It took me the better part of six or seven months to finally learn the pronunciation of my favorite neighborhood bistro, Le Sot l’y Laisse (luh sew-lee-less). Sot in French means “silly” or “foolish,” laisse is from the verb to leave, as in “leave it alone” or “leave it there.”
A loose translation would be, “It would be silly/foolish to leave it.” The sot-l’y-laisse is also the “oyster” of a roast chicken, that soft, tender part just above the tail. The story goes that a fat, wealthy gourmand roasted fourteen chickens to perfection, laid them all out on the platters and then tossed the birds away, eating only the succulent sot-l’y-laisse. He was no fool.
This story sums up the casual atmosphere of the place I’ve visited every week for the last six years. It’s just around the next block from my flat. I’ve graduated from a knowing nod from the Estelle, the server, and Cyril, the owner/chef, to my own honored seat near the kitchen where Cyril might show me the jar of mustard he uses for a sauce and near where Estelle stands, checking on all the customers or showing me photos of her 1-year-old daughter Louise.
Cyril has owned Le Sot for five years. He’s a young man with a relaxed smile and easy manner. After going through the normal training at a cooking school, he worked in Bordeaux as a waiter and then a year cooking in Bretagne before he moved to Paris. He was hired by the former owner and chef of Le Sot, Stéphane, to work on weekends before Stéphane left to start another restaurant.
Cyril has kept the uncomplicated cooking and casual atmosphere that attracted the clientele, adding his own special touches (he says “simple cooking is very complicated”). He was influenced by his grandmother’s cooking, good, solid fare, nothing fancy. A favorite dish was roasted pork with potatoes. His grandmother’s hand is reflected in much of his food such as a namesake side dish he’s duplicated of potatoes, mushrooms and lardons called garniture Grand-Mère. It’s French country cooking at its best.
Le Sot is a small place: 35 seats in one room painted in a pale yellow, stenciled grapes running along the wall, waist high. Estelle weaves through the room, collecting plates and chatting with the patrons. She rocks back and forth from foot to foot and gestures with her pad of paper and pen, explaining the various dishes and suggesting wines. The “wine list” is displayed on the east wall, each wine handwritten on a tiny blackboard, just above my head. There are maybe a dozen choices for wine, all from small wineries, most sold only to restaurants. As she explains each wine to a group of diners, they all turn their heads to the wall in concert, looking for all the world like a band of meerkats.
The menu, which changes daily, is written freehand on a large blackboard on the west wall next to a gold painted framed mirror upon which theapéritifs and digestifs are written.
There are five entrées, five plats, and five desserts. There is entrecôte pour deux, a rib steak for two, served with the classic gratin dauphinois.
A fish dish is usually available and some other meat, such as lamb cooked for seven hours or veal kidneys in a reduced sauce, for example. There is always a bird selection, too, such as a magret, duck with a honey sauce or a pigeon désossé, a boned and filleted pigeon in a wine sauce. For me, the entrées are the most fun. Cyril may cook a boudin noir (blood sausage) in a puff pastry with aconfit of onions and apples or a savory pumpkin soup with mussels or a not-so-classic brandade with cod and smoked haddock. Sometimes he’ll bread and sauté some veal brains or create a tartare of mackerel with a warm blinis. The desserts are simple, but with a twist, like a chocolate crème brûlée with basil.
The attraction for Le Sot, for me at least, is not just the good food and genial atmosphere. For two hours every week, it reconfirms all that I adore here in Paris. It’s a place where groups of disparate people — old, young, gay, bikers, families and friends– come together in the same room with a single purpose, to eat, drink and enjoy life.
On a busy evening, from my little seat in the corner, I can watch Estelle dart back and forth between the tables with warm plates of food and hear the clanging of pans in the kitchen where Cyril is cooking another order, perhaps a whoosh! of flame as a cognac sauce is finished. The buzz in the room can be loud and echoing but it’s a pleasant “white noise” the homey clatter of silverware on plates, hearty laughter and dinging wine glasses in toasts. And of course, at the end of every meal, almost in union, everyone sops up the remaining drops of sauce from their plates with a hunk of crusty bread.
You’d be a fool to leave it.
Doug Cushman is a former Redding artist and author who now lives and works in Paris. He was born in Springfield, Ohio and moved to Connecticut with his family when he was 15 years old. While in high school he created comic books lampooning his teachers, selling them to his classmates for a nickel a piece.
Since 1978, he has illustrated and/or written more than 100 books for children and collected a number of honors, including a Reuben Award for Book Illustration from the National Cartoonists Society, New York Times Children’s Books Best Sellers, and the New York Public Library’s Best 100 Books of 2000. He enjoys hiking, kayaking and cooking (and eating!). Learn more about Doug, his art and his books at his Web site, http://www.doug-cushman.com/index.htm
