Obeying orders in Paris: 'You've got to order the mousse!"

A Parisian bistro brimming with layers of regional French raviole, pastis by the glass and chocolate mousse, scooped to serve.

All-you-can-eat chocolate mousse is the cherry on top at Paris' Chez Janou. Source: Farah Celjo

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“You’ve got to eat there. And you’ve got to make sure you order the mousse.”

The instruction from my friend (who had only devoured lunch there the day before) was clear.

'There' was Chez Janou.

I had less than a handful of days in the City of Love, and I was going to explore its love the only way I knew how – to eat and leave no aperitif unturned.

Meaning ‘At Janou’s’, Chez is a sidewalk terrace pocket that wraps a corner of the buzzing enclave of the 3rd Arrondissement in Paris. Follow the foot traffic on a mission and settle in for the long lunch game or a charming dinner underneath hues of green.

‘Bistro-Restaurant-provençal’ titles the plastic menus. and indeed the bistro is adorned with woven seats, a mixture of wooden and forest green tables, 1950s French film posters and a chalkboard spanning a revolving menu. The menu features market seafood and grilled meats as well as spotlighting the daily produce delivery, in abundance. All of it [the menu] was in French, and I realised that my Year 7 'je m'appelle' wouldn’t quite cut it in my adult years. No amount of Google translation would suffice and nor did I want it to. And it didn't matter. 

I instantly felt at home, warmly greeted by the front-of-house gentleman, who seemed to know everyone who stepped foot into the lunchtime rush, including me. The backdrop was what looked like hundreds of bottles of pastis (a French anise-flavoured spirit) served by the glass and an abundance of wine, spirits, liqueurs and aperitifs. Without a ‘real drinks list’ on hand, we were all the better for it as the staff were very quick to shut down anyone’s request for an Aperol Spritz, and instead offered up their personal playlist, which I gladly welcomed.

Source: Farah Celjo

As we balanced baguettes with stacks of avocado, grapefruit and tomato tartare and devoured heaped spoons of asparagus risotto, that was satisfyingly underdone, we proceeded to over-order plates that spoke directly to our hungry eyes and 'when in Paris' attitude.

A glass of wine-based liqueur flavoured with green walnuts (noix de la Saint-Jean) planted itself alongside a pot of olives, but my attention was interrupted by a French dubbed version of pasta al forno and a chunk of bread running through gooey cheese away from its pasta source. What better dish to enjoy on a 38-degree summer midday heatwave (after already eating too much) than a plate of the cheesiest ravioli this face ever did see.

Lost in the layers is this meltingly soft ravioli bake. Source: Farah Celjo

Raviole du Dauphiné is a regional French speciality that dates back to Roman times and is associated with the Dauphiné region. I was told by the waiter that ravioli makers in the region would travel between households to make them and it would often encase Comte, Emmental, eggs and parsley. A perfect side of regional history with a fresh hot plate of cheesy pasta. It seems to be held in such esteem that Dauphiné raviole carries a Protected Geographical Indication status and this is exactly why I packed my Protected Geographical Indication equivalent: Lacteeze tablets. For this very moment – bread, goo and all.

On par with a meltingly soft pasta bake, any distinction between the layers when it is crafted is completely lost in the cheesy baking process and who am I to dispute tradition? There was silence, followed by agreeable moans and then a waving of fingers with a piece of bread still in my hand to emulate some kind of ‘Tickle-Me-Elmo’ trademark vibration at the sheer delight that was unfolding. "C'est bon," I uttered.

Now that we had established my happy place, I was certainly tempted to order a second plate. Especially, as I had already gone well beyond the boundaries of my dairy seal, but instead “you’ve got to make sure you order the mousse,” was still on the brain.

A five-litre ceramic bowl is carried to the table before a serving spoon goes digging. Out scoops a very generous helping of chocolate mousse in one sweet motion. All eyes are on the plate in front of us, and I presumed the staff dessert was a common occurrence as well given how joyful they looked at the spectacle, even after the 999th scoop for the week. I hadn’t seen anything like it.

I had heard it was an ‘all you can eat' offering, but after seeing it in the creamy flesh, if you could actually get through this first mousse serving in one sitting then anything that followed would simply be a medal for your very gallant efforts. I didn’t need the all-you-can-eat medallion but a complete cleaning of each spoonful was mandatory.

As I do after most places that I leave feeling happy, I go home thinking about how to emulate all the flavours and feelings of that exact sitting. While my chocolate mousse life is few and far between, my raviole du Dauphiné wings grew and I instantly scouted local grocers for packets of ravioli and slabs of Comté and Emmental and basically any cheese I could carry.

I followed exactly what the waiter uttered that I was eating. Butter, layers of spinach/parsley cheese-filled ravioli, followed by cheese and more cheese. This is quite possibly the most succinct recipe I’ll ever receive and it worked. While I didn’t have the pastis by the glass or the vintage French film posters in our studio apartment, we did have meltingly good layers and a fan to better contend with the heatwave.

Chez Janou, I came for the chocolate mousse, but I will return for the raviole du Dauphiné and a glass of pastis.

 

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