Mercerie Mullot

There were in France, until the end of the 1970s, "fantasy singers". From Jean Constantin to Boby Lapointe, these artists had the talent and intelligence to do their job seriously, without ever taking themselves seriously. Benoit and Céline Reix are whimsical restorers. "Military fantasy", first. Do not expect, at the Mercerie Mullot, the slightest concession on the quality or the freshness of the product, on the precision of cooking or seasoning. In his pocket restaurant, a few strides from the brasseries-liners of the Boulevard du Montparnasse, Benoit delivers a soloist and high-flying cuisine. But when seated behind the small L-shaped bar, one marvels at the craftsmanship and the simplicity of a fillet of mackerel, almost alive, just stiffened over the flame, served with a few new vegetables and a yuzu-mandarin juice, Benoit responds with a smirk: "Don't worry. Everything will be charged! Who says fantasy also says a part of improvisation. There must be a map somewhere. But as it changes every day, according to the seasons, the market and Benoît's inspirations, it becomes quite natural to let things go. If Benoit switches to the "offensive version" tasting menu, you will be notified. With her Pocahontas braids, her smile on her heart, and her constant attention, Céline will come to make sure that what Benoit has cooked suits you. The wine list is short, precise, cultured. No obligatory reverence for the big labels, nor complacency for the approximate winegrowers. A few pins from Château Yvonne 2005, Jean-François Ganevat, Thomas Picot, Mathieu Baret, Stephan or the atomic bombs of Stéphane Bernaudeau. And when you have finished zig-zagging between the raw, fresh and salty scallops, the crispy and soft veal sweetbreads, to slip into the revisited gazelle horn (and already classic), it is not uncommon for Benoit crank up the volume on her little Marshal speaker to send Christophe, Lou Reed, or flamenco guitar straight out of her joyful and crazy playlist. Open the shirt collars. We fraternize between the tables. There are winegrowers passing by. Chiefs who come as neighbors or who seek asylum. And we have seen some lost people, on Sunday around 4 p.m., start dancing between the tables, saying to themselves that "we should try to be happy, if only to set an example" (Jacques Prévert ). Friends bistro? Large restaurant? We don't really know anymore. Probably both. Fantasy, what a lovely project!