Le Ribouldingue – Paris

Le Ribouldingue seemed a good bet - an offal-heavy restaurant, the only Bib Gourmand recommendation in the 5th arrondisement where we were staying, rather competitively priced for the centre of Paris, in a small but grandly decorated setting. Reviews suggested it had seen through a bad patch and had come out the other end.

I was only just thinking as we arrived that we had been in Paris for almost two days and nobody had been rude to us – everyone, in fact, had been perfectly polite – when Madame opened the restaurant door to us and demanded to know if we had confirmed our reservation. Actually, we had confirmed – the wrong restaurant. We stuttered and hawed, but Madame, blocking our way, was not backing down. It looked like there would be no dinner for us at Ribouldingue, and I was already thinking about the Moroccan restaurant N1 had eaten at and enjoyed the night before (L’Atlas, 12 St.Germaine-des-Prés), which wasn’t far away, when suddenly Madame gave up and let us in.

We were a bit ruffled, and passingly considered making a break for it. But Madame had calmed down and we settled in. She did give us a mysterious explanation why our 2008 Burgundy couldn’t be decanted, which I suspect boiled down to the fact there was no room on the small table (it is a bit cramped here.) We started with rognons blancs (lambs’ testicles) and tetine de vache (udder). The rognons blancs were delicious, tasting less of strong kidney than some I have had, done in small coins in a parsley sauce. The udder came in small, fried squares, and had none of the marbled texture or milky taste it had at Viva M’Boma in Brussels, where they’d assured us the only other place we might find it on a menu would be in Lyon – but it seems these sorts of cuts are coming back into fashion.

Mains: guinea fowl was lovely – crispy skin and nice fatty layer - roasted with mustard seed, citron and ginger, a delicious combination. Partridge was not so well done – one of the two halves of the small bird was not so much undercooked as uncooked. For steak, yes, for poultry, no. It took a few extra slugs of (undecanted) red wine to get through that one. A shame because the accompaniments – a watercress sauce, and a chestnut and celeriac mash – were lovely. Some other lucky diner got the largest serving of bone marrow I have ever seen.

Desserts were actually wonderful. A gentian ice cream with Campari and pink grapefruit was sharp, creamy, but bitterly palate cleansing – top class. Poached pear came with spices and a marron cream, and was again notable for not having been sweetened – superb.

So, a hit, apart from an undercooked (uncooked) partridge and hit-and-miss relations with the staff. N1 is convinced that the very quiet waiter did tell us we were being “filthy” for mopping with bread, but I can’t believe that, since it came as such a genuine, simple comment. Lost in translation, I am sure. Madame did seem to think we were unmannered English peasants, so much so that I may actually be tempted to turn up one day in a peasant costume and see how that goes down. N1 thoroughly approved of the fact that we were the only non-French diners there.

Restaurant Le Ribouldingue – 10, Rue Saint Julien le Pauve, Paris