Sisyphus :
Copy/paste:
Chardon does more than channel classic French cooking, which it often executes very well: pâté en croûte, a mosaic of rich meat encased in thick, golden pastry; plush madeleines, with their scalloped edges, that bounce back like memory foam; shellfish blanketed in an herbaceous sauce ravigote, evoking summer days at the beach.
On a deeper level, the glitzy brasserie inside the Thompson Hotel leans confidently into Texas flair. Wild boar from Broken Arrow Ranch in the Hill Country forms the pâté, alongside a gelée of muscadine, a native grape to the Southern U.S. that's used here instead of aspic. Those madeleines riff on cornbread with a more savory than sweet profile. Tender blue crab meat tucked into its own shell is downright Gulf Coastal.
Most French restaurants in Houston rarely stray from coq au vin or chocolate mousse. Aesthetically, they tend to gaze nostalgically to a France filled with Thonet-style chairs, brass railings and Edith Piaf. Yes, Chardon sits on Allen Parkway and not in one of Paris' 20 arrondissements. But chef E.J. Miller's playfulness with Texas inspiration blends seamlessly into a Gallic menu balancing tradition and a few surprises.
From the velvety banquettes to the floor tiles, various shades of blue blend in with the neoclassical and Art Deco touches in the dining room. An Impressionist painting here and a gilded Louis Philippe-style mirror there. Brigitte Bardot's seductive voice drifts softly in the background.
While the room feels a tad cliche, I still find it appealing. AvroKO's Miami Studio team led the design, and they're not slapping together a copy-and-paste job that's all too familiar at restaurants that feel like they're created for social media.
Chardon's menu manages to capture the essence of a French bistro - albeit one that leans closer to fine dining.
A whole dover sole grenobloise arrives with tableside fanfare, and a server debones it with a surgeon's precision. The indulgent dish is awash in brown butter accented with briny capers and a squeeze of tart lemon that cuts through the richness. I winced at the $98 price tag, but took comfort in how the fish was flawlessly prepared.
This was not the case with the two-pound Maine lobster "pot pie," which clocks in at $138. It also arrives on a roving cart. A copper pot topped with a circular cracker-like edible dome holds lobster bathed in truffle-brandy cream. A staffer saws around the dome, then plates it with the rest of the components. Instead of digging into a comforting flaky crust and mixing it with a hearty filling, the thinner sauce runs around the plate. Some bits of the crustacean are more tender than others.
Chardon's simpler dishes - including a complimentary epi baguette that's gloriously warm and airy - are executed more successfully. They're also more satisfying than the pot pie (and gentler on the wallet). Deviled "oeufs" can be upgraded with blue crab, trout roe or caviar and the pricing, $5 to $9 each, feels more approachable for a little slice of luxury.
Gnocchi Parisienne, the most affordable entree at $36, includes pan-seared nubs of dough that turn golden and roll in a buttery Parmesan sauce. Sommelier Renato Bringas suggested a crisp chardonnay on one visit that I wish I would've paired with the delicate pâte à choux (the same dough used for éclairs or profiteroles).
Across a trio of visits, though, it was the duck fat fries that became a must order. The frites come with any of the steaks, including a juicy ribeye, but are also available as a side to dip into a garlic aioli.
Chardon, which advertises itself as a seed oil-free restaurant, double-fries the thin spears in tallow before tossing them in duck fat. Each bite shatters with a savory crunch while the fluffy interior tempers all that decadence. These could be the best french fries in Houston.
Miller has cooked for celebrity chef Michael Mina's restaurant, as well as local spots such as Riel and occasionally at Brasserie 19. He knows Texas ingredients and shows it without beating you on the head with it.
The occasional clubstraurant vibes, especially in the evenings, feel like a distraction from the food and Miller's talents at times. There's a brass trellis near the entrance branded with St.-Germain, the elderflower liqueur, with flowers and a bench. It's not clear if it's part of the decor or supposed to be used for an Instagram photo opp.
The best distractions are on the plate, however. When we finished the last bites of the black truffle and escargot vol-au-vent, it took a few seconds to figure out why the puff pastry order resonated with everyone at the table.
It was the crawfish used in the classic, silky French sauce. We smiled at how the familiar can still feel and taste surprising.
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For what it's worth, I just searched on the Bravo browser in private mode.
