Le Petit Commerce sits at midpoint of elegant, pretty, pedestrianised street, full of hustle and bustle, resounding with chatter, air static with charged electric atmosphere, crammed with outside tables. All merging into one, it is difficult to distinguish where one restaurant ends, and another begins, especially with snaking sausage of passerby, squashed and squished through narrowed passage, merrily making their way, in both directions.
Detaching Le Petit Commerce, from the crowd, it appears to by archetypical French bistro/Sea Food Restaurant, with scuffed wooden floors, and old, dark wood tables and chairs. Inside looks shaded and faded, from perspective of sunlit pavement, while outside, higgledy-piggledy, entangled assortment of foldaway tables and chairs, totter uncertainly on the uneven paving, spill down each side of the street.
From experience we know, appearances such as this, give little away, veering from tourist trap, to utterly sublime. Drawn off scent, by almost exclusively non-French accents, at jammed outside tables, we feel uncertain about where Le Petit Commerce’s allegiances lie, and waiver, but are swept up by entreaties of brisk staff, and squeeze onto smallest of rickety streetside tables.
Jostled, adjusting angles, we just avoid sitting on our neighbours’ knees, or sliding into path, of passing street walkers, but remain fearful of competing elbows.
Like the place itself, first sight of Le Petit Commerce’s ubiquitous large format menu, slipped into plastic sleeve, gave no clues, until we begin to read.
With delectable selection of seasonal fish, seafood and specials, grilled, raw, on platters, served individually or to share, and a choice of oysters, this bijou but pertinent menu, could not have been conceived by a tourist trap.
So, despite worldwide accents which surrounded us, we settled in for what promised to be a good meal. An inkling reinforced by appetising smells, of smoky grills, wafting on the air.
Staff flit like bees, fly this way and that, some apparently in training, more nervous, but all attentive, even when seemingly overwhelmed. In the mele, there are some accidents, but mostly, their elegant dance, carrying loaded plates and platters, miraculously avoids collisions and concussions.
Buoyed by buzz, Americanos of the cocktail variety, are the order of the day, aperitif as anticipation, while waiting, people watching, and absorbing atmosphere.
As fish and seafood lovers, choosing from the menu was difficult, but grilled sardines and langoustines, two favourites, wooed us with their endearments. Unfortunately, the grilled langoustines, which tempted me, were only available, as a main course, so initially, I chose the cold langoustines, as starter.
No argument over the main; grilled seabass to share.
Just as our order was taken, and whisked away, my husband kindly agreed to share a grilled langoustine main, as starter; no real hardship!! Despite frenetic service, our waiter immediately caught my eye, mid-flight, and swiftly changed my chosen starter, which made me smile with delight.
Thoughtfully French; civilised and sophisticated; as Americanos arrived, rather than rushing into service, our waiter asked if we would like to wait a while, to enjoy our aperitif, which is exactly what the occasion demanded.
Arriving in huge wine glasses, flaming sunset colours, more Campari and vermouth than soda, our cocktails captured mood of the moment, our first holiday meal, wafted by balmy breezes, as day wandered towards might, wooed by alcoholic warmth, cooled by clinking ice cubes. We felt happy and welcomed.
As sunset dregs were leisurely drunk, bottle of chilled, shimmering, palest yellow, 2022 Sancerre, took its place, slid into place, condensation cooly dripping, setting scene for start of our meal.
But first. some appetising street entertainment: a trio of pectorally perfect, tattooed, topless, troubadours and drummer, performing amazing, astonishing, (ankle-socked, straw hatted!) acrobatics, tumbling and flipping down the street, to Afro beat: invigorating enlivenment to appetite.
In neatly navigated pas de deux, our almost as nimble waiter, delivered, with their departure. succulent pile of plumptious sardines, and four curvy, grilled langoustines, lying languid on olive oil mash, accompanied by roast courgette, and strangely. yet typically, roast carrot.
Delicious and soft as langoustines were, star of the show were perfectly grilled, burnished sardines, anointed with slick of herb oil, squeeze of lemon, counterpoint to unctuousness, smoky and savoury, umami taste sensation, epitomising summer.
I felt guilty, that my grilled langoustine craving, obliged my husband to share them, but also eternally grateful, for his sardine sacrifice.
Lingering luxuriously over each mouthful, sympathetic Sancerre, revitalised tastebuds, between each eager bite, and bread extended experience, mopping up every last morsel, and trace of sardine oil savour.
Street set alight, bathed in low slung, golden glow of setting sun, casting everyone in honeyed tones, it felt as if we were in hallowed bubble of happiness. Like the fishes and loaves, miracle of the sardines, fed us with more than mere food, it fed our souls too.
Everyone around us, seemed to be in similar state of serendipity, and even our seabass; shimmering silver, displayed on aluminium platter, for pre-grill inspection, glitter-eyed fresh; seemed to be smiling.
Hesitantly presented by trainee, under watchful eye of kindly proprietor, who glowed with pride and assiduous care for her customers, we felt in safe and competent hands.
Chatting with her, after our meal, complimenting exceptionally fresh fish, she told us, they make their daily selections based on what is best, at Arcachon Fish Market.
Having opted for off the bone, our trouble-free seabass arrived beautifully presented, perfectly grilled, silver transmuted to burnished gold, dressed with slick of glowing green herb oil, accented by bold sweep of beetroot puree, accompanied by ubiquitous accompaniments, olive oil potato crush, grilled courgette and carrot.
Though this is very French, it still feels slightly strange, to me, an uncouth English person, who unthinkingly scatters and shares salad, with all manner of grills.
Unluckily for my husband, and luckily for me, the poor seabass’s head, was laid to rest, on small side plate, for succulence to be sucked out. I dared. He did not. And very delicious it was too!!
Dessert defeated us, but as this was first meal of our French sojourn, I had to feed my cheese addiction, so we shared a plate.
As expected, for a fish restaurant, cheese was not a speciality, but thin slivers of hard salty cheese and sticks of savoury Comte, chewing crusty French baguette, this first foray, more than satisfied my urges.
Enveloped by echoing chatter, cosseted by comfort of balmy night, cocooned by closely clustered tables, this lovely little place welcomed us to Bordeaux with its quintessentially French character and utter respect for produce.
One to return to, even as stopover, for plate of most sublime sardines.
heartands0uler
.
08 août 2024
8,0
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