While the world of Parisian dining is thankfully not as trend-driven as that of, say, New York, there are definitely some spots I missed the boat on: Saturne, for example, was far too expensive for me to even consider visiting, as I was still a lowly student when it shuttered; Daniel Rose’s Chez la Vieille was one I’d expected would remain a city stalwart, only to find, post-pandemic, that the industrious chef had shuttered the spot in favor of further American expansion.
And it’s not just closures that lead to such disappointments. I just barely got into Septime before it went from incredible to disappointing, and I only went to le Paul Bert a handful of times before I heard that its long-time popularity with Americans had rendered it an echo of its former self.
I was sure that le Chateaubriand, once forever on the lips of foodies in the know, was a prime example of places I had missed out on in its prime, when my former boss, a foodie and journalist, was singing its praises back in 2012. But when Paris by Mouth’s Meg Zimbeck made a recent return and had only lovely things to say, I decided it was high time I finally paid the storied restaurant a visit.
Le Chateaubriand is one of a handful of restaurants that put the 11th arrondissement – now teeming with delightful culinary options – on the foodie map. In 2006, Chef Iñaki Aizpitarte quickly made waves with his innovative prix fixe menu, earning a Michelin star in 2018 (a long-awaited recognition the restaurant lost in 2021).
But star or no star, I was thrilled to finally pull up a chair in the subtly well-lit dining room, decked out in classic 1930s Paris style, complete with leather banquettes, wooden tables, and tiled floors. The no-choice prix fixe is now priced at 95 euro and includes five (!) amuse-bouches, a fish, a meat, and a choice of cheese or dessert. Rather than opt for the wine pairing, my dining companion and I chose a bottle of Loire Valley Cabernet Franc – the ever-crowd-pleasing Ruben from Domaine Bobinet – to see us through the panoply of offerings.
The amuses began with two poppyseed-crusted gougères per person – the perfect bite-sized apéritif to whet the appetite. Cheesy and tender – and perhaps most importantly, served hot – they were exactly as they should be.
Next up wasn’t a bite but a sip: a leche de tigre meant to be enjoyed as a shot. The balanced acidity and light brininess were both welcome; it basically tasted like what I imagine Clamato would be if house-made.
The shot was followed by a barbajuan – a fried Monegasque ravioli – filled with spinach, leeks, and truffle. While these were definitely tasty, the truffle was almost completely lost, and the dominant flavor of the dumpling was fried. (Delicious fried, but no truffle to be found.)
The sea urchin that came next was a study in orange: the uni was swimming in a lovely, sweet winter squash purée, boasting passion fruit seeds for acidity and crunch. Crunch was also added thanks to a breadcrumb topping seasoned with tandoori spices. I liked but didn’t love this dish, however, finding that the sweetness of the squash and passion fruit caused the mild sweetness of the uni to somewhat pale in comparison and get lost.
The bites at this point were coming quite rapidly – almost too rapidly, which our server apologized for, noting that following the amuse-bouche sequence, things would become far more lenient. Still, I lingered over the next bite, one of the tastiest of the night: a ham-infused broth in which floated a handful of tender, soft Soissons beans. The broth was so rich that, if left out in the cold, it would definitely have solidified to the texture of a gelatinous ball. As it was, it was mouth-coatingly rich and decadent. I almost didn’t want to take my final bite.
But take it I did to pave the way for this crab-stuffed cabbage, a far lighter play on the Alsatian classic. Such reimaginings of the traditional dish have become commonplace on Parisian menus of late, and as a lover of crucifers, I welcome them.
This one proved extremely light, and the puddle of rich demi glace coating the plate made a lovely foil.
Our fish main was hake prepared with an egg yolk batter and a red wine and onion sauce. The fish was unsurprisingly perfectly cooked, and I enjoyed the surprising marriage of white fish and red wine. But while tasty, it didn’t floor me nearly as much as some of the smaller bites – or, indeed, as the meat course that would follow.
The duck was a masterpiece: a bitter radicchio blanket seasoned generously with a bright, acidic pistachio topping hid duck in two forms: The magret was perfectly cooked – rosy but not bloody – and the richness of the pressé married particularly well with the salad that blanketed the dish, inviting guests to push it aside and reveal the meat.
A skewer of duck hearts, onion, and more radicchio was a lovely third iteration.
After some deliberation, my dining companion and I decided that we could not bring ourselves to choose between cheese and dessert, and so we opted for one of each. The cheese plate featured a fresh sheep’s cheese and a hunk of lovely Morbier, but the clear winner was the pressed sheep tomme, which had a phenomenally rich milkiness to it and only the barest whisper of barnyardy funk. It reminded me just how perfect sheep cheese is at its best, thanks to the richness in both fat and protein of ewe’s milk.
Two desserts followed. First, a reimagined Mont Blanc. (Even I, who love chestnuts, must admit that I am beginning to tire of this wintertime dessert, but the slices of button mushroom strewn over the ice cream beneath that perfect disc of meringue both added new interest and an earthiness that was welcome to cut the sweetness). And last, the signature cured egg yolk dessert, settled atop a pillowy meringue. We broke the rules and split it, but even without the textural promise of the egg yolk popping on the palate, it was just as extraordinary as the rumors have it.
I’m so glad I finally made it to le Chateaubriand, to discover its menu that manages to walk that line between creative innovation and nourishing comfort. And while I sadly cannot compare it to past iterations, it certainly seems to me that Chef Aizpitarte has not lost his edge.
Le Chateaubriand – 129 Ave Parmentier, 75011