Yes, I know, it’s almost Christmas and oyster season started long ago.  However, I would argue that the rule about only eating oysters in months with an “r” tells you when you CAN eat oysters, not when oysters are at their best.  Plus, these are real beauties and were really delicious with a glass of white wine from Olivier Pithon, who makes organic / biodynamic wines in the Côtes Catalanes. This was his cuvée Laïs 2014*.

For my money, oysters are at their best in the cold winter months of December, January and February (allowing for regional variation, of course) after they have had a chance to become plump and firm.  And yes, again, I know that many people now eat oysters the year round.  For me, seasonal eating and seasonal anticipation is a sort of ritual that helps me feel and celebrate that changing seasons.  Oysters, it must be winter.  Asparagus, its spring.  Vine-ripe tomatoes, summer.  Quince, late fall. Looking forward to these seasonal treats, when they are at their best, is part of their special pleasure.

*If you are thinking “Really, a 10 year old white wine?”, I can only say “Absolutely”!  When we visited Domaine Olivier Pithon in the Roussillon town of Calce last April, we learned that Olivier believes his robust whites can age for up to 20 years. He has a cellar full of old bottles to prove it, and he lets them go for prices that are pretty darn reasonable (probably less so in wine shops!).  I would note that we tried a bottle of the same wine from 2022, which was excellent, but to0 young and muscular to pair with oysters.

It is fair to say that the Baron Rouge changed the way I think about how a public space can and should be used.  Before discovering Le Baron Rouge, I had never been in a place that spent so little time making guests physically comfortable or paying attention to the rules, but was so perfectly fitted to the life of its neighborhood. But that is getting ahead of myself.

Le Baron Rouge first entered my conscientiousness by chance, on a Sunday afternoon, when we happened past it during a stay in Paris. Back in the 1990’s, our favorite Paris neighborhood was near the Place d’Aligre, on the border between the 11eme and 12eme arrondissement.  We always stayed in the (long vanished) Résidence Trousseau, a hotel named after the nearby Square Trousseau. Heading back to the hotel one fall Sunday afternoon, we were surprised to see a big crowd of people filling the sidewalk of rue Théophile Roussel. The nearby street market at place Aligre had already closed for the day and the rest of the neighborhood was settling into its Sunday afternoon torpor, as people headed home for the traditional Sunday afternoon family supper.  But here was a boisterous, happy mob, spilling out between the parked cars and into the street.  What is this place?

Pushing up through the crowd, we discovered Le Baron Rouge for the first time.  Behind its cheerful red storefront, a tiny space, one wall lined with wine barrels, the other with a tiny zinc bar, and one corner filled with five tightly packed tables.  Behind the bar, the wall is covered with small chalkboards listing the (seemingly vast) selection of wines.  A few wine barrels are scattered around as a place to put your glass of wine. Toward the back, a tiny kitchen space, maybe 6’x6′, from which emerge plates loaded with charcuterie or runny St-Félicien cheeses. And everywhere, elbow to elbow and shoulder to shoulder, neighborhood denizens, happily raising a glass to celebrate the fact that it is Sunday and one doesn’t have other obligations.

Ordering is a bit of a struggle:  there is no neat order for approaching the bar, you just push forward. When you get to the bar, the service team is friendly but in a hurry and, therefore, would appreciate you having a ready idea of what you want to order – if you want to chat about the qualities of the wines they offer, show up during off hours, when time is not at a premium. The Beaujolais is chilled, the charcuterie is excellent (especially the smoked andouille sausage from Normandy), you find a little corner to put your plate down and life is good.

The toilets at Le Baron Rouge are also a bit daunting. Access to them is through a small door on one side of the kitchen, so you almost feel you are intruding to go that way. This door leads to a small courtyard, mostly used for garbage cans and bicycles.  Against one wall, a rustic lean-to contains a classic Parisian hole-in-the-floor toilet, complete with a dangling pull chain for a flush.  It doesn’t get any more authentic.

Sundays, especially, are good at the Baron Rouge, that is, if you are in a month with an “r” in it.  Then, a friend of the house who raises oysters in Normandy sets up his table on the sidewalk in front, and sells his stock at rates that, by Paris standards, are bordering on philanthropic.  When there is no longer any space inside, guests make due by using nearby cars, fire plugs, garbage cans, whatever may serve as a table. I once saw a young woman balancing an enormous plate of oysters between two brightly striped construction barriers.

The line to order oysters can stretch down the street.  When it was finally my turn to order, I selected the size 5, preferring a smaller oyster (in France, oysters are sized from “0”, the largest, to “5”, the smallest, don’t ask me why).  The oyster man sized me up with a wry smile and said “Grand américain, très petites huîtres!”, then laughed as if he had made a very funny, slightly smutty joke.  Over the course of many years, he made the same joke every time we were there.

On a later visit, we arrived on a Sunday morning right at the 11am opening time, in the hopes of grabbing one of the coveted tables.  We were in luck and sat down in a corner table for 2 on the crowded banquette. As we started on our first glass of Petit Chablis, the bar began to fill up with people finishing their Sunday shopping at the nearby covered marché Beauveau , some with bags of groceries, some with wheely carts, some with kids in tow.  The oyster guy was setting up his stand out front.  Soon, the room was completely packed.  The couple at the table next to us got up to leave and an elegantly dressed older woman pressed forward to take their place, balancing a glass of wine and a platter of oysters.  As she turned to settle into the banquette, her oversized purse knocked my glass of wine into my lap.  Horrified, she apologized profusely, as we all sacrificed our paper napkins to the spill.  Crisis over, our older neighbor insisted in offering me one of her oysters by way of apology.  I looked down at her plate, to see immense size zeros, the largest size available, fully four inches long.  I politely refused, assuring her that it wasn’t necessary, but was really terrified at the prospect of trying to slurp down one of these mammoths.    But she continued to insist and wouldn’t take no for an answer.  Finally, I agreed and, adding a squeeze of lemon, tipped one into my mouth. Holy mackerel, I felt like a sea lion trying to down a king salmon!  Three gulps later and a little green, I was ready for another glass of Chablis.

Over the years, Le Baron Rouge became a sort of milestone for me; on any visit to Paris, I never really felt like I had arrived until I pushed up to its bar and ordered a glass of wine.  With a deep sign, I could feel the worries of the world falling off.  Once again, Paris!

I couldn’t resist a photo of this beautiful mid-winter oyster from the coast near Arcachon.  Now is the time for oysters, when they are sweet and firm and full fleshed.  Yum!

PS  I know that the “month with an r” rule has fallen out of favor recently, but I still think treating oysters as a seasonal treat is a good practice.  Regardless of what some producers say, oysters are better in the cold months – some oyster producers I have spoken to admit it.  I always found that the sweet spot for Puget Sound oysters was from mid-October through mid-May.  Plus, waiting for their prime also builds seasonal anticipation, that wonderful feeling of not being able to wait for the moment when you once again will enjoy a seasonal specialty. For me, seasonality makes the year.

Wow, its oyster season and still warm enough to enjoy them outside on the terrace!  Fall has been unusually warm in the SW of France (the new normal?) so I have waited to try my first oysters of the season until the water is cooler – usually I start thinking of oysters in early October.  These fines de clair from the Charentais Atlantic Coast are just staring to fill out and become what the oyster guy at the Saturday Farmer’s Market calls “charnues”, meaning plump and meaty. Miam, miam!  The “Atmosphères” sparkling  is from the Domaine Landron, located in the Loire Valley near Nantes.  This bottle is pinot noir and chardonnay grown organically.

Chef de cuisine Dre Neely rolled out his Fall 2014 menu last Thursday, featuring dishes that  highlight Fall produce and flavors.  The menu also marks the return of seasonal favorites such as raw oysters on the half shell, and French onion soup.

Here are some photos of the new dishes.  And check out the full menu on our website.

In France, the appellation “fines de claires de Marennes-Oleron” attached to the name of an oyster means that it has been ‘finished’ in one of the claires or tidal basins along the coast of Aquitaine, between La Rochelle and the mouth of the Gironde river.  The idea is that spending time in the nutrient-rich environment of the tidal basin assures an oyster with beautifully firm flesh and the rich, mineral taste of its terroir.  It often (but not always) also gives the flesh of the oysters a subtle green hue, especially the gills that filter the rich waters of the claires.

The smaller oysters shown here are #2 Charente maritime, from the coastline just north of Oleron; the larger are the #3 fines claires de Marennes-Oleron.  Note that in France, the larger the oyster, the smaller the identification number attached to it.  Ones (or even zeros) are the largest, the smallest are usually five or six.  Go figure.

You can read all about it on the official website of the, Groupement qualité Huîtres Marennes Oléron, who are apparently responsible for setting standards for this sort of thing.  I would rather wolf down a dozen or two of these little beauties.  These taste of fresh seawater with a hint of sea weed and copper and the slightest sweetness.  Absolutely delicious.  Nothing else needed but  a squeeze of lemon, some crusty country bread,  salted butter and a glass of crisp white wine, in this case a Cotes de Gascogne.

Yes that green is the trimming from the Brussels sprouts that would follow for dinner.  I didn’t have any seaweed to use.

PS if you like sauce mignonette like I do, the recipe:  equal parts red wine and red wine vinegar (a light, fresh red wine is best, and the best red vinegar you can get), season with salt, add a big pinch of coarsely ground black pepper, a spoon full of finely diced shallots,   done.

Thought you might like to see a few photos of the Winter dishes recently added to the Le Piche menu by Chef de Cuisine Jack Spiess.  Enjoy.

The Petit Commerce, a bistro specializing in seafood, reminds me of two points regarding the city of Bordeaux that are not necessarily the first that come to mind when I think of this capital of wine.

First, Bordeaux is a port city and as such, has a rich culinary tradition surrounding fish and shellfish.   Although officially located on the river Garonne, it is very near the river’s mouth and therefore close the rich fishing of the bay of Biscay.  Bordeaux is also in the center of one of the most renowned oyster producing regions in France, very close to the famous oyster beds at Arcachon and around Oleron.
Second, Bordeaux is close enough to both Spain and the Basque countries that its cooking reflects some of these regions culinary traditions.  In this case, I am thinking of cooking on a “plancha” or flat topped grill.  Its a very simple, rustic way of cooking that adds a rich, caramelized, note to any ingredient.  And one finds it often in Bordeaux.

At Le Petit Commerce, the concept is simple:  very fresh fish, mostly whole, cooked on the plancha and served with the “puree maison” (a rustic version of mashed potatoes crushed with olive oil) and vegetable of the day (which varied on different nights…multicolored carrots were especially good).   The daily choices, which usually number 15-20 fish and an equal number of crustaceans, are listed on a chalk board.  On different visits, we enjoyed huge mahogany shelled clams, pink prawns, razor clams, octopus, soles of various descriptions,  sea bass, and fishes with names like chevalier and merluchon, who’s identities in English go unreported.

Of course there are always a few dishes that don’t involve the plancha:  a traditional Basque style seafood stew, simmered with piment d’Espelette, or crispy fried smelts served with mayonnaise.  There are also several local non-fish choices for the seafood disinclined (confit de canard, steak Roquefort, et al).

The same owner has recently opened a shellfish bar directly across the street and diners at either restaurant can request dishes from the other…so you can start your meal with local oysters on the half shell or a plateau de fruites de mer  that might include raw oysters, clams, mussels, crab, shrimp and sea snails.  Note to the wise:  beware as you approach the front door…harried waiters carrying plates from one restaurant to the other explode into the street at hard to anticipate intervals.

Service can be brusk but I don’t take it personally…Le Petit Commerce seems always full and perpetually understaffed, although the staff that is there is working at full speed.  I take the lead of the surrounding tables of appreciative Bordelais, who spend more time savoring the fish and well priced wines with friends and less worrying about where their server got to.

Do make a reservation;  If not, you will likely end up in the back dining room, accessed via the cellars, along with over large parties of Japanese tourists.

Le Petit Commerce22 rue du Parlement St.-Pierre, Bordeaux
05.56.79.76.58

About this time of year, I start to get the question.  People call.  I get emails.  Guests stop me in the restaurants, or even on the street.  The question that is simmers up every year about this time is:  “When is the Gratin Lyonnais going to be back on the menu?”

Trust me, I am not complaining about having to answer this question.  In fact, gives me great satisfaction when people ask for dishes that they have enjoyed in the past.  It not only lets me know that we have served them something that they enjoyed,  enough to remember and ask about, it also reminds me that one of the things I like most about the kitchen is the way that its rhythms are connected to the cycle of the year.

I think that seasonal anticipation, that envy for the thing that is not in season right now but that you love so much that you can’t wait for it to arrive every year, I think that this feeling is central to the desire to eat well.  I personally like the fact that there are certain dishes or products that are not available all year long.  I know, for example, that our local asparagus will arrive sometime in April or May each year.  When it does arrive, I eat it all the time, because it is the best asparagus I have ever had.  I can’t get enough.  Then, 4 or 5 weeks later, it is gone for the year, and I am done with asparagus until the next year.

In the same way, I am aware that  good oysters are available now all the year around, whether they be shipped from a colder clime or bred to avoid the pitfalls of the warmer spawning season.  However, this doesn’t change the fact that I only eat oysters in the winter.  When the water is cold, and the oysters are at their firm, briny best, I eat oysters.   When I think of oysters, I think of wool sweaters and cold fingers and rain on the windows and chilled Muscadet and the hot, filling, long simmered dishes that will follow a huge, glistening platter or raw oysters, ideally accompanied by grilled chipolata sausages.  I just can’t imagine eating oysters when it is hot outside (this summer’s Puget Sound outbreak of food born illness linked  to raw oysters seems to support my instinct…and  plays into my sense that  these sorts of longstanding rules about seasonal eating have their roots in pre science peasant knowledge that is worth respecting …it may not be rational but then the cult of good food is not based solely in reason).

Of course some will argue, that eating oysters when it is hot is completely natural in  many places, like New Orleans to site just one example.  But then that is really the point, isn’t it?  Eating seasonally is about a place and a time and a product and the rhythm of the seasons and knowing when a food is at its best.

Back to the question at hand concerning the Gratin Lyonnais, or “Soupe gratinée a l’oignon” as we call it at Cafe Presse: when will Gratin be back on the menu this Fall?

Our onion soup is on the Fall and Winter menus at Cafe Presse.  The Fall 2011  menu at Cafe Presse begins on Tuesday  October 18th.

At Le Pichet, the issue is a little more complicated because we change parts of the menu every 4-6 weeks.  However,  Gratin Lyonnais will find its way onto the Le Pichet menu around the middle of October.  When I know the exact date, I will post it here.

If you have a hankering for onion soup that won’t wait until October, you might want to have a look at this post with our recipe.