Photography by Daniel Kwok
Over the past five to six years, Seventh Avenue between 12th and Bleecker street has become the vanguard of a young, romantic, Euro-inspired cafe culture. These buzzy hot-spots offer dim lighting, intimate table arrangements, windows for people watching, and a short walk from some of the most famous jazz clubs in the world. Le Petit Village, which opened its doors last Wednesday, suffuses the best qualities of the cafe ‘new wave’ with a decidedly French flair. On an unforgivably cold New York night, I am seated in a dining area flanked by windows on three sides, past a candlelit fireplace that recalls the experience of a cozy dinner in a Haussmann-era apartment above a busy café.
You might find a lot of the food served here along Paris’s Boulevard Saint-Germain like foie gras, as well as some more daring dishes which challenge the notion of typical French fare such as wagyu steak tartare. However, Le Petit Village isn’t trying to reinvent the culinary wheel; it’s trying to do something altogether more interesting, which is to create dishes and drinks that enliven the senses and instill an appreciation of the relationship between sense and memory. “Smell and take a sip, Sante!” my waiter, Slater, tells me as he sprays Le Labo orange-capre perfume onto my hand. I take in the fragrance with a sip of my drink.
I started with the tuna nicoise which inspired a Proustian moment back to an oyster stand in Paris where I asked the shuckers about life in the Brittany region. My entrée was a hearty, herbaceous poached halibut, and the meal was capped off with a classic crème brûlée. After dinner, I am led to the upstairs bar where Ivan, an exceptional bartender, tells me about the new drinks that will be debuted when the restaurant opens. It’s no coincidence that each drink’s name is packed with nostalgia. The menu includes drinks such as Petite Histoire, The First Painting, and My First Love which is served in a blue vase that looks like something your highschool sweetheart kept flowers in after your third date. Even the walls are populated by the city’s memories of old school bodegas, Edward Hopper, Patti Smith at the Chelsea Hotel– memories of a New York long past whose essence still remains. With the plates now gone and the glasses empty, I will not soon forget my first visit to Le Petit Village.