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Grenier means ‘attic’ in French, and that’s exactly where you’ll find Bistro Grenier – you enter Newtown bar Odd Culture (created by the same team) and take the stairs up into a low-lit area above, where hefty old trusses support a cathedral ceiling. There are lithographic prints of sad clowns on the dark, sloped walls – a motif that’s continued in the cute coasters on each table. As well as wall lamps and sky lights, the room is lit by a tall, skinny candle on each table dressed with a snow-white tablecloth. C'est très romantique.
My dining mate orders a Martini (here they do it with butter vodka for a French spin), but I’m inspired by the setting to order a classic French apéro, a Ricard pastis. I’ve actually never had pastis before, but I’m excitedly in training for a trip to Marseille later this year. The waiter brings out the licorice-flavoured pastis in a little wine glass, accompanied by a small yellow jug of water and a glass of ice. I pour the water in the pastis as I’m instructed to do, and the whisky-coloured liquid turns milky. It tastes delicious (as long as you like aniseed) and powers up my appetite.
The front of the menu says ‘Les cingles sont les bienvenus’, which Google tells me translates to ‘Weirdos are welcome’ – but the menu itself is light on the weird stuff; it sounds fairly classic French. We start with the crudités (before we get stuck into the rich stuff). A plate stacked with a rainbow of raw and pickled vegetables arrives, made French thanks to the accompanying ‘fromage blanc’ creamy cheese to dip it in. After crunching on fresh radish, carrot, turnip and witlof, I feel ready for butter.
Actually, ready for steak tartare, which comes out bordered by a hedge of the most moreish chips – they’re big, round, and part way between a potato crisp and French fry. We mix the egg yolk through the hand-cut raw beef, then scoop it up using the chip. It’s one of the most melt-in-your-mouth and perfectly seasoned steak tartares I’ve ever had.
We have scallops, baked in the shell in a “fermented piperade butter” – piperade is a mix of capsicum and tomatoes. Despite being a red sauce, the flavour is delicate, and gives flair to the scallop while allowing it to sing.
The mains take a while to arrive, but they’re worth the wait. We share steak frites (obviously) and the fish of the day, with some sides – beans with béarnaise, and the potato side, because you can never have too many potato dishes. It’s a bavette (flank) steak, and we order it rare, which we find doesn’t always end well unless we’re in a steak restaurant – but here it comes cooked properly rare. The frites are the star of the plate, though. They’re like gourmet Macca’s fries – a little rough cut but still thin; just the right amount of crispiness and softness; well-seasoned; and so good dipped in the chunky, salty pepper gravy (or any of the many sauces from our other dishes).
The snapper is cooked to flaky perfection, with a crisp skin on top and a sauce that's the dreamiest mix of butter and lemon – thick and creamy but oh-so citrusy, with fried capers adding a tangy, vinegary kick.
The green beans are verdant and crunchy, like they’ve been steamed for only a moment, and they’re topped in a thick, smooth béarnaise. And talk about saving the best for last…. I haven’t had pommes de terre Lorette before, but why the hell haven’t I? The dish is mashed potato mixed with some choux dough, piped in little balls into hot oil. Basically deep-fried mashed potato balls. They’re golden on the outside, cloudy soft on the inside, and sitting on a bed of sour cream and chive sauce. It’s a perfect bowl of “how is it that French people don’t get fat?”
I realise, by the end of the meal, that we’ve enjoyed potato three ways. I’ve dipped every style of spud into every one of the sauces on the table, which all look similarly creamy and dotted with green herbs, but taste sophisticated in their own deliciously seasoned ways.
The wine list is huge and as impressive as the food – it heroes bottles from France’s Loire Valley, Burgundy and Southern Rhône, with wines by the glass ranging all the way from $15 to $43. I order a glass of “bulles” (bubbles) (a Patrick Bottex Bugey-Cerdon La Cueille Gamay), which I expect to be sparkling white but arrives bright pink like watermelon. I’m very happily surprised, it’s like a glass of dry French sparkling with a touch of berry brightness. (If you want to be less surprised by your drink, one of the nice things about Bistro Grenier is that they also draw from the well-stocked bar downstairs at Odd Culture – schooner of Reschs, anyone?)
At Bistro Grenier, Odd Culture exec chef James Macdonald has paid homage to classic French food, serving it up in a setting that’s sophisticated and sexy but also a bit more relaxed and funky than the posh restaurants we tend to associate with French dining here in Sydney. A bistro, after all, is meant to be a casual, comfortable eatery serving simple French food – and that’s what you get from Newtown’s only French restaurant (where weirdos are welcome).
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