You are my newest obsession.
Months ago, my girlfriend and I attended your opening for lunch and I sang your praises for your French sandwiches and now I am about to go down on one knee and serenade you for your brunch as well.
First, dear reader, as you may well know by now, I have a close, close, intimate relationship with “the egg”. Fewer things in this world give me greater pleasure… well, legal things anyway.
And if I am that drawn to eggs, you can only imagine what “the omelette” does to me.
A properly made omelet to me is like a boy’s first copy of Playboy; its first bite like the unraveling of its centerfold.
It’s primal, people. The attraction and excitement is primal.
The art of the omelette is a right of passage for chefs. It is the litmus test to prove their worth and skill to their peers. It is as fundamental and integral to cooking as the art of dribbling is to basketball.
The perfect omelette is soft yet firm. Moist but not too wet. The form and shape of the omelette looks very much like a roll of dough just before placed in the oven. It’s fluffy, pillowy and has subtle layers of texture the deeper your teeth sink delicately into it.
A perfect omelette does not have many ingredients: cheese, herbs, maybe one vegetable, preferably mushroom. That is it. If cooked properly… and Petit Trois does this… you need nothing more.
So without further adieu, I present to you Petit Trois’ omelette.
Inside there is only boursin cheese, which is a butter, cream cheese and herb spread. The heat of the omelette melts the cheese so that its flavor spreads from the center outwardly. On top there is finely chopped chive. That. Is. It.
But again it is the even moisture throughout (the firmness of the outside juxtaposed to a river of yolk and butter and cheese and herbs all intertwined and trapped on the inside) that is the genius of this dish, and I have not yet encountered its equal in Los Angeles. Not even close.
This meal did not start or end with this dirty decadent treat with whom I have Sydney Hunter, chef de cuisine, to thank (featured in the video at the end of the article).
It began with the bread – as all meals should.
Bread somehow has become a dirty word in the carb-free era we live in and I for one want to lead the charge against this backlash because, frankly, it’s just plain stupid.
To deny ourselves bread is in my opinion to deny us of the very basics of the art of food.
I judge restaurants very heavily on their breads. Whether they are outsourced or not, it’s the head chef’s responsibility to ensure quality bread to their customers because it is the first thing their lips touch.
And damn, the French baguette at Petit Trios is outstanding.
Maldon salt (harvested sea salt) is sprinkled on top and baked along with the dough. When served, it is warm on the outside and absolutely steaming upon spreading open. The creamy butter seeps into the doughy crevices and soaks itself down to the bed of crust.
Do not follow the non-bread eating herd people. Be smarter than that and come here and feast on this properly made yeast.
Now, my second naughty pleasure is French fries. Always have been. Always will be.
And not that I needed them as I had ordered enough to eat, but I had to try Petit Trois’ Frites Maison as they are served here with a mornay sauce; which is a béchamel sauce with added cheeses (chef’s choice) but typically Gruyere and parmesan, and I had never had it before so I wanted to sample.
The fries were served room temp and were properly salty and addictive as I expected them to be. They aren’t my favorite fries in Los Angeles (see my write up on Bouchon), but they sneak up on you and impress you more with each bite, wondering how on earth they are getting better.
Your fourth or fifth time back you end up saying to yourself, “Hey, now wait a minute. Did you change your hair? Is that a new dress?”
It might be because the fries are cooked in rendered beef fat.
As for the mornay sauce, it’s basically the best mayonnaise of all time.
Adeye ordered the Chicken Leg, which is coated with bread crumbs and fried in a pan with brown butter. The flavors and textures from the couple of bites that I had were very much akin to duck confit and it comes served with a frisee salad.
The chicken was moist, tender and delicious. The buttery crunch on the outside, the juicy salty inside. Righteous.
I wish I could have ordered more as there are many things left on this menu that I want to devour. The Croque Monsieur. Their escargot. The Pork Terrine. All in good time. But for now I will leave you with some cocktail advice.
I ordered the Mange a Quatre and Adeye the Mauresque.
My drink, the one to the right, the Menage a Quatre, had gin, campari, vermouth and orange and it was quite tasty and a perfect summer cocktail. The smaller of the two, the Mauresque, was primarily made with Ricard Pastis, which is a strong licorice flavored liqueur.
It’s an acquired taste and some drinks have a high concentration of this flavor, others lighter. This one was heavy, too overpowering and would have f’ed with the flavors of the meal but the waiter/barkeep was kind enough to understand the problem and replaced it with the Coin du Feu which contains juniper infused tequila, lime and orange.
I could drink these all day. Every day. Breakfast. Lunch. Snack Tray Time. Dinner. I would brush my teeth with this stuff if I could.
For your entertainment watch chef de cuisine, Sydney Hunter, caramelize the top of Petit Trois’ house made Napoleon.
He uses powdered sugar instead of granulated which he prefers because (this was explained to me) powdered sugar burns easily, which also is why he blows on the flame to spread the heat as he torches the pastry shell; to avoiding burning.
As Sydney was preparing this Napoleon the entire restaurant fell silent. All conversation between the patrons stopped and we erupted in applause upon its completion.
That is dining my friends.
Just as important to the dining experience as anything else – a connection between those who are preparing the food and those who are consuming.