La Pointe du Groin

Near chaotic Gare du Nord, where commuters are too busy transiting to lend roots to its character, there is an unassuming eatery and wine bar. In front, a tiny space that no one would generously call a “terrace” piles mismatched chairs and tables. The display is more junk yard than the charming flea market that Paris is known for.

Yet, they come. From all arrondissements, chefs, winemakers – industry people whose job is to know good food. After their shifts, they take over the communal tables and pour onto the street, savoring sharable plates – including namesake “Groin”: battered pig snout on greens – and magnums of cheap but commendable wine.

Recently, Paris has wrestled with its gastronomic reputation. While haute cuisine used to be the world’s innovate best, what is left for the new generation of chefs to explore? Although delicious, the three-Michelin starred restaurants became irrelevant, almost stodgy, perhaps cursed in the realm of business diners and marriage proposals. Where do real people eat, with integrity, in Paris?

Thierry Breton, a notable Michelin-decorated chef in his own right, throws out all the rules. He is one of the young stars from the bistronomie movement: straightforward food, light on sauce. Through La Pointe du Groin, he further strips down the dining experience. It is a bit like picnicking in a warehouse, decidedly rough around the edges but prettied up with the checkered tablecloth. The food is delicious and cheap: 4 euro gourmet sandwiches on crusty breads baked on site; plates of appetizers starting at 2 euros; glasses from one of Paris’ best wine cellars 2 euros and up. There is no sense of decorum, no waitstaff to serve (orders are placed by megaphone), no reservations, no telephone, and one chef manning everything (Breton himself). You take care of yourself: first, by exchanging euros for the restaurant’s own currency, the “Groin” at a 1-to-1 ratio; then poaching a table; and lastly, descending to the cave to choose your own wine. Note: no English either – it is all in French. A tavern is exactly what Breton has created: nothing precious, deafening noise, rambunctious crowd, but familial. If you know enough to go, you are warmly welcome.