Le Petit Dakar: Senegalese and West African Dining in The Marais

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Le Petit Dakar: Senegalese and West African Dining in The Marais
One morning last month I decided to find a new restaurant for lunch. I was in Paris for only five days and usually like to relax in familiar surroundings during my shorter Paris sojourns. But sometimes even these old bones develop a sense of adventure—especially around food, where I can be particularly adventuresome. I reported recently in BP about my discoveries of cidre in an Ile St. Louis crêperie and choucroute at Brasserie de L’Ile St-Louis. That day I was destined to experience the sweet and pungent tastes of Senegelese food for the first time, as well as discovering a shop devoted to the works of African craftspeople, a gallery devoted to comtemporary African artists, and a bar/expo/jazz club featuring African and other world music—all on a small street in the Marais. That overcast March morning, I walked to the kiosk at the corner of Blvd. St.-Germain, just across from métro Maubert Mutualité, and purchased the current Pariscope. Then I crossed the street back to the daily marché near the métro and chose a small chunk of some wonderful goat cheese, a tiny bag of Provençal black olives (the kind that are soft and not too tangy) and a small loaf of bread. Chewing on the bread, I walked a few blocks to the little park across from the Cluny Museum entrance and sat on a bench to eat and peruse the weekly restaurant guide. At the end of the Pariscope were a few pages written in English (authored by Time Out). One of those pages highlighted new and interesting stuff, where I found a six-line review of Le Petit Dakar, a restaurant (named after the coastal city in Senegal) that is part of a one-block complex of gallery, gift shop, restaurant and bar, all run by La Companie du Senegal et de l’Afrique de l’Ouest (Senegal and West African Company). Senegal is a French-speaking Muslim-African country on the northern Atlantic coast of the continent, shaped like an angry face looking west with its snarling mouth slightly open and chewing on the tiny country of Gambia. On its pointy nose is Dakar, the capital, a crowded city of two million people, according to Internet travel guides. I was to find out later that the Companie du Senegal et de L’Afrique de L’Ouest was started in 1995 by Valerie Schlumberger, a woman who discovered Senegal at age 16. For some time, she’ s lived both in Paris and on the small, poor island of Goree just off the coast of Senegal, where she ran a clothing and dying workshop. She now runs artist’s workshops, a community clinic and childrens’ workshops through the ASAO – Association du Senegal et du Láfrique de lÖuest. She opened her first gift shop in Paris in 1995 in rue de Grenelle, to distribute the productions of west African craftspeople and market African artists. Later, she moved the gift shop to Rue Elzévir, opened the restaurant and gallery in year 2000, and the bar-expo in March of 2003 with a partner. According to the Time Out reporter, Le Petit Dakar is a real find to be experienced quickly before the rest of the world gets wind of it. The night he was there, a Japanese fashion team photographed their meals. I jumped on the métro, emerged on Rue de Rivoli at St.-Paul, walked a few blocks down Rue Pavée to Rue de Francs-Bourgois and turned left past the Carnavelet Museum to find Rue Elzévir. One more right turn, and a half block down on the right, is Le Petit Dakar. When I walked in, only three tables were occupied. The restaurant is so intimate that those few patrons made the place almost one-third full. By the time I left, most of the tables were filled. It felt pleasant just to enter the restaurant. The décor was a comforting melange of oranges and pinks and yellows, African music was playing in the background, and I was greeted with a friendly smile by a woman who seated me right away. Then she rested a small blackboard against the back of the other chair at my table–the entire menu (the only copy) was chalked onto that board. When I had finished ordering, she took it over to the table of three men who had entered after me. Apparently there was only one person working in the restaurant, but that did not affect the service. The woman seemed to both serve and cook, since she kept disappearing into the kitchen to bring out the food…and there were no sounds coming from that direction when she wasn’t there. That day, there were three entrées, four plats and three desserts to choose from. (I notice that on the web menu there are eight entrees, five main courses and five desserts; perhaps they don’t serve all of them at lunchtime). I ordered the signature “Salad petit Dakar,” which had a lovely, slightly spicy dressing and was constructed of mixed greens, a number of substantial slices of avocado, three small grilled shrimp, a tomato and other veggies. It was 7 euros. For my main dish, I I chose the Yassa de poulet, which arrived just a short time after my salad. It was a large chicken leg and thigh cooked in a light, tangy sauce, served with a wonderfully aromatic mound of rice crowned by a slice of lime and some vegetables (carrot, squash – just a bit), all hidden under the leg. Covered by the sauce as a sweet surprise were a couple of green olives. The price was 11 euros, and with a small glass of wine for 3 euros would have been enough without the salad. But I wanted to try everything. As I ate, I saw a giant yellow gâteau delivered to a woman at a nearby table. She really seemed to be enjoying it, but it was too much dessert for me after my salad, main course,…
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Michele is a corporate lawyer and writer who visits France often and is convinced she must have been French in an earlier life -probably hanging around with Ernest Hemingway during what she calls his "cute" stage, living on Cardinal Lemoine and writing on rue Descartes - which just happens to be be her usual stomping ground. From her first time in Paris and that first feeling of familiarity she has returned often as if it is her second home. Now the hotels are Airbnb apartments and she enjoys being a short-term local and shopping at the market, cooking her own meals. Sitting on her own Paris balcony , a wineglass or morning coffee in hand, she writes her journal, describing her walks around town as the proverbial flâneur and taking notes for the future’s stories and travel pieces.