Le Bouchon

• Restaurant website
• Location: Pearl district
• Cost for two for dinner: $80 with tip, beverage, dessert

Robyn and I seem to have this magical ability to empty restaurants, or at least we frequently wind up being the only patrons in the whole place, and our last adventure was no exception: Le Bouchon, a tiny French restaurant across the street from Lux Lighting in the Pearl.

Now, continentally speaking, it was 7pm so we were a bit early, but not THAT early, not for Portland. “Lately we’re crowded for lunch,” shrugged the hostess, “but at dinner…this.”

We promised to make loud, crowd-like noises and she seated us at a tiny table for two next to the window. A board held the day’s specials in addition to the regular menu, but I didn’t need to glance at either to order; I’d seen what I wanted on a sign outside. “I’ll have the cassoulet.”

Robyn chose comfort food, French-style: Duck confit on a bed of gruyere and sliced potatoes. Think upscale hash. The food would be filling and pricey enough–that was a $21.95 cassoulet I’d be chewing–that we didn’t bother to accompany it with salads or veggies or whatnot.

For those who haven’t gone to heaven on their tastebuds yet, cassoulet is a sort of navy bean soup on steroids. Rich, thick, savory and tangy, it can have, variously, chunks of game, sausage, mushrooms, etc., but it’s always finished with a confit of duck or goose.

I made my first cassoulet during my Julia Child phase, as a teenager. At 22, I had a superb version at one of the best continental restaurants in the US, Erna’s Elderberry House–Erna used to celebrate fall harvest with a “peasant night” in the wine cellar, complete with incredible cassoulet and the new vintages. I continued the love affair years later in France, where great cassoulet variations were a seasonal staple in just about every small village bistro.

Outside of Erna’s, a couple of places in New York that require a credit check to get in, and Chez Panisse down in the Bay area, however, I haven’t found really good cassoulet in the US. You can luck into a home-made version, but most restaurant chefs seem unwilling to spend three or four days making all the component parts, letting them age awhile longer, and then combine everything and spend another couple of days simmering the rich result.

So I’m always on the lookout for cassoulet, but I don’t expect much. Probably a good thing here: The cassoulet at Le Bouchon was rich and tasty but more akin to a fabulous bean soup. A good cassoulet will send me to the moon and back with every spoonful; I stayed firmly in my seat at Le Bouchon.

I still enjoyed it, though perhaps not 22 bucks’ worth. Robyn’s duck confit was equally tasty. We finished with a creme brulee that, like the cassoulet, was tasty but not transcendental.

In the end, it was a good, serviceable meal. Only one thing really disappointed: The bread. Our hostess brought out a basket of baguette slices that tasted more brioche than baguette.

(begin rant)
What the heck is it about Portland breads? Given Portland’s terrific emphasis on quality food, you’d think the bread would be superb, but I’ve yet to find bread that’s as consistently good as those I can find on any street corner in New York, Boston or Washington DC.
(end rant)

The making of French bread is an art in itself, but its ingredients list is surprisingly simple, without much in the way of fat or dairy. That’s what gives French baguettes their signature airiness and crackly crust. Le Bouchon’s baguette was tender, dense and almost crustless, full of the wrong kind of flavor. It was clearly made with SOME kind of dairy product, a mistake that grocery stores often make but one I don’t expect from a French restaurant.

It absolutely didn’t belong in my cassoulet, anyway.

So…Le Bouchon is a nice little place and given the prices I can see why it’s more of a smash at lunch in the current economic climate. I wouldn’t mind trying their onion soup when I find myself there at noon. But please, fix the bread first.

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