new places, new neighbourhoods.

Instead of staying centrally and in a hotel, we opted to rent a little studio in Montmartre. And instead of heading to the 11^th as we usually do for Cassoulet, we decided to try Chez Dumonet in the 6^th.    

It was a cold, grey day and it was getting late.  We were starving, but couldn’t stop ourselves from lingering in front of the street’s many artisanal shops. Chez Dumonet was at the very end of the Rue du Cherche Midi, a winding street that I had discovered in my first foray years before.  Many of the shops were still there and I happily shared my memories with DW.  I had tried the pralines in about 4 small chocolatiers way back when, bought a pair of my favourite brown boots that I still treasure in a shoe shop that I could barely afford, and the scents of boulangeries and cheese mongers wafted everywhere around us.  This time, however, we were headed on a specific mission, so we tore ourselves away.

Finally we arrived at Chez Dumonet. Like many of the best places, the entrance looks unassuming. You kind of have to know it’s there.  The restaurant is all over foodie websites, so I thought we were probably in for a treat, but seeing as it was a last minute decision, I hadn’t called ahead and so was crossing my fingers that I would be able to enjoy it. 

The décor was as old-fashioned French as it comes, with white tablecloths and large mirrors lining the walls.  There was one table left right by the window, which we squeezed into, shoving the goodies we had found at that morning’s market behind us.   

While DW headed off to the men’s room, I looked around, trying not to listen in on our neighbours’ conversation.  The waiter, a brash man with a floppy grin, made a big deal of delivering two glasses of beautiful white wine.  Sadly, putting my hand on my pregnant belly, I had to decline.  He shrugged.

“Et pour Monsieur?”

“Non merci,” I said. Only in Paris am I embarrassed to admit that neither of us has had a drink in almost a year. 

It started out as a decision based on our need to get more accomplished and a feeling that alcohol was slowing us down.  Then I got pregnant.  Now, alcohol rarely features in our thoughts or our life at all. Except in Paris.

The menu had an entire section devoted to black truffles.  These highly prized fungi are in season in the winter and famously expensive – a kilo costs around $1000 wholesale.  At Chez Dumonet, the offerings included scrambled eggs with black truffles as well as stuffed artichoke hearts.

If I were ever to try them, this would be the place.  I happen to love mâche, or lambs lettuce as it is called in the UK, and a basic salad topped with some shaved black truffles sounded like my best bet. The catch?  It was going to set us back 44 Euros!  44 Euros for some leaves and a few shavings?!

They say the quality of ingredients is what makes a meal.  And they’re not wrong.  The simplest of salads was also the most rich, complex, beautiful mixture of flavours, textures and aromas I have ever experienced.  Every other bowl of greens seems positively vulgar in comparison to this delicate, nutty mixture with undertones of chocolate brought out by the huile de noisettes – hazelnut oil – sprinkled on top and balanced out by the crunchy freshness of the lettuce.  Across the table, the birthday boy seemed just as entranced in his chicory and Roquefort extravaganza, making little mmm sounds as he chewed slowly. 

Our Chez Dumonet experience combined with a few good field trips to different markets around the city was a great reminder that the best ingredients may be more expensive, but it pays to buy less in quantity for more enjoyment in quality. 

Sublime. 

The Recipe:

Lately, there has been a resurgence in awareness about buying locally.  Besides the fact that buying locally holds many benefits for the environment as well as your health, in my opinion, you can find the best, most delicious food close by at farmers' markets.  Costco might save you a few bucks, but when you compare, does it really?  And besides, you can’t put a price on the experience of getting to know your local farmers, learning new recipes from the people who grew the ingredients and tasting produce the day it was picked.

Some people visit art galleries when they travel, others prefer to bring a trusty tour book and make sure they catch all the must-see sites.  While we occasionally do some of that, DW and I mostly just wander from market to market, seeing, smelling, tasting, and, invariably meeting locals who send us in many a surprising direction.  

Here are a few of the markets I love:

London: 

The Queen’s Park market on Sundays is full of ideas and people willing to share them.

Of course no trip to London would be complete without a visit to Borough Market.  Lots of ready-made food offers a lovely lunch option while you browse the stalls. 

New York:

Both times I’ve lived in Brooklyn, Saturday has posed a challenge.  The question is always whether I want to stay local and run up to the Grand Army Plaza Market, or whether I prefer to jump on my bike and head to Union Square in Manhattan.  Both have their own charm. 

Wednesdays are also great at Union Square.

Paris:

Marché Raspail, oh what would we do without you?  Sundays is the Marché Bio – the organic market, filled with beautiful produce and – so I hear – famous faces shopping for some fresh fare.  But during the week, regular, non-organic produce is also available and fun to experience with the proud vendors who will make you try everything that isn’t bolted to the walls.

If you prefer to stay up North, Saturday’s Marché Bio by the Place de Clichy holds many a surprise including a young man who sells raw basics like cacao, mesquite, Incan berries and purple corn.

Los Angeles:

I could write a book about the Wednesday Santa Monica Farmers’ Market and yet I am at a loss for words.  All I can say is, if you’re in LA on a Wednesday morning, GO.