Le Relais de L’Entrecôte – Paris

Steak, chips and special sauce, twice. 

A friend of mine once went to Paris and returned regaling tales; not of the Sacré Coeur or Da Vinci’s Mona Lisa, but of a restaurant that served nothing but steak, chips and special sauce, twice. Now getting steak and chips once is pretty good, but to get it twice in the same sitting is comparable to being reincarnated as Hugh Hefner.

Since that idle conversation I have always vowed to pay one of the “L’Entrecôte” restaurants a visit. Suffice to say it has been some time in the making. So long, in fact, that in the intervening years, the restaurant chain has expanded and has set up shop in Manchester. But that would be too easy.

Being a man of my word, and always in the mix for a jaunt, I decided to take that long overdue trip to France’s capital for steak, chips and special sauce, twice. (I only did the trip once).

There is a no booking policy at L’Entrecôte; you just turn up. On arrival we queued out the door which was a slight cause for concern, but not for long. Within five minutes we were escorted to our table – the turnaround times at this place are like an F1 pit-stop: quick, well-oiled and slicker than a vat of chip fat.

The place itself feels more like a hustle-bustle café than a restaurant. The Venetian décor lends itself to a relaxed and informal dining experience which prides itself on service and simplicity. And nothing could be more simple than the menu – there isn’t one.

Our drink orders were taken and à la mode of Michelle Dubois, our waitress said this only once: “How do you like it cooked?”. I listened carefully, and having already done my homework, I wasn’t going to be caught out. I knew straight away she was referring to the steak.

On receipt of our preferences she wrote “AP” (à point) (medium rare) on her notepad which also happened to double up as our paper tablecloth. As waiting-on jobs go, this isn’t a bad one. I reckon even Manuel would come across as fairly competent here. I mean all he really has to do is put the butter on those trays and get Sybil.

The starter arrived, though it was more of a distraction from the main course, than a conduit towards it. I always believed it was supposed to be a Waldorf salad but it was bereft of any apple – just a few mixed leaves with a sharp mustard vinaigrette dressing and a sprinkling of nuts. It was the sort of thing you’d reluctantly give your rabbit and even then it might turn its nose up.

Distraction over, we awaited the “special” event. Steak, chips and special sauce. Brimming with a mixture of excitement and anticipation, I felt like I’d just been invited to Hilary Briss’ shop for a lock-in.

It didn’t disappoint. There was steak. There were chips. And there was sauce. And it was special. It was creamy; it was herby; it was salty; it was spicy. It was everything I love about food.

It didn’t disappoint the second time either. There was more steak. There were more chips. And there was more sauce. And it was just as special. It was still creamy; it was still herby; it was still salty; it was still spicy. It was everything I still loved about food and was probably the best déjà vu I’ve ever experienced.

The chips or frites were light and crisp and served piping hot on both occasions. My only slight issue was with the steak. Although very tasty, I would have preferred it cooked to a point, and then some. I adore to eat raw meat in tartares and carpaccios but medium-rare is my steak preference. For me, rare gives an unpleasant jelly-like texture which results in you having to chew good meat incessantly. This was as close to rare as hen’s teeth.

For one of my friends, it was a less special experience. He suffers from a nut allergy so had lettuce to start and couldn’t risk trying the sauce in case one of the special ingredients was from the nut family. We even asked the waitress if it contained nuts but she was unable to say. Did she even know for that matter? Colonel Sanders has had top chefs working under him for years with no idea of his original recipe.

To compensate for a lack of choice for the two preceding courses, there was a list of seventeen dix-sept-ively delicious French desserts. It is up for debate as to who originally mastered the crème brûlée so I thought the only way to decide was to try one in France. The crème was superb – light and creamy, but there was a distinct lack of brûlée, rather a dusting of unburnt sugar. One-nil to Grande-Bretagne.

Sybil arrived charging us 25 Euros a head for steak, chips and special sauce, twice. That included the rabbit food too, not that it really warrents a mention. Drinks and dessert were in addition.

If I were to sum up my experience of L’Entrecôte in one word, that word would be “special”. The sauce is that good.

Le Relais de L’Entrecôte

Paris VI

20, rue Saint-Benoît

T: +33 1 45 49 16 00
W: http://www.relaisentrecote.fr