one who descends from the market Lices to rush into the street Nantes cheerful at the idea of discovering appetizing restaurants may be a bit put off at first, when his eyes crossed that will showcase the association Follereau which opens the prospect of Street. I wrote that in spite of myself of the window, and there is no longer correct. For it is truly a look that one meets when one looks at the front, an icy look, a look perfectly scandalous to say everything, that reminds you that in 2007 it is necessary that people are fighting against this disease completely what leprosy curable, then we should do for decades to hear about it, as the case of smallpox for example. If this appears to mention bad taste in a post dedicated to gastronomy, I would say that the real bad taste will be that will chicken or lamb vindaloo Roganjosh papillae on naive tourists who visited India a somewhat Ideal too, will have a look avoid crossing sembable those that I recall. This small moral lesson, it's not me who makes it, by virtue of chance in the world, the street itself, who pays attention to his surroundings. If I transcribe here is that it struck me whenever I passed by this stretch of road, and this may be more than the first time it was given me, it was not for this simple image, but the stark reality and tragedy of a few men crossed into the alleys of Varanasi.
A few yards away, in the same building, a stark contrast shakes you by crossing the front of the Guehennec . We never ate-although it is possible that the taste will be glad, for there are the peepers who are in distress: the flood of fake wood trim in shades of clear, pristine tablecloths desperately whose boss seems to oversee whiteness, watching your clumsy fingers ready to drop or spill crumbs stuck-uptight atmosphere, we consider the worst meaning of the subtitle tradition. Maybe one day on occasion, run out of ideas for a ticket, in a fit of recklessness, and G. Patoumi themselves and challenge the icy look and scarf sad lady, to taste the dishes sir.
Income on the other side, we meet successively Café Breton ( where we did not hesitate to use the raw pork to a pregnant woman , arguing that "it's the way it is eaten, Madame, "and where you are invited to go hardly serves to release the final table in exchange for free coffee counter-but since the owners have changed, and I know nothing new), the Canteen Delight (we had pretty good eating, long ago, but if we remember a previous post, it was she who was responsible for the abominable syndrome the-course dessert full, so it should return in moderation, to judge again a clear mind), the Refuge (Savoyard restaurant that seems never-season, who knows why); El Popoca (Tex-Mex restaurant with the memorable pina colada was somewhat marred by burritos too bourratos , and seems to have had recent problems with hygiene standards, according to some rumors). And then we arrive at the Atelier des Gourmets , our destination.
We had already tried to dine there in the past, but had been turned away for lack of free tables. Consequence of this disappointment of an evening, forgetting several months. Then a word from a colleague, I suggest that the excellent cook the Arsouille his high regard for his colleague the Workshop , Put the bug in his ear. So we booked, this is essential.
We ate three times, and the third was too much. The first two times, overcome with emotion of a romantic dinner, I found the first room where we were installed rather pleasant, like a little bistro campaign. The second time I had found almost cute: we were on the edge of the window, sitting at a table in a quiet corner overlooking the street through striped curtains. The third time we are shown the second room, and there simply is ugly: Suspensions conical home Confo reveal their yellowed bulb, flood light reveals the slightest comedo, and the grotesque number pooch sommelier-server can not find any shade to escape our eyes afflicted. I pass on the wallpaper, dishes, cook book on the table with revenues leave Patoumi appalled ("false Ginette Mathiot where we make meatballs stuffed bread).
As we know, we take an entrance, two dishes, one dessert, two glasses of wine and a San Pellegrino , but our pooch we still wonder how he will do his calculation on the menus! I want to retort that I do not care, it is his business, but I do not have that rude and I told him to do as it wishes. This remark had already been leveled at the last time, but at the end of the meal only, and ecstasy in which I had sunk greatly facilitated my indulgence. This time, not neighborhoods. Taking
plate.
For starters, we choose a vinaigrette shells and pork cheeks, white onions espuma. Remembering the pork cheeks of Holy Love, we can only be attempted, although the small note Ferran Adriesque title makes me a little wary.
It brings us a glass jar so Parfait. First disappointment thus: the jar itself is a substitute. Difficult to describe the dish: clams and pork cheeks are very small cubes, shows no difference in texture (which would have been interesting, mellowness somewhat elastic pork cheeks versus the soft firmness of the shell ), the whole bathed in a vinaigrette that gives the whole a very strong taste of ... brawn. Well, on the question of espuma ... From my high school English, I have not forgotten that espuma means foam or, if one wants to make a note of lightness, scum. I am a little disappointed that the leader here, who does not, moreover Cooking molecular sacrifice to this unbearable fashion styling is all we can do with a siphon espuma. When the effect in the mouth is a cream of onion without interest, its lightness is also very quickly faded under the onslaught of our bands, to mingle with the dressing in a liquid informs. I do not care much for this entry.
A word about wine: I chose to accompany this entry with a glass of Saint Nicolas de Bourgueil 2005 The Rouillières of Frederick Mabileau . So yes, it's fruity, it is drunk, but so is the St. Nicolas de Bourgueil that I feel I have ever had it anywhere else. In my opinion, a wine with no personality.
To avoid appearing to spit in the soup, I still want to say two words about our entry the last time. We did not notice the detail, and my memory betrays me, but it was kind of shredded crab with avocado cream, with a light lemon vinaigrette. The accompanying a spoon topped with a walnut egg of a fish whose name escapes us and a little arugula. Without the title and precision of memory, this may seem trivial, but in truth it was perfect. So what? The cook he lost his head, hand, or simply his cap? See more.
The dish: Patoumi chose Palette smoked pork, vanilla cauliflower, broth emulsified . Decidedly, he bought a trap and he did not call. Patoumi found and determined: the broth is bland then announced "very tasty", the palette is fibrous and dry, the whole totally lacking in freshness, too heavy and too dense, and finally the cauliflower was a little bitter. In summary: not pleasant in the mouth. The best on the plate, Patoumi note, these are the rats, perfectly cooked and very sweet, but hey, no need to go to a restaurant to eat rats.
I have decided to hand the cop fillet baked pear with saffron sauce sangria. I will not mince words: it was cold or lukewarm. The cop probably would have been delicious as well rare, but can we speak of a successful cooking when it comes to coolness? Sangria sauce boils down to a wine sauce, however, rather light and subtle, but it is cold and begins to coagulate the plate. I'm boo.
To accompany this disaster, a wine country of the Vicomte Aumelas, Area High Blanville , Rive Gauche. This one, however, pleases me very much. Both fruity and well structured, with rich aromas, in particular of liquorice, a delight. But it gets lonely all alone, especially as it sets its sights on the can and say that although hot, she would have made a worthwhile companion.
Our last dish was a confit rabbit in a fine reduced juice, as clean as the entry that preceded, accompanied with mashed parsnips and sauteed artichokes (the server, as this time, was quite proud to tell us what those vegetables, as if we were fools enough air just to have never even heard of). The intensity of the regrets of our taste buds against the miserable failure of this time are matched by the ecstasy that ours was the last time. Finally
this funeral, we presented our condolences to Gavottin caramel. So they were gavottes out of the box, each with between one layer of vanilla mousse flavored industrial limit.
We were so disgusted that we did not coffee, and I got to eat, sorry, my dear Patoumi with a small Swiss Malo topped with sugar crystals, because to complete the whole ... I was not even full. And because we did not finish our plates ... Would we have each taken three course dessert, as indelicate server told us that it is more convenient to do so, it would not change much: we would have done that day, that increase disappointments.
So what? What is the cause of this wreck? Absence, illness or change of leader usual? New map not rehearsed? Unlucky day? I do not hold, and probably never will hold the explanation, mais il est certain qu'une telle expérience dissuade pour longtemps de se risquer à nouveau en de tels lieux.
A few yards away, in the same building, a stark contrast shakes you by crossing the front of the Guehennec . We never ate-although it is possible that the taste will be glad, for there are the peepers who are in distress: the flood of fake wood trim in shades of clear, pristine tablecloths desperately whose boss seems to oversee whiteness, watching your clumsy fingers ready to drop or spill crumbs stuck-uptight atmosphere, we consider the worst meaning of the subtitle tradition. Maybe one day on occasion, run out of ideas for a ticket, in a fit of recklessness, and G. Patoumi themselves and challenge the icy look and scarf sad lady, to taste the dishes sir.
Income on the other side, we meet successively Café Breton ( where we did not hesitate to use the raw pork to a pregnant woman , arguing that "it's the way it is eaten, Madame, "and where you are invited to go hardly serves to release the final table in exchange for free coffee counter-but since the owners have changed, and I know nothing new), the Canteen Delight (we had pretty good eating, long ago, but if we remember a previous post, it was she who was responsible for the abominable syndrome the-course dessert full, so it should return in moderation, to judge again a clear mind), the Refuge (Savoyard restaurant that seems never-season, who knows why); El Popoca (Tex-Mex restaurant with the memorable pina colada was somewhat marred by burritos too bourratos , and seems to have had recent problems with hygiene standards, according to some rumors). And then we arrive at the Atelier des Gourmets , our destination.
We had already tried to dine there in the past, but had been turned away for lack of free tables. Consequence of this disappointment of an evening, forgetting several months. Then a word from a colleague, I suggest that the excellent cook the Arsouille his high regard for his colleague the Workshop , Put the bug in his ear. So we booked, this is essential.
We ate three times, and the third was too much. The first two times, overcome with emotion of a romantic dinner, I found the first room where we were installed rather pleasant, like a little bistro campaign. The second time I had found almost cute: we were on the edge of the window, sitting at a table in a quiet corner overlooking the street through striped curtains. The third time we are shown the second room, and there simply is ugly: Suspensions conical home Confo reveal their yellowed bulb, flood light reveals the slightest comedo, and the grotesque number pooch sommelier-server can not find any shade to escape our eyes afflicted. I pass on the wallpaper, dishes, cook book on the table with revenues leave Patoumi appalled ("false Ginette Mathiot where we make meatballs stuffed bread).
As we know, we take an entrance, two dishes, one dessert, two glasses of wine and a San Pellegrino , but our pooch we still wonder how he will do his calculation on the menus! I want to retort that I do not care, it is his business, but I do not have that rude and I told him to do as it wishes. This remark had already been leveled at the last time, but at the end of the meal only, and ecstasy in which I had sunk greatly facilitated my indulgence. This time, not neighborhoods. Taking
plate.
For starters, we choose a vinaigrette shells and pork cheeks, white onions espuma. Remembering the pork cheeks of Holy Love, we can only be attempted, although the small note Ferran Adriesque title makes me a little wary.
It brings us a glass jar so Parfait. First disappointment thus: the jar itself is a substitute. Difficult to describe the dish: clams and pork cheeks are very small cubes, shows no difference in texture (which would have been interesting, mellowness somewhat elastic pork cheeks versus the soft firmness of the shell ), the whole bathed in a vinaigrette that gives the whole a very strong taste of ... brawn. Well, on the question of espuma ... From my high school English, I have not forgotten that espuma means foam or, if one wants to make a note of lightness, scum. I am a little disappointed that the leader here, who does not, moreover Cooking molecular sacrifice to this unbearable fashion styling is all we can do with a siphon espuma. When the effect in the mouth is a cream of onion without interest, its lightness is also very quickly faded under the onslaught of our bands, to mingle with the dressing in a liquid informs. I do not care much for this entry.
A word about wine: I chose to accompany this entry with a glass of Saint Nicolas de Bourgueil 2005 The Rouillières of Frederick Mabileau . So yes, it's fruity, it is drunk, but so is the St. Nicolas de Bourgueil that I feel I have ever had it anywhere else. In my opinion, a wine with no personality.
To avoid appearing to spit in the soup, I still want to say two words about our entry the last time. We did not notice the detail, and my memory betrays me, but it was kind of shredded crab with avocado cream, with a light lemon vinaigrette. The accompanying a spoon topped with a walnut egg of a fish whose name escapes us and a little arugula. Without the title and precision of memory, this may seem trivial, but in truth it was perfect. So what? The cook he lost his head, hand, or simply his cap? See more.
The dish: Patoumi chose Palette smoked pork, vanilla cauliflower, broth emulsified . Decidedly, he bought a trap and he did not call. Patoumi found and determined: the broth is bland then announced "very tasty", the palette is fibrous and dry, the whole totally lacking in freshness, too heavy and too dense, and finally the cauliflower was a little bitter. In summary: not pleasant in the mouth. The best on the plate, Patoumi note, these are the rats, perfectly cooked and very sweet, but hey, no need to go to a restaurant to eat rats.
I have decided to hand the cop fillet baked pear with saffron sauce sangria. I will not mince words: it was cold or lukewarm. The cop probably would have been delicious as well rare, but can we speak of a successful cooking when it comes to coolness? Sangria sauce boils down to a wine sauce, however, rather light and subtle, but it is cold and begins to coagulate the plate. I'm boo.
To accompany this disaster, a wine country of the Vicomte Aumelas, Area High Blanville , Rive Gauche. This one, however, pleases me very much. Both fruity and well structured, with rich aromas, in particular of liquorice, a delight. But it gets lonely all alone, especially as it sets its sights on the can and say that although hot, she would have made a worthwhile companion.
Our last dish was a confit rabbit in a fine reduced juice, as clean as the entry that preceded, accompanied with mashed parsnips and sauteed artichokes (the server, as this time, was quite proud to tell us what those vegetables, as if we were fools enough air just to have never even heard of). The intensity of the regrets of our taste buds against the miserable failure of this time are matched by the ecstasy that ours was the last time. Finally
this funeral, we presented our condolences to Gavottin caramel. So they were gavottes out of the box, each with between one layer of vanilla mousse flavored industrial limit.
We were so disgusted that we did not coffee, and I got to eat, sorry, my dear Patoumi with a small Swiss Malo topped with sugar crystals, because to complete the whole ... I was not even full. And because we did not finish our plates ... Would we have each taken three course dessert, as indelicate server told us that it is more convenient to do so, it would not change much: we would have done that day, that increase disappointments.
So what? What is the cause of this wreck? Absence, illness or change of leader usual? New map not rehearsed? Unlucky day? I do not hold, and probably never will hold the explanation, mais il est certain qu'une telle expérience dissuade pour longtemps de se risquer à nouveau en de tels lieux.
L'atelier des Gourmets, 12 rue Nantaise, 02 99 67 53 84
Posté par G.
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