I’m going up to the Butte de Montmartre for a luncheon and my culinary destination will take me to an establishment located on the corner of Des Saules and Norvins (the oldest street in Montmartre), and Saint Rustique. This little place has been in existence for close to four centuries and some locals du quartier still remember it under it’s original name Aux Billards en Bois. I’ve taken the liberty of adding an old picture of the restaurant, you can’t see me very well, but I’m peeking out the third floor window on the left along with my sister, rather than supposedly working hard on my studies as promised I would.
The restaurant has witnessed history in so many ways over and over again. For example back in 1814, most likely the Cossacks rattled their sabres on the tables and demanded their meals be served in a hurry before having to aim their cannons from their vantage point (the Butte) onto the City of Paris below (see also Bistro! Bistro!) I imagine in 1848, more than a few revolutionaries stopped just long enough from tearing up cobblestones to make barricades, to break bread and enjoy a jug of wine and a sandwich served Aux Billiards. Throughout the siege of Paris in 1870, the Grande Guerre of ’14-’18, the phony war, the occupation and eventual liberation of Paris in 1944, this restaurant has stood the test of time, standing firm and resolute all the while continuing to serve hot meals and jugs of wine to their customers.
Today, the restaurant now known as the Auberge de la Bonne Franquette continues that proud tradition despite the never ending onslaught of tourists from every corner of the world demanding everything including good food. So today I am sitting down with a tough crowd, all exceptional painters, all artistes in their own right. Furthermore, all have, at one time, enjoyed a good meal in this historic restaurant. Breaking bread with the likes of Cézanne, Toulouse-Lautrec, Renoir, Monet,and of course, Vincent Van Gogh made me think, where would I want to sit, what would I want to say and not sound like a village idiot? What seating arrangement would give me the maximum enjoyment and education? I decided on having Monsieur Cézanne sit on my right and Toulouse-Lautrec on my left (for colorful discussion purposes only) and face the masters a trois: Van Gogh, Renoir and Monet.
True to form, it was an elegant yet simple, plentiful and delicious meal as you will soon see. I should add that we all drank with great gusto and consumed enough food to feed an army of starving artists.
For starters, it was the groups consensus that we immediately order champagne as everyone swore they were dying of thirst. Toulouse-Lautrec noted that since he wasn’t paying for dinner, he would gladly take charge of ordering the champagne and a moment later chilled bottles of La Veuve-Clicquot, Carte Jaune and Moët et Chandon, Impérial appeard on the table and we toasted one and all on this special occasion. I noticed that while Lautrec was a little man he had a giant thirst matched only with a roving eye that never seemed to miss a passing skirt nor a colorful comment to go along with it. More than once he would nudge me “You see her? I know her from the Moulin Rouge, an exquisite model, is she not Monsieur?” then he would wink.
To help ease us into our culinary expedition, three dozen or so Escargots de Bourgogne were ordered which seem to disappear as quickly as they arrived; we all took great care to sop up every last bit with slices of fresh baguette. We then moved on to individual servings of steaming hot soupe à l’oignon which arrived a table with the gratinée still bubbling down the side. To match this delight, we ordered bottles of Chablis Grand cru, a Puligny-Montrachet, and a Vouvray Sec, L’Ancestrale. “Everybody must have plenty of wine, it’s very important with food and for the digestion” explained Monet. Monsieur Cezanne turned to me raised his shoulders up and down then quietly inquired if I had ever been to Aix-en-Provence, I shook my head and he passionately told me about his birthplace, pausing just momentarily to slurp from his soup spoon or to take a long thoughtful sip of wine after which he carefully wiped his moustache and continued on. He noted “I see we’re missing my old friend Pissaro, that’s too bad he would have enjoyed himself today, perhaps another time.”
For the main course, we agreed on a communal-style entrée which included Pièce de bœuf grillée, Cuisse de canard rôtie à l’orange confite, Emincé de volaille and Boudin noir aux piments d’Espelette. I passed on the dark-hued blood sausage but both Renoir and Monet fought over who was going to have the bigger piece as if they were both ten years old arguing over a piece of cake (in the end, Van Goh acting as final culinary arbiter, tilted his brush in Monet’s direction.) With such a varied selection of foods, we paired the tasty dishes with a Côtes de Castillon, Château de Chainchon and an Haut-Médoc, Château Bel Orme; both Bordeaux’s were well paired with the grilled beef. For the roasted duck we chose a Moulin à Vent, Château des Jacques and a Morgon, Domaine Foillard. Lastly the Chambertin, Domaine Trapet, Grand Cru Pinot noir was a fine choice for the chicken and the blood sausage.
We concluded our meal with an Assiette de fromages because we all agreed with the French writer Brillart-Savarin, who declared that “a meal without cheese is like a beautiful woman with only one eye.” So with the gauntlet thrown, we ordered a wonderful selection of cheeses which included a Bleu de Gex de Montagne au lait cru, a Brie de Melun, a Camembert, a Mimolette, a Cantal, a Chevrette du Poitou and finally a Coulommier. Our desert included a Mousse glacée à la noix de coco which turned out to be a big favorite with everyone and a Tartelette fine aux pommes which I particularly liked because I matched it with a Caramel à la crème salée, one of my weaknesses. For our digestif, we had a choice of Hennessy Paradis Rare Cognac, Domaine de Coquillon Armagnac, Calvados Huard Hors d’Age, Mandarine Impériale Napoléon, and Marie-Brizard. The Cognac and the Armagnac seemed to win the day. We raised our glasses and toasted.
For a moment everyone at the table was quiet. Belts loosened, stomachs satisfied and full and all of us perhaps a bit sleepy from an excellent meal. We enjoyed the moment a little longer, just being together, all of us à table. Then slowly, one by one, my guests melted away into the fading light of a late winters’ afternoon in Montmartre.
Je vous remerci Monsieur chirped the waitress as she handed me l’addition for a ham and cheese sandwich and a demi-pichet of red wine. As I was leaving, I picked up a napkin that had fallen to the floor and noticed on one side a sketch that looked remarkably like my own profile.