My friends return from Paris and swoon over the tourist-trap brasseries along the Champs ...lysées and the cafes in Montmartre. They wax romantic about pastries and charcuterie, about lingering and nibbling and sipping. But I'm more concerned with shoveling and gulping and gnawing, and with the hearty French-countryside fare I love so much: a bubbling crock of cassoulet (a simple stew of white beans, tomato, and simmered meats); a lavender-encrusted rack of lamb; boeuf bourguignonne, the beef braised for hours in cheap merlot.
Which brings me to Cassis. On a recent freezing, glum Monday night, I was introduced to this French bistro by a friend who took one look at me and instantly knew I needed a hot meal and a long talk. Before this night, I knew nothing about the place--a modest brick building with a moody neon sign that promises cocktails--but after glancing around the room and spotting calf's liver ($18), traditional fish soup with rouille ($18), and grilled rib eye with a tall haystack of pommes frites ($25), I suspected I'd found a kindred spirit in chef Charlie Durham.
"GET THE CHICKEN," my friend hollered. And I almost ignored her. Restaurant chicken dishes are about as exciting as the Oxygen network. But she persisted (she's from New Jersey--I've always had a soft spot for people from the Garden State). And Jersey was right. I couldn't believe that the succulent, flavorful bird ($19) we were tearing at--crisped skin and moist flesh, served with a bulb of roasted garlic and potato gratin, infused with vermouth and rosemary--was the same bird I get from QFC when I can't be bothered with a real dinner. Cassis has taken chicken to a glamorous new place.
But the Humble Meat Spectacular doesn't stop there. As Jersey settled into the glam chicken, I moved on to an excellent slow-roasted pork shank ($25 for an enormous portion) with tender white asparagus and red cabbage. A pig's leg isn't conventionally considered a super-desirable cut; until it started appearing on trendy New York menus a couple of years ago, pork shank was dismissed as tough sausage meat. But tonight, coated with brown sugar and salt, then roasted for 10-12 hours at a patient 200 degrees, that "tough meat" fell apart in my mouth--I almost didn't need to chew it. I found the same suppleness in Cassis' satisfying cassoulet when I returned another night and ordered from the "Country Classic Favorites" section (cassoulet [Sunday, $22], coq au vin [Monday, $18], boeuf bourguignonne [Tuesday, $19], rabbit [Wednesday, $20], and sweetbreads [Thursday, $21]). If there were any way of hugging that cassoulet without looking like a complete jackass, I would've done it.
Between the generosity of the pig's leg and the glam chicken, it might be hard to believe Jersey and I indulged in appetizers beforehand. But we couldn't turn down a large pile of moules marinière ($10), picking at the fresh, plump mussels with our fingers, and sopping up the broth of white wine, butter, and herbs with hunks of bread. I was, however, disappointed in our ceviche ($10); the albacore had been sadly overmarinated in its citrus bath, leaving nothing but astringent spoonfuls of lemon. A couple weeks later I tried it again, this time with scallops, and loved it: Those scallops were "cooked" (cured) perfectly, and citrus intermingled with capers, cilantro, and onion--refreshing, and a million times more successful than the volatile albacore.
We wrapped up our marathon with a fabulous frozen caramel soufflé, served with warm chocolate sauce ($8): subtle, airy, delicious. I felt grown-up and Parisian and decadent, sipping coffee and whispering over dessert, votive candles flickering nearby. I didn't really need the Boulevard du Montparnasse on this particular evening. I was quite content with New Jersey.
Cassis
2359 10th Ave E (Capitol Hill), 329-0580. Dinner nightly 5-10 pm (Sat-Sun 5-11 pm).
