While sitting and chatting with Chef Nathan Helo of Dupin after our prix fixe lunch in the verdant dining room on a quiet 6th arrondissement street, the chef offered his thoughts on everything from sourcing to nostalgia, from the evolution of his formerly fine dining, now bistronomic offering post-pandemic to the importance of a cozy dining room in contributing to the experience of guests.
People are more likely, he said, or so I paraphrase from memory, to return to a place where they’ve felt welcomed and eaten well enough than a place where they’ve eaten well and been poorly welcomed.
I had already decided, by then, to give Dupin a second chance, but this cemented the decision in my mind.
The dishes at Dupin are absolute, undeniable lookers. Case in point: this study in carrots (carottes en texture, as it were). The enormous plate was home to an assortment of carrot bits, providing, as promised, a variety of textural and sensory experiences: creamy and crunchy, cold and hot. But where the dish offered more than its share of variety in one area, it was lacking in one essential component – acidity – that would have pulled the dish together. Without it, the crumble (ostensibly Parmesan, though it tasted to me like any activated charcoal) and the parsley sorbet did little to brighten the flavors of the sweet root vegetable, which proved a bit too muted, too doux. If only the crisp shards of raw carrot had been pickled (and the plate itself, perhaps, a touch smaller… though I know my aversion to negative space is a personal one), this dish might have lived up to its beauty.
My dining companion’s carpaccio was slightly more balanced, especially thanks to those pretty pomegranate arils. (And the plate was an appropriate size. OK, I’ll stop.) That said, the story behind it – that the mushrooms are grown locally by a producer who takes advantage of the spent coffee grounds produced by the restaurant, for a closed-loop approach – was perhaps more interesting than the dish itself. (And part of me wished that the story of the mushrooms had been relayed by the staff, rather than after the fact, by the chef.)
I hadn’t shared my thoughts on the carrot with my dining companion by the time she dug into her beautiful, pristine pavé of farm-raised, slow-cooked lamb shoulder, served alongside a pretty pan of socca topped with chickpeas.
“Is it a bit… bland?” she wondered aloud, cementing my feelings that something, here, is off.
But when it’s on, it’s on. My fish dish – cod with peas and shellfish emulsion – wasn’t just perfectly cooked: It was just as beautiful as the carrot plate, and boasted a gorgeous burst of acidity from a house-made lemon condiment made by slow-cooking lemons devoid of their pith until they are reduced to a sweet-and-sour concentrated gel. Moreover, the plating of this dish made every bite a discovery: The pickled mustard seeds on one end responded to the lemon gel on the other; the earthy sweetness of the pea purée spoke to the briny sweetness of the emulsion.
A similar condiment – this time of orange – was used to top the pissaladière that was our pre-appetizer and would prove to be my favorite dish of the day. The base was as buttery and rich as an American biscuit, and the jumble of toppings from the herb coulis to the orange drizzle played wonderfully with the caramelized onions.
I swear, this is not a pan. Despite the missteps, there’s true soul in this food, and I look forward to returning. What’s more, on my next visit I plan to give Helo’s carte blanche tasting menu a try: I wonder what the chef is capable of when he allows his food to fully embody his values of nostalgia, sustainability, and conviviality.
Dupin – 11 Rue Dupin, 75006