Chapter 9 - Chez Napoleon

Robby has a real soft spot for Chez Napoleon.  Actually, he has a soft spot specifically for Grand-mère's pate, which I know he looks forward to as soon as the decision is made to eat there.  There is a huge difference between "I learned to make pate in culinary school and I got an 'A'" and "I learned how to make pate by watching Maman make it the way her Maman taught her."  Don't ask me what's in it.  Hell, it's pate, so you don't WANT to know what's in it.  But it's g-uuu-ud...

Who is Grand-mère?  Folks, this is a family run restaurant, and Grandma really is the chef.  There's not a piece of broccoli rabe or a slab of Chilean sea bass within three hundred yards of this maison, and if you're pining for Paris, you'll really think you're there if you're here.

If you check out this picture, you will be a bit deceived by the lens that was used - Chez Napoleon is quite teeny.  Which is fine and nothing to be ashamed of.

They can seat around 40 people, and having been around since 1960, these folks know how to get you in and out if you're seeing a show in record time.  If you make a reservation for the first seating, they may ask you (politely) to clear out before the second, post theatre seating occurs, but that will only happen if they're fully booked.

Kel, Julio, Robby and I arrived at our normal 6:30, and as my eyesight is going I asked our waiter what Grand-mère was cooking up that night for the Prix Fixe because I couldn't read the blackboard.  Shades of third grade.  And, you see, rather than doing a usual three or four entrees that diners choose from each night, the concept of the Chez Nappy prix fixe is letting Grand-mère cook whatever entrees she feels like cooking that day and letting you know what they are when you get there.  The waiter let me know (politely - always politely) that he would rather wait until all the diners arrive so he doesn't have to go over it more than once.

The prix fixe here doesn't give you a lot of choice, being a family kitchen, but at $30 it's completely forgivable.  Julio, Kel and I went for the salad to start, but Robby chose the cream of watercress soup du jour and he was a bit disappointed.  Rob is a Midwesterner and he doesn't like wildly spiced or exotic food by any means, so if he's complaining that his soup is on the bland side, it's got to be pretty damned bland.    To be fair, though, watercress isn't the most flavor-packed green in the world, and a traditional cress soup is likely to be bland.

The chicken entree of the evening was really, really lovely, though.  You're not going to get a fussy presentation here - as all four of us went with the chicken, the entire pot was brought out to us, and Chez Napoleon's version of chicken stew was stick-to-your-ribs yummy.  Not a traditional coq au vin so much as stewed dark meat on the bone with potato and onion and a homemade brown gravy that I would have been proud to turn out myself for a holiday meal with friends.  String beans were served alongside, and were cooked perfectly in just a little butter.  Past experience with the steak au poivre was also good, though I have to admit that when I was eating red meat I was quite a sucker for steak au poivre, and it would have had to have been awful for me to complain.  The sauce was a little old-school French, i.e. heavy, and for obvious reasons.  But the sign says "Chez Napoleon" not "Chez Diet Food."

The choice of wine at CN goes without saying - a traditional French restaurant without a traditional Chateuneuf-du-Pape would be an absolute crime - but at $70 bucks a bottle, we left that for the guy at the next table who was ordering it to impress his Match.com date.  The house red or white are absolutely fine, and at 8 bucks a glass were certainly more my speed.

Dessert was more than satisfying.  The boys went for their chocolate fix with the mousse, and I chose the creme caramel.  Both were excellent, and made with love.  As it turned out, the second seating was not full, so no one made any moves to hustle us out of there.

As Chez Napoleon is kind of tucked away on 50th near 9th Avenue, you don't get the tourist crush that you do at some theatre-district restaurants.  It's cozy and quiet, the theme is French comfort food, and unless you're in the mood for something more eclectic, more bizarre, more way out in Top-Chefy left field, you'll have a good, wholesome dinner here.  Trust me.

Chapter 8 - Cafe Un, Deux, Trois (Theatre District)

Over the years I've eaten at Cafe Une, Deux, Trois a lot.  I seem to remember a lot of noise and plenty of good spaghetti.  That much hasn't changed. There's even a clone (I guess they could have called it "Cafe Une, Deux, Trois, Deux" if they'd been the kind of smartasses that I am.) down in Manhattan Plaza, and that's good as well.

Unlike a lot of restaurants in this city, CUDT is pretty large.  It's a pleasure to have room to move around in when you're eating in Manhattan, but, as happens sometimes, the acoustics in the place are incredibly hot, and like the John's Pizza down on 44th, it's so incredibly noisy that it rather makes you feel like you're eating in a very, very fancy high school cafeteria with great food.  On the particular night I was down there, the wait staff seemed to be singing "Happy Birthday" four or five times (I think the fourth and fifth times were just a joke by people wanting to go along with what seemed to be a trend that night.).

I had a ticket to "Women on the Verge" so I figured I'd pop in here and try the PF, taking a seat at the bar.  I did get a tad bit of "I'm the bartender so I'll only serve you dinner under duress" attitude from behind the bar, but only a tad.  I was pleased to discover that the Prix Fixe Menu was under $30 bucks for the usual three courses, and that there was a comforting variety of choices.  I chose the mixed green salad to start, but the pate is quite good as well, and the only reason I didn't choose the soup is that it was a creamed soup and I'm trying desperately not to blow up like a balloon this holiday season.  Like I do every other holiday season.

Anyway, my mind was taken off mister cute snobby waiter when someone ordered a glass of absinthe.  They have an urn set up at the edge of the bar for proper louching of the drink, carefully balancing the sugar cube over the tiny glass, dripping cool water on the sugar and letting it seep slowly into the absinthe to release the little green fairy.

How lovely.  Not before dinner for me, though, thank you.

I've had the pasta here many times before, so I passed it by this time in favor of trying something new.  And as my buddy Andi says, if you're going for a prix fixe entree, why not choose something that costs more to make than a plate of spaghetti does?  The Poulet a la Moutard was just what I needed.  Chicken breast can be scarily dry, but this was not so, and the mustard sauce was a good complement.

Dessert was nicely turned out, with a more than serviceable chocolate mousse jockeying for position with one of my favorite things on earth - a blood orange sorbet that almost (but not quite) rivaled the blood orange sorbet they used to serve at Rafaella in the village.  (Oh, why oh why did they close down my lovely Rafaella, with it's lousy service, it's cute waiters who didn't speak English, and it's lovely coffee and sweets?)

But back to Une, Deux, Trois - this place has been around long enough to know how to get you in and out in time for a show, the price of the prix fixe ($29.95) is right, and nothing you're served here is ever going to be a misfire.  You can even have a romantic snort of absinthe, poured in the old French way, if you want to impress your date.  True foodies may find the menu a little run of the mill, and the flavors a little timid, but Cafe Une, Deux, Trois, all things considered, is a definite "oi" and not a "non", trust me.