Disclosure: I was a guest at the property for this meal.
Fine dining restaurants are a truly unique experience, albeit one that some can find off-putting for all of their pomp and circumstance. And look, I get it. The precision required to attain a Michelin star – or two, as Hélène Darroze has done at her Marsan – can mean that the food feels somehow too perfect to really enjoy, divorced, in some cases, from the emotion that unites us so frequently around our tables at home. But I was pleasantly surprised on a recent visit to find that Darroze manages to cultivate nostalgia and even playfulness at this 6th arrondissement spot, with on-point flavors and a truly thoughtful approach.
Lunchtime at Marsan invites you to select one of two menus: tasting or à la carte. I went for the latter, which still managed to be consequential (and lasted three hours!)
The first bite wasn’t a bite but rather a sip: a mushroom consommé my server indicated was intended to “open the appetite.” It smelled like nothing more and nothing less than a raw mushroom, but the taste experience was phenomenal: rich and earthy and silky and mouth-coatingly fatty. It was enchanting and definitely left me curious for what would come next.
The answer was indicative of much of the tone that would define the remaining plates: a playful amuse-bouche of a breadstick stuck into a bowl of pine nuts, dressed with artichoke purée and marinated anchovies. Creative and truly tasty, the quality of each element made this little bite far more than the sum of its parts.
Playfulness continued with the next dish, a “taco” made with a blini-like corn flatbread topped with oh-so tender mackerel marinated in lemon and topped tableside with snips of fresh savory, thyme, and rosemary. I was given my own little bowl of seasoning – Espelette with sweet pink pepper and bonito – to sprinkle over the top before picking up the little parcel and eating it much like, well, a taco. This dish was really made by the tenderness of the fish, and I loved the hint of spice.
The bread service – a sourdough made in house – came with a bit of Espelette pepper-spiked butter delivered to the table in its own little house.
The next bite was offered in the form of a guessing game: another amuse that Darroze crafted in a nod to a childhood memory, and which the server offered and asked me to try to identify. It didn’t take too long to identify the quenelle of duck fat seasoned with herbs and a pinch of salt.
I’ve never eaten such a large quantity of cold duck fat at once before, and yet it wasn’t unpleasant. It did lead me to ponder how possible it is to translate childhood or Proustian food memories, whether one can ever really appreciate the flavors evocative of another person’s youth. I don’t have an answer, but I appreciate that Darroze is trying.
The next dish was a “mikado” (pick-up-stix) of scallops with apple and radish – my chosen appetizer, and the first bite that I was slightly less enthusiastic about.
My first eyebrow-raising moment stemmed entirely from how difficult the dish was to eat. Given the stack of julienned fruit and veg, the three-pronged fish fork proved unwieldy bordering on plain old ineffectual. I felt like it was a struggle to bring even one bite to my mouth, and then I wondered if this frustrating trial weren’t a bit purposeful: What, after all, could be more playful and evocative of childhood than making a mess, albeit at a Michelin-starred restaurant?
But sadly, this wasn’t the only misstep in this dish for me. The pronounced fishy taste of the uni, which I usually like, proved to completely drown the delicate flavor of the scallop tartare underneath. The apple wasn’t sweet enough to juxtapose the brine, and while the dish grew on me, I ultimately found it unbalanced.
The next dish luckily more than made up for it. A whole cuttlefish was stuffed with chorizo-spiked chard and topped with a yin yang of ink sauce and a thick, sticky rice cream. The dish provided the ideal blend between richness and brininess, and I loved the herbal character of the stuffing, which was just barely kissed by the porky spiciness of the chorizo. It was truly excellent and perhaps my favorite of the day.
After much deliberation, I opted to follow with the tandoori lobster, a staple of Darroze’s restaurants served with a spiced jus and a lovely carrot purée. While gorgeous, there was something about this dish that lacked cohesion for me, though I find it so difficult to put my finger on just what. Maybe it was the richness of the jus, which almost overpowered the delicate lobster. Maybe it was the fact that the carrot purée seemed so much brighter and more interesting than the seafood that was meant to be the star. Or maybe it’s my own nostalgia getting in the way, making it difficult for me to be convinced that there is any better way to enjoy lobster than sitting on an upside down milk crate, cracking the claws open on newsprint and dunking them into plastic cups of drawn butter.
The texture of the claw, it must be said, was out of this world.
I was getting quite full but gearing up for dessert when my server sneakily brought me a slice of the squab Wellington I had been debating ordering before ultimately going for the lobster. I’m delighted I got to try it, chiefly for the pastry, which was truly exceptional, and the herbaceous turnips that came alongside it.
And then came a question that, even at this stage of fullness, I have a hard time saying anything but “yes” to:
Would Madame like some cheese?
Madame did indeed like some cheese, and three of them: a solid tomme de chèvre that oddly reminded me a bit of a pecorino, a Basque bleu that paired wonderfully with a pear and pepper condiment, and a sheep’s milk cheese in the spirit of a Saint-Nectaire not unlike the Ekigorri I occasionally find at Jouannault that proved to be my favorite of the three. Funky and nutty, it was very tasty indeed.
As a pre-dessert, I was given a small verrine of bread ice cream made in an effort to reduce food waste. Topped with a bit of candied watermelon and olive oil, it was truly delightful and one of my favorite bites of the day.
For dessert, I opted to sample the house specialty: a baba à l’Armagnac served with an apple condiment and mace-infused cream. I was given the choice of one of three Armagnacs to drizzle on top, and I went with my server’s recommendation of the 2000, with lovely apricot notes.
The caramelized apple condiment was a real standout, and the “build-your-own” nature of the dessert finished things off wonderfully.
(I would have next tucked into a gâteau basque, but seeing as I was too full to even finish my baba, my lovely server was kind enough to package it up to enjoy later, which I did quite happily and considerably less full.)
Ultimately, I wasn’t sure that there was a way to make such a fine dining experience feel as playful as Darroze manages, but from the bubble light fixtures to the colorful ceramics to the creative plates, she does so with élan. There’s emotion to the food here that I had yet to encounter in a restaurant of this caliber, and I would recommend it highly to anyone looking for a standout Michelin experience in Paris.
Marsan par Hélène Darroze – 4, rue d’Assas, 75006