Le Petit Paris: The River Front Times, October 6, 1998

image of RFT article It's not surprising that a city that has thoroughly butchered names such as Chouteau. Laclede, Gravois and the all-time champ, Courtois, has never held a strong affinity for French bistros over the years. We certainly have some French stars — perhaps even some two-stars — but the dominant accent locally is Italian, with various oriental dialects following. More recently, however, French food in St. Louis has been experiencing — what else? — a renaissance, and now comes a sidewalk-cafe addition to that most ethnic of enclaves, the South Grand district.

The biggest hurdle facing Le Petit Paris is likely going to be raising the bar in the South Grand district, which is generally known more for value and diversity than for upscale dining. With an average entrée price of around $16, Le Petit Paris is at least half again as high as the neighborhood mean, but, judging from what we were served, it's got a good shot at success.

The atmosphere reflects the name, with only about a dozen tables squeezed into every bit of usable space of the storefront and another set outside as weather allows. The decor is busy and eclectic, with unusual shades of eggplant and raspberry — er aubergine and framboise — on the walls, gold-leaf chair rails, loads of artwork, and even musical instruments hanging, alons with a chandelier, from the painted-tin ceiling. Flowered china sits on white linen, and in one element that may be taking it a bit over the top, berets are de rigueur for the waitstaff.

The environment is great, but the real payoff is in the kitchen, where someone obviously knows the subtleties that separate an average French meal from a superior one. I was especially taken with the approach toward sauces, which featured full and sometimes complete flavors but were always treated as a complement rather than a compromise.

We began with the huitres Normandes and a lobster crêpe, the former a half-dozen oysters not as noticeable for their size as for their perfect plumpness and delicate seasoning with garlic and fine herbs. The crêpe came artistically double-folded over a reasonable serving of claw and tail meat. The sauce added primarily a smooth background texture, allowing the lobster flavor to hold the limelight.

Our entrées included seafood couscous and the pave mignon du chef, both of which bolstered our impression of a very deft hand in the kitchen. For the former, a molded disk of the beadlike pasta was surrounded by carrots, shrimp, mussels and fillets of salmon and tuna, with a very discreet fish broth providing a hint of flavor and moistness to the couscous. The other dish was an 8-to-10 ounce beef fillet elegantly decorated with a carrot bundle, sautéed peppers, asparagus and potatoes and topped with a very light peppercorn sauce. The portions and the consistency of the sauces were exactly right, leaving us neither hungry nor overstuffed.

That left room for a chocolate-and-banana dessert crêpe called a mokadina and the aptly named flambée spectacular, a Courvoisier-fueled flaming dessert of fresh seasonal fruits.

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Reprinted with permission from the October 6, 1998 Riverfront Times. Written by Joe Bonwich.

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	C'est Grand
Where Magazine "Most Romantic Table 2001" Coalition for a Tobacco-Free Missouri "2001 Smoke Free Dining Award" The St. Louis Jewish Light "Restaurant of the Month" July 2000	It's not surprising that a city that has thoroughly butchered names such as Chouteau. Laclede, Gravois and the all-time champ, Courtois, has never held a strong affinity for French bistros over the years. We certainly have some French stars — perhaps even some two-stars — but the dominant accent locally is Italian, with various oriental dialects following. More recently, however, French food in St. Louis has been experiencing — what else? — a renaissance, and now comes a sidewalk-cafe addition to that most ethnic of enclaves, the South Grand district. The biggest hurdle facing Le Petit Paris is likely going to be raising the bar in the South Grand district, which is generally known more for value and diversity than for upscale dining. With an average entrée price of around $16, Le Petit Paris is at least half again as high as the neighborhood mean, but, judging from what we were served, it's got a good shot at success. The atmosphere reflects the name, with only about a dozen tables squeezed into every bit of usable space of the storefront and another set outside as weather allows. The decor is busy and eclectic, with unusual shades of eggplant and raspberry — er aubergine and framboise — on the walls, gold-leaf chair rails, loads of artwork, and even musical instruments hanging, alons with a chandelier, from the painted-tin ceiling. Flowered china sits on white linen, and in one element that may be taking it a bit over the top, berets are de rigueur for the waitstaff. The environment is great, but the real payoff is in the kitchen, where someone obviously knows the subtleties that separate an average French meal from a superior one. I was especially taken with the approach toward sauces, which featured full and sometimes complete flavors but were always treated as a complement rather than a compromise. We began with the huitres Normandes and a lobster crêpe, the former a half-dozen oysters not as noticeable for their size as for their perfect plumpness and delicate seasoning with garlic and fine herbs. The crêpe came artistically double-folded over a reasonable serving of claw and tail meat. The sauce added primarily a smooth background texture, allowing the lobster flavor to hold the limelight. Our entrées included seafood couscous and the pave mignon du chef, both of which bolstered our impression of a very deft hand in the kitchen. For the former, a molded disk of the beadlike pasta was surrounded by carrots, shrimp, mussels and fillets of salmon and tuna, with a very discreet fish broth providing a hint of flavor and moistness to the couscous. The other dish was an 8-to-10 ounce beef fillet elegantly decorated with a carrot bundle, sautéed peppers, asparagus and potatoes and topped with a very light peppercorn sauce. The portions and the consistency of the sauces were exactly right, leaving us neither hungry nor overstuffed. That left room for a chocolate-and-banana dessert crêpe called a mokadina and the aptly named flambée spectacular, a Courvoisier-fueled flaming dessert of fresh seasonal fruits. Return to Previous Reprinted with permission from the October 6, 1998 Riverfront Times. Written by Joe Bonwich. Sidebar 2	Would you like to learn some of Chef Philippe's secret recipes? Click on the following to learn how to make: Vegetarian Sandwich Philippe's Fresh Fruit Flambé Langouste Stuffed Crêpe Salade du Chef

C'est Grand