There’s something so incredibly homey about l’Arpaon, a shoebox of a restaurant located on the far side of Butte Montmartre.
The small, square dining room is at once cozy and expansive thanks to the now-ubiquitous light wood furnishings, the open kitchen, the mirror lining one side of the room highlighting little details like yellow flowers placed at each table. But the warmth comes, too – and perhaps even more so – from the service, which surpasses mere friendliness to become warm, even kind. It only serves to magnify the feeling – partially rooted in fact – that most everyone in the tiny spot is a local, a feat for a place that hasn’t even been open a year.
The overwhelming sense of homeyness continued upon our request of some wine by the glass. Yann Derout mused aloud that he was thinking about opening either a Chardonnay from Bourgogne or a Chardo-Chenin blend – did we have a preference? The latter ended up being vibrant and vivacious, particularly perfect with our first bite, ordered from the sharing section of the menu.
The courgette fritters (12) were served piping hot with a side of sauce blanche for dipping, one of a handful of promised nods at the Middle East. Shredded courgette was combined with green onions, mozzarella and a touch of spice, which we had fun attempting to identify: turmeric? Sarawak pepper? Mint? Bright, lemony sumac? When finally we realized we were stumped, we asked Derout, who told us it was a Cajun blend. Whatever it was, it was the ideal first bite.
We moved on next to two appetizers, both of which we shared. The first seems to already be a house special: Barely-cooked langoustines (20) with a lovely note of bitter char came on a plate bedecked with a lemon wedge, a small pile of what I strongly suspect was house-smoked salt, which boasted a lovely acidity in addition to the smoke. Amba-spiked mayonnaise finished off the trio of condiments, and a quartet of little gem lettuce leaves came in a cup alongside the dish. We were instructed to season our langoustine with the condiments before wrapping it with the lettuce leaf and eating it like a taco.
I’ve seen many top restaurants leaning into this sort of interactive approach, of late, and I definitely don’t hate it, especially when the combination is this delicious. The langoustines were served piping hot, and adding the cold accompaniments yourself ensures you get the perfect bite every time. Plus, the sweetness of the langoustine went perfectly with the slightly pickly mayo and the smokiness of the salt.
The tuna tostada (18) with guacamole, lime-marinated tuna, and corn was tasty and far more copious, though the promised jalapeños numbered one. (I could have used a few more, but then again, I’m a spice head.) The charred lime cheek, while pretty, was entirely unnecessary, seeing as the dish was perfectly seasoned.
Overall, this dish was perhaps a touch less surprising than the langoustines, but I appreciated it for its copiousness and moreishness, with a great balance of the soft, yielding textures of the guac and tuna, toothsomeness from the corn, and perfect crunch from the tortilla.
This short-and-sweet menu has got just three apps and two mains, in addition to the two sharing options. We opted to split the only vegetarian entrée: an autumnal raviolo with mushrooms, egg, hazelnuts, and black garlic butter (23). The pairing of both cooked and raw mushrooms was lovely, and while I could have used a few more hazelnuts, I really enjoyed this dish. Homey and comforting, it nevertheless offered a few surprises, like bright greens hidden in the filling.
Most of all, it was perfect in its technical execution, with toothsome fresh pasta and an egg yolk that ran when pierced to add even more richness to the sauce.
Splitting the main left us with some room for dessert, and between the pistachio ice cream with figs and the warm chocolate chip cookie, there was no real contest. The cookie (11) is baked to order in a metal dish and crowned with a boule of vanilla ice cream.
The cookie itself was tasty, studded with pecans and sprinkled lightly with flaky salt. But for me, there was a nostalgia factor that was missing. It lacked the depth of brown sugar, and I would have expected it to be a bit gooier, given the à la minute vibes. Still, we didn’t leave any behind.
I hope that the very existence of small restaurants like l’Arpaon is signaling a return to the times where intriguing flavors are delivered in a sequence rather than a jumble of small shared plates, for while we did end up sharing pretty much everything, I can see how someone who likes having their own plate of food would be quite happy here.
L’Arpaon – 57, rue de Montcalm, 75018