Petit Coquin is a small, deceptively simple-looking restaurant with an equally simple-sounding prix fixe menu hiding many complexities in its knowing execution of French classics. Credit: Instagram / petit_coquin_sa
French bistro Petit Coquin seats 25 guests in its compact, almost defiantly neutral space. When you make a reservation, and reservations are a must, you’re informed that the table is “yours for the night.”
Understandably, expectations run high — on your part that the kitchen will deliver, and on the host’s part that you will take full advantage, presumably to order more wine and to linger over the cheese plate.
Options abound in the extensive and quirky wine list at this South Presa Street newcomer. Its owners seemingly delight in presenting obscure and little-known bottles. Your food choices are far fewer, consisting of just two options in each of three categories: First Course, Second Course and To Finish.
The price, plus tax and tip, is $65 — plus $20 for the optional country paté to complement the bread service. Before we get too far into weeds, yes, it’s worth it. Especially if you’re a carnivore.
The bread service, a domed petit loaf served in an equally diminutive cast iron frying pan, comes with luxurious, exquisitely spreadable butter — a star in its own right.
The crusty bread doesn’t really need the paté. But you do. Order one for the table at the very least. The serving looks hewn from a slab of stone amalgam, and it holds together beautifully when cut. It also tasted like tradition, especially in the company of a seedy Dijon mustard and a cluster of particularly sassy cornichons.
On my visit, we were only halfway through the bread and paté when Course One arrived. The haste seemed unneeded, given that few tables were yet occupied, and it also seemed to break the pact between kitchen and diner. In any other setting, the course’s early arrival might felt less intrusive.
Fortunately, both options in the category were exceptional. In the first, rigorously al-dente beluga lentils in a light vinaigrette formed the base for a small slab of sausage and a lacing of aioli. As black as their caviar namesake, these lentils will inform your opinion of the legume from here on out. To point, they almost outshone the sausage.
Dish No. 2 was even more of a revelation. Billed as peach and cucumber gazpacho, the velvety soup recalled a more traditional, and tomato-based, Spanish salmorejo, where stale bread helps achieve the texture. Given the lack of expected sweetness from the peaches, I could have sworn that tomato still played a role here, but whatever the alchemy, the cold concoction stood on its own.
But wait, there’s more. The soup was crowned with a dollop of shredded crab subtly accented with tarragon. Pescatarians could do a double order of this and call it a day. Just saying.
The rest of us could anticipate a Second Course of roast pork with summer squash — served this time after a lengthy wait. At that point, we began to broach tricky territory having to do with menu descriptions. When I see “roast pork” on a menu, I don’t automatically think tenderloin, despite the fact that this is a cut far more in tune with the kitchen ethos than, say, roast shoulder. Tenderloin is easy and quick, and unless overcooked, it’s foolproof, lending itself to all sorts of rubs and coatings.
Petit Coquin keeps it simple, and naturally doesn’t overcook the cut, saving any embellishment for the silky mustard sauce. But for all of its roseate perfection, I almost preferred the beautifully seared summer squash alongside.
Searing brings us to my next petty gripe. The other listed Second Course option was described as “seared lamb with eggplant purée and maitake mushroom.” Visions of still-quivering lamb medallions, or noisettes, danced in my head. Wrong. The lamb appeared to have been long-braised, pulled and reassembled into a plank — which might or might not have been seared. I was not convinced.
Still, the accompanying eggplant was smoky and sultry, the almost meaty maitake mushroom — yes, singular in this case — a revelation.
Expectations again: when you see rice pudding on a menu, what do you think? I’ll bet the answer is not “thrilling in both taste and texture.” And yet, thrilling this was. Just enough texture of the rice remained to give body, candied pecan bits provided pops of sweetness and a brown butter crumble offered depth flavor. Sign me up for more.
The less opulent cheese plate wasn’t shabby either. It consisted of more good bread, a nutty cantal, a polite washed-rind and brie-like wedge. It all went perfectly with a bottle of unusually light, yet still savory, Cahors suggested by our well-versed server. It’s OK to ask for help.
To forestall disappointment, feel free to ask for menu details too.
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