If the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, le Chateaubriand is breaking hearts all over Paris. We had Great Expectations from this néo-bistro found in an unpretentious avenue in the 11e, whose name simultaneously depicts the father of Romanticism and a rather dandy bit of beef. I could tell you that the time-warp décor, so à la mode with its zinc bar, mosaic floors, dim lights and dark wood furniture creates a casual, somewhat nostalgic atmosphere. I could also tell you that the set menu at 55 euros, printed in black and white on an A4 piece of paper and probably photocopied, is the daily brainchild of a genius self-made chef of Basque origins. All these things are relevant, yes, but the truth is that you only need to know one thing. At Le Chateaubriand, I ate possibly the best dessert of my entire life. If you think that’s an exaggeration, ask the queue trying to get into the second seating because they missed out on a reservation. Sorry Molière, but we think bobos should live to eat.
Bisou bisou, Paris Bobo
Le Chateaubriand, 129 avenue Parmentier, 75011
01 43 57 45 95