The bistro Le Trumilou feels like the 1950’s.
The décor, such as it is, is classic and plain. The food is
pure classic bistro, nothing sophisticated, like may well have been served in
1955. The drinks are priced like the 50’s – a wonderful house Bordeaux at 12
euros.
But most of all it feels like the 1950’s because the place
could be an episode of I Love Lucy if Lucy ever ran a bistro. It’s a madhouse,
a harried house of hearty helpings, that somehow has been running for over 40
years.
And I love the place.
We went at 9:30 or so on a Saturday night. The place was
packed, and we settled for a table in the bar area, which is, uh, eclectically,
shall we say, decorated, but very comfortable on an old red leather banquette.
That gave us a front-row seat for watching Le Trumilou (open
7 days lunch and dinner) at work. The bar room is flanked on both sides by
dining rooms. Between the bar and the dining room on the east side is a
passageway to the kitchen where a large table and a computer sit – the
operations center of Le Trumilou.
It is manned by Alain, the owner, a 60-ish native of the Auvergne
in southwest France. He likes to smoke, yell at his harassed staff, make
assorted hand gestures, argue with his chef, chat with customers while blocking
the path of his waiters, handle ALL the money, wait on the occasional table,
and in general feel as if he’s in control of the place.
Which he’s not.
No one is.
The waiters – three young men, ranging from 17 to 22, say –
dash about serving food, making coffee, pouring drinks, and greeting customers
in no discernible order. They often can be seen dashing one way and then
turning on a dime back the way they came at some shout from Alain.
The chef, who sallies from the kitchen to berate Alain,
gather plates, and fill up his beer glass, looks like he’s about ready to die
on his feet from fatigue.
The noise level can be startling, but fine with me—that’s
why dining out is so much fun on a Saturday.
Now, the first time I was here in 2016, Madame, Alain’s
wife, was also on hand and she kept a slightly firmer hand on the proceedings.
But this night, it was madness.
At one point Alain dashed into the dining room after the
youngest waiter, who looked 12, crying. “Une cuillère! Une cuillère! J'ai dit
qu'ils avaient besoin d'une cuillère! (A spoon! A spoon! I said they needed a
spoon!) waving a spoon in his hand.
Our order of Poire William eau de vie after dinner led to a
mad search behind the bar with the young waiter digging through a cabinet
holding up bottles as Alain said “Non!”. He did eventually find it, and it was
good, but it also kicked the bottle. That led to the entire staff disappearing
down a trap door near the bar into the cellar to seek another, which was eventually
found to glorious celebrations.
Watching Alain settle accounts was like watching a human
abacus that was slightly out of whack as he was chatting throughout. And just
when he was needed, it seemed, he was outside for a cigarette.
Alain took our orders, more, I suspect, because we sat 5
feet away and not taking them would have been uncomfortably noticeable than
from any real desire to do so, but he was friendly enough, with a weary smile.
When one of us did not order a digestif, he raised his eyebrows, shrugged, and
said in English, “As you like.”
Despite all this, the place does just fine on what matters
most – the food.
Le Trumilou offers a 24 euro dinner “menu” for 3 courses
(they have a menu at lunch as well for less, like 20 euros) or 20 for 2 courses
and two of my friends ordered that. I went a la carte.
I started with a kir, bracingly made with St. Pourcain
white, the best kir of the trip so far. Our water was Badoit (green) and the
wine was the house Bordeaux, heavy on Cab Sauvignon, meaty, black-cherry heavy,
full-bodied and flavorful. I suspect it was a Graves, but M. Alain will never
tell.
The bread (baguette) was crunchy and fresh.
The offerings are all classic bistro fare, sometimes with a
twist or two.
Firsts were, for my friend, a pile of pate with a small
salad that was porky and meaty; while I enjoyed an amazing omelette, cooked just
the way I like it (mildly runny) stuffed with veggies that, at lunch, would
have been a generous main.
Mains – my two friends had an enormous portion of onglet
(steak), cooked saignant (rare) with a rich blue cheese sauce and I had an
amazing half-duck, cooked to perfection and served in the pan it was cooked in,
in the best prune sauce I have ever had. The 10 or so prunes in the dish were
blissfully good. We all split a huge plate of crisp, delicious frites.
Desserts – my one friend had a Poire belle Helene that he
enjoyed but said could have been better (too much whipped cream).
My other friend went with the cheese plate, with a good
blue, a lovely Camembert and then a cow cheese that Alain explained to us as
being from his home area, an explanation we doubted but was quite good no
matter what it was.
I had quality, well-made cassis sorbet with crème de cassis
poured over. All came in huge portions.
My café was perfect.
The bill was 124 euros for 3 – a steal. In addition, I left
my Moleskine notebook behind and when I went back to get it Alain had it for
me. We got a pleasant greeting on the way out.
Lucy couldn’t have done it better. Don’t miss Le Trumilou –
it’s old-time Paris come to life. This is the kind of place you come to Paris
for.
Le Trumilou
84 Quai de l’Hotel de Ville, 75004
Open 7/7 for lunch and dinner
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