Parsing French Restaurant Reviews

Gallia in tres partes divisa estâ and all questions on the “Bac” are answered in three parts; so is it any wonder that most French restaurant reviews are written in three sections as well. I was reminded of this when trying to decipher one of Sebastien Demorand’s Zurban recent reviews of Le Tяuc. The problem with this style is that Americans, used to skipping first to the last sentence of a movie or restaurant review to see if it’s worthwhile reading the whole thing, are stymied.  The last sentence often talks of the dessert, the sommelier or a disappointment.  So here’s my guide on how to read ‘em.  First, as I pointed out in “Who Do You Trust,” it helps if numbers (Gault-Millau 1-20; Figaroscope’s biannual compendia 1-10) or macaroons/stars/blocks/Eiffel towers/hearts are used, found respectively in the Michelin, A Nous Paris, Lebey + Figaroscope’s “C’est Nouveau.”  Second, it helps if the reviewer asks “Should One Go?’ as does Francois Simon each week in Figaroscope’s “Hache Menu,” although he muddies the water by putting cute qualifiers into almost every answer, e.g. if you’re in the neighborhood, if everything else is closed, if your newspaper colleague is with you, etc.  And third, sometimes, as with Figaroscope’s “Dossier” and A Nous Paris’ reviews, there are respectively, a tag-end of pluses and minuses or a side-bar bests and worsts, that tip you off.  But what if it’s one of those long, lyrical, literary reviews written by the reviewers who consider themselves writers first and critics second, such as Demorand and Simon?  They spin out tales, recount overheard conversations of waiter-clientele interactions and use Americanisms, “verlan” (i.e., French youth slang), neologisms and onomatopoeic inventions (rrrrhum rrrrhum = revving up like a motorcycle), not to mention adult pop phrases such as nickel, canon, magique and limpid.  OK, the three parts.  In the US, they would be introduction, body/meat of the review and summary/conclusion/ recommendation.  Not here.  Here it’s (1) Title, (2) Décor and (3) Food.  Start with the title.  Emmanuel Rubin heads his recent review of the new Pourcel-brothers resto in Paris – Sens Par La Campagnie des Comptoirs with the title “Sens: Boarding First Class on a Jet.”  Then you get into a description of the place as resembling the business lounge of an airline club.  And finally he lists the food with brief descriptors of each dish (playful, gently acidic, amusing, etc.)  Does this tell you what the Pourcels serve and if you should go?  Maybe, maybe not.    Demorand is not dissimilar. He titles his review of the new Montmartre place – L’Epicurien – “Half-Fig & Half-Grape,“ implying a division in what it delivers.  And the sub-title – “A small café – sort of” – further confuses one.  The requisite décor/welcome/atmosphere part begins to clarify things with appreciative comments about the wines.  However, then we get to the food and things turn pretty negative as he calls things pitiful or bent.  So we’re left thinking it’s a great place for wine but not much of an eating destination.  Go, no go?  Probably not.  Finally, since the 2006 guidebooks are just appearing, it’s worth taking a moment out to look at them.  Gault-Millau surely set the tone for most food guides in the past 20 years and followed the formula of three parts at least for those places that had high numbers (16-19/20).  Here’s my summary of what was in their 1990 review of Ledoyen.  First a history and provenance of the chef, Phillippe Dorange (these were the pre-Arabian days), giving you some hint of his training, style and hopes for the restaurant.  Then the décor, welcome and prices.  And finally the food, ending with dessert and wine!  Claude (Jolly) Lebey’s Big Book, always the first of the year to appear, turns the style a bit upside down, starting with the rating and chef’s name, going on to the food second and only thirdly discussing the décor, etc.  Only Gilles Pudlowski freewheels along mixing history, provenance of the chef, food and décor, probably due to his training at Sciences Po rather than journalism school.  One thing to watch in a review is the décor/food description ratio; if the content is all about the décor, welcome, history, etc, beware – the food wasn’t worth describing!  In addition, as has been noted by Francois Simon, a lot of reviews of restaurants in one part of France or another does not mean that it is a hotbed of cuisine, it more often indicates where the critic has a second home.  In any case, as opposed to the US, in France one must dig into the meat of the food descriptions to really know what’s what.  It is often difficult to tell straight-up what the guy (and they’re all guys) thought at the end of the meal. Part of this is attributable to artistic license, part to critic indecision but part to what Olivier Morteau (a pseudonym) in Food Business said, that is, that there is a symbiotic relationship between the critic and the food industry and if the critic is too critical, the industry suffers and he may be out of work (just in the past two years Time Out, Liberation + Nouvel Observateur have drastically reduced their food coverage.) Moral: Ignore the décor section, parse the title carefully and dig into the food descriptions with a dictionary and French friend at your side.  My favorite:  Le Tяuc 58 rue du Poteau, 18th (Metro: Jules Joffrin)T: 01 42 52 64 09Closed MondaysA la Carte du Jour about 25€   ©2005 John A. Talbott