Resto: Limbar, the sweet fire

Hesitation was predominant when it came to choosing the right moment to discover Maxime Frédéric’s cuisine. Breakfast ? Breakfast ? To taste ? Aperitif? Having dinner ? Known for his talents as a baker and pastry chef, he is less known for his ability to think savory. And yet, LVMH gave him the reins of Limbar, the address casual of the Samaritan woman. Located on the ground floor of the Hôtel Cheval Blanc, the restaurant initially seems dark. This must be the effect of the tinted windows overlooking the Quai du Louvre. They allow you to see the chaos of the city without being seen, which provides instant appeasement. Nothing like feeling protected while being at the heart of the hubbub.

Heat, the smell of golden bread, the sound of the craftsman’s hands slamming to get rid of the flour, the rustle of the bread shovel sliding against the refractory bricks of the oven …

As it was complicated to decide on the time of the meeting, the option of arriving at 11:30 am was retained. The late risers finish their croissants over black coffee. Here, in the morning, there are neither eggs nor granola, the Parisian breakfast is in the spotlight. While Jeanne Moreau is cheerful in the loudspeakers (“Do you know I love your lies”), a 2021 Long Jing grand cru is served according to the rules of the art. Green tea is both tender and vibrant, like a bud. He prepares the palate for the so-called bakery cuisine of Maxime Frédéric.

The time has come to sit down to eat. A green bean salad is placed on a wheat cracker. The cherry dressing is too sour and spoils the picture. It was nevertheless composed with care and counterpoints. Fresh almonds reminiscent of the sap of figs, the juices and seeds of which play with the power of fennel flowers and scallion cut into sections. The products are of undeniable quality but served too cold to be fully appreciated. Fortunately, rye bread helps overcome disappointment. The corn puff pie is full of contrasts: the intensity of Beaufort bumps into the decorum of the dough, the lightness of the soufflé to the indulgence of the whole.

The surreptitious idea of ​​being teleported into the bakery of a bakery is essential: heat, the smell of browning bread, the sound of the craftsman’s hands slamming to get rid of the flour, the rustling of the bread shovel which slides against the refractory bricks of the oven … The soufflée tart takes you far. The salad that accompanies it is unfortunately not up to par. Another vinaigrette problem, both too acidic and too thick. Too bad, it would have been so good to gravy with the sourdough bread.

Finally, the dessert brings back a smile. Royally placed in the center of the plate, a puff pastry sculpture represents the mothering silhouette of a pear. Appearances are not deceptive. The leafing evokes a caress. The lightly sweet, melting fruit inspires the unwavering support that only a parent can provide and finally helps make a decision. Next time, reservations will be made to taste it.