Montreuil-sur-Mer,
A restaurant must be experienced through the nose. You have to let it come to you, like one does when river fishing. There is a river – the Canche - that follows a course through alder trees on its way to the ocean. It meanders through night mists. There isn’t a sound. Earlier today, at the Genouillère, we could hear only the humming ventilation from the kitchen and the clinking of utensils. This is one of those bucolic little places that seem to come from another time, as though gliding through a dream. Sometimes, it materializes near Montreuil-sur-mer where you climb aboard and set sail in its sepia-toned cinema.
In the first dining room (the one on the right), the batrachian (ie. frog) occupies the place of honor, adorning the walls in a variety of splendid poses. We see him wearing a tailcoat and cavorting with a lady, gulping down champagne, appraising the maitre d’hotel. Tonight, nothing seems to have changed – that same honey-toned lighting, the service that attends to all the little things, the clients a bit taken aback by it all.
It’s a restaurant as we always want it to be. You arrived in the late afternoon, you’d reserved one of the four little rooms long ago. You’ve put on a nice suit to respect the decorum of the restaurant; it also stimulates the appetite.
The story of la Grenouillère is the story of a father and son. Roland Gautier passed the torch to his son, Alexandre. But Roland still stops by now and again, like this evening, to welcome the diners. He is meticulous, with a kindness that is ever-ready. He must sometimes purse his lips as he watches his son’s dishes pass by. Because you’ve got to be pretty confident to offer portions as small as the pigeon de Licques, barely elevated by a bed of beats and red currants. In the upper corner of the plate, on the left, expressly off-center, are two fowl salami. And that’s it, just a checkerboard pattern of Vassarelli in the center of the plate, and there you are in front of this new kind of cuisine, marked by the excellence of the product (as for the generosity, it leaves much to be desired).
Previously, the frogs came twisted and intertwined with a purée of garlic and parsley. Upon hearing this description, my editor, who is moreover accustomed to such aspects of gastronomy, felt a pang of sympathy for the poor legs exhibited in such a way. Well, sure, but did she think about all those poor frogs that all became legless cripples in the service of our cuisine? Following all this was a bold dessert with a base of strawberries and ginger (in a naked rectangle straddling the crème and reddening it).
It was all perfect, and all the more so for the morning train having a few little difficulties. You could feel there was something off when we made turns. And then it completely stopped. A bit too abruptly – you could hear in the conductor’s voice that he was remorseful. The train slowed, and then we were gliding along in silence. It was wonderful, because the sun was just rising. There was a mist all about, and horses in the flat countryside. We would have applauded, but the eight people in the car were sleeping like babies. The train finally got going again, seemingly regretfully, and thankfully it went quite slowly for a time.
La Grenouillière, la Madelaine-sous-Montreuil 03 21 06 07 22. Four rooms from 80 euros, menus from 39 euros.
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