I was originally a fan of the small plates trend for the same reason I love pintxos: It gave me the opportunity to try a lot of things and not necessarily need to be rolled home. (Of course, if a pinxto crawl ends with la Viña cheesecake, all bets are off.) But of late, I’ve gotten ornery with the small plates wave, in large part because I feel like a lot of restaurateurs use it as an excuse to 1) Gauge you on high prices for small portions, 2) Reduce the kitchen’s need to time out meals at a luxurious – or even manageable – tempo, and 3) Give little thought to the way in which dishes are comprised as a cohesive whole. Paloma, luckily, is doing none of these things.
I paid this little Belleville spot a visit on a recent Thursday evening, and when I arrived for our 7:30pm reservation, the restaurant was nearly empty, save the overwhelmingly female staff and resident cat. I was slightly perturbed, then, to see that our group of three was going to be crammed around a small table really meant for two, especially given the aforementioned small plates format: The table barely seemed large enough to hold our glasses and cutlery, much less multiple plates meant for sharing.
It soon, however, became clear why we’d been given this table. Within 20 minutes, the restaurant was packed – and with prices this reasonable for food this good, it’s not hard to see why. The chalkboard menu featured 15 savory plates, all ranging in price from five to fourteen euros, with most hovering in the seven to nine range. After being informed of the recommendation of three plates per person, we proceeded by process of elimination and ordered ten to share.
Tarama, aka taramasalata, has become almost as ubiquitous as burrata on Parisian restaurant menus of late, but this one (seven euro) was truly exceptional. Smooth and briny without being overly fishy, it was drizzled with herb oil and topped with a few leaves of bitter radicchio, which provided welcome balance to the creamy fish dip.
Equally ubiquitous are revisited versions of leek-vinaigrette, and similarly, this one (seven euro) did not disappoint. The leeks were perfectly cooked and topped with pickled mustard seeds. A few toasted walnuts added some crunch and earthiness, but the real winner of this dish was the tarragon pesto in the base of the bowl, which I wiped clean with some crusty country bread.
Everyone can’t be a winner, and this revisited egg mayo (five euro) merely gets participation points. The mayonnaise was meant to be spiced but was ultimately fairly classic save its orange hue, and a toasted corn topping was paltry and kind of stale. The eggs were perfectly cooked, but that’s the only compliment I can pay this plate.
The dishes were coming at quite a clip by this point, but the convivial ambiance of the restaurant (and the bottle of excellent Chinon we were sharing…) meant we didn’t feel bad stacking plates and setting them out of the way. We quickly made space for these jols (smelt) which had been lightly battered and fried, a traditional recipe from the Loire (nine euros). Served with a generous dollop of aioli, they were ultra moreish, especially when piping hot.
These wild clams with coriander were tasty and savory (ten euros), though I’m not sure I needed the Swiss chard in there… I would, however, have liked a spoon to drink up the rest of that savory pork broth.
I’m a pretty big offal Stan, so I was excited by the promise of crispy pig’s feet with mint and jus (seven euros). I didn’t expect it to be in phyllo-wrapped form! The mint was a creative, refreshing counterpoint to the fattiness of the pigs’ feet, but I’m ultimately not sure I needed such a fatty cut to be wrapped in equally fatty pastry and glazed in such a rich jus. Another hint of brightness might have convinced me more on this one.
Brioche stuffed with pork belly and shiitake mushrooms (fourteen euros) I found far more convincing, especially given the texture of the bread: airy and fluffy inside and super crunchy outside. As for its value as a small plate, I remain on the fence: On the one hand, it’s tough to share, unless you’re already quite close with your dining companions. On the other, its richness meant all I needed was a bite or two.
This duck tataki (thirteen euros) posed no such problem, with the punchy acidity of its bright dressing and the nutty crunch of toasted sesame seeds. This dish was light and vibrant and packed a massive wallop of flavor, which meant the sharing portion was just right.
This cuttlefish ragout (eleven euro) came settled atop mashed potatoes with a welcome touch of texture. The cuttlefish were tender and perfectly cooked, but I was so full by this point that I wasn’t fully able to appreciate it.
I’ve saved the best for last, however: the dish up top was hands-down my favorite. Braised beef cheeks (twelve euros) were served on top of house-made pita smothered with a Lebanese-inspired garlic sauce. A tumble of fresh herbs, bitter lettuces, and cabbage lent loads of balance to the rich, tender meat. In a word: perfection.
Paloma changes its menu often, and given the quality of the food and the prices, I have no doubt I’ll be back. I will likely, however, stagger my ordering a bit, and perhaps go in a group of even numbers. Two at this table would have been perfection; tables of four had more than enough space. Three, in this spot, was a crowd… but a delicious one.
Paloma – 93 Rue Julien Lacroix, 75020