"For
me, L'Ami Louis in Paris is certainly one of my favorite places to go. Not only
is the food great, but so is the sense of history. To be sitting in that
restaurant going back generations and generations, imagining all the other
people who have sat there, it's almost like being in the company of the ages.
Not to mention that their chicken is just incredible, and the foie gras. It's
that perfect kind of bistro, especially on a Sunday afternoon in Paris.''
– Thomas Keller, The French Laundry
L‘Ami Louis opened in 1924. It has not changed since.
The original owner was
maîtrerôtisseur,
Antoine Magnin. Easily identifiable by the red bandana that was always tied
around his neck, he ran the restaurant up until 1986, when at the age of
eighty-five, he sold the business to Thierry de la Brosse and Louis Gadby, the
latter previously a waiter there. Under the terms of the sale, Magnin remained
in the kitchen after the exchange, to be assisted by the sous chef who
had been at his side for eighteen years already. However, a year on, in November
1987, he was obliged to check into a Paris clinic for health reasons; a week
later he passed away. De la Brosse, who is also co-owner of Aux Lyonnais with
Alain Ducasse and who has been a regular at l’Ami Louis since he was seventeen
years old, later said that ‘it took me about three years to convince him that I
would be a good candidate to carry on his tradition’. He also let slip that the
late, great roaster had two real loves in his life, ‘cooking and women,
especially American women’.
In the 1930s, l’Ami Louis was one of the most famous
restaurants in the city, serving, it is claimed, more game, especially ortolons
and bécasses, than anywhere else in Paris, as well as a hundred lobsters every
day. During the Second World War, it is rumoured to have been a clandestine
retreat, but today it is the haunt of celebrities and American tourists; and is
supposedly a favourite of former US president Bill Clinton who was introduced to
it by former French president Jacques Chirac during a 1999 visit. In fact,
Chirac was a regular customer whilst mayor of the city. Even Mikhail Gorbachev
has made it here. General sentiment towards the restaurant remains split: plenty
criticise its high prices and the type of clientele it tends to attract, but
plenty also applaud the quality of the food. In October 1997, le Figaro
concluded in its ‘notre
classement des meilleurs poulets rôtis‘ survey that l’Ami Louis had the
best roast chicken in the capital. There is also an anecdote wherein a Michelin inspector is to have told Magnin that the inadequacy of access to
the eatery’s bathrooms was all that was holding it back from winning any stars;
in reply, Antoine asked, less delicately than put here, whether people go to a
restaurant to eat or to go to the loo.
Sitting in essentially an alley in the less than fancy
third, l’Ami Louis is a testament to pre-war Paris. Simple shop front of dark,
lacquered wood and sign-printed windows, semi-swathed in red-checked curtains,
obscure a museum-like interior. Blotchy rusty-auburn walls, lined with coat pegs
beneath shelves that run along the long walls on either side of the narrow
dining area, are littered with port-hole shaped mirrors and black-and-white
prints. On the far side, a large fresh fruit stand stands in front of a
telephone booth and across from the bar/prepping station. The tiny, cramped
kitchen is hidden behind these. Half-way into the room, a stainless steel stove
pipe, running off an antique oven fireplace, runs across and then out the
ceiling. Salmon pink and flower-embroidered linen is laid over square tables
that are tightly set either side of a central aisle, the Escher-ish patterned
tiles of which have been worn away by waiters’ walk. Bright bulbs shed a
distinctly artificial light. The crockery is Apilco. The décor is shabby, but
purposely so. Larger-than-life waiters, dressed in white jackets, are led by the
biggest of them all, part-owner Louis.
The carte is crammed full of classics: scallops,
snails and duck confit starters precede plats principal such
as agneau de lait and côte de veau. I decided to order the two
dishes that the restaurant is arguably most famous for, the foie gras
followed by the roast chicken.
Entrée:
Foie Gras de Landes. Three bricks
of thick, house-made foie gras from Landes were teamed with a tower of
toasted baguette slices and block of unsalted butter. Each pinkish slab of pâté came skirted and streaked with yellow fat. Firm at first, the
foie,
having begun melting once upon the hot toast, became creamy and soft on the
tongue. The taste was rich and indulgent yet surprising light and clean. The
portion was realistically just enough for me two three and though I had
resentfully decided to relinquish my dish half-way through (coincidentally at
the same time as the bread had cooled and butter depleted), the production of
another plate of fresh-grilled baguettea forced me to reconsider…
Plat Principal:
Poulet Rôti (entier). One
whole, wood-oven roasted Coucou de Rennes, peppered with watercress,
came in the cocotte it had been cooked in; a mountain of matchstick frites
followed. Before I saw it, I heard its sizzle; before I heard its sizzle, I
smelt it. The bird was a beast. I have seen bigger, but never been served one –
however, when a single breast is sufficient to fill one’s plate, there is no
reason to complain. The skin crackled; its meat was succulent and juicy with
real flavour; and the gravy was rich, hot and delicious. My only disappointment
was that the innards were overdone and thus inedible – the liver literally
became a biscuit.
The chicken, roasted in l’Ami Louis’ famous wood-fired stove
that is still intact but now encased in stainless steel, was first coated in
butter then finished in goose fat before being cooked at a very high heat on a
rotisserie. This specific breed is an ancient Breton one that almost disappeared
just twenty years earlier. One hundred years ago, the Coucou was
winning awards for its quality, but slow-growing, it had been slowly neglected
mid-century in favour of more competitive, meat-producing breeds. In 1988, a few
of the last surviving specimens were adopted by the ecological museum in Rennes
and the race saved from extinction. It is now an AOC-protected species, raised
free-range and organically.
The shoestring chips that accompanied it were fairly
crunchy, but a touch greasy and ought to have been warmer. That being said, once
dipped in the jus rôti, they become more than palatable. I was just
about coping when the infamous galette de l’Ami Louis arrived
unannounced. In this unadulterated rendition of pommes Anna that the
restaurant has made it own, Desirée potatoes are steamed and fried,
before being baked with goose fat and butter and garnished with raw garlic,
chopped parsley and a little black pepper. Its crisp, golden coat concealed
piping hot, creamy centre. This ‘cake’ was so good it almost made me regret
every bite of foie gras and each skinny fry, which at this point only
seemed to prevent me eating more of this utterly tasty dish.
Shamefully, not only was half the
galette left
behind, but half that considerable chicken. ‘Waste not, want not,’ as they say –
I had the leftovers à emporter. For the record, a couple of days later,
the remaining breast made an excellent snack meal, still full of savour.
Forgive me, but for the first time in fifty-plus meals, I
was forced to forgo dessert…
Let me point out first that just two dishes are a flaky
foundation upon which to build a solid judgement of any restaurant, but indulge
me whilst I at least share some of my thoughts. The cuisine here is easily
described: excellent, often humble, ingredients cooked consummately and served
generously. It is old-fashioned, country-style food, the sort that your
grandmother would love to prepare for you if you only took the time to visit her
– provided she were French (but then she would be one’s grandmère) and
that possibly she lived in a village. All such technicalities aside, it is hard
to argue (and resist) a good roast chicken. It is simply one of cooking’s most
classic pleasures. Indeed, in this respect, I found l’Ami Louis hard to fault –
the quality of the bird, its plumpness, tenderness, its taste and texture were
great. The galette was gorgeous; foie gras very good; although
the chips were a minor marring. Normally, prices are not a subject I dwell on
(and even that is an exaggeration), however, it would be difficult to mention
l’Ami Louis without mentioning what it charges. Needless to say, prices are dear
and evaluated on a dish-by-dish basis, they are difficult to excuse. Although,
if a group of two or three were to order how I did, I am certain they would be
left neither hungry nor bitter with the bill.
The staff, though interaction between us was rather limited,
came across as friendly, patient and attentive. Superficially sluggish (these
were big guys), they were quick to scurry across the dining room at the
slightest hint that I was going to serve myself more chicken whilst freshly
toasted bread for my foie gras arrived without me needing to ask for
it. They also, midway through the meal, surprised me with a date-stamped menu as
a souvenir; I am not sure whether this is usual practice, but it was a nice
gesture nonetheless.
With regards to the atmosphere, I may have missed out on the
notorious l’Ami Louis experience. Arriving for an early Sunday lunch, the
restaurant had only two other tables taken besides mine; both by French couples.
No tourists and no noise; no hustle and no bustle. Some would think it a
disappointment, some a blessing, but personally I am probably equally happy with
either scenario provided that the food is toothsome and service of good
standard.
Reading the glowing remarks of better authorities than
myself – it was beloved by the late R.W. Apple, still is by Thomas Keller and
Ruth Rogers; highly recommended by Patricia Wells; and where Simon Hopkinson
would want his last meal – is enough to convince one of the merits of l’Ami
Louis, but the question stands whether I would return.
The answer is most likely no. However, there is something so
attractive about the rustic excess and heartiness of it that it is hard to
ignore. If I were to return, I reckon it would be for another Sunday lunch, but
certainly not alone.
32, rue Vertbois, Paris 75003 tel: 0033 1 48 87 77 48 nearest metro: Arts-et-Métiers, Temple
