Good French food with a side of grammar at a great, cozy French bistro in le coeur of Greenwich Village that feels like it has been around forever!
Le Baratin
26 Greenwich Ave
212-933-1080 (btwn Charles/W 10th Sts)
A rudimentary lesson in French was certainly unexpected when
we went to Le Beratin. With our waiter we discussed the etymology
of bouillabaisse which when broken down from bouillir à la baisse
translates to “boil and reduce.” We further went into the difference between riz
(rice) and ris (brains). All of this food talk certainly perked up our
appetites! I never did get around to asking what Le Baratin actually meant,
although I suppose I could have asked any number of the French speaking patrons
surrounding us for the translation. The little place that used to be home to
the Lafayette French Pastry bakery feels like it has been around for years and
is charmingly thrown together with ragtag bric-a-brac making companions with
artist Mark Sehl’s fine sketches scattered about to enhance the proceedings.
Just the kind of spot to secure a seat at the bar and mull over the menu with a
few comfortable glasses of wine.
As we sat down at our simple table, colored by red and white
checkerboard napkins, we readily acclimated to this new venture with a fizzy
Kir Royal comprised of Champagne and Crème de Cassis, the blackcurrant
liqueur—it was a pleasant diversion, and although we probably hadn’t had one
since the 80’s, we sipped it with delight just the same. We moved on to a
bottle of a crisply dry, French Sancerre that tasted wonderfully green, like
draping, enveloping vines and duly suited us through the rest of our meal.
Onion soup was a rather obvious choice and didn’t
disappoint, full-flavored and naturally, served in an earthenware crock cloaked
with browned cheese. Chewy Escargots Persillade (that’s snails with
parsley to you and me, bub) were steaming hot, garlicky and buttery delicious
with a flutter of chopped parsley strewn about the little vessel. The
pan-seared foie gras was only fair, a little undercooked for me and not overly
flavorful. We did enjoy however the accompanying caramelized compote with
Granny Smith apples and mangoes dressed in a balsamic drizzle. Fine hand-chopped
steak tartare was chunky, fresh and deeply rosy pink, enlivened by minced white
onions, parsley and a bracing stream of red pepper aioli.
We took to the crispy sweetbreads (thalamus glands, or the ris
in question) readily enough and they were decent, surrounded by cubed carrots,
squash, zucchini and peas and a smattering of thyme. We considered the Côte de
Boeuf, a grass-fed rib-eye meant for two, but we found our main meat elsewhere.
Medium-rare duck was a winner, served with charming bundles of verdant haricots
verts wrapped in bacon! A zesty orange gastrique was a clever touch and we
enjoyed the mashed potatoes with grainy Dijon
mustard in an a l’ancien preparation, similar to Lyonnaise
potatoes.
It was hardly a matter of much consideration to order the
chilled chocolate mousse! In the midst of the creaminess, pieces of dark
chocolate filled the ramekin that was outfitted with dollops of whipped cream.
We did share it though, to leave our dignity somewhat intact, even as we
considered ordering another one over our thoughts of returning to Le Baratin posthaste.
First published in part in Next magazine.
Photo credit: Gustavo Monroy
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