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The winter sun
was shining and it was time for a lovely late lunch for a desperately needed
catch-up and escape. We traveled across Park Avenue South and found ourselves
in L’Express, a sweet little bistro that felt as if it was on an anonymous Parisian
side street. The tables and chairs, the mirrors the colors, the tile, the menu,
the everything… so French, so perfect for the midday rendez-vous.
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The house duck pâté
appetizer came with country toast, a spicy mound of mustard, tart and tangy
cornichons, briny black olives, fresh tomato swirls, and soggy dressed lettuce.
The extremely large triangles of pâté were mildly intimidating, a generous
portion of luscious decadence. Each accoutrement gave the silky, fatty pâté a
unique flavor, making different elements shine while cutting the heaviness.
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Pretty onion
soup garnished with a little green garnish was perfect to warm insides and make
smiles. T he crouton dissolved in the small bowl, but the thick hot cheese
stretched adding chew to the smooth broth that was studded with slinky onions.
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A gorgeous
shallow bowl held more pumpkin ravioli than predicted with a light broth and
sage. Each pocket was pleasantly plump and bursting with fresh feelings of
fall. The filling was seriously pumpkin, with all those flavors of the season—
spicy, sweet things. The herbal sage brought out the earthiness of the pumpkin
and added distance between the filling and pumpkin pie.
The steak frites
rounded out the bistro experience. Char and grill marks drastically contrasted
the warm pink meat longing for salt. A tiny dressed salad brightened the heavy
meat and perfectly soggy fries, balance.
Despite its name
and its hours, a lunch at L’Express could be leisurely. It was soulful and
buttery, indulgent in a way that is almost effortless and quotidian—déjeuner.
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