Eating and Sleeping in Strasbourg

Sitting at the edge of France, rubbing shoulders with Germany (and, off and on during its history, also being part of Germany), Alsace has been influenced in many ways by its neighbour. The Alsatian language, for instance (as we discovered during an informative boat tour of Strasbourg) draws heavily from both French and German. It also borrows from Hebrew, Yiddish and English, but that’s another story.

Language isn’t the only thing in this part of the world that draws from Gallic and Germanic sources; the food is of equally diverse origins. The light dressings on salads, the lightly sautéed potatoes and the glacés that help cool off on a hot summer’s day are very decidedly French. The pickled cabbage—known in German as sauerkraut and in French as choucroute—is, on the other hand, well-known as a definitely Germanic dish. And it appears on menus throughout Strasbourg, from upscale brasseries to stand-by-the-roadside fast food counters, along with boiled potatoes to meats of every type: bratwurst, liver dumplings, boiled beef or pork, ham and bacon. Some eateries, like Ami Schutz on Ponts Couverts, do a sauerkraut special that gives you the works: six different types of meat with sauerkraut and potatoes. Others, like a small shop called Super Hamburger, between the Cathedral and Place Kebler, serve a takeaway that’s spiced up with sauerkraut: an Alsatian version of a hotdog.

But sauerkraut isn’t all there is to Alsatian food. Other specialties that you’ll see featuring prominently on menus include flammekueche, tarte à l’oignon, and quiche Lorraine. The tarte à l’oignon (onion tart) and quiche Lorraine are similar: both consist of a pastry shell filled with a custard of eggs, milk, butter, onions and generous doses of cheese. Where the quiche Lorraine scores over the tarte à l’oignon (in my opinion!) is in the addition of a judicious amount of bacon. A good onion tart or quiche Lorraine is creamy on the inside, crisp on the outside, and filling without sitting in your tummy.

A flammekueche—also known as a tarte flambée, and equally common in restaurants—is also a baked dish with a base of pastry, but it’s very different from the tart and the quiche. This is more like a very thin crust pizza, except that the topping has no tomatoes. A traditional flammekueche is simply topped with yoghurt, chopped onions and lardons, tiny pieces of smoked bacon. It’s then popped into the oven until the onions are cooked, the bacon crisp and the topping absolutely luscious. You’ll find spiced up versions of flammekueche, of course, including some with distinctly Italian ingredients like olive oil or garlic, but don’t miss the opportunity to try a traditional one—if it’s good, it’s excellent.

There’s more, including matelote, a fish stew traditionally made with mushrooms and tiny onions, with cream and wine—typically Reisling—and a healthy dose of herbs to give it flavour. Unfortunately, my experience of matelote was less than inspiring: the only time I had it was at L’Ancienne Douane, and it was woefully bland. Another Alsatian specialty with Reisling, however, got our unstinted vote: poulet au Reisling, an Alsatian version of the legendary French coq au vin. This one consists of pieces of boned chicken in a rich, Reisling-and-cream sauce with mushrooms. The poulet au Reisling we had was at the Taverne de la Cathedrale, where they served it along with spaetzle, a local pasta that’s tossed in butter and is very good.

The abundant wine also makes it presence felt in the superb game stew known as baeckoffe. This includes vegetables—carrots, leeks and potatoes in the version I tasted at Ami Schutz—and can be based on different types of meat. The excellent baeckoffe at Ami Schutz is rabbit, but the one at L’Ancienne Douane is made of three types of game.

While we’re on the subject of wine, this is probably the place to point out that Alsace’s two best-known wines are its Reislings and Gewürtztraminers. Both are superb wines, and run (like all wines) the gamut from dishwater to nectar, so ask for a taste before you pick on a bottle you’d like to buy. Nearly all cafés and restaurants offer a wide range of local and other wines, some by the glass—though how good a wine that’s sold by the glass will turn out to be is usually a hit-or-miss affair: I’ve had some fabulous stuff, but then I’m easy to please.

Even my adaptable tastebuds however didn’t think much (can tastebuds think?) of Strasbourg’s big dessert-breakfast item, the kügelhopf. This is a sweetish bread, studded with raisins and baked in a distinctive ring-shaped mould. Dusted with icing sugar, it’s all right as a breakfast food with a hot latte, but nothing to write home about, as far as I’m concerned. The city makes much of kügelhopf, though, and you’ll see tiny kügelhopf moulds, made of porcelain and prettily painted with flowers, on sale as souvenirs all over Strasbourg. Much, much better is the tarte aux myrtilles, which I had at a small café in front of the Cathedral (the Place Cathedrale, by the way, is a good place to begin searching for Alsatian food—nearly all of the cafés in the area serve local delicacies). Tarte aux myrtilles is a blueberry tart. It has a base of pastry which is topped with a thin layer of custard and shovelfuls of cooked blueberries before being baked one last time. Sublime.

And now for the biggie: Strasbourg’s very own star, pâté de foie gras. Pâté de foie gras supposedly originated in Strasbourg (or at least in Alsace), and the best there is—and I have this from a person who grew up in Strasbourg and should know—is to be bought at Edouard Artzner’s. Artzner have been making pâté de foie gras for over two hundred years now, so it’s hardly surprising they’re good at it. They make a wide range of pâtés, both of goose as well as duck, and they make related products such as terrines and confits. The shop, at 7, Rue des Mesanges, stocks a vast number of Artzner specialties in different forms—for instance, if you’re travelling and want to take pâté back with you, ask. Products to be consumed fresh are different from those that can survive storage. Artzner, by the way, also serve food to be consumed at the shop (they have seating available). Although the emphasis is on pâté and similar foods used as ingredients in recipes, you’ll find other options too, including salads. It’s not cheap, but the buttery goodness of a well-made Artzner pâté is not easily forgotten.

We’d done research before booking a junior suite at the Best Western Hotel de France, and most reviews were positive: it’s well located, friendly, comfortable. The exterior—unimpressive concrete—didn’t bother us. Neither did the modest reception desk and the tiny lobby. We weren’t even upset when the receptionist informed us that they’re strict about their 3 PM check-in time. It was just past noon, and she let us keep our luggage in the left luggage room.

When we got back after 3, we got our first inkling that things weren’t tickety-boo. The receptionist on duty told us a junior suite wasn’t available. He’d book us into a smaller room for the night, and shift us to a junior suite the next day. There didn’t seem like much choice, so we agreed and went up to #510.

Though air-conditioned, the room was cramped, with a smallish double bed and patchwork decor: different themes put together. The floral-printed curtains were pretty, the green-orange pattern of the carpet not. The dirty yellow and olive Formica of the desk and headboard was awful. The waterpipes and radiator of the bathroom (which was pleasantly large) looked as if they’d last been painted in the 50’s, and other than toilet paper, a hair dryer and a multipurpose soap-shampoo, there were no accessories. The room had a small TV, wardrobe, minibar, and a couple of chairs with a desk. The view—the unsightly backyard of a building—was terrible.

The next morning, therefore, we asked for the promised junior suite. But no, it’d be available only after noon. So (since the hotel’s breakfast, at €14 per head, is steep) we took ourselves off to a café and then sightseeing. Back later, we were given our junior suite, #501. This was a twin-bedded room, bigger and with a better view, even a large (though bad) painting. Same accessories though, and the loo was weird: the WC (and nothing else) was on one side of the vestibule, everything else—bidet, washbasins (two of them!), bathtub—on the other side. Thoroughly inconvenient. The vestibule had a door—not lockable—leading into the bedroom, but still.

The Best Western has a bar where breakfast is served. There’s laundry, parking and a conference room. The location’s great; walk 15 minutes and you’re at the Cathedral. But that’s it.

Personally, I wouldn’t stay here again. Not because of the inconvenient loo or the inadequate housekeeping (empty Kleenex box two days running, no hygiene bags, bedsheets merely tucked in and not even dusted). Not because of the expensive breakfast, or that Tarun had a hard time convincing the manager we should be given a rebate for the night spent in #510. Because we later discovered that they’d lied to us. After we checked out and were walking out, we found that #501—a ‘junior suite’—is actually a superior room, cheaper than what we’d paid. Sheer dishonesty is something I can’t stomach.

The Taverne de la Cathedrale is much like most of the other cafés that dot Strasbourg: cane chairs, small wooden tables, sedate cream beach umbrellas on uncomfortably sunny days. Also, like most others, its menu is a hotchpotch of Alsatian and primarily French food, with a big wine list. Yet, there was something so welcoming about the place that we found ourselves, during the three days we were in Strasbourg, returning to it so often the waiters began grinning at us in recognition when we sat down.

The Taverne de la Cathedrale is in one corner of the cobbled square known as Place de la Cathedrale, home to Strasbourg’s famous Nôtre Dame Cathedral. This café begins business a little late (they’re not open for breakfast), but stays open through the day, so if you land up—like we did—for a really late lunch, you’ll get it.

On our first day, I ordered a pâté en croute while Tarun had a tarte â l’oignon. Both were listed as light meals, and came with nearly half the plate loaded down with salad—Tarun’s with crisp lettuce drizzled with a tart mayonnaise-based dressing, mine with a huge helping of grated carrot tossed in French dressing and an equally large mound of some crisp radish-like veggie I couldn’t identify, in a sharp and creamy sauce. The pâté I got, along with its coating of aspic, was tasty enough, but the crust left a lot to be desired: it was hard, doughy and cold. Tarun’s tarte â l’oignon was, on the other hand, delicious, cheesy and with the right amount of onion, including a lovely browned onion crust.

This was good value for money (€26, including drinks and a tip), so we returned the next day, this time for another Alsatian specialty, which both of us ordered: poulet au Reisling. The chicken, simmered in cream and Reisling, was tender and very flavoursome. It came with a generous serving of spaetzle, an Alsatian pasta that’s lightly tossed in butter and looked like overdone scrambled eggs—but tasted way better. A complimentary basket of hard rolls nearly went untouched because the chicken and spaetzle were large portions.

The third day, we were back again, this time for quiche Lorraine, gloriously cheesy and full of bacon, with a vast salad of lettuce on the side.

Except for the pâté en croute fiasco, I loved Taverne de la Cathedrale. It’s friendly and informal, and the food’s good value for money. The menu’s written in French, German and English, and all the waiters at least understand English. Your bill can start as low as €15 for a fairly filling meal with an aerated drink (beer’s often cheaper!). I prefer lemonade, so always ordered that or Coke, but Tarun had beer or wine. Our bill never exceeded €45 for a main course and drink.

And here’s the bonus: almost any time of the day, some talented buskers play classical and popular tunes from 50’s Hollywood right round the corner, so entertainment’s free.

Some of Strasbourg’s best local food is to be had in the Petite France quarter, and the bierstub known as Ami Schutz ranks right up there as my favourite joint in the neighbourhood—after just one visit. Firstly, the location’s great: it sits next to the three towers of the Ponts Couverts, the `covered bridges’, beside one of Petite France’s picturesque stretches of canal. Part of Ami Schutz looks out over the canal, and is therefore the most prized territory for diners: if you want a table on the terrace, make a reservation.

We hadn’t made a reservation, so we had to be content with a table in the yard instead (Ami Schutz has indoor seating, but nobody sits inside on a summer evening!).

But the yard itself isn’t to be dismissed lightly: it’s gravel on the ground, and loads of greenery all around: shady trees droop all over, and grapevines cling to trellises. There are pretty white-painted lamps and white-and-yellow striped canopies in places. The tables are covered with deep blue tablecloths, topped off with table covers in blue and yellow. The wineglasses on each table have bright blue stems, and there’s a relaxed air about it all.

From what we could see, the wait staff consisted almost entirely of women; a hostess seated us, and soon a very brisk and efficient order taker came along. I ordered a baeckoffe, a rabbit stew with vegetables, while Tarun asked for sauerkraut with meats—and a Reisling to wash it down (I ordered lemonade). While we waited for our meal, a waitress stopped by to leave a bowlful of pickles at our table: tiny onions and green and black olives, flavoured with rosemary.

My food arrived with a bit of fanfare. An empty dinner plate was placed, and then beside it a large, dark blue oval porcelain bowl with a heavy lid. This was whipped off to reveal the baeckoffe: a leg of rabbit, nestling in a fragrant stew of thinly sliced carrots and potatoes, with juniper berries and lots of delicious wine-laced gravy. I’d never had baeckoffe before, but one spoonful, and I thought I’d gone to heaven.

Tarun wasn’t quite as delighted with his choice, I suspect because the size of the portion frightened him. In the middle of his plate was a mound of sauerkraut as big as half a cabbage; next to it were boiled potatoes, and arranged all around was a medley of meats: sausages, liver dumpling, thick slices of fatty bacon, ham, and whatnot. After ploughing through his food for a while, Tarun decided to have a taste of my food, and ended up handing over his meal to me in exchange for mine! But, if you like lots of meat, the dish was pretty good.

We were so full by the end, we skipped dessert. The bill came to €50, including a tip, which I thought was excellent value for money. The food was superb, the service efficient and friendly, the atmosphere—and view—great.

The Ancienne Douane brasserie has a bit of history attached to it—in fact, quite a bit of history. It dates back at least to the 14th century, when, in 1358, it was the Customs House of Strasbourg (for those who don’t know French, douane means customs). By 1401, the building had become a hostel; by 1615, a tobacco store; and by 1803, a wine market. By the end of the 19th century it was functioning as a fish market, until it was finally bombed and destroyed in 1944. The building, with its gables and chimneys that you now see beside the canal was constructed in 1966, when it became a restaurant specialising in Alsatian food.

The interesting history of L’Ancienne Douane was enough to attract us, and we went one day for dinner. The restaurant, all wood panelled and with crimson upholstery, looked cosy enough, but a summer evening merited an al fresco meal. So we asked for space on the terrace and were guided to a table with a pot of bright red and pink geraniums on the railing beside it. It was a bit cramped—I had to squeeze into my chair because the chair at the next table was tucked up against it—but that was a minor matter. The view across the canal was great, to compensate.

For food, Tarun ordered a steak with shallots, while I settled for a matelote, described in the menu as a `fishermen’s stew’. When the food came, neither of us was too excited by what was placed before us. Tarun’s steak was good, but the shallots (which Tarun was looking forward to; he’s fond of them) were conspicuous by their absence. Possibly they were part of the thick brown sauce that came in a sauce boat alongside the steak, but we couldn’t be sure. Tarun did, however, get a side of green beans and a gargantuan helping of fries, so that, along with the juicy steak, kept him happy. We also got a couple of hard rolls that Tarun used to help mop up the sauce.

I ended up digging into the fries too, because my matelote was disappointing. The fish was very fresh, but the sauce itself was extremely insipid. Other than the fish and a few stray mushrooms and shallots (had these wandered here out of the steak’s share?!), there wasn’t much in this stew—not even flavour. Even the buttered flat noodles served alongside didn’t redeem it.

The meal, though, was filling enough and we ended up skipping dessert. We paid €45 for our food, including a tip and payment for our drinks—a beer and a lemonade. Reasonable enough, but with this restaurant’s fine reputation, I’d have expected the matelote to be a lot better. Maybe I just chose the wrong dish? I’m not sure I’m willing to give them the benefit of the doubt.

On our trips to and from the Cathedral, we often passed Café Broglie on the corner of Place Broglie, but we stopped here for lunch only on the last day, and that because it was drizzling. We didn’t want to sit inside a stuffy restaurant, and the flimsy beach umbrellas of most cafés looked as if they wouldn’t protect us from a teacupful of water, so Café Broglie’s canopies looked inviting.

The inside of the restaurant is typical: wooden tables, large windows, busy bar counter. Outside stretch the distinctive dark green canopies, with the Café Broglie logo in large white letters along the overhang. We were seated at a wooden table with comfortable cane chairs, and menus handed over by a waiter who spoke passable English. The food on the Café Broglie menu is a mix of French, Italian and some (restrained) fusion. After much thought, Tarun and I both chose the same dish: faux filet with a sauce of green peppercorns. We both decided we wanted our steak medium rare, and accompanied by a glass each of Reisling. I usually prefer juice or an aerated drink, but the drizzle had put me in the mood for wine, and since this was our last meal in Alsace (and Reisling is an Alsatian wine), a glass seemed in order. Café Broglie delivered—the wine was lovely, dry but not mouth-puckeringly so.

The food too was excellent. The steak was beautifully seared on the outside and moist on the inside, with the jus just so: meaty and rich, perfectly seasoned. On the side was a helping of steamed cauliflower, carrots, peas and beans, and a little sauceboat each of a tart, creamy sauce studded with green peppercorns. And, just in case that wasn’t enough for two hungry souls, there was a dish of diced sautéed potatoes, crisp and brown, that we heaped lavishly onto our plates. And there were thickly sliced hard rolls to mop up the sauce and the jus.

Both Tarun and I agreed that the food was very good, and the portion sizes correct: not too much, not too little. We might have ordered dessert if it hadn’t been for the fact that we had a train to catch and were in a hurry. As it was, we paid €45 for our meal (which included a tip—the service had been swift and courteous, and we genuinely wanted to leave a gratuity). Highly recommended.

One word of caution, though: if it’s raining and you’re sitting outside, make sure you sit at a table that’s in the centre of a canopy. Tables at the edges tend to get stray splashes of rain, as we discovered to our discomfort (we’d finished eating and were waiting for our bill, so it wasn’t an issue, but anyway).