Restaurant Review: Lokál

The newest, best, most must-visit restaurant in the country doesn't have a celebrity chef. It doesn't have white tablecloths, amuses-bouche, or a sommelier. Instead of soufflés, there's smažený sýr (fried cheese); tlačenka (head cheese) takes the place of truffles.

This is Lokál, and it's the restaurant we've all been waiting for.

I probably don't have to tell you how miserable most Czech pub food is these days. The average inexpensive svíčková (beef in cream sauce) goes something like this: a rock-hard, dry piece of beef, smothered in a watery brown sauce, with a few stale knedlíky (bread dumplings) on the side. No wonder so many foreign visitors shudder at the memory of Czech food.

Those of us who didn't grow up weaned on the Maggi bottle, whose mothers and grandmothers cooked their national dishes with pride, know a different kind of local cuisine – one that lives on in our kitchens at home, but has all but disappeared from pubs and restaurants. Until now, anyway.

A plate of svíčková at Lokál costs 115 CZK, plus 28 CZK for the dumplings (all sides are served separately). For 100g of meat, it's more than you'd pay in most pubs, but the difference is startling. The beef was so tender it pulled apart easily under my fork. The dumplings were light and fluffy. And the sauce, tasting strongly of freshly pureed vegetables, was bright yellow and richly sweet. The dish was served with the traditional topping of whipped cream, cranberries, and a slice of lemon.

Tradition is a priority for Lokál, along with freshness, authenticity, and honesty. The inscription of the bottom of their (daily changing) menu explains their ideology best: "We want to cook Czech dishes differently than most pubs - places where hard work and fresh food are replaced with spices, flavorings, fats, ingredients that 'last forever,' and other cheap tricks used to make cooking faster, cheaper, and easier." What took them so long?

Lokál is the brainchild of Tomáš Karpíšek, the founder of the Ambiente Group and the Czech restaurant market's most brilliant innovator. He's achieved success with his chains of pasta restaurants (Pastacaffe, Ristorante Pasta Fresca) and all-you-can-eat gorgefests (Ambiente Brasileiro, Pizza Nuova). He's promoted Czech food before, too, with the First Republic-inspired Café Savoy and the upscale gourmet favorite La Degustation Boheme Bourgeoise. But Lokál is set to be his biggest, most revolutionary, most important venture yet.

Housed in a massive space off of Dlouhá formerly occupied by Middle Eastern hideaway Dahab (since relocated to nearby Soukenická), Lokál is said to be the longest restaurant in Prague. It has been, despite its size, rammed to the rafters from the day it opened. That's no surprise, really. When was the last time anybody saw rýžový nákyp (Czech rice pudding) on a menu? Or šunkofleky (pasta with smoked ham)? Or škubánky s mákem (sweet noodles with poppy seeds)? Even if you've come across those long-neglected classics once in a while, I guarantee they've never been made this well.

There isn't much to describe about Lokál's food. The plates are kept clean, with garnishes and other unnecessary flourishes kept to a minimum. No wilted oblohy (garnishes) here – just simple, straightforward dishes. My plněný paprikový lusk (stuffed pepper) (99 CZK) was filled with a mix of lean ground beef and marjoram in a sweet tomato sauce. The tatarák (beef tartare) (178 CZK) was made with similarly high-quality meat, pre-mixed to tender perfection, and served alongside crispy topinky(fried toast) and raw cloves of garlic.

That may sound close to what you'd order in any pub, and it is. The difference is in the consistent freshness and quality of Lokál's ingredients – and in the little details, like the homemade, hand-cut noodles in the chicken noodle soup (38 CZK for a pleasantly large portion), or the fresh whipped cream decorating the rakvičky (little meringue "coffins") (28 CZK). Renowned regional companies provide much of the ingredients, and the hotové jídla (pre-prepared dishes) are made from scratch several times a day.

The simplicity of Lokál's food is reflected in its interior, which, with its stark lighting and long wooden benches, brings to mind a school cafeteria. The only decoration, appropriately enough, are childlike doodles made along the length of the wood-panelled walls, illuminated from behind to create a glowing modern display.

For a Prague 1 restaurant, Lokál is refreshingly and unapologetically Czech: there are no menus in English (or French, or German, or Russian), and there are no conciliatory dishes of spaghetti or hamburgers. All of the drinks, from the tea (black, fruit, or rosehip only) to the hard liquor (Tuzemský Rum, Pražská Vodka, Lokál's own slivovice) to the soft drinks (Kofola, homemade sodas) are from these parts. And the beer (36 CZK for 0.5l) is fantastic: ice-cold Prazdroj, tapped fresh from small tanks, and also available as "Šnit" (a mini beer, to be consumed in one or two gulps) or "Mlíko" (only foam).

The only detail that seemed a little off were the coasters – they were the regular green Pilsner Urquell kind. Shouldn't a Czech restaurant this concerned with tradition have its own coasters, emblazoned with its own logo, as all the pubs used to have in the old days?

I guess I can forgive Lokál that one oversight. They are, after all, the restaurant (and future chain of restaurants) that is single-handedly saving good Czech pub food from near-certain extinction. You might think I'm exaggerating, but try it for yourself. If you don't like it, they'll bring you Maggi to make your meal taste more familiar, and your waiter won't even give you a dirty look: the service is more traditional Ambiente than traditional Czech, and thank God for that.

As for me – and again, no exaggeration – Lokál is the only restaurant that I feel like visiting at the moment. Everyone else peddling Czech food in this country should pay attention – because only now, after so many years of greasy goulashes and salty soups and freezer-burnt knedlíky, is somebody finally doing it right.

Lokál
Dlouhá 33
Praha 1 - Old Town
map
Tel: 222 316 265

Open Mon-Fri 11:00-01:00, Sat 12:00-01:00, Sun 12:00-22:00

photographs 1, 2, 4, 5, 6 Tomáš Krist for Lidové noviny; all others ambi.cz

This review originally appeared in Czech translation in the 05/12/09 edition of Lidové Noviny.

Read More...

Summary only...

Restaurant Review: Olympos

I don't know what it is about me and Greek places. On my last visit to a Greek joint (Kri-Kri, on Korunní), I was not only subjected to painfully slow service, but was told that I should expect it to be slow, because that's how things happen in Greece.

Now here I am, sitting at Taverna Olympos, and after waiting ages for a server to take our orders, I have spotted him making his way over to a table of about eight people to take their orders – before ours have been put in to the kitchen. Of course, the big table came after we did, and of course they will get their food first. And naturally, I am starving. I've unwittingly cast myself in One Greek Minute: The Sequel.

When our appetizers finally arrive, they come with a mixed salad we didn't order and one of our main courses. The other entrée comes way later, and it isn't what we wanted. Confusingly, the menu offers two codfish dishes, one fresh and priced by weight, and the other, described only as a "fillet," for 180 CZK. We didn't realize there were two options and weren't asked which of them we wanted, so we ended up with the battered and deep fried fillet.

Olympos has been around since 1997 – first as Tavernaki Olympos, a tiny operation in Pohořelec, then as a thirteen-table restaurant at their current location in Žižkov. They've since expanded to 103 tables, many of which are pleasantly situated in a large outdoor garden. In summertime, the outdoor seating is definitely the main draw, with its leafy trees, children's playground and kitschy murals depicting beach scenes and the Acropolis. So it's a bit of a shame that (although it is de rigeur in Greece to start dinner as late as 21:30) by 22:00, Olympos's guests have to be shuffled indoors or to the winter garden to satisfy noise restrictions. Better, then, to come a little early so you can enjoy the garden for longer.

For some reason, I'd been under the impression that Olympos is an inexpensive restaurant. It can be, I guess, but it depends on what you order. The main courses range from 160 to 800 CZK (for a two-person shrimp tagliatelle), and smaller dishes cost between 70 and 280 CZK. Not a crazy amount, but I didn't necessarily find the value to be all that good. On my second visit, I had the shrimp saganaki. For a fairly hefty 400 CZK, I got a ceramic bowlful (250 grams) of very small, overcooked shrimp, in an admittedly tasty feta, tomato, and green pepper sauce. But I liked Kri-Kri's shrimp saganaki a lot better, and that one cost only 105 CZK for 150 grams. And the Taverna salad (240 CZK) seemed pretty pricey too, considering it was nothing more than a plate of soggy lettuce with a couple of olives and sun-dried tomatoes.

As often seems to be the case in Greek restaurants (and, for that matter, in restaurants in general), the appetizers far outshone the main courses. The tyropites (125 CZK), or cheese-filled pastries, were hot and crispy and oozing with melted salty cheese. The dough was different than the filo dough I'm used to seeing these made with – it was thicker and more brittle, like a spring roll – but they were delicious, and there were lots of them. The peppers stuffed with cheese (120 CZK), on the other hand, only came with two small peppers floating in olive oil, but they had a nice spicy kick. I could have done with more bite in the tzatziki (95 CZK), which seemed a little low on garlic.

For a general taste of the starters, I would recommend you try the Olympos salad (280 CZK). Because it has no explanation in the menu, and the waiter wasn't able to describe it either, I'm going to tell you what was in it: hummus, eggplant spread, potato salad, tzatziki, htipiti (feta cheese spread), gigante beans in tomato sauce, and marinated bell peppers. Not a bad selection. I wanted to get the dolmades as a starter, but they were only listed as a 350g main course. The waiter was flexible enough to give us a half portion; unfortunately, although they came served in a very tasty tomato sauce, they were a little on the bland side.

Best of all was the grilled haloumi (165 CZK), a rubbery Greek cheese that squeaks when you chew it. The thick slices were covered in grill marks, which added a nice smokiness – yum. But it was all downhill from there. The papoutsaki (265 CZK), or stuffed eggplant ("papoutsa" means shoe in Greek), was flavorless and didn't have much meat. The sutzukaki smirneika (ground meat sausages, 225 CZK) were better, but were surrounded by a very oily, thin tomato sauce. And the side dish of grilled vegetables (at an unjustifiable 185 CZK) was an unattractive, woefully greasy mess of random veggies.

Here's what you should do: go to Olympos with some friends, sit in the garden, watch the neighborhood cats tormenting the patrons' tied-up dogs. Let your kids play on the swings and slide. Order a whole bunch of starters to share, as if you were in a tapas joint, and fill up on those. Get some wine, which they serve in these cute colored aluminum carafes, and be careful with the water – in large bottles, they only seem to have some Greek brand that goes for 100 CZK apiece. Skip the main courses. Enjoy, pay, leave.

There you go – a simple, inexpensive meal in a nice Greek restaurant. And you say I never recommend anything…

Taverna Olympos
Kubelíkova 9
Praha 3 – Žižkov
Tel.: 222 722 239
Open Mon-Sun 11:30-24:00

photographs 1, 4, 6 František Vlček for Lidové Noviny; all others taverna-olympos.eu

This review originally appeared in Czech translation in the 29/08/09 edition of Lidové Noviny.

Read More...

Summary only...

Restaurant Review: Café de Paris

This review originally appeared in Czech translation in the 13/06/09 edition of Lidové Noviny.

There's only one reason to go to Café de Paris: the beef entrecôte.

The menu doesn't leave its patrons with too many other options. The choices are as follows: French onion soup, a foie gras terrine, the beef entrecôte, a vegetarian version of the beef entrecôte, and a goat cheese salad. Two appetizers, two entrees, and a salad. That's it. Pretty ballsy, if you ask me.

Well, there are the daily specials, which seem to be more of a fixed menu than they first appear. Those give you a little more breathing room, although they hardly seem necessary, given the quality of Café de Paris's star entrée.

The entrecôte (279 CZK) comes with a green salad, drenched in a deliciously mustard-y French vinaigrette. The salad is brought out first, and they recommend that you eat half of it immediately and the other half with your meat. Your table is then presented with two miniature grills, lit from below with candles to keep the food warm. On one goes a platter of French fries; the other is reserved for the entrecôte. Some slices of fresh baguette come with all this, too, in case the fries don't fill you up.

The beef is cooked medium rare (unless you specify otherwise) and is sliced into thin strips. You can choose whether you want it with Béarnaise sauce, red wine Parisienne sauce, or the special Café de Paris sauce, which is made according to a "secret family recipe" that has been around for seventy-five years.

My best guess is that the secret sauce contains butter, tarragon, and Dijon mustard – not entirely dissimilar to the Béarnaise, which is usually made with butter, tarragon, egg yolks, and vinegar. It is herb-laden and wonderful, a perfect accompaniment to the juicy grilled meat. On occasion, the beef can be a little chewy, but that is pretty typical of an entrecôte, which is a fattier cut of meat than some others. I would challenge anyone to show me a better example of steak frites in Prague.

Now lest you think that this whole delicious setup is a homegrown invention, I'm going to regale you with a little history (of which I myself was not aware until my faithful friend Wikipedia spelled it out for me while doing my research). The original Café de Paris is located in Geneva, where in the 1930s a certain Mr. Boubier developed a buttery sauce to accompany his restaurant's entrecôte. The sauce came to be known as "Café de Paris sauce" and the dish became the only dish on the restaurant's menu. Today, the name and the secret sauce recipe have been licensed to various restaurants around the world, one of which is the Café de Paris in Prague.

A similar concept – with a similar sauce – has been espoused by the unaffiliated L'Entrecôte chain of restaurants in France, the first of which opened in 1959 and was modeled after the original Café de Paris. Two years ago, a reporter from the magazine Le Monde claimed to have chemically analyzed L'Entrecôte's secret sauce and discovered its ingredients: a combination, he says, of fresh thyme, thyme flowers, full cream, white Dijon mustard, butter, and strained chicken livers. L'Entrecôte insists that this analysis is incorrect.

Prague's Café de Paris is understandably tight-lipped about their sauce's makeup. And even if their other dishes are less mysterious, they are often just as good. The French onion soup (45 CZK) was made from a delicate white wine broth and not broiled in a ramekin, but decorated with a single slice of crispy baguette and a modest amount of melted cheese. This made the soup much lighter and more appropriate for the summer season than the cheese-encrusted versions we are more used to seeing.

The foie gras terrine (159 CZK), too, was small but satisfying – a buttery slice of foie topped with toasted sesame seeds and surrounded by a potent sour cherry and plum coulis. Unfortunately, the special soup they had on offer, a lukewarm chicken broth "strengthened with gin" (65 CZK) and served in a martini glass with a wedge of lime, was as salty as seawater. I was also a little underwhelmed by the vegetarian version of the entrecôte platter (259 CZK), with its slightly overcooked eggplant and zucchini drenched in a goopy Béarnaise sauce. But the smoky tofu fritters that came with it were surprisingly tasty, if not quite as good as the beef my companion was tucking into.

A good part of Café de Paris's charm comes from its atmosphere – its quiet location on Maltézské náměstí, the small tables out front and in the courtyard, and the two tiny rooms decorated with red leather seats and postcards from happy customers. It's also nice to have your food served at the table by the waiters, who come around to fill up your plates with meat and French fries once you've polished off your first helping. The general feeling is of a homey little family-run place, where they don't pretend to be anything they're not.

And because this is a French restaurant, they have a thoughtful selection of wines from the home country – reasonably-priced – as well as some delicious sparkling cranberry, ginger, and elderflower lemonades (a little less reasonably-priced at 69 CZK for a small bottle).

I've written before that crème brulée is a bit of a cheap trick, but the one at Café de Paris (95 CZK) is worth ordering anyway. It was crusty on top, super-creamy below, and served with a scoop of mango ice cream and a dusting of salted cayenne pepper. It's a perfect finish to a meal at this soulful little restaurant.

Café de Paris
Maltézské náměstí 4
Praha 1 – Malá Strana
map
Tel: 603 160 718

Open Mon-Sun 12:00-24:00

photographs: 1, 4, 5, 7 Tomáš Krist for Lidové Noviny; all others cafedeparis.cz

Read More...

Summary only...

Restaurant Review: U Koně

This review originally appeared in Czech translation in the 04/07/09 edition of Lidové Noviny.

In Central Bohemia, between Prague and the Sazava river, is a so-called "micro-region" called Ladův Kraj. It was given the name after Hrusice-born painter, illustrator, and author Josef Lada, who used the area's rolling hills and picturesque villages as inspiration for his well-known children's books.

Four years ago, a pair of tourist trails was developed to honor the famous Czech personality and his homeland. The first, called "Pohádkové Hrusice" (Fairytale Hrusice) tours through Lada's hometown. The "Cesta kocoura Mikeše" (Tomcat Mikeš's Trail) is a considerably longer route and follows the supposed footsteps of one of Lada's most famous characters as he sets off on his worldly adventures with his dear friend, Pašík. At each of the twelve stops is a signpost with illustrations and an excerpt from "Mikeš."

The road from Hrusice to Říčany is 20 kilometers long, so if you decide to undertake the journey, you're probably going to make a few rest stops. Which brings me to this week's restaurant: Hostinec U Koně, located in Klokočná, the ninth stop on the Cesta kocoura Mikeše (titled on the signpost as "Mikeš straší," or "Scary Mikeš") and a very worthy place to fill your stomach, regardless of whether you've just trekked 15 kilometers or pulled up directly in front of it with your car.

U Koně has been around considerably longer than the Lada trails, or even Lada himself – the hotel and restaurant have been in operation since the 17th century. Currently helming U Koně's kitchen is Jaroslav Sapík, a former cook at the Prague Castle and, for a time, Václav Havel's personal chef. Sapík comes from a centuries-old family line of gastronomers, and at U Koně he has upheld his predecessors' commitment to serving high-quality Czech food made with fresh ingredients.

It's not a fancy place, but it attracts many of the well-heeled local families with cottages in the area. On a recent Sunday afternoon, U Koně was brimming with people; my companions and I were lucky to score a seat, even if we had to share the table with another party. We were in the front room, which is small and bedecked with antique kitchenware, faded family photographs, and old-fashioned radios.

Despite the clutter, the place felt clean and well-cared-for. A bouquet of fresh wallflowers in five different colors sat on a side table, and the scent of newly-cut jasmine blossoms graced the entranceway. Nearby was a family with several children, a rambunctious dog, and a human-sized teddy bear that required his own seat. Waiters bustled in from the kitchen, balancing plates headed for the much larger back room. Karel Gott and Hana Zagorová crooned in the background.

Because the menu is divided into two sections – one called "Jídla ze selských dvorů dle rodinných receptů" ("Family recipes from the farmyard"), the other "Rodinné recepty ze zámecké kuchyně"("Family recipes from the castle kitchen") – both of which have appetizers, main courses, and desserts, picking what to order can be mildly confusing. But once you do, you probably won't go wrong.

On the fancier (castle recipe) side of the menu is the Czech crayfish cream soup (165 CZK), a thick, deep red bisque that brimmed with the flavor of crayfish and had lots of chunks of the freshwater lobster's flesh. This was better and less expensive than the crayfish bisque at Café Savoy, which is also very good, but a little heavy on the cream for my liking – U Koně's version of the soup seemed purer, more honest. They serve it with a piece of toast that is decorated with a slice each of lemon, tomato, and hard-boiled egg (its yolk removed and replaced with black caviar).

The most famous dish at U Koně is probably the roasted wild boar piglet (360 CZK), not least because it is also its oldest. As the menu explains, the dish is "a specialty first prepared, according to our ancestral grandmother's documentation, in 1784 during the hunt at the Rájec-Jestřabí castle." Good thing the recipe was handed down over so many years, because it's definitely a keeper. Served over a sauce of wild garlic, with spinach, sauteed mushrooms, and round potato dumplings, the tender young boar meat had been larded to keep it moist and flavorful.

Although the boar was a hearty-sized portion, the roast duck with potato dumplings and red cabbage (285 CZK) was so large that we had it wrapped up with us for dinner at home later. This, apparently, is standard procedure at U Koně; we witnessed a parade of people (mostly women) wielding styrofoam boxes of leftovers on their way out the door. So even if the prices are somewhat higher than at other restaurants in those parts, you can be sure you're getting your money's worth.

Dessert was another pleasure: hot plum-filled dumplings (125 CZK), smothered in chopped walnuts, powdered sugar, and homemade whipped cream. And while the service was a little brusque (and a little quick to take away plates), I appreciated the waiters' promptness and no-nonsense attitude.

Mr. Sapík is known to be a a die-hard defender of Czech cuisine; he has said in the past that it can rival even the gastronomy of the French. And although I'm skeptical of that particular point, his restaurant has distinguished itself as a key propagator of good, wholesome local food – whether it comes from the castle or the farm.

We need more restaurants like U Koně. If I had my way, I'd place a couple of them in the city where I live, but the charms of Klokočná add a lot to the experience: just in front of the restaurant is a placid square, where there is a pond, an old scale, and a pretty World War I memorial.

You might even see Mikeš scampering across the grass.

Restaurace a penzion U koně
Klokočná č.p. 8
Praha - Východ
map
Tel: 323 641 186

Open Wed – Fri 16:00 – 23:00, Sat 11:30 – 23:00, Sun 11:30 – 21:00. Closed Mon-Tues.

photographs: 1, 4, 5 Tomáš Krist for Lidové Noviny; 2 laduvkraj.cz; all others ukone.cz

Read More...

Summary only...

Restaurant Review: Peking

This review originally appeared in Czech translation in the 27/06/09 edition of Lidové Noviny.

Stop what you're doing, everybody. Put your pencils down. Turn off your mobile phones. I have a very important announcement to make.

I have discovered a good Chinese restaurant. Here. In Prague. Isn't today a wonderful day?

I actually can't take credit for finding it myself. There has been some debate among local foodies lately about where to get good, reasonably authentic Chinese food – something other than the slop served at the endless slew of sleazy bufety around town. Then a reader of my blog recommended Peking.

Thanks to a carefully-composed email laden with tempting quotes pulled from Peking's website ("you will find comfortable surroundings and enjoy unbelievable gourmet feasts"), I managed to recruit eight people to join me on a culinary expedition to Pankrác. Peking, as it happens, is in the middle of a Prague 4 sidliště, right next to a clump of paneláky and a discount grocery store. By way of sheer contrast, the setting made our destination seem all the more impressive.

Flanking Peking's entrance way are two stone lions and a massive Chinese gate that leads to a flight of steps with a marble railing. Up top is a large dining room, ornately decorated with red tassels, a big Buddha statue, and a pool of goldfish. Behind the live lobster tank is a children's play room.

But it's in the back of the restaurant that the real magic happens. There are ten numbered private salonky of varying sizes, all equipped with flat-screen TVs, WI-FI internet, individually controlled air-conditioning, buzzers for service and, naturally, karaoke machines. The largest room, simply labeled "VIP," seats twenty. A glimpse into a few of the salons revealed large groups of Chinese people. Apparently, Peking is where all the Chinese expats go when they want to have a nice meal that reminds them of home (several of my well-traveled friends confirmed, too, that the interior is very similar to that of a fancy restaurant in China).

So much so, in fact, that the restaurant even relegates non-Chinese customers to their own section. When I called to make a reservation, I was asked whether our group was Czech. On a second visit, my two friends and I were ushered past the main dining room, which was full of local Chinese, to an isolated, windowless room in the back. At first, we were alone, but the room slowly filled up with Czech, French, German people…

In Peking, segregation rules. But I was willing to accept it for the food. The menu, as at many Chinese restaurants, is extensive, and has helpful, true-to-life photographs. What is more unusual is that it includes dim sum, the variation of steamed and fried filled dumplings that is a staple of Cantonese cuisine.

In Guangdong, China's Cantonese province, dim sum (literally, "close to the heart") is typically served with tea for breakfast or lunch in special eateries. Up to several dozen different types are wheeled around the restaurants on trolleys for the patrons to pick and choose; most of the treats are savory, but there are sweet dessert versions, too. Peking serves both, although with an understandably more limited selection.

Among the dim sum varieties we tasted was cha siu baau (roast pork buns; 80 CZK for three pieces), a steamed bun, similar in appearance and texture to an ovocný knedlík (Czech fruit dumpling), filled with barbecued pork in a red sauce. Although their filling was moist and sweet, the buns themselves were disappointingly dry. But the guotie (potstickers; 70 CZK for five pieces) – a pan-fried dumpling stuffed with minced pork meat and chopped vegetables – had a perfect chewy exterior and a kick of ginger on the inside.

The har kau (shrimp dumpling; 90 CZK for four pieces) were a hit too, with their translucent rice wrapper and simple stuffing of a whole prawn and bamboo shoots. And I was happy to discover that the spring rolls (55 CZK for two pieces) were more like what is known in North America as egg rolls – larger, and with a fluffy, crunchy crust.

Peking's main courses are more typical of what you would find in a regular Chinese restaurant: stir-fried meats and vegetables in thick, sometimes gloopy sauces. But here, the quality of those meats and vegetables is higher, and the sauces aren't doused in toxic MSG. The prawns with mango (420 CZK) came with butterflied shrimp, fresh pieces of ripe mango, and lightly-cooked pieces of red bell pepper and cucumber. Beautiful to look at, and an unusual, sophisticated combination. I would have preferred the sweet and sour chicken (139 CZK) a little more crispy, but the fresh snow peas sauteed with garlic (159 CZK) were irresistibly green and crunchy.

Appropriately enough, Peking serves Peking duck, and does it very well. A single portion is a fairly pricey 599 CZK, but it comes with lots of fragrant duck meat lined with crisp, browned skin. Included in the price are paper-thin pancakes, hoi sin sauce, and raw spring onions and cucumbers, just as it is meant to be served. If you come in a big group, you can pre-order a whole duck, which they will carry out ceremoniously on a platter.

And come in a big group you should. That way, you get to try more dishes and spin them around on the Lazy Susans that sit on each of the large tables. You also get the added bonus of having your drinks brought to you on a special trolley (a fairly ingenious invention) and, if you have your own room, access to the many delights conferred by the karaoke machine.

Peking's original restaurant was closer to the city center, on Legerova in Prague 2, but they have made a grander home for themselves in Pankrác. Go and see it for yourself. I can't guarantee the best seat in the house, but you'll definitely have great food – and a lot of fun.

Čínská Restaurace Peking
Pujmanové 10
Praha 4 – Pankrác
map
Tel: 241 730 688

Open Mon-Sun 11:30-15:30, 17:30-23:00

photographs: Pavel Wellner for Lidové Noviny; all others pekingrestaurant.cz

Read More...

Summary only...

Restaurant Review: Auberge de Provence

This review originally appeared in Czech translation in the 29/11/08 edition of Lidové Noviny.

Like bacon and eggs, or beer and pivní sýr, mussels and fries were meant to be together.

There's something about the combination of that soft, briny mollusk with the hot crispiness of a French fry – dipped in tartar sauce, preferably – that many people find irresistible. No wonder the Belgians consider moules frites (or mosselen-friet, in Dutch) their national dish.

But who'd expect to find mussels and fries in the village of Tuchoměřice, home to a population of just over 1000? Or, for that matter, Belgian waffles and a selection of 50 different Belgian beers?

The local splash of Belgianism comes courtesy of Ludo Van den Bergh, the proprietor of an intimate hillside hotel called Auberge de Provence. Located in a 17th-century former Jesuit monastery overlooking Tuchoměřice and beyond, the inn has garnered acclaim not only for its picturesque setting, but for its unique little restaurant, too.

A good measure of a restaurant's atmosphere is how well the ambiance holds up against an empty or near-empty dining room. When my dining companions and I first entered Auberge on a rainy weekday evening, we were the only patrons there, but it hardly mattered. The low wooden beams and stone walls decorated with dry flowers, mounted antlers, and old family photographs gave the place a rustic, cozy feel, like we'd happened upon somebody's private country retreat.

The homey setting is echoed by Auberge's manageably small menu and its country-style Belgian and French dishes, many of which are made with organic vegetables from the hotel garden. A large portion of velvety Belgian pumpkin soup (80 CZK), garnished with grated cheese and a homemade potato chip, was subtly seasoned but tasty; my companion's escargots à la Bourguignonne (235 CZK for 6 pieces; 425 CZK for 12) were plump and chewy and topped by the same sharp cheese as the soup. The Argentinian beef fillet steak (585 CZK) was grilled to a perfect medium-rare and was served with a sauté of roasted potatoes, cherry tomatoes, and leeks.
Then there are those mussels (245 CZK for ½ kg; 480 CZK for 1 kg), unusually large and cooked in a traditional Belgian broth of carrots, celeriac, onions, and garlic. They would have been perfect if only they'd been cleaned of their beards – the long filaments the mussel uses to attach itself to the seabed, which should always be removed before cooking. As it was, I had to pull each of the hairy clumps from my mouth in a rather unladylike way. The uniform cut of the fries suggested that they were not home-made, but the store-bought frozen kind. Too bad. I can't think of anyplace you can get freshly-made Belgian fries in Prague, and this would be just the right setting for that kind of treat.

So I was mildly disappointed by the moules frites, but what with the size and freshness of the mussels, I would order them again. And I'd make sure to revisit dessert, too. The Brussels waffle (130 CZK) was the real thing: light and yeasty, not dense and sweet the way many of us might think of waffles. It arrived dusted with powdered sugar and decorated with a generous amount of forest berries, although it was missing the vanilla ice cream that was promised on the menu. A baked apple with cinnamon (145 CZK) was also memorable, particularly for its garnish of smoky toffee sauce.

It is the rare restaurant these days that doesn't offer panna cotta or crème brulée or warm chocolate cake. And there are no fussy foams, complicated combinations, or precarious architectural creations, either. All of those have their place, of course, but I've started to wonder lately if poorly-executed chichi food has become the compulsory culinary style for our upper-scale restaurants. If it has, then Auberge de Provence hasn't gotten the memo. They're doing something different, making the kind of straightforward, rustic fare that people really crave.
The service at Auberge was welcoming and natural. When the waiter asked if we wanted any aperitifs and, later, digestifs, he did so without being pushy – I am sick to death of servers who, when I decline their offer of an aperitif, start rattling off a list of various alcohols ("Champagne? Campari? Martini?") as if they were quoting a bartending school textbook. The kitchen occasionally seemed a little slow, which makes me concerned about what the service might be like when the dining room is full, but I'm assuming that the restaurant is better-staffed over the weekends.

It ought to be, anyway. Auberge has live music on Friday and Saturday nights, and things get a little more rowdy then, as they do when the hotel hosts one of its many conferences and weddings. And with a children's menu and outdoor playground, it's a popular place for families to visit, as well. In the summertime, there's terrace seating and an outdoor grill, but with its cast-iron furnace and snug interior, the restaurant is just as appealing for the wintertime (and special menus will be on offer for Christmas and New Year's Eve).
It took me a long time to discover Auberge de Provence. Although I'd heard about the restaurant before, I was never in the mood to make the trip. Let me give you some advice: make the trip. It's just past Ruzyně airport, but it feels like a different country altogether.


Auberge de Provence
U Špejcharu 355
Tuchoměřice, Praha-západ
map
Tel.: 220 951 083

Open Mon-Sun 11:00-23:00

photographs 1, 4, 5, 6 Viktor Chlad for Lidové Noviny; all others tuchomerice.cz

Read More...

Summary only...