Bouillon Chartier

“What is the steak-au-poivre-ness of steak-au-poivre?” This is the question I was left asking myself after another nourishing meal at Boullion Chartier Grands Boulevard, or “Chartier” to its friends. This humble pavilion of feeding workers — now mostly of the white collar variety — and tourists alike delivered close to the essence of everything a steak au poivre should be.

The hanger steak was textured, flavorful, and cooked perfectly bleu. Inviting juiciness without sang visibly seeping, welcome chewiness without toughness, sitting in generous jus but not swimming in it. The meat had the natural resilience I associate with young lamb medallions, free of all collagen and elastin that plagues economy-priced steaks found elsewhere.

One could quibble about the generic — but well cut and perfectly serviceable — frites, the demi-douzen escargot starter that was missing its 6th comrade, or the au poivre sauce that was largely devoid of poivre (perhaps they had decamped to the south of France to escape the sweltering heat with the rest of the Parsiens?)

But that would be pointless. Because like all cuisine worthy of the name, the steak-au-poivre-ness of steak au-poivre — at its essence — is that the finished plat is greater than the sum of the ingredients. And there Chartier continues to shine.

And to top it all, the bill that is totted up directly onto the white paper tablecloth by the brusque but attentive waiters in their classic butchers’ white aprons over black vests leaves one smiling with satisfaction with the paltry price. Inflation? What inflation? Two luncheons with starters, mains and shared dessert, a bottle of water and a bottle and half of wine came to 66 Euros.

Even Plato would have smiled at that summation.