Restaurants

Bistro Provence

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The simple salad of Boston lettuce, goat cheese, pine nuts and red peppers in a Dijon vinaigrette wasn't very big for the eight bucks it cost, but it tasted fine. The charcuterie plate featured thick slices of cured ham, excellent salami, creamy soft duck rillettes and the house pâté, which was a little disappointing. I liked the strong flavor of pepper and garlic and the walnuts studded through it, but it was much too hard and dry for my taste. I like a pâté that you can spread.

The pizza was piping hot and crispy on the bottom, but unfortunately, the topping of prosciutto, goat cheese, mushroom and parmesan ended up tasting too similar to other things we were eating. But that's hardly the restaurant's fault. I really wanted the pizza Provence, which is topped with anchovies and olives, but I couldn't talk my dining companion into the pungent little fishes. We split a bottle of Fischer, the Alsatian beer, which complemented the salty flavors of our dinner perfectly.

Bistro Provence was founded by the French chef Georges Guy. He sold it to his son Jean-Philippe Guy a couple of years ago when he opened Chez Georges on Westheimer [See "An Aging French Romantic," February 15, 2007]. There used to be another outpost of Bistro Provence on Shepherd where Red Lion Pub is now located, but now only the original on Memorial remains.

On my first visit to Bistro Provence, I was accompanied by the French artist Bernard Brunon, who, at my encouragement, ordered the tripe sausages called andouillettes. Bernard comes from the area of France that is famous for the stuff. We had sampled the same dish recently at Brasserie Max & Julie and found the smell of the tripe disgusting.

As Bernard ordered, the same French waiter who had trouble understanding the way I said "salade maison" suddenly looked grave when Bernard pronounced the word ahn-dwee-YET with all the proper Lyonnaise gutturals.

"These aren't the classic andouillettes that you might be used to," the waiter warned. "They are made with pork tripe, not the authentic calf tripe."

Bernard told him to bring them anyway. And, lo and behold, they were wonderful. Just a faint aroma reminded you that the tender organ meat was actually tripe, and with a dab of Dijon, that gaminess became exciting.

Even the squeamish at the table allowed, "I could see how people could like this stuff." It's nice to know that somebody in town knows how to make a proper French chitlin' sausage.

Bernard also liked the bouillabaisse, which was loaded with shrimp, scallops and mussels. But he said he tasted too much fennel. "It's good, but it's a little one-dimensional compared to Philippe Schmidt's version," he sighed. Unfortunately, Schmidt, the former chef at Bistro Moderne, doesn't make bouillabaisse around here anymore.

I got the pizza Méditerranée, which was topped with mussels, jumbo shrimp, scallops and calamari. Eating a pizza loaded with juicy seafood with a knife and fork was a weird experience. It tasted fabulous, but it just didn't seem like a pizza.

Four of us split a bottle of Domaine Crotereau, a crisp white from the Quincy subregion of the Loire Valley. The nuanced Sauvignon blanc has a tartness that reminds me of raspberries. It's an excellent bargain at under $40 a bottle. I highly recommend it the next time you're eating tripe sausage, bouillabaisse and seafood pizza.

Bistro Provence isn't perfect, but some of the food is stellar. On a frosty night with a bottle of French red wine and the aroma of garlic and mustard steaming from one of the braised meat dishes, I can squint my eyes and imagine I'm in a cozy dining room in France.

I'm not sure if Bistro Provence is the best French restaurant in Houston — but I think it's the most French.

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