Price Quality Ratios

6 February 2007 by John Talbott    414  
  Some years ago, when prices had not reached the stratosphere and the dollar was king, Colette and I were treated to dinner at three spectacular starred places by my then publisher, my then prospective publisher and my then Swiss re-insurer.  They included the Grand Vefour, Carre des Feuillants and Les Ambassadeurs. Let me emphasize that these were my choices and we didn’t pay a sou.  It was the meal at the Carre des Feuillants that made the biggest impression, however; we were literally and figuratively wined and dined, champagned and degustationed; aperitived and digestived.  At the end I saw the bill and even with a most favorable exchange rate, it was $250 a person.  As we walked back to the metro, we quickly agreed that it was simply not worth it, even free.  During this period, our “Best Of” fall-back restaurant if we found ourselves suddenly out on the street, was the Bistrot du Dome, where if memory serves me, we always got out for under $100 a couple and the wine was fixed in price in the low $20’s; we were always happy and felt we got our money’s worth and more. So jump to the present.  A dear friend and I wanted to try Les Bouquinistes in the 6th. And I’m sure you know why. You know the restaurant. You’ve passed it a million times walking down the Quai on the left bank of the Seine.  The place was one of Guy Savoy’s cleverest off-shoots; hip, with interestingly made up dishes and it was reasonable.  Chef William Ledeuil was personable, creative and dynamic.  Most of all it was fun; not jerky fun but serious fun.  Over the years I’ve passed its window dozens of times and glanced at the menu and could see the prices slowly but steadily creep up.  Then, of course, Ledeuil opened his even more spectacularly successful but weirdly named Ze Kitchen Galerie cheek to jowl to Les Bouquinistes and for a while he and his subalterns could be seen slipping out the door to return to the Mother Ship for some ingredient or other.  So now we were no longer frequenting the offshoot, but the offshoot of the offshoot.  But still we drifted by the window and scoped the menu.  The choices looked OK but the prices seemed a tad over what they should be.  Most recently, I’m not sure how many Guy Savoy-trained chefs later, there is a new one.  I wrote my pal, the Real Food Critic whether I should go and he said “Sure, Why Not?”  (I’ve kept the email as blackmail).  I’m about to tell you why you should not. The answer is not only because of the food but because of its price-quality ratio.  But I’m getting ahead of myself.   Nice welcome.  No aperitif asked about, but that’s cool.  The menus are opened; startlingly uninteresting choices a la carte and equally true on the reasonably priced “menus;” which featured two courses for 25 €; three for 28 €.  I start to backpedal.  The last refuge of a scoundrel is not patriotism but ordering two entrees. But that’s wussing out.  So a bit of negotiation with my dining partner and we agree on a first; but make the same mistake we made three months ago, we ordered the same thing.  Fortunately it (raviolis with shrimp) was alright, not great, mind you, but alright, although two other friends had raved about it.  Then the mains – spring suckling lamb and scallops on a bed of black ink risotto – I know, I know, never order risotto in this country, French chefs think that Italian cooking, being inferior to the French variety, is easy.  Well, it’s not.  The scallops themselves were good product, OK prepared; the lamb overcooked, overdried, over there.  Desserts? – are you kidding.  Just some weak pallid coffee fit for the Occupation and the bill – no mignardises mind you. Oh, the wine.  Well, you’ll recall that one of Savoy’s rationales in building the empire (as had been used by Robuchon and others) was that bulk buying should have resulted in better priced and better qualitied wine and products.  Search for Waldo as I might, though, I couldn’t find but one red under 40 € and that was 39 €.  It was good, indeed, quite good, but overpriced for a Fronton. As we’re waiting for the bill, my pal asks what I thought of the meal (a question my partners in eating always ask, thinking I know more than they do or they want to disagree with the self-proclaimed expert) and how was I going to write it up?  “Alright, no more than that – and I’ll never be back” I said and added something like “and not at all exciting.”  Earlier he had responded to my complaint that I found nothing interesting to order as follows – “Yes, but if tourists come and have the menu it’d be OK.”  I said “but the choices?;” he replied “they’re not looking for what we are.” OK, so that’s how it stood before we saw the tariff.  The bill arrives = 140 €.  What?  My friend, this mild mannered, erudite, sophisticated and not dirt-poor, long-ago immigrant to America who is as articulate as can be, says “What a rip-off, that’s the rip-off of the century.”  “Last night I ate a great meal at Versance for the same price – what a difference.” Now in fairness, we are jaded eaters.  And, our standards are probably a bit tougher than most people.  And, and, nothing was disgraceful – well, I lie – the risotto was utterly disgraceful.  And finally, we didn’t think it was worth it for 100 €, but at 140 €, forget it.  
  • SUBSCRIBE
  • ALREADY SUBSCRIBED?
Previous Article Forgive My Silence
Next Article France Against The World

By John Talbott