BY CARLA WALDEMAR
Barbette
1600 W. Lake St.
612-827-5710
barbette.com
What was all that ooh-la-la-ing coming my way from street bands and sultry chanteuses on a recent July weekend? Oh, right: the annual Bastille Day celebration at Café Barbette. Good reminder that I hadn’t supped there in ages, and it was high time to treat myself to a relaxed evening in a cozy spot that’s as close to a funky Parisian bistro as any in this Scando state.
So I lined up a friend for a rendezvous under the colored lights, artistic posters and French ballads on the sound track tweedling its way through the shadows blanketing the booths and tables. Glad to be back. And, as I think the French said, the more things change, the more they remain the same.
What didn’t change—never has, nor will, if they know what’s good for them—is Barbette’s classic steak frites: a thin and ultra-juicy 10-ounce cut of beef plopped atop a bed of slim green beans and attended by a ski-slope-size heap of French fries, slender as a drinking straw and super-crispy, served with a small (wa-a-a-y too small) cup of the kitchen’s addictive Bearnaise sauce (New York strip $39). The birthday boy in tow left smiling.
Moi, I ordered the nightly-changing four-course menu, $32. (I would have said “tasting menu,” but those generous portions constituted a whole lot more than mere tastes.) First off, a suave and accomplished greens-less summer salad composed of shaved carrots, slim fingers of zucchini, and more squash—petite patty pans—tossed in a beguiling, understated, lemony dressing called “charred citronette.” We mopped it with slabs of French bread, delivered upon request.
Next, the fish course: a bowl harboring tender, ivory chunks of sea bass, whose mild demeanor got a boost from a broth jumping with chorizo in which lolled cuts of beets, asparagus, more squash and baby bok choy: delicious, indeed, but not breathtaking (and that’s not Barbette’s mission. We’re talking comfort foods with a slight French accent).
Next, brûléed pork belly—solid, not fatty, hunks of meat with a pronounced, almost salty, cured flavor. They lounged on a bed of wild rice dotted with whole baby carrots in a pork demi-glace dotted with currents for those bursts of sweetness needed to cut the salt: a dish of substantial rather than subtle flavors: maman’s hearty cooking.
The finale—blueberry cobbler served with vanilla ice cream—delivered august in a ramekin, lush with lots of fruit spared of over-sweetening under an inch of light, tender biscuit topping. But what went wrong in the kitchen? A grab for a shaker of something white that turned out to be salt, not sugar, to sprinkle atop the topping. Not a treat.
Barbette’s regular menu begins with breakfast (French toast, natch, plus croissants and more). Dinner treats, French bistro style, include raw oysters; steak tartare with anchovy and raw egg (again, natch); a reinvented Salade Nicoise; classic steamed mussels; grilled asparagus with poached egg and Parmesan; chicken liver pate; and lots, lots, lots of steaks. Also, Wild Acres chicken and options for vegetarians.
I also love the late hours, parking lot and sidewalk seating, all (except the parking) like dining on the Left Bank instead of Lake Street. And a Champagne bar next door is in the works. Vive la France!
