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A Rare Breed of Chef Serves Up Hints
of Days Past
PARIS - If the walls at 5 Rue de Fleurus could talk,
they would speak volumes. Even before 1967 - when Jean-Claude
and Jeannine Gramond took over this minuscule bistro
that might well have served as the setting for A.J.
Liebling's gastronomic splurges - the address had a
sense of flair.
Gertrude Stein is said to have lived at some point in
the tiny, two-story house in the courtyard now occupied
by the Gramonds. Hemingway lived down the street.
One can chart the social and cultural changes that
have overtaken the neighborhood since the day the couple
opened their restaurant with five francs in the cash
register and nothing more than a desire to serve simple,
classic French fare. In the 1960s they often did two
services at lunch, sending the overflow for a walk in
the Luxembourg Gardens until places were liberated.
Before Francois Mitterrand became president of France,
he lived around the corner, on Rue Guynemer, and was
a frequent diner. The bourgeoisie of the neighborhood,
including august members of the Academie Francaise,
politicians, bishops from Rome, United Nations leaders
and editors from the many publishing houses within a
stone's throw of the Luxembourg made this their cantine.
In short, the sort of place Parisians like to call an
''etablissement confidentiel.''
Today, the lace tablecloths, the bouquets of dried
flowers, the fish tank in the tiny glassed-in terrace,
are all testaments to days long past - another life,
another style of cooking. And so is the dearth of ''clients
fidèles.'' Publishing houses have moved to the
suburbs, the two-cognac lunch is a relic of yesteryear
and many of the intellectuals are now too old to make
it out of their apartments to the Gramonds' domain.
The younger generation would rather find nourishment
at neighborhood cafés.
Chef Gramond's cuisine is both earnest and admirable.
He makes twice-weekly, middle-of-the-night treks to
the Rungis market for produce, meat and fish. They have
always split the chores, he cooking out of a compact
kitchen in the back, she tending to the 20 or so spots
in the dining room.
One of a rare breed of chef left in France today, Gramond
refuses to alter the classic cuisine he learned more
than 40 years ago in the hotel school in Toulouse. The
menu, handwritten and mimeographed in purple ink on
the machine they bought three decades ago, is brief
and to the point: You might find seasonal green asparagus
from Provence bathed in a chervil vinaigrette; a commendable
terrine of foie gras; plump scallops seared in butter
and served on a bed of leeks; small, tender baby leg
of lamb with a fine sorrel sauce.
Daily specials might include a lamb stew prepared with
white beans, or haricots blancs, grown by Gramond on
their farm in the Vosges. And come fall, his game specialties
take over, with a delectable wild hare terrine; a civet
de lièvre, and roasted partridge.
Three bulging cellars beneath the restaurant harbor
treasures from days past:
A hoard of sturdy Santenays from the Cote de Beaune,
dating to 1978, all priced at less than 400 francs.
A charming 1982 Carmes Brion goes for 389 francs. There
is an exceptional, long maturing Chasse Spleen, with
the 1976 priced at 430 francs; as well as a 1975 Pierbone
at 268 francs.
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THROUGHOUT the evening, the chef timidly enters the
dining room in his clogs and spotless whites, awaiting
each diner's opinion on his latest efforts. Later, come
dessert time, he is back in his domain, and you hear
the gentle rhythm of egg whites being beaten to stiff
peaks, ready for his famed soufflé Grand Marnier.
So go, with a hunger for the fine classics of French
gastronomy, and toast a chef who knows of what he cooks.
Chez Gramond, 5 Rue de Fleurus, Paris 6; tel: 01-42-22-28-89.
Closed Sunday. Credit card: Visa. A la carte, 280 francs
(about $45) a person without wine, including service;
350 to 400 francs with wine.
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