At first glance, a newcomer to this venerable bistro might decide he or she had come to the wrong address. Given its justifiable reputation for high prices—really high prices—L’Ami Louis looks like a dump. But what a noble dump it is. Opened in 1930, it is said not to have been painted since—a claim the smoke-andgarlic-glazed wine-dark walls do not refute. If you toss your coat on the rack above your table, realize that it will exude the faint scent of garlic until its next visit to the cleaner. That side
effect has not discouraged loyal patrons past or present, including fashion designers such as the elegant Madame Grès, stars of stage and screen such as Helen Mirren, politicians like Bill Clinton, musicians such as Seiji Ozawa, and anybody in jeans or a tux who is passionate about eating well.
At least that lingering aroma of garlic reminds all that they have partaken of a truly spectacular meal. For when the original chef, Antoine Magnin, died at the age of eighty-six in 1987, he left behind a well-trained maître d’ in Louis Gadby. Wood still fuels the stove and oven, and the same wood burns in the dining room’s ancient heater, a unifying touch that the previous chef valued. There have been two recent improvements—replacing the barbaric Napoleonic toilet and allowing credit cards, meaning that diners no longer have to arrive in armored cars full of cash.
As for the menu, fish lovers had best go elsewhere, as the only sea creatures tolerated here are scallops with roe when in season, roasted on the halfshell as an appetizer. The large, plump snails are also great starters, bathed in green-gold garlic and parsley butter, and so sizzling hot they appear to still be wriggling. Do not overlook the most awesome appetizer of all, the house-prepared signature
foie gras—not a pâté but rather a solid, rose-pink block, pure and chilled, like a dream of an indecently rich ice cream. Served with slabs of crusty baguette toasted over the wood fire, the dish would be a meal in itself at any place but Louis’s.
Draw breath and consider the main courses, among them what is surely the world’s best roasted chicken, the blue-footed Bresse specimen cooked in Normandy butter. If not that, then consider a succulently tender gigot of lamb or a lusciously blood-rare côte de boeuf, towhich not even the best American or Argentine steak can hold a candle.
Heat-burnished roasted veal kidneys, properly ruby-rare at the center, and golden roasted pheasant are also usually on hand. If you order a week ahead, you can have (for two or more) the traditional salmis of duck or pheasant, that medieval-tasting stew whose sauce is rich with poultry blood.
Accompanying the meat are delectable potatoes, sliced and roasted in duck fat or finely slivered and crisped. Should you be lucky enough to be at L’Ami Louis in the late spring, order a copper saucepan full of woodsy, earthy wild morels bathed in heavy cream
Vegetables? Well, maybe the first asparagus of spring, but Magnin didn’t like to fool around with such insubstantial fare, and neither does his heir. However, for exotic fruits and nuts—fresh almonds still in their green suedelike husks and tasting more like fruit—there is always a place at the dessert table.
A soothing frozen nougat dessert is about the most anyone can manage after a huge and hearty meal that is best accompanied by one of the house’s special Fleurie wines.
Where:
32, rue du Vertbois, Paris, tel 33/1-48-87-77-48.
Closed Mondays and Tuesdays and from mid-July to mid-August.
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