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Written by Brian Freedman
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Gallic charm in the heart of Media.
Political issues aside, Americans, in general, love French cafés. Sure,
there was that whole Freedom Fries debacle, and the histories of our
two great nations are littered with misunderstandings, complicated
love/hate dynamics and hurt feelings. But at the end of the day, good
food is the universal healer of all wounds, personal, political and
otherwise.
Who can remain angry with a steaming bowl of French onion soup before them?
La Belle Epoque Café, in the heart of downtown Media, embodies
everything good about the French café—from the well-prepared food to
the charming Gallic music and (maybe not so authentic) the très
friendly service.
Don’t get me wrong. I lived in Paris for a time, and made a thorough
tour of what seemed, back then, to be all of the cafés on both sides of
the river. And it was the service—efficient, consummately
professional—that I loved most of all. But I’ll trade that in any day
for a waitress like the one Ms. Martini and I had the night we visited.
She was genuinely friendly, generous with her smiles and completely
knowledgeable about food in general and the menu in particular.
That French onion soup ($5) was an auspicious
way to begin our meal and a fabulous bargain. I can’t remember the last
time I saw a bowl of French onion soup on a menu for less than $7 or
$8, and I would have happily paid more than that for this one. It
arrived in a shallow bowl with a little island of melted Swiss cheese
floating in the middle—a deliciously earthy counter to the sweetness of
the Spanish onions and the saltiness of the homemade beef and chicken
stock.
The Crab Cake Salade ($11), which, frankly,
could have sufficed as an entrée, was every bit as good as the soup.
The crab cake itself had been seared perfectly; the outside crunchy and
golden-brown and the inside moist as could be. And the salad was very
well composed but not the slightest bit overwrought. It was a simple
bed of mixed spring greens, sun-dried tomatoes, green peppers and a
classic red wine vinaigrette. The richness of the crab and the bright
zing of the vinaigrette played off each other nicely.
We were full already.
Fortunately, I was born without that mechanism in my brain that makes
me stop eating even after I’m full. (This is both a physical detriment
and a professional boon.) So when our entrees arrived a few minutes
later, I was ready for more.
Good thing I was. The Steak Frites ($16) was a
rich, tender version of the classic. And in a nice haut touch, my
steak, which I had ordered rare, arrived sliced into medallions, seared
around the edges and practically raw on the inside—simply perfect. The
shallot and veal demiglaze reduction was a wonderful complement and the
fries were salty and delicious.
Ms. M., paragon of healthy living that she is, decided on the savory crepe St. Jacques
($12.95). This was a nice open-faced assembly of pan-seared diver
scallops atop a Brittany-style buckwheat flour crepe, all of it
anointed with an interesting and well-conceived leek sauce. I found the
scallops a bit overdone for my taste, but Ms. M. was thrilled with the
meal. We both agreed, however, that the flavors were very good.
Desserts were just as enjoyable. I particularly liked the simple Nutella-filled buckwheat crepe, but the crème brûlée
was tasty as well. In fact, both embodied exactly what is so appealing
about La Belle Epoque—they were simple, elegant, and exactly what one
both hopes for and expects. Plus, in my book, Nutella is the greatest
dessert condiment in the culinary universe.
It’s hard to care much about international relations when a dining experience is this pleasant.
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