Paris - Au Pied de Cochon

Au Pied de Cochon
6 Rue Coquilliere
Paris, 75001



Having read about this temple to the pig, we felt that it would be rude to leave Paris without having sampled some of their porcine wares.



Cold and weary, we gratefully stumble into the warm and cheery hall of the restaurant. According to lore, Au Pied de Cochon (literally pig trotters) has been open 24/7 since 1947, and that the main doors have no lock.



The Valentine's special - an advertisement card on our side plates advertising shellfish. Shellfish for Valentines makes sense, but at a restaurant reputed for its pigs?



Cute little emblems peeking from every surface reminds the diner that this is a homage to the pig, and all things porky.



Every surface except for the menu, which has a very sizable seafood section. Alluring though the fishy options were, we held fast to our original intentions of cradling some pork.







The front of the menu gives a cartoonish but gruesome reminder that a (or possibly more than a) pig died to give us this meal.



More reminders of piggy goodness. By now, we really could not wait to try the food.



A nice bottle of beaujolais to wash down our porkiness. We didn't feel like white, and felt that anything most robust would wash away the more nuanced flavours of good pork.



In a rare show of your intrepid reporter, my main was brought to the table under a highly polished copper dome.



Which was whisked away to reveal the ultimate homage to nose and tail eating: nose and tail.



A chose the slightly less adventurous dish of a single trotter, deboned and stuffed with truffle, served with baby onions, mushrooms and bacon. Mmm, more pork. We both loved A's dish - the flavours were rich but well defined. The stuffed trotter was meaty, and as it had been boned out, not at all difficult to eat. The baby onions and mushrooms were cooked in a slightly sticky brown sauce - probably jus from the pork - which was highly reminiscent of coq au vin sauce.



My dish of pork, pork and more pork was served with extra large potato chips, more roast potato than chipped potato. Fried with a crust so crunchy that it literally shatters to the bite, and a large jug of bernaise on the side.



I had ordered 'La Tentation de Saint-Antoine': the temptation of St Anthony - a veritable panoply of the ends of a pig: its snout, ears, trotter and tail. The snout was literally split in twain and served as is - nostril still highly evident and all its porky glory left evident. Every piece was brined, crumbed and had the crap deep fried out of it. Certainly not fine dining, the flavours were strong, robust, and the texture sticky and unctuous - just how I love it.



It took me very little time to reduce the pieces to well-gnawed bone.



Our dessert was preceeded by a bottle of rum. Yes, we were given a bottle of rum.



Baba - a fluffy sweet brioche topped with shaved chocolate and powdered sugar, dotted with whipped cream and then doused in rum - heaven on a plate.



The brioche was sagging badly from the amount of rum we'd doused on to it. Maybe it ruined our palates and maybe it was silly, but it certainly put us in a good mood for our last evening in Paris.



The damage: €90 for two. A margarita and a bottle of wine increased our bill from middling to slightly steep. The service can be slow and the waiters can often overlook a waving hand, but the food is good, if you like pork. A table of French people by us ordered exclusively from the seafood menu, and their meals looked delicious. Perhaps the next time we visit this porcine pleasure palace, we will opt for fish instead.