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Another month, another new French restaurant in Washington. Or so it seems. Depending on your appetite, and possibly your budget, the market is either overstuffed with steak frites right now or enjoying the pendulum swing from the multitude of Italian restaurants of the last few years.
Know this about the Gallic upstarts: The contenders aren’t mirror images or taste-alikes, and they’re spread across the city. If you want to know what sets the latest addition apart from a pack that includes Le Clou in NoMa and L’Avant-Garde in Georgetown, do yourself some good and order the buckwheat crepe on the daytime menu at Petite Cerise in Shaw.
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The dish announces itself with a blast of lemon zest and a glimmer of honey on its surface, compelling me to snap a quick picture. “The phone eats first,” jokes the bartender who is doubling as my server at the counter near the entrance. Slicing into the crepe, I discover salami and tangy goat cheese within the nutty-tasting wrapper, which is thin, mottled like injera and crackling with a few flakes of Maldon sea salt. The soft bundle yields a lot of thought and comfort for $14.
Co-owner Jeremiah Langhorne says he first tasted the dish near a farmers market in Rennes in northwestern France, where he bought it from a food truck vendor, and immediately tagged the crepe for his long-planned bistro. One of his goals at Petite Cerise (“little cherry”) is offering special memories from his trips to France, as well as dishes that aren’t prevalent on bistro playlists in the United States.
Don’t come looking for French onion soup. “A lot of places do that already,” says the chef, best known for the Dabney, his alluring tribute to the Mid-Atlantic in Blagden Alley.
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Far fewer restaurants are offering snacks of grilled mussels draped with velvety choron sauce, or starters of poached asparagus with sauce mousseline, items that have the ring of the familiar but are executed with flair. The mussels, served as a trio on a bed of rock salt, are ignited with threads of chorizo, while a bundle of glistening asparagus, fresh as spring, arrives with a bowl of frothy, tarragon-laced Hollandaise made richer with a center dollop of whipped cream — heady inducement to eat your vegetables. Diners are encouraged to mix the enhancers — unite the elements of mousseline — then do as they please. Psst: Miss Manners says you can eat asparagus with your fingers.
Spot the common thread? Saucing is something of a religion for Langhorne, who spent his formative restaurant years at sauce (and fish) stations. The homeliest dish on the menu — sepia-toned braised chicken — is among the best in part because of the swell of cream, morel mushrooms and vin jaune enveloping the tender chicken. (Vin jaune, “yellow wine,” is a pricey export from eastern France and similar in flavor to sherry.) And the dish that takes you out of a bistro and into a fine-dining temple — blushing beef tenderloin topped with near-liquid roasted marrow — is ennobled with a moistener of black truffles, Madeira and a veal reduction that takes three days to make. The proof is in the cleaned plate that goes back to the kitchen, under the day-to-day watch of executive sous chef Madeleine Lewsen, 28 and an eight-year veteran of the Dabney.
Langhorne says his love of sauces is both a reaction to the “drizzles and swipes” of his younger days as a chef and a way to express generosity. “A little extra sauce is almost like an extra dish” when bread is factored in for mopping, he says. (Petite Cerise buys its crisp baguettes from the upstart Manifest Bread in Riverdale Park, Md., which relies on local grains that are milled in-house.) What’s more, younger cooks on his team come to know that “old-school takes time.”
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Old-school is something of a mantra within the restaurant. The only snails here are in the logo, subtle encouragement for patrons to take it slow, says Langhorne, who co-owns the restaurant with Alex Zink.
I did, in fact, pause when the celery root rémoulade was dropped off. Scoops of the creamy, crunchy bistro staple, elevated with smoked trout in the julienne mix, showed up in a trio of chive-flecked Belgian endive “boats,” a clever mode of transport. A first course of sliced raw scallops arranged with juicy pink grapefruit, toasted split hazelnuts and diced white asparagus compelled me to eat it leisurely, too, partly out of admiration for the refreshing change of pace from all the crudo out there. Grapefruit juice glossed with hazelnut oil, the clear puddle on the plate, is another slick to applaud.
The plats, or main courses, alternate between cozy grand-mère flavors and subtler French notions. Right up there with that rustic braised chicken is shredded braised lamb, pressed into a bar, coated with breadcrumbs, fried and served with a bright garland of vegetables. Spring, sprung. The kitchen does light just as well. One of the more joyful main courses is black bass, crisped in a cast-iron pan and staged for the season with bright green peas, downy lettuce and “kisses” of lemon puree on the delicate fish, set on a butter sauce.
For your liquid entertainment, complimentary still and fizzy water get things off to a nice start, as does anything from the bar. Make mine Jaune et Vert — calvados, honey and lemon — and cheers for the budget-friendly carafes of house wine ($20 to $24) on the impressive if pricey all-French wine list.
You practically need a microscope to see the ile flottante, a speck of a “floating island” summoned from meringue and freckled with candied rose and nuts. More substance comes by way of the caramelized banana napoleon flanked by dark chocolate sorbet. I’m also happy exiting with a few tender canelés in a bag for later consumption. (Although “later” can be minutes outside the restaurant. The rummy pastries challenge my willpower.)
The two-story corner restaurant was designed with all-day hours in mind. What’s not gleaming white subway tile seems to be friendly green paint; half-curtains dress up the windows, and mirrors and copper molds hang on the walls. (Langhorne named the restaurant Petite Cerise because “it wasn’t taken and it felt good,” says the chef.)
If there’s a choice, stay downstairs, home to the 10-stool bar and exhibition kitchen. Upstairs is comfortable only until the dining room fills and you find yourself asking “Come again?” again and again. Lively is one thing. Discomfort is another. The acoustics are so bad on the second floor, I left with ringing ears, as if I’d just attended a rock concert — probably not the impression to which a new restaurant in a crowded field aspires.
Francophiles curious to know where to spend their time and money these days need a cheat sheet with the newcomers’ strengths and weaknesses. To wit: L’Avant-Garde offers the most seductive setting, and some of the most beautiful food, but also service that can border on French caricatures of snootiness that I haven’t experienced even in Paris. Le Clou, led by Nicholas Stefanelli, is another fashion statement with hit-or-miss service — servers disappear just when you need them — and standout dishes (eggs for dinner, lobster thermidor) that help smooth any wrinkles. Ellington Park Bistro raced out of the gate with an eagerness that seems to have devolved into ennui, although I can still appreciate the hotel restaurant for its convivial bar and clever turns on tradition, including escargots tucked into cheese puffs.
I wish Petite Cerise were easier on the ears, but I appreciate how the cooking speaks volumes about integrity and consistency in a kitchen that dares to be a little different and offers breakfast, lunch and dinner. I’ll just remember to bring earplugs the next time I need my sauce fix.
1027 Seventh St. NW. 202-977-4550. petitecerisedc.com. Open for indoor dining and takeout (pastries only) 9 a.m. to 10 p.m. Tuesday through Saturday and 9 a.m. to 3 p.m. Sunday. Prices: Dinner appetizers $14 to $26, main courses $28 to $58. Sound check: 83 decibels/Extremely loud. Accessibility: Tight curtained entryway; ADA-compliant restrooms. Pandemic protocols: Masks and vaccinations are not required for staff.
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