Disclaimer: I was a guest of the property for this meal.
Much has changed since I last stepped foot in this bright dining room on rue Catherine de la Rochefoucauld, once home to contemporary Neapolitan spot Polpette.
The metal cage that once dominated the center of the dining room, a wink at its past as a cabaret, is gone. Gone, too, are the pizzas and pastas that once reigned over the menu. Benjamin Schmitt’s eponymous, terroir-driven restaurant takes full advantage of the light-filled space, exuding the warmth of the chef himself, whose Michelin-spangled past at such spots as Le Meurice and Taillevent shines through.
But make no mistake: while certainly refined, dining at Schmitt’s is an experience predicated above all on gourmandise.
On this recent lunchtime visit, my dining companion and I opted to eschew both the the 29-euro two-course lunch deal and the 74-euro five-course tasting in favor of ordering à la carte.
It’s not every chef who can craft a diminutive menu that nevertheless renders choice so torturous. It’s also not every chef who can place hearty, comfort food fare like pâté en croûte and cassoulet side-by-side with the contemporary, fine dining flair he cultivated at his previous addresses. But Schmitt does, and with aplomb, and what’s more, even when one opts not to choose, there’s a cohesion afforded by the technicity and passion he puts into every dish.
When it came to our first courses, we first for a revisited leek-vinaigrette, a category I’ve been seeing quite often of late, from the braised iteration with mussels and dill at Au Petit Panisse to the carbonara-inspired one at Galanga. Here, they were treated with the utmost refinement: cooked until soft and tender with no sign of fibrousness, arranged in a perfect square, and topped with a briny jumble of Savagnin-steamed cockles, bottarga, and trout eggs. The vinaigrette atop this dish was heavy on the mustard which almost gave the dish a horseradishy heat, and while the nuttiness of the Savagnin got a bit lost, it was a truly delightful play on the hearty classic.
Our other appetizer similarly played into what the chef informed us was one of his guiding principles: to doll up humble ingredients and make them shine on a fine dining plate. Char-grilled mackerel was served with pickled radishes and two sauces: one a fish stock so reduced as to become syrupy and, according to my dining companion, almost reminiscent of hoisin, the other a jalapeño reduction. The harmony of this dish was laudable: the radish was slightly sweet from the pickle brine, the mackerel rich and smoky, and the jalapeño vegetal and verdant without leaning too hard into the heat. That the mackerel was perfectly cooked should go without saying, but I’ll say it anyway. A delight.
We were so intrigued by the presence of palombe – dove – on the menu that we had to order it. I’ve had pigeon many a time (perhaps too many times, these days), and this little game bird boasted similar heartiness and flavor with even more gameyness and significantly less fat.
The plate featured the bird cooked in multiple forms: a perfectly cooked breast seasoned generously with cracked black pepper, two bites of nearly confit-ed wing, and a sliver of filet that was just barely kissed with heat. This was paired with a turnip ostensibly glazed in malt that unfortunately got lost in the melee and topped with a citrussy kumquat purée that had something almost pleasantly numbing about it. A “cappuccino” sauce that afforded earthiness and richness to the dish. But my favorite bite may well have been that toast towards the front, which was topped with rich, earthy offal stuffing.
A tasty, silky potato purée was also served with this dish. I’ve seen a lot of these recently, and it’s hard to continue to get excited about them, but this was very good.
At this point, it probably bears mentioning that when I asked my friend to join me for lunch here, I asked her her thoughts on cassoulet.
This is one of the stars of Schmitt’s menu, and from the jump, we knew that no matter what we ordered, we would be getting some of this hearty bean stew surrounded by intrigue and legend. With three distinct regional styles and a recipe that calls for much ceremony, including breaking the crust and cooking it for hours or some say days, cassoulet inspires loads of opinions, and we were eager to see what this one had in store.
I’m of the opinion that cassoulet is much like pizza, in that even when it’s bad, it’s still cassoulet. But there was something truly excellent about this iteration, which managed to be flavorful and rich without ever being too salty or too fatty. The beans were each perfectly cooked and seasoned, studded with tiny cubes of white fat. The sausage was fine – perhaps a bit dry and less flavorful than some of the other bites – but the duck confit was exquisite. We told ourselves we’d pack up any leftovers to go… but friends, there were no leftovers.
Which is why, despite there being a lovely-looking cheese plate, we eschewed both fromage and dessert in favor of an espresso and a long walk home.
Chef Schmitt himself is clearly passionate about his craft, and both his warmth and passion come through as much in conversation with him as on the plate, reflecting what palpably so excites him about food, be it hearty or refined.
Benjamin Schmitt – 41 Rue Catherine de la Rochefoucauld, 75009