It is a truth universally acknowledged that it is practically impossible to talk about French food without coming off like a pretentious wanker. Mere iteration of words such as rillettes, escargots and worse, coq au vin is often sufficient to leave many non-Francophones scurrying for the hills, or at least in search of their dictionary. It is thus with some trepidation that we embark upon a review of La P’tite France, which has recently relocated from the Riverside to BKK1: writing about food is hard enough; writing about food which puts the haughty in haute cuisine is, to say the least, intimidating.
Entering La P’tite France, all such trepidation fades. This may be something to do with the immediate arrival of a carafe of crisp rosé wine ($10) and a continually replenished plate of homemade crisps (whether crisps are a quintessential element of French dining is a moot point, but free crisps rarely elicit complaints from anyone). The outside dining area, overhung with tropical greenery and tinged with the fragrance of frangipani flowers, completes the relaxation process; the chocolate box Monet prints which adorn the interior are less pleasant, but hardly offensive.
As should be the case in any French eatery, the alcohol menu is extensive. Aperitifs take up a page of their own, as do digestifs, with Armagnac, Courvoisier and calvados nestling up to bottles of Muscadet and Chablis. The Kir Royale is oh-so temping, but at $7 seems a little decadent. There are of course non-alcoholic drinks on offer, but people, we are in France!
And, being in France, we must act like proper gourmands. The food selection provides ample opportunity to do so, being replete with meals emblematic of the age-old conundrum of how French women eat this stuff and yet remain thinner than the rest of us. A mere perusal of the starters is enough to pile on the pounds: pork pate laced with Armagnac, chicken liver salad, duck fois gras on toasted brioche… all very naughty. The main courses are a carnivore’s playground: surely it’s illegal to make customers choose between roasted duck in raspberry confit or prime rib eye in pepper sauce? Disappointingly, there are only three fish dishes on offer, unless you count whelks as fish, which hopefully no one does. Pizza and pasta are also available, for the unadventurous.
The Steak La P’tite France, the restaurant’s signature dish, comes perfectly cooked and garnished, although the accompanying skinny fries look less fine dining, more fast food. Maybe a more grown-up incarnation of the humble potato would be more fitting. Big fat chips, for example. The pan-fried red mullet is both crispy and delicate, with just the right amount of salsa verde, providing a perfect excuse for much plate-mopping with the complimentary homemade bread.
No French dining experience is complete without a cheese platter; there is probably some law in France that actually mandates the consumption of cheese after every meal. La P’tite’s comes with Camembert, Brie and a mild blue, alongside slices of apple and walnuts. The cheeses themselves could be stronger, but perhaps La P’tite France is making a concession to palettes not wholly accustomed to cheeses which smell hellish but taste like heaven.
The rest of the desserts are also classiques: chocolate mousse, profiteroles, a hot melty tarte tatin topped with ice cream. And the somewhat mysterious but welcome offer of ‘extra alcohol or cream, $2’ with any pudding; who could resist? To round it all off, the attentive staff deliver a complimentary shot of passion fruit liqueur unbidden to the table. That kind of liberté, égalité and fraternité really cannot be beaten.
La P’tite France, #38 St. 306; 016 64 26 30; laptitefrance.com.