Le Daru is located at 19 rue Darue in the 8th just off the Boulevard de Courcelles and down the road from the Russian Orthodox Cathedral in what is known as Little Russia. Le Daru is supposed to be the oldest Russo-Parisian restaurant in Paris and was first established as a Russian-French groceries store in 1918 by a former officer in Czar Nicolas II’s army. How rich is that? Shortly thereafter, Le Daru became a restaurant and was offering the Russian immigrant community such home specialties as zakouskis, blinis and caviar and one of my favorites, bœuf stroganoff.
Daru is the perfect place for a home away from home for nostalgic émigrés who have found their way here since 1918. For ambiance, this place is tough to beat. Going in you feel as if you stepped back in time and suddenly found yourself in old Moscow. You fully expect to meet Rodion Romanovich Raskolnikov in the flesh, so to speak. The warm wood tables and paneling, blood-colored banquettes and hanging lights, barrels of vodka, authentic art works, portraits of Czars and a collection of glasses in proper sizes for sampling wine, beer, vodka – of which by the way there are never fewer than 20 excellent and some rare ones to choose from. All helps to create a cozy ambiance for meals, conversation and quiet discussions about revolutions. The menu focuses on what Le Daru does best: the great Russian dishes such as blinis and salmon, zakouskis, borscht, caviar, beef stroganoff and more.
Sergei entered Le Daru warmly shaking hands with the Maitre D and saying something in Russian. I received an official Russian bear hug and no sooner were we seated than a tray with two iced shot glasses of Rodnik vodka appeared table side along with a dish of starters, or zakusky, which included an assortment of pickled and fresh vegetables, baked potatoes, bread, cheese, and salted fish. One word about this particular vodka, it’s bottled in Samara, a large city to the East of the Volga River and it’s distilled in supposedly the same manner since the formula was first created in 15th century. If you got a good thing going don’t change horses mid way through the Volga river – or something along those lines.
We looked at our menus and Sergei ordered a bottle of champagne, Bollinger Grande Année 2000. To start off with I chose the Assiette de Saumon sauvage du DARU et ses blinis (smoked Salmon rather than marinated) and Sergei the Panaché de harengs marinés et blinis (marinated herring). As we made our way through the first course, Sergei brought me up to speed with the goings on in his life – turbulent it would seem and probably quite Russian. He was indeed in London and had been a little sad to leave Moscow but he had been presented with an offer that could not, in truth, be turned down. The firm he explained was a successful boutique hedge fund in London with offices in the Canary Wharf district and his office had a beautiful vista of the Thames River. I refilled the glasses, Sergei continued. He realized over time that he was not going to be involved in the anatomy of the deal – which he liked. Instead, Sergei found himself further and further away from the deal and more involved in seeking and legitimizing creative ways to hedge the firms’ ever-growing high-risk investments.
Our waiter approached the table with a couple of excellent suggestions for our second course. I started with La pomme Rouge (baked potato, caviar and crème fraiche which is a delicious, thinner form of sour cream and first developed by the French) while Sergei had the La pomme Sevruga (baked potato, Caviar Sevruga 20g and crème fraiche.) I can tell you hands-down, this was some of the finest caviar I have ever tasted. We ordered another round of chilled vodka as Sergei continued to describe his concerns with the firm and its increasingly precarious financial position not to mention the owner who he believed was clearly aware of the situation and more than once had skillfully resolved any questions to the satisfaction of the financial regulators. Things were going to unravel according to Sergei and it would happen quickly; he didn’t plan on being the one left holding the ticking-bomb when that day arrived as it would most surely. But Sergei knew he was in this mess way too deep; he was part of this mess and some could, and they would, say he had helped create it. It was his genius that had helped craft so much of what was now crumbling from the inside still invisible to the public eye. If he was ever asked what did he know and when did he know it, a truthful answer would most surely send him away for a long time.
With the help of another bottle of champagne, Bollinger Grande Année 2000 we worked through our main course. We both chose something light, for me Le traditionnel Boeuf Stroganoff au paprika, blinis de pommes de terre and Sergei, the Raviolis sibériens au velouté de champignons. Well maybe not so light after all. How can you say no to a perfect stroganoff, and let me add this was deliciously creamy and rich, the way it should be never mind the arteries. I made a note of this dish for future reference. When we both thought we had reached the end …well you know how it goes.
There was still some room left for dessert! Sergei had the ice cream Parfait glacé à l’estragon which comes very nicely with a shot of vodka. I chose something more reasonable like Le Moelleux au chocolat noir with a glass of Wisnowka, Polish vodka. Let me explain a little bit about my heaven, I mean Le Moelleux of Chocolat. It is pure Indulgence with a capital I and so sinfully good it should probably be regulated but because we are in France, chances are something this hedonistic won’t be. The desert is an irresistible mix of mostly chocolate and butter (so what’s not to like?) Once your spoon opens that little innocent looking sponge cake, there is a chocolate lava flow that is, well once again, truly sinful. You almost need to call for help, two spoons, somebody help! If I wasn’t with a guest I would have probably used my fingers hands and tongue to get every little last smudge of chocolate on my plate and every little errant crumb of cake into my mouth. I was indeed a proud member of the clean plate club. More vodka please.
I told Sergei, I didn’t know how I could help. Admittedly I knew one or two people who might be interested including a French lawyer whose firm had handled several high profile cases. Possibly one or two more that I knew socially. In any event, I would inquire discreetly and we would stay in touch. On my way home, I thought to myself that I feared this time my dear smart friend had outsmarted himself. Little Russia indeed. Now where is that ice pick for my Russian hangover?