Christopher B.
Yelp
I don't know how they got the octopus that tender; maybe they played it Marvin Gaye all night and bathed it in champagne. Maybe they washed it in the tears of Fin de siècle whores and rode the ubiquitous rental bicycles of a thousand tourists over it on the sidewalks of Luxemburg Gardens. Whatever they did to it, it practically fell apart under my fork in its pitch-perfect sauce of nut pesto, red cabbage and pomegranate. If I describe the other courses on the chef surprise menu that carefully, I may engender jealousy and hatred. This is France, after all. This is what they do here, when they're not mocking one another, sleeping with our wives or riding the métro in fabulous scarves; they cook unforgettable meals with ingredients that sound impossibly precious on the menu but come together on the plate to wreck your tastebuds for all other cuisine. "But where are the saffron butter and garlic greens? Why is there no hint of grapefruit pulp on the chicken, and *is* this chicken?" you may hear yourself whine shortly before your well-deserved ass-whipping at the Chili's near the mall upon your return to the wasteland of bland national chains we've accepted as our birthright. Upon leaving 6 Paul Bert, you may suspect you won't eat food this good again for a year, ten years, or ever, and you may be correct. The chef in this casual but oh-so-right cafe moves so fast you can barely photograph him-he is a Franco-Asian wizard-king wilting greens and shaking a fistful of spice over steaming pans. He claps twice and waiters stumble-run to fetch hot plates. Trust him. Get the chef's menu and let him take you there. How much will it set you back? 44 euro. Sixty bucks. That's for four courses, my friends. You may have stumbled around Paris thinking the food was overrated, getting ripped off in tourist trap brasseries (see "Le Métro Café") and barked at by Greeks waving whole pigs at you in the Latin quarter; you may have enjoyed an adequate meal in a well-meaning family restaurant, thinking "what's the fuss all about?" *This* is what the fuss is all about. Apparently 6 Paul Bert is the more casual bastard child of another restaurant, just 'Paul Bert,' and some reviews have suggested that place isn't all that. I can't say. But this place, 6 Paul Bert, is. All. That. Book well in advance if you can, or just show up early if you're feeling lucky and/or don't mind dining at the bar. But be warned-the cuisine here really might wreck you.