7.9 Le Gare au Gorille (named not after the stations and railway tracks beside it but the 1952 Georges Brassens song), 68, rue des Dames in the 17th (Metro: Rome), 01.42.94.94.24.02, closed Sundays and Mondays has only been written up do far TMK by Yves Nespoulous who went on opening night a week ago, but there were 4 critics I recognized today so count on the other big boys and girls weighing in soon. It has the now manditory gray metal fascade, a simple 2-2-2-2 "menu" and a sleek, stark (not by Philippe) and inviting interior - plus inviting, warm, welcoming staff (who knew me from prior meals elsewhere, so COI declared).
At first glance the 2 apero charcuteries sounded banal and the 3 course 25 E "menu" uninteresting; oh boy was I wrong! Colette had the boring-sounding chinchard with shaved raw navets and raddishes, potatoes and a terrific mustard sauce and I a had the boring-sounding but astounding mushroom soup with an egg and haddock and onion rings. Top.
She then had the boring-sounding chicken with carrots and aged forme and I had the boring-sounding tuna with romanesco brocolli, onion and olives (which gave the actually boring broccoli some needed ooompf).
We ordered up and had the cheese ("compte and reblochon, no?" I said - "No, St. Nectaire and tomme." Ouch) and a soup of pear, ice cream, honey and tuile-like pain d'epices. Yum.
With a bottle of fine Zig Zag, no bottled water and coffee, our bill was 81E.
Go? Well, folks, I've got bad news for you; when Yves Nespoulous coins a word Sophistroquet (like Sebastien Demorand coined Bistronomique) and says this place is in a class with the Clown Bar, Roseval, Bones and Clamato) not forgetting that Chef Marc Cordonnier and front-room-sommelier Louis Langevin come from Septime, you're gonna have to reserve a long-time in advance. I also predict this will be a NYT fave very soon.
