Entrecôte en France
The first meal we tried was something that I had never heard of before, but later came to know very well as a beloved staple of France – L’Entrecote. The entrecôte is actually a particular cut of meat between the ribs of the cow, and rather expensive! I have since done a bit of internet browsing wherein a number of people have complained that this cut is no longer used in all entrecote style meals, substituting cheaper cuts. However, at 25 euros, I’m inclined to think it was the real deal. We were paying that much for it, at least!
We had been recommended Relais de L’Entrecote by friends who had previously visited Paris, and Fishball had been and failed to get in on his last trip to France, as it was closed for the summer. I wholly approve of the lunchtime-dinner break for restaurants and the summer holidays they take – everyone needs a break, servers included. I was actually very surprised and glad to see a lot of older people in the restaurant service industry; it appeared a viable and stable career, rather than the fleeting university part-time stop gap for students who wish to augment their income. The second best service that we received on this trip (the best being at a wonderful restaurant, Terre et Mer, review soon to come!) was at another branch of a similar chain, simply named L’Entrecote, and characterised by its adoption of bright yellow tablecloths and uniforms for the waitresses.
This particular chain, however, was a little less colourful, with a simple red and white colour code, and more white than red. It was a kind of roughly cheerful place, packed to the brim with people who were here to eat one thing, and one thing only; meat and fries. It wasn’t haute cuisine, but it didn’t give off that vibe anyway. Our waitress was friendly but rushed, fielding my attempts at broken French and deciphering our English, and often disappearing to serve the other tables under her wing. The entire place buzzed with conversation, at the peak of a lunchtime rush. There was a queue before us, but we were seated within ten minutes. At the time, I wondered why it was so popular. Upon reflection, we were pretty lucky with regards to restaurants – we were turned away at most of the small cafes and restaurants that we attempted to visit thanks to lack of reservation, but never had to wait long, and not a single meal was bad. Some were better than others, and one or two had the slowest service we’d encountered, but funnily, the worst was due to an Englishman, and the meal itself was acceptable. But that’s another story.
We were seated, or rather, squashed into a corner, and asked how we liked our meat. No menu? (Our naivety shines through) No. One dish only. Well then, we said, all medium. Voila. Our waitress scribbled on the table, and disappeared. We chatted. Around us, we began to piece together what sort of place we had come to. Everyone was served the same thing, a small salad to start, followed by steak and chips. Or, steak frites, as we soon learned to recognise. It was our first day, so my rusty French had not really begun to emerge, although I later became the master translator of the French cartes (menus) and order-er of la norriture (the food).
An average bread basket
Soon, we received a radish walnut salad each, to go with our basket of bread. This bread basket was to reappear at every meal, no matter where we were, or what time it was. As some of you may know, I avoid grains, especially wheat, but this was the trip of a lifetime. Thus, avoidance, but not abstinence, was my law on this holiday. Yes, I probably had a bit of a stomach ache after some meals, and yes, I probably gained about two kilos too, but it was well worth it. The bread wasn’t ever really anything to shout about, so unless Clembeans particularly urged me to sample it, I didn’t eat it, but as it was my first meal, I ate my first slice of baguette with bread. Ah bread, how have I missed thee? Let me count the carby ways.
The deceptive mustard bomb
The salad was light and fresh, though weighed down with a heavy dollop of mustard that had Clembeans almost tearing up. Even Fishball, mustard lover, found it a little overwhelming. Little did we discern the French love of mustard at this early point. I suppose that someone French could argue instead – what is this English and American love of tomato ketchup? Chips are to be eaten with mustard. And who desires thick-cut chips? Shoestring fries are the way to go. After all, they are French fries. Therefore, we are correct! I must admit, I have been somewhat converted to this skinny chip fetish. Before this trip, I was solidly a fat chip person, bought fresh from a good fish ‘n chip shop, drenched in vinegar and a waterfall of salt. However, the French are winning me over with light, crunchy, crispy chips, several speared on a fork in one go, liberally salted and dipped in moutarde. C’est delicieux.
Steak frites, the entrecote way
The chips served with the entrecôte beef were our first taster of this, but of course, it was the meat itself that shone. Tender and not chewy, covered in the special entrecôte sauce (served in two portions, since the meal was big enough for two plates), it was a great start to our trip. We had taken the early Eurostar train in, skipped breakfast, and were raring to fill our stomachs, so the large portions satisfied us wholly. Our favourite component of the meal was the sauce, addictively more-ish, asking to be eaten with everything – steak or chops – and then to be mopped up with any remaining bread. And then to be licked surreptitiously off the plate. Which, of course, I did not do, being in public and polite company. I cannot vouch for such good behaviour at home, however, whenever Clembeans serves up a particularly delicious meal. Ahem. Onwards!
The rest of four servings, awaiting ingestion (at L’entrecote)
Clembeans and I soon became embroiled in a long blind-tasting discussion. This may or may not have simply been an excuse to spoon the stuff into our mouths and go ‘mmm, I think it has herbs’. I have since lazed researched for several hours just googling the different ingredients that go into this sauce. There are some very opinionated people insisting on the correct sauce out there! From what my tongue and brain have been able to discern, it’s buttery, and herb-y. End of story. Clembeans claimed that there was parsley in it somewhere. He’s probably right.
We all had our particular desserts by which we judged the places where we ate. Clembeans is a crème brulee person, and will order sugar (and butter, please) crepes if the place is right. I prefer starters and mains, but if I choose to have a dessert – which occurs more often than is perhaps healthy – the restaurant’s profiteroles will call my name. Princess likes tarte tatins and anything to do with sweet berries, and Fishball, like Clembeans, goes for the crème brulee and crepes. He was also our wine guide and espresso drinker on the trip.
Heavy on the sauce, but worth it
So, for this first dessert, I chose a house favourite, the profiteroles. They came drenched in chocolate sauce and flaked almonds, and just thinking about them now makes me salivate a little. They weren’t the best on the trip – the king of profiteroles appeared to me at Le petit roi de la lune – but these came second. My scorecard for profiteroles asks: does it have a crunchy, rather than soggy and chewy, exterior? Yes, it did. Does it have a cold, on-the-edge-of-melting interior? Check. Sauce? A little too heavy and chocolatey. Flaked almonds? Passably toasted. Although the dessert didn’t do so well on the latter, it was a good start.
Queue outside, before the restaurant opens
At the next entrecote house at which we ate, the aptly named L’ entrecote in Toulouse, the basic food outline was the same – salad, chips, steak, with a fair range of desserts should we manage to stuff it down afterwards. There’s an interesting history to the way the entrecote restaurants have spread throughout France, and which I read about over at the Contrarian Progessive. This place was even more crowded, and the next day, we ate around the same area and saw a queue that trailed to the pavement curb, even before the restaurant opened (see picture above)! We arrived at a brief lull in the rush of customers, I think, because otherwise, the Sunday crowd would have crushed us in their hunger. According to their website, and my limited language skills, it appears to be the oldest, and most popular branch. I have no problems with believing that; its two floors were packed to the max. It seemed to be fairly well known to tourists, too, as I heard loud British accents from the table behind me.
Inside the restaurant, packed with diners
The service at this place, efficiently attended to by a lovely lady who I judged to be no younger than her 40s, at the least, was amazing. She was one of the few people who noted when water bottles needed to be changed, when the bread basket was empty. All the rushed service certainly kept her fit – she was in much better shape than her typical British counterparts.
Walnut salad
This time, there was a much lighter, non-mustardy dressing on the walnut salad. The presentation was nothing to write home about, but these places aren’t haute cuisine, and it tasted great. I enjoyed it much more than the Relais de L’Entrecote’s version. I used to be a bit of a salad hater, with the exception of the classic Caesar salad. Even now, I will opt for cooked veggies over raw. However, from despising nuts in my salad, I now enjoy the textual and tastebud contrast that they contribute to a plate. On this little plate, the salad was much more than a mere entrée; in fact, I would happily foregone my meat for a meal of salad alone.
And this is merely half of what we were served!
That would have been a mistake, however, because the mains were excellent. I took my meat rare this time, scorning my plebeian travellers who opted for medium. I laugh in the face of food poisoning! In fact, remind me to tell you of my recent venture into the culinary danger zone – beef tartare. I call this living on the knife edge (geddit? Yes? I’ll stop now…). Anyway,
Rare as it can possibly be without a heartbeat
Clembeans, Fishball and Princess, my three compatriots, discovered that the restaurant served Coke in a bottle. This, apparently, is the Holy Grail of Coke. It is the black fountain of youth filled with bubbles of crack. You get the drift.
Coke(ain)
My photos fail to do the plate justice, but I adore the French tendency towards cooking the meat bleu – which is translated as rare, but with the middle nearly raw. Sashimi or tartare meat would be included in my last meal.
Another giant serving
For dessert, we sampled one of the house specials, le vacherin au chocolat. This was a massive portion of meringue, chocolate sauce, ice cream, all topped with whipped cream. We had two between the four of us, which nearly wiped us out! It was a little too sweet for my taste, but Clembeans was a fan, and it was a generous portion for a mere €5.50! Food prices were certainly cheaper outside Paris, which was a welcome relief to the pockets.
There is a branch in London who those who want to see what this is like, but Jay Rayner has not been very impressed with it, and from the sounds of it, although it is the offspring of a Paris chain, it is a pale imitation of what entrecôte could be. Go to France on your next holiday. Have entrecôte. You won’t regret it.
Dining al fresco @ L’Entrecote? Why not?
| Relais de L’Entrecote | L’Entrecote | |
| Food type: | French – salad, entrecote, served with skinny chips, optional dessert | |
| Location: | 20, rue Saint-Benoît, Paris(with two other locations in Paris, and one in Geneva) | 15 Boulevard de Strasbourg31000, Toulouse
(as well as four sister branches across France) |
| Date visited: | Tuesday, 13th June 2012 | Sunday, 17th June 2012 |
| Meal price and value: | €30 per person, for a full meal with wine and coffee/dessert | €16.50 for the salad, steak and chips alone€25 per person, drinks and dessert
Service charge included (oddly, 15.55%!) |
| Enjoyed: | Main (steak, fries), profiteroles | Salad, Mains (two thumbs up), service |
| Could improve on: | Salad | |
| Verdict: | Go, if you’d like to try and you’re in the area, but I would perhaps try another chain | Highly recommended for entrecote dishes, and better value for money than Relais de L’Entrecote |
| Others who have reviewed: | Paris By MouthAlexander Lobrano, writer of Hungry for Paris | CritikparisInterestingly, this French review was the only one I found! Everything else seemed to be tripadvisor, or yelp. |
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