Chez Papa

The low level collective euphoria in Chez Papa last evening reminded me of a middle-class Amerian chain, themed steakhouse, a sort of Disney World of the palate. Packed –to-the-rafters, Chez Papa is part of a small chain of restaurants in Paris specializing in cuisine from the Sud Ouest. A friend and colleague, who once lived in my neighborhood suggested I try it. I did a few weeks ago for lunch, and rather enjoyed one of their jumbo salads, which was a pretty good deal, so I decided to dine and check out the rest of the menu. Disappointment. Despite the mass of interenet blurbs on what a "good value” it was, Chez Papa struck me as a simulacrum of a rustic Sud Ouest restaurant, with mediocre, mass-produced dishes, a kitchen full of African immigrants, and a clientele , rolling their eyes in joy, with no clue, under the black stare of the omnipresent partron’s Big Brother-like portrait. Papa doesn’t even exist