Phillip L.
Google
Walking into Paris 66 Bistro, one seems to be transported into a quintessential Parisian experience, the French owner welcoming you with a “bon soir”, the walls adorned with decor from l'Hexagone (complete with a Métropolitain sign!), a bottle of Moët proudly on display by the entrance. Unfortunately, after sitting down, ordering, and dining, one learns quickly that it is all a façade.
To their credit, the prices on their menu are Parisian indeed: $19 for six escargots, $42 for cassoulet, $36 for a porc au cidre. A quick perusal of highly regarded bistros in Paris will reveal comparable prices, although of course with tax and tip included. But the actual culinary experience is but a pallid reflection of French gastronomy. The escargot was uninteresting (though admittedly paired with excellent crostini). The porc au cidre was acceptable but unremarkable. And the cassoulet should be rebranded as cass-sec-oulet, the confit duck dry and tough. For half the price this would have been acceptable, but $130 for all this and a tiny carafe of their house Sauvignon feels like an insult to the Pittsburgh public, as if the proprietor thinks that the fine people of this town do not know any better. There are far better restaurants in town to spend that kind of money.
The service is also decidedly European, as we waited 40 minutes between our hors d’oeuvres and our plats principaux.
There is a famous scene in the beloved Pixar film Ratatouille where the obdurate critic Anton Ego takes a bite of ratatouille and is teleported back to fond memories of his mother’s cooking from his boyhood years. Should anyone else have this experience at Paris 66 Bistro, I am sorry for what your childhood was.
