Disclaimer: I was a guest of the property for this meal.
Step into Omar Dhiab’s Michelin-starred eponymous table just steps from the Louvre, and the codes of French fine dining are already flouted. The door opens not into the dining room but directly into the open kitchen, where the young Dhiab himself, dressed in jeans under his pressed chef’s jacket, presides over a small brigade. He’s welcoming and friendly from the get-go – even at 1pm, with the weight of the lunch service on his shoulders. This relaxed ambiance – what the French would deem décontracté – pervades the entirety of the experience.
The dining room itself is plain and bright, with white tables rimmed with pale wood and a team of young servers in beige uniforms presiding attentively over the space.
While there is an à la carte menu, the tasting is the way to go here, with five courses for 115 euros. A 52-euro wine pairing is available, with a wide selection of natural bottles. We opted for just one glass of a fairly cidery pét nat that unfortunately didn’t quite seem to shine as brightly as the food with which it was meant to pair.
What did open our appetites wonderfully was Dhiab’s welcome drink of a karkadé: a hibiscus infusion with spices that echoes his Egyptian origins.
Soon after, we were served a quartet of amuse-bouches, of which this one was my undeniable favorite (unsurprising, as it seems to be a signature since the restaurant opened just over a year ago). The bite, which sees a compressed rectangle of beef tongue glazed in a sticky-sweet sauce and covered with fried onions, does exactly what an amuse-bouche should: open the appetite with flavors that are just this side of too much. I easily could have eaten another.
Instead, I dug into the next bite: a tiny escargot – I suspect petit gris rather than the big escargots de Bourgogne one finds bathed in garlic butter in most Parisian bistros. It was served with two little buttons of seasonal parsnip and atop a creamy pistachio purée. It’s not often that one sees pistachio used in savory preparations in Paris, and I loved the rich flavor of the slightly sweet Sicilian nuts with the roasty, barbecued notes of the snail.
The third dish I found a bit harder to love. This tuna tartare topped with rock samphire, which is similar but not actually related to samphire and boasts a slightly fennelly flair. Unfortunately, it’s also incredibly briny, which I’m usually a fan of, but treated in this way – frozen and concentrated – it overpowered the delicacy of the tuna.
With the final amuse bouche, however, we were back on track: This vine leaf was fried in a tempura batter and served with three dollops of chickpea purée for a bite that was savory and moreish.
The bread, which comes from MOF Frédéric Lalos, arrived soon after, accompanied by a delicious Breton butter from Thierry Lemarchand.
We loved the specially made marble slab that holds the butter knife perfectly – just one of several mismatched bits of servingware that worked so well as a whole.
Foie gras is a Christmastime staple in France, where it’s usually served as an appetizer – and often with something sweet. Here, Dhaib turned preconceived notions on their heads by layering a generous slab of foie in this beautiful millefeuille, featuring crisp pastry layered with raw sliced button mushrooms and a smoky layer of mushroom duxelles. At first, I felt I was missing that sweet note I’m so used to with foie gras, but soon I grew to love this more savory pairing.
The chef’s signature dish followed: A croque-ris-de-veau that united his passions for regressive cuisine and for offal. Sweetbreads were layered between tender slices of artisan sandwich bread for a play on a childhood classic with a truly luxurious ingredient standing in for more typical ham and cheese. When this dish first came out, I was surprised at how dark the bread had grown, wondering if it was perhaps burnt, but I was pleasantly surprised with how the slight bitterness of the charred edges played with the richness of the ris de veau. The lemon-caper grenobloise condiment offered a more than welcome hit of acidity; if anything, I might have liked a slightly more generous hand with it, as otherwise, the dish skewed savory, salty, and rich.
Indeed, at this point in the tasting, my overwhelming sense was that almost everything I’d eaten was quite savory. There was very little sweetness or acidity for balance, and I wondered if this would soon overwhelm my palate.
And then this plate appeared.
This dish saw a lobster tail just barely cooked through so that it retained all of its tender sweetness. Served atop a double-header of sauces – one made with riquette, a bitter green similar to arugula, and the other a cognac-spiked sauce homardine, it was adorned tableside with a rich pepper espuma that added a lovely punch of heat to the dish. Beneath the lobster sat small tapioca pearls and little spheres of bright red tobiko. I loved the double-barrelled pepperiness with the sweet, delicate lobster. In fact, I was quite uncouth and used bread to mop up all of the remaining sauce.
The claws and knuckles of the lobster were not wasted. They were served in a small bowl, dressed up with chervil, chive, and a slightly spicy mayonnaise, designed to be piled into lettuce leaves and enjoyed “like a taco.”
This is not the first time I have been invited to indulge in a fine dining dish “like a taco,” but I have to admit, it doesn’t get old. There’s something really wonderful about being in a fine dining atmosphere and being invited to use your hands or make a mess. Plus, this bite was delicious, continuing in the same vein of a touch of sweetness and a hint of spice to cut through all the rich savory qualities the other dishes thus far had boasted.
Some slight technical issues unfortunately plagued the next dish of duck with beetroot. My piece was fairly tender, but my dining companion’s was shot through with nerves, making it difficult to slice. And I found the beetroot and the beautiful tears of beetroot reduction to be a bit lacking in flavor. Two sauces were served alongside the duck; the first, a smoked mustard, was relatively bland. But the smooth olive sauce was wow-worthy and once again turned on its head my preconceived notion that duck must – or even should – be served with something sweet.
Alongside, we enjoyed another nostalgic dish: mashed potatoes which arrived with a well already dug into them. This well was filled tableside with a gravy of duck offal spiked with tarragon. It was rich and savory, and I wasted no time in scooping up every last morsel.
Dessert was a seasonal study in quince. The main event was this compact square comprised of very thin slices of the fruit completely covered in a delicious quince sauce. It continued on-trend, being relatively low in sugar, but in this case, the lack of sweetness was welcome.
And the texture was truly sublime.
It was served alongside a small quenelle of ice cream atop a praline purée and garnished with coriander seeds, which lent their powerful aroma to the dish. You’ll need to really like coriander to get behind this: I loved it, but my dining companion found it overwhelming.
The final member of the trio was this quince clafoutis, which ate far more like a financier, redolent with almonds. It was regressive and delicious, which are two things I can always get behind.
In lieu of mignardises, an orange blossom-scented gateau de semoule was served tableside from a large, family-style casserole dish.
This wink at Dhiab’s grandmother’s specialty was far more caramelized than most; I really enjoyed the bitter notes of the dark amber sugar beneath the light, flan-like batter.
A good dinner should be comforting and delicious, in my opinion, but a great dinner should make you ask questions. I found Dhiab’s cuisine extremely engaging, particularly in the way it led me to challenge my own preconceived notions: about the place of sugar in savory dishes, about the ways in which we engage with “noble” products. This chef is obviously quite talented, and while I sometimes found a palpable absence of acidity or sweetness in certain plates, I ultimately warmed to his creative approach.
Omar Dhiab – 23 Rue Hérold, 75001