Just to confuse us expats even more, the French have invented a nifty little way of inversing real words to make rad new slang words (ouf is the new fou, meuf is the new femmes and cimer is the new merci, etc). So, already bearing the name of my favourite author inversed, James Henry – Paris’ chef du moment – was destined to be cool in France from the very start.
Henry, the divinely bashful young Australian chef, made us moan with his whole slow roasted lamb shoulder, barely cooked bonito and homemade rillettes while working at the oh-so-boho Au Passage. But it’s at his much-hyped restaurant Bones, that James Henry’s talents are truly on show.
When I walked through the doors of the packed new 11th arondissement address, there was a whole suckling pig on the counter, Talking Heads on the ipod and the likes of Sebastian Riffault and Fanny Sabre on the wine list. And the night had only just begun…
The space is divided into two levels; the lower level which features a no-reservations wine bar serving a variety of small plates (think charcuterie boards, freshly shucked oysters and slithers of sashimi) and the raised platform for the absolutely-must-reserve restaurant.  With its stripped-back brick walls, industrial lampshades, concrete floors and marble topped tables; the decor is as brut as a bottle of Veuve, yet the dimmed lighting, casual wait-staff and cool beats ensure an intimate, laid-back living room vibe is sustained.  The place is jam-packed with East-ender trendies in their boyfriend jeans, cocoon coats and man-buns – but quite frankly you’re too busy salivating over the salami being sliced at the counter to really care.
As the name suggests, Henry is bringing cooking back to its bare bones, and the chef is determined to be involved in as much of the preparation process as possible – including churning his own butter, baking his own bread and pickling his own vegetables. Our 47 euro tasting menu for the night included black mullet sashimi iced with raifort, succulent scallops with raw pear and sweet caramelised endives, pork shoulder and its delicious meaty bestie of boudin noir, a selection of cheeses, and a tarte tartin with jasmine ice-cream to top it off. And that’s not including the plethora of freebies that came along to amuse our bouches (impossibly tender BBQ octopus, gremolata’d duck heart, suckling pig broth with foie gras and sea urchin and ginger granita with lemon cream).
Nope, there were certainly no Bones to pick with James Henry’s hip new venture. It is unpretentious, honest cooking at its best. The concept is simple and the results are truly outstanding.
Bones
43, rue Godefroy-Cavaignac
75011 Paris
Metro:Â Ledru Rollin
Emerald Bond
(Author of www.agoodforking.com)
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