Kirkland’s Le Grand Bistro: French Cuisine, American Accent

Last week I paid my first-ever toll, on an excursion to Kirkland for lunch at Le Grand Bistro Américain. I’d been waylaid by a Cornichon photo gallery, and had to get over to see the place for myself. I’m not the only one making a late discovery — Grand Bistro owner Ted Furst told me that 85 to 90 percent of his clientèle are Eastsiders, still.

Furst, who has a storied history in Seattle dining, knows his French cuisine; in earlier days a chef at Place Pigalle, he was also co-owner of Campagne. (More recently, as a consultant, he was involved in the birth of MOD Pizza.) But his inspiration for Le Grand Bistro, he told me, was the idea of a French steakhouse, something like L’Entrecote. As he looked at the old Cucina Cucina space at Carillon Point –its 10-burner range, its 140 seats  (90 on the patio), and marina views — a vision took hold: a sort of business-casual French lunch, with unfussy but cut-above dinners.

You sense the more relaxed (in the context of French dining) attitude right away, as you glance at the menu. There are plenty of French names, but the ingredients are in English, so you can tell what you’re getting without being restricted to le burger américain. Some menu items, too, could be classified as French dishes that haven’t been discovered yet, like the black-eyed-pea soup ($7) with pistou atop. Shredded ham hock adds to the chicken stock a salty-sweet boldness, with braised escarole leaves (reminiscent of the konbu in miso) to balance.

Thanks to Furst hosting the lunch, I was able to try a few more options than I’d normally fit in, but don’t take this as an official review — it’s more of a fact-finding tour. Because they knew I’d be writing about the visit, I won’t rave about the service, which was in fact excellent.

The chicken liver mousse ($6) is, I think, the mousse-iest chicken liver I’ve ever had — fluffy, light, airy. It comes with a tangy top layer of port wine gelée, and a side of pickled vegetables — I can imagine genteel fights breaking out over who gets the last of it. You can also order it as part of a charcuterie platter ($10) during happy hour, 3 to 6 p.m. daily, when you can also get oysters on the half shell, $1.25 each. That sort of reasonable pricing extends beyond happy hour — the small plates in general cluster in the $6 to $7 range, while entrées are in the low teens for lunch, higher teens for dinner.

The entrées are generously sized. A macaroni plate on special looks positively daunting, but it’s partly due to the size of the shells; tucked in amongst them are asparagus and smoked chicken, with roasted Roma tomatoes creating tart little explosions. Since it’s not submerged in cheese, it turns out not to be heavy at all.

The salade Niçoise ($15 at lunch) also commands the attention of the table. Any Francophile worth his or her sel will be drawn to it: poached albacore sits beside a towering green salad, dusted with flakes of parmesan and doused with a little too much dijon vinaigrette. (It’s worth asking them to go lightly.) Steamed green beans retain a crisp crunch, alongside roasted fingerling potatoes. The egg has a creamy yolk, just the far side of soft-boiled.

For dessert, I tried a little of the pot de crème (chocolate, with stewed cherries, $6), though they also have a dark chocolate cake and a dark chocolate mousse, along with the de rigueur crème brulée. And it didn’t seem right to leave without sampling some of the housemade ice cream, in this case, flavored with Creme d’Armagnac and plum.

In an age of culinary purity tests (so lovingly skewered by Portlandia’s mid-meal provenance visits to farms), it’s refreshing to sit down with Furst and learn that he’s not obsessive one way or the other. Where he thinks it matters, he sources from France (escargot, la moutarde). Cheeses are mostly French, with some locals mixed in. Your Croque Monsieur will have French ham. Fish will have been sustainably caught. But the lamb in your lamb burger is from New Zealand. The bun, by the way, is baked fresh daily along with the bread — they can’t imitate the classic French baguette, Furst admitted, with its crackly crust, but freshness still counts.

To reward Seattleites for taking the bridge, you get validated parking in the Carillon Point garage. Avoid rush hour, and the toll is probably a wash against paying for parking; besides, with traffic lighter on the bridge these days, it might be faster to visit Kirkland than another destination. I wouldn’t recommend Le Grand Bistro to French expatriates hungering for the taste of home — first of all, where is home? Paris, Lyon, Avignon, Nantes? — but if you’re tired of elbowing your neighboring table at Pichet, for instance, you might on occasion enjoy easing into an expanse of booth at the Bistro, with its view of the lake.

Le Grand Bistro sells wine by the pichet, as well, Furst told me, then added that he used to pair the pichet with the short glass that’s common in France, where wine is like consumed like a juice by many. (Trivia: Furst’s favorite region to visit in France: Provence.) His customers wanted stem ware, though, so that’s what you’ll see on your table — an extra effort at hospitality.