OF ALL THE GAUL: Clafoutis
By Rob DeWalt, for The New Mexican
Clafoutis
402 N. Guadalupe St., 988-1809
Breakfast 7 a.m.-11:30 p.m. Monday-Saturday;
lunch 11:30 a.m.-5 p.m. Monday-Saturday;
closed Sundays
No alcohol
Takeout available
Two or three tables for patio dining
Limited on-site parking; nearby free parking
Noise level: lively to loud
Handicapped-accessible
Credit cards, local checks
The Short Order
If you enjoy simple French sandwiches, salads, and desserts -- as well as unpretentious, friendly service -- Clafoutis is worth the hassle of finding a parking space and waiting a while for a table during peak hours. The pastry selection is alluring enough to make you convince yourself that a lemon bar is a daily serving of fruit, but the savories are equally delicious. Recommended: the croque monsieur, a hearty paté platter called the Country, and a moist chocolate brownie big enough to warrant its own zip code.
REVIEW:
Santa Fe has its fair share of French-inspired restaurant kitchens, some manned by actual French chefs, others overseen by chefs who appreciate and apply classic French cooking techniques. But you will rarely find a restaurant in this town where the counterperson, owners, and baker (and often, half the dining room) speak French fluently and without pretense. There exists such a place here, but to experience it, you must venture outside the fine-dining bubble.
Anne-Laure and Phillipe Ligier are used to serving New Mexico Francophiles what they crave. The married couple ran Le French Corner Bakery in Albuquerque before opening Clafoutis here in 2008. Within a croissant's throw of two popular lunch spots blessed with much better on-site parking and offering cheaper fare (Blake's Lota Burger and Bert's Burger Bowl), Clafoutis thrives in a location that has housed some short-lived restaurants, including Rooney's Tavern, Whistling Moon Café, and Le Moyne's Landing.
Seat yourself if a table is unoccupied. If there isn't one immediately available (which is common), feast your eyes on the pastry case near the entrance while you wait: pithiviers, fresh baguettes, sweet and savory croissants, fruit tartlets, éclairs, lemon sable cookies, chocolate brownies, and a glut of other tantalizing desserts are all produced in-house by someone I and my cardiologist affectionately refer to as "le fat whisperer."
Clafoutis shines as a purveyor of cold sandwiches, many of them served on house-made baguettes with butter instead of mayo, in deference to French tradition. I opted for a hot selection, though: the classic croque monsieur, a toasted ham-and-cheese sandwich. It sounds simple enough. But the confluence of perfectly gooey Emmenthal cheese and wisps of hot, salty ham nestled within crisp, freshly baked bread is something few chefs can pull off well enough to keep diners from wondering why they didn't just make a grilled cheese sandwich at home -- and for a fraction of the price. Clafoutis' spellbinding version justifies the journey and the spend.
A cup of French onion soup was good for sandwich dipping, but there was no browning on its requisite Swiss cheese/crostini topper. The onions were barely caramelized, and the cup arrived tepid. But a generous $2 side of hot, hand-cut French fries -- not greasy, with ketchup neither required nor offered -- made up for it.
On a second visit, a cup of asparagus soup from the blackboard specials menu proved outstanding. The server called it "cream of asparagus, " but there was no cream -- just a pure, slightly viscous, liquid interpretation of the sainted spear, kissed with just enough salt to bring out its earthy sweetness.
My partner's cup of onion soup was a much better version of what I had eaten a few days earlier: piping hot, bubbling, and well-caramelized through and through. Her salad of silky smoked salmon, crisp cucumber, toasted almonds, ripe tomatoes, and bell peppers was huge and brimming with fresh ingredients. Sadly, the red-wine vinaigrette fell flat. All of the salads at Clafoutis are given this lifeless house-made dressing. It's unfortunate that it lacks the personality required to keep diners from reaching for the salt shaker or lemon wedges, which I noticed happening on every table where salad greens were present.
My lunch, called the Country, consisted of a huge slab of country-style (chunky, lotsa fat) pork p‰té with amber-hued aspic and cracked black pepper, thinly sliced ham, brie, cold butter, two crusty house-made rolls, Dijon mustard, and radish-topped greens dressed with that humdrum vinaigrette. It's a lot of food served in an unusual fashion -- a tray that feels a bit more Martha Stewart than Marseilles. Almost every bit of the meal was remarkable. I wondered, though, why there were no cornichons served with the p‰té. Instead, the kitchen includes three bland, mushy pearl onions. The Country is served with a daily dessert chosen by le fat whisperer. In my case, it was a superbly gooey (and monstrous) chocolate brownie with toasted almonds. The delicious coffee at Clafoutis comes from Albuquerque's Red Rock Roasters, and the espresso drinks -- even those tamed with milk -- pack a powerful punch.
If you are blessed with enough self-control to find a table and order something savory before caving in to the pastry case's charms, Clafoutis offers some of the finest simple French food paired with some of the friendliest service in Santa Fe. There's something to be said for the dying art of the leisurely lunch. It might not always be good for the body, but at Clafoutis, it can work wonders for the soul.
Check, please
Lunch for one at Clafoutis:
Iced tea $ 2.00
Croque monsieur $ 5.90
Cup, onion soup $ 2.75
Side, French fries $ 2.00
TOTAL $ 12.65
(before tax and tip)
Lunch for two at Clafoutis:
Bottle, Orangina $ 2.75
Double latte $ 3.00
Cup, special asparagus soup $ 2.75
Cup, French onion soup $ 2.75
The Country lunch tray $ 12.50
Salmon salad $ 10.50
TOTAL $ 34.25
(before tax and tip)
Clafoutis
402 N. Guadalupe St., 988-1809
Breakfast 7 a.m.-11:30 p.m. Monday-Saturday;
lunch 11:30 a.m.-5 p.m. Monday-Saturday;
closed Sundays
No alcohol
Takeout available
Two or three tables for patio dining
Limited on-site parking; nearby free parking
Noise level: lively to loud
Handicapped-accessible
Credit cards, local checks
The Short Order
If you enjoy simple French sandwiches, salads, and desserts -- as well as unpretentious, friendly service -- Clafoutis is worth the hassle of finding a parking space and waiting a while for a table during peak hours. The pastry selection is alluring enough to make you convince yourself that a lemon bar is a daily serving of fruit, but the savories are equally delicious. Recommended: the croque monsieur, a hearty paté platter called the Country, and a moist chocolate brownie big enough to warrant its own zip code.
REVIEW:
Santa Fe has its fair share of French-inspired restaurant kitchens, some manned by actual French chefs, others overseen by chefs who appreciate and apply classic French cooking techniques. But you will rarely find a restaurant in this town where the counterperson, owners, and baker (and often, half the dining room) speak French fluently and without pretense. There exists such a place here, but to experience it, you must venture outside the fine-dining bubble.
Anne-Laure and Phillipe Ligier are used to serving New Mexico Francophiles what they crave. The married couple ran Le French Corner Bakery in Albuquerque before opening Clafoutis here in 2008. Within a croissant's throw of two popular lunch spots blessed with much better on-site parking and offering cheaper fare (Blake's Lota Burger and Bert's Burger Bowl), Clafoutis thrives in a location that has housed some short-lived restaurants, including Rooney's Tavern, Whistling Moon Café, and Le Moyne's Landing.
Seat yourself if a table is unoccupied. If there isn't one immediately available (which is common), feast your eyes on the pastry case near the entrance while you wait: pithiviers, fresh baguettes, sweet and savory croissants, fruit tartlets, éclairs, lemon sable cookies, chocolate brownies, and a glut of other tantalizing desserts are all produced in-house by someone I and my cardiologist affectionately refer to as "le fat whisperer."
Clafoutis shines as a purveyor of cold sandwiches, many of them served on house-made baguettes with butter instead of mayo, in deference to French tradition. I opted for a hot selection, though: the classic croque monsieur, a toasted ham-and-cheese sandwich. It sounds simple enough. But the confluence of perfectly gooey Emmenthal cheese and wisps of hot, salty ham nestled within crisp, freshly baked bread is something few chefs can pull off well enough to keep diners from wondering why they didn't just make a grilled cheese sandwich at home -- and for a fraction of the price. Clafoutis' spellbinding version justifies the journey and the spend.
A cup of French onion soup was good for sandwich dipping, but there was no browning on its requisite Swiss cheese/crostini topper. The onions were barely caramelized, and the cup arrived tepid. But a generous $2 side of hot, hand-cut French fries -- not greasy, with ketchup neither required nor offered -- made up for it.
On a second visit, a cup of asparagus soup from the blackboard specials menu proved outstanding. The server called it "cream of asparagus, " but there was no cream -- just a pure, slightly viscous, liquid interpretation of the sainted spear, kissed with just enough salt to bring out its earthy sweetness.
My partner's cup of onion soup was a much better version of what I had eaten a few days earlier: piping hot, bubbling, and well-caramelized through and through. Her salad of silky smoked salmon, crisp cucumber, toasted almonds, ripe tomatoes, and bell peppers was huge and brimming with fresh ingredients. Sadly, the red-wine vinaigrette fell flat. All of the salads at Clafoutis are given this lifeless house-made dressing. It's unfortunate that it lacks the personality required to keep diners from reaching for the salt shaker or lemon wedges, which I noticed happening on every table where salad greens were present.
My lunch, called the Country, consisted of a huge slab of country-style (chunky, lotsa fat) pork p‰té with amber-hued aspic and cracked black pepper, thinly sliced ham, brie, cold butter, two crusty house-made rolls, Dijon mustard, and radish-topped greens dressed with that humdrum vinaigrette. It's a lot of food served in an unusual fashion -- a tray that feels a bit more Martha Stewart than Marseilles. Almost every bit of the meal was remarkable. I wondered, though, why there were no cornichons served with the p‰té. Instead, the kitchen includes three bland, mushy pearl onions. The Country is served with a daily dessert chosen by le fat whisperer. In my case, it was a superbly gooey (and monstrous) chocolate brownie with toasted almonds. The delicious coffee at Clafoutis comes from Albuquerque's Red Rock Roasters, and the espresso drinks -- even those tamed with milk -- pack a powerful punch.
If you are blessed with enough self-control to find a table and order something savory before caving in to the pastry case's charms, Clafoutis offers some of the finest simple French food paired with some of the friendliest service in Santa Fe. There's something to be said for the dying art of the leisurely lunch. It might not always be good for the body, but at Clafoutis, it can work wonders for the soul.
Check, please
Lunch for one at Clafoutis:
Iced tea $ 2.00
Croque monsieur $ 5.90
Cup, onion soup $ 2.75
Side, French fries $ 2.00
TOTAL $ 12.65
(before tax and tip)
Lunch for two at Clafoutis:
Bottle, Orangina $ 2.75
Double latte $ 3.00
Cup, special asparagus soup $ 2.75
Cup, French onion soup $ 2.75
The Country lunch tray $ 12.50
Salmon salad $ 10.50
TOTAL $ 34.25
(before tax and tip)
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