Lucid dream

Datil (Le Marais)

RESTAURANTS • FOUND Table

Datil unfolds in three rooms. The first is a gentle, sensual dining space — intimate two-top tables, soft light, and a quiet murmur of anticipation. Following that, a corridor, bathedin daylight pouring from a skylight above. On the left, a bar lined with thick wooden beams evokes a tiny cottage in Normandy. Three small tables stretch along it, giving the impression of a room in motion, as if you were dining on a slow-moving train. At the end, two tables sit close to the open kitchen, and just beyond them, the most coveted seat of all: a single high stool at the pass, facing Manon Fleury, the newly starred young cheffe. I dream of returning and treating myself to that seat, to have the privilege to watch up close the choreography of hands, glances, and gestures that quietly compose the rhythm of this kitchen.

Lunch begins not with food, but an offering — a folded leaflet featuring a selection of artworks by women artists admired by the team. It’s an aesthetic overture, preparing your eyes before your palate.

Then come three amuse-bouches, each arriving in its own curated vessel: a glass-blown cup holding a cucumber and geranium infusion; a small clay pedestal carrying a tempura of aromatic herbs; and a porcelain teacup with a delicate chawanmushi, accompanied by a wooden spoon. Each is an invitation to engage your haptic senses, to feel as much as to taste.

Another small piece lands on the table: a folded ceramic plate carrying chickpea crackers, strewn with the season’s dried petals — a love note made edible.

The sommelière arrives to ask about our beverage preferences, and we opt for the pairing. Every pour seems to resonate with the plate before us, but one pairing stands out: a woodland porridge matched with sake brewed by three friends inside an old bowling alley in Berlin. The sake carries oxidative notes, evoking a fresh meadow, and somehow, the comfort of a worn leather armchair rubbed with kernel oil. It’s a pairing of remarkable precision, the kind that makes you want to lean back and let time slow its pace.

The food is voluptuous and subtle. Manon Fleury, once a French fencing champion, seems to translate the grace and timing of her sport into her cooking — fluid movements and precise strikes. Her cuisine is deeply vegetal, yet grounded by touches of sea and land.

The first dish is all freshness and care: a radish and pear mille-feuille that shifts character depending on the condiment you dip it in — almond, citrus, or seaweed. It’s supported by a Riesling Grand Cru Frankstein from Léonard Dietrich, sharp and crystalline.

Then, the tone deepens. Grilled and glazed mushrooms appear, with a porridge thickened by cocoa beans and black sesame. The acidity is exact, the bitterness poised, the seasoning almost musical. The next transition is oceanic. Tomato water and shrimp oil cradle an oyster, a satellite inlet to the potato “spaghetti” dressed in shrimp and crab bisque with plums and late-season tomatoes — a dish that feels like the tide itself coming in slow motion.

Dessert is an exploration of corn: ice cream, mousse, pickles, caramel, and silk. Each layer feels like a variation on a single note, polished to a jewel’s shine. It’s paired with a quince and green walnut beer from Brasserie des Voirons, a quietly perfect match.

The mignardises are playful and thoughtful: a tanghulu, a raspberry grape wrapped in a shiso leaf, dipped in caramel, skewered on a miniature sword. The sugar snaps, the leaf bites with pepper, and the grape bursts with juice. A final infusion of datil plum fittingly closes the story. It feels like a farewell and an invitation all at once.

At Datil, you don’t simply eat. You participate in an experiment of attention, in a kind of culinary poetry. Every element speaks of care: the printed menu gifted at the end, the naming of the team and their producers, the quiet pride in placing people — not just ingredients — at the heart of the meal. You leave gently, as if waking from a lucid dream, carrying the soft melancholy of re-entering the real world. And somewhere behind you, in that calm, golden room, another guest takes their first bite, and the conversation between flavor, texture, and time begins again. –Candice Chemel

→ Datil (Le Marais) • 13 Rue des Gravilliers • Wed-Fri 12h15-13h30, Mon-Fri 19h15-20h45 • Book.