Ron W.
Yelp
This is a modern grotto made to look like an old grotto. Dark wood floors support stone on the walls and wooden beams supports the halls all freshly painted egg shell white. It has the feel of a converted dance studio that mated with a pension.
It's an elderly building with a face lift, and who knows, maybe William the Conqueror ate here after a hard day of slaughtering his half brother, Harold. Could be he used panel #32 from the town's famous 70 meter long tapestry for a napkin or to mop up Harold before dinner service. Oh Brother!
I settled in and ordered a cocktail for a change from my preferred Kir Royale. As this is apple country I asked for a Soliel Normande (Calvados, Bananas, and Orange Juice (A local fruit? Non. OJ is something to enjoy Sunday morning with Show Tunes and Toast or to avoid in a dark alley in West LA). The drink was basically a Frat House Special. Benign until it bites you. It was like the famous Chinese executioner so adept at his craft that the condemned was still chatting after the perfect stroke. That was me after I drained the Le Pommier Punch.
The Vibe: Who goes there? Frommer's roamers. They see you coming and hand you the English menu. Maybe it's the fanny pack, back pack, belly pack, well thumbed Rick Steve's book in hand, a bandolero of cameras, a selfie stick dangling from a belt loop, and Evian bottles stuffed into every pocket that gave it away.
The Staff: Efficient as a 10th Panzer Division crew.
The Food: Better that what the troops got on D-Day.
The Amuse Bouche was an insipid Lipid Pate. (Actually it was fish, which does not rhyme with insipid). Then there was a Tapenade served with packaged coins of dry bread. I ate this only because I could reach it and needed something to soak up the Calvados.
Next, came a plate of local oysters. Game on. Oregon versus Normandy. Go Ducks. These puppies were definitely not up to the Oyster Depot in San Francisco or Row 34 in Boston. They were body temperature, (mine, not theirs), listless bivalves. Be advised, they are only half shucked. So, when you tip to slurp all you get is Mignonette which is like drinking the salad dressing. They have to be pried from their shell like a shy date, and usually both are not worth the effort.
The Cassoulet L'Escargot do not have to be evicted from their shells. They were homeless. A pile of babies laying in a heap like the fallen at Antietam.
While these little garden creepers were good, they weren't as good as the ones at Petit Trois in LA which wins the snail race by a mile.
Then the Sea Bass in Caramel Ginger Sauce swan to the table. Highly touted by other Yelpers. Hmmm...The fish was nicely cooked. The sauce was a throwback to the good old Colonial days when the French owned and operated Vietnam. Carrot Puree rode shotgun on the plate and fit well but the dish was not the stuff dreams are made of.
A hunk of Monk Fish, next up. It was also well prepared and served in a pool of Lemon, Wine, and a touch of Cream on it's way off the Expediter's station. It all mixed with the Shredded Vegetables (Carrots, Zucchini, and Onions) which were still crisp to the tooth as they should be. There was a Beaver Dam Timbale of dry Quinoa and Rice. Not exactly French, but neither were any of the patrons.
Both fish dishes were made by practiced hands, that maybe were to well rehearsed as neither fish dish was inspired.
The Cheese plate was decent. Brie and Camembert, are safe bets and both available at Kroger's. The local Ponte L'Vec and Cantal both available at any small market were served generously. (Good business policy or they needed to push the cheese out the door?) Either way, I like cheese, and it was served with an interesting Walnut Bread.
Finally, there was an Apple Sorbet with crunchy Apple pieces, and that was very nice. A snifter of Calvados came separately (thank you) which should be poured on sparingly as it is better suited to keeping a Cuban Cigar company or jacking the sauce on the porc. Do us all a favor and leave the stale Tuile.
In the end, Le Pommier was just okay.