Ooh La Voile

A gimmick-free French restaurant serving classics cooked with heart and skill by a French-to-the-marrow chef: If it sounds unlikely, that’s probably because the many bistros and brasseries that have opened here lately have been so utterly formulaic. But La Voile isn’t a stunt—it’s authentic, grownup dining, with just a dash of formality (because, well, it is French).

1 Corby’s Picks La Voile
261 Newbury St., Boston, 617-587-4200
Chef Sam Boussetta
Appetizer Seared sea scallops ($18)
Entrées Sliced filet mignon ($31); choucroute Alsacienne ($29); lamb shank in wine-tomato sauce ($23); blanquette de veau ($22); roast chicken L’Ami Louis ($20);
Desserts Ile flottante ($7); rice pudding ($7); crème brûlée ($7)

We’re lucky that La Voile—which means “The Sail”—berthed here. It arrived from Cannes, where the original had become the favorite hangout of a Swiss-American sailing enthusiast named Pierre Honegger. He suggested to owner Stephane Santos and his fiancée, Stephanie Zuberbuehler, that they open a U.S. branch. Instead, they opted for full-scale relocation, selling their restaurant to try their luck in the States. And so to Boston they came (it seemed less formidable than New York), bringing their chef, Sam Boussetta.

They settled on upper Newbury Street, province of well-heeled visitors and Euro college students, who make a natural customer base. The area scarcely has a neighborhood vibe (let alone enough parking), and the restaurant’s semibasement space—outfitted with dark wood and nautical motifs, and French poetry stenciled along the top of the walls like a frieze—is a bit gloomy for a place serving sunny flavors. The location has hardly deterred the crowds, though: Even on freezing-cold weeknights a few months after it opened in late October, La Voile was packed, leaving the debonair manager (who gives his name to the press as just “Philippe”) and Santos scrambling to keep up with diners angling for a table.

During various dinners throughout January, service was still a bit chancy, with long waits between courses and wild gesturing required to get the harried staff’s attention. A few of the main courses were worth the delays (and pantomiming), including one boldly called roast chicken L’Ami Louis—an homage to only the most famous, and expensive, roast chicken in Paris. Dare I say it’s as good as I remember its namesake being? Santos knows the secret: slathering the meat with goose fat (pretty much everything at L’Ami Louis is bathed in the stuff) before it goes into the oven. His chicken is free-range and, equally important, has been air-dried rather than plunged into a chlorine bath right after slaughter, which dilutes flavor. That goose fat works to succulent effect, producing a golden jus with the right thinnish consistency and glossy sheen. At $20, this plump half bird is a terrific bargain.

I need regular access to that chicken, as well as to the blanquette de veau ($22, another bargain), the most common French veal stew. You’ve made Julia Child’s, right? Just mushrooms, pearl onions, carrots, and little pieces of veal in a cream sauce with lemon. Boussetta’s begins with his excellent stocks; those fonds, and the bright lemon, made me rediscover a very good (if politically incorrect) dish. It comes to the table in a covered cast-iron pot that the waiter lifts in front of your nose so the fragrance hits, and is served, comme il faut, over rice pilaf. More than any other offering here, the stew made me realize how much I’d missed authentic, French-made French food (well, one dessert did, too, but I’ll get to that).