Seeing “charcuterie boards” on Instagram tends to make me laugh and flinch in equal measure. That the landscaped boards of cheese, cured meat, edible flowers, fruits, and dips are beautiful is undeniable… but that they are actually charcuterie is debatable.
The very word charcuterie offers an etymological hint at its true meaning: Chair in French, means flesh; cut comes from cuyt which today is rendered as cuit, or cooked. A charcutier is someone who specializes in the art of cooked or cured meat, generally the shelf-stable kind: your pâtés and saucissons, your sausages and hams. Cheese is not a charcuterie, for as much as I love it, and neither, for that matter, is a carrot stick, a radish flower, or a bowl of hummus.
You’ll find true charcuterie boards bedecked with dry-cured hams and terrines all over Paris, typically in cafés, where they’re the ideal offering to enjoy alongside a glass of wine, and the only non-charcuterie addition is a foil-wrapped pat of butter. Maybe.
But if you want a truly masterful exploration of all things charcuterie, I implore you: Head to Arnaud Nicolas’ eponymous restaurant steps from the Eiffel Tower, where MOF charcutier Nicolas shows off his culinary prowess in more ways than one.
The restaurant itself delivers on fine dining flair from the moment you walk in the door. Past the pristine window of charcuterie (which is also sold to take away if you’d rather compose your own board at home) sit two dining rooms bedecked in contemporary light wood with white marble and red brick accents. The genial servers welcome you with a taste of Savoie white wine as you peruse the menu.
That charcuterie dominates the appetizers should come as no surprise. You can order a single product à la carte, like the generous dollop of pork rillettes up top (11) or a slice of pistachio-studded pâté en croûte (16). I couldn’t resist the draw of a sampler platter (18), which features three options of the chef’s choosing. Mine had a slice of the “unmissable” poultry pâté en croûte paired with an onion compote, a terrine of pork jarret and duck foie gras with an apple compote, and a slice of Espelette pepper-scented country terrine with vegetable pickles. (One of my dining companions also ordered the platter and got a different third option, the terrine de grand-mère, lovingly laced with liver.)
The buttery crust of the first was eons above most, and I have a hard time turning my nose up at foie gras, but the winner was actually my friend’s terrine, which she generously shared with me in exchange for half of mine.
But just because they specialize in charcuterie here doesn’t mean it’s the only thing they do – or indeed the only thing they do well. A crispy pork appetizer (15) was served with a bagna cauda-inspired sauce and a tumble of fresh veg.
Mains were just as creative. This imposing raviolo (33) was filled with slow-cooked beef cheek and served on a bed of braised cabbage. A mustard-infused jus and a beef marrow crema added a balanced richness with a touch of welcome bitter piquancy.
Red wine-infused sausage (30) came with roasted shallot and small spheres of celery root – my pet veg of the season – with a luscious bordelaise. This is not my favorite sausage in the capital (that would be the one at les Arlots), but it’s a great option, alongside two fish offerings, for those who find the offal-driven offerings on the rest of the menu a bit harder to swallow.
Speaking of which… you know the second I saw blood sausage (24) on the menu I had to order it, and I was not disappointed by this incredibly generous slice of boudin noir studded with chunks of what I believe was pork belly (just to keep things light…) It was some of the richest, most decadent blood sausage I’ve ever tried – and that tiny tangle of bright arugula dressed in vinegar was just right alongside it. The mashed potatoes were fine but nothing more; I sacrificed them in favor of a touch of space for dessert.
I didn’t order this cheese plate (13) from Claire Griffon, but I’m assured the selection of Comté, Selles-sur-Cher, Saint-Nectaire, and Brie de Meaxu was excellent.
I opted instead for baba (11), drizzled tableside with warm rum and served with a small pot of vanilla-scented, barely-sweetened whipped cream. Again, not my favorite in the capital (that honor goes to Astier), but that didn’t keep me from finishing it off.
If Arnaud Nicolas only did charcuterie well, it would be reason enough to come here. But that’s far from the case – and that’s why I love it.
Arnaud Nicolas – 46, avenue de la Bourdonnais, 75007