Le Comptoir

Since I began this post we left Paris, stopped in Dubai overnight en route to India, and now my nose is burning with the acrid smoke-filled air of New Delhi. In between I had the obscenely luxurious treat of getting here via a first class suite in an Emirates 777, but that is a post for another day.

I still have one more Paris post in me. Despite the crazy smells and sounds and experience of this new (to me) part of the world, part of me (the stomach part) is still dreaming about dinner two nights ago at Le Comptoir. It’s my favorite Parisian dining spot. So tiny, so French, so friendly, and so damn good. The food is special every time.
I have been wondering why I go back to the same restaurants over and over. Perhaps I am in a rut (what an unattractive option!) but I prefer to think that I search until I get it right and then I stick with the treaures I have found.

Le Comptoir is a treasure. Chef stopped chasing Michelin stars and opened this priceless brasserie by day, teensy fine dining venue by night. Not to expensive but, really, perfect. Menu changes every day. Here was ours:

The menu is not quite accurate — it was pumpkin soup, not beer, with the scallops, and not being a pigeon person I had tuna for course number 3 — but it was a perfect meal.

Scallops were seated and served with Jerusalem artichoke, celeri, and tiny balsamic vinegar balls that popped in the mouth with explosive flavor. Scallops arrived and soup was carefully poured around them.  Probably my favorite thing.

Then cod, in corn meal with corn cream and fish eggs. Glorious red plate, just so I could take a perfect picture!!

More fish for the pescatarians(Gale and I) as tuna with artichokes in tomato sauce with exotic spices I couldn’t pin down.

And of course, for the pigeon eaters (Jerry and Tom):

As far as I am concerned, the best part of dinner at Le Comptoir is when they plunk the entire cheese tray in from to you and let you have at it:

And dessert: essentially tapioca with passionfruit, with passion fruit infused cake and buttermilk ice cream. Not much to look at, but oh my heavens.

And quickly, because Osris is in the rear view mirror (for now) and I haven’t mentioned the best breakfast in the world (reserved for those who stay in the hotel.). This isn’t the whole shebang, but just a very fine taste.

Au revoir Paris! Onwards, to new food adventures!!  But be assured we will return.

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