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So you passed sophomore French (and maybe even managed to score with that sexy French exchange student), but do you know your bistro from your brasserie, your Bastille Day from your Fourth of July? Un petit history review: Fireworks erupt over the City of Light every July 14 to mark the storming of the Bastille, an event synonymous with the start of the French Revolution and the ushering in of all that liberté, égalité, fraternité.
While this grande fête is less familiar here in Los Angeles than, say, Le Montreal, there’s more reason now to go Frenchy for the Federation. Of course, this town has its fair share of bistros—small neighborhood restaurants with a limited menu and plenty of wine, all in pursuit of romance and intimacy. But a recent invasion has brought a more raucous set. Evolved from Alsatian brew pubs, brasseries are typically big, brash, lively affairs, serving a wider and more ambitious range of dishes at all hours. Oh, and with plenty of alcohol.
The latest, Anisette, comes from L.A.’s resident cordon bleu, Alain Giraud. Unsurprisingly, the Santa Monica brasserie squarely fits the classic definition, serving full breakfasts, weekend brunch, lunch, midday snacks, dinner, cocktails and even late-night supper. Housed in a 1920s former bank building, the dining room boasts soaring ceilings, smoky mirrors etched with menu offerings, a stunning zinc bar and red leather banquettes with tables so close together you’ll get a steam facial from your neighbor’s crock of onion soup.
Ordinarily, this would be a little too much fraternité, but not at a recent Sunday dinner, when we find ourselves in the elbow-to-elbow brotherhood with Michel Richard, likely on a visit from Washington D.C. to check on his recently opened Citrus at Social. His boisterous cabal of French compatriots is only outmatched by the parade of dishes that Richard’s former protégé heaps upon him throughout the evening. (Giraud, who served as chef de cuisine for seven years at the first iteration of Citrus, would eventually join the festivities.)
We Americans, meanwhile, start off with quintessential brasserie fare: a rich onion soup and a plate of steak frites. Our waiter, Louie, who seems straight out of Central Casting, reveals not a whiff of condescension while patiently answering our questions about the difference between the béarnaise and bordelaise. Our soup arrives topped with cave-aged Gruyere; it's chock-full of robust onions in a satisfying broth that treads the right side of saltiness. The steak, however, is charred, and the underwhelming fries (on the severe side of saltiness) are cold too quickly. The entrecôte of rib-eye proves a tastier option than the hangar steak, and a side of haricot verts beats out the fries, thanks to the beans' natural sweetness and tenderness.
We can’t help but take note as Richard and his companions move through oysters splayed regally on ice and something called a Tower of Hors d’Oeuvres—a three-tiered offering of terrine maison, charcuterie, cheese and vegetables. For a main course, Giraud serves the rotisserie chicken, a succulent-looking half-bird with haricot verts (mais oui!) and potato fondant. We know what to order next time.
Admittedly, our selections for the evening haven’t completely dazzled, but we could just about while away the whole night reveling in the bustle of the place, nursing absinthe cocktails and eavesdropping on our celebrity neighbors. Giraud even offers us a bowl of fresh cherries for the “trouble” of being seated next to the circus of Richard’s party. This only helps our cause: We ask Richard whether he’ll be opening more restaurants in Los Angeles. He gamely responds yes, and that he wants to open his own brasserie. Time to loosen your French tongue. Vive le brasserie!
Food: Quintessential French, from a.m. crepes and les oeufs to frites, meats and a raw bar at night. And if you're lucky, a bowl of cherries, courtesy of Monsieur Giraud.
Scene: Expats, epicures and the occasional grandmaster chef—in a sensational Parisian setting straight out of the belle epoque.
Insider tip: Prepare to make new friends. With all the rubbing elbows, you might as well get a juicy piece of foodie gossip out of it.
Rachel Levin is a contributing editor for Metromix Los Angeles.
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