French etiquette: Save the last pour for thee

By Susan N. Denaro, Esquire

Although there are so many French culinary delights and customs we have enjoyed sharing with friends and family over the years, my favorite of all is the little-known French tradition called la dernière goutte, which literally translates to the last drop. In a country known for revering lovers as much if not more than it does its native foods and wines, the person who receives the last drop of wine from a bottle is supposed to be the next person to be married—it’s a little like catching the bride’s bouquet at a wedding. Waiters often try to determine which couple in a grouping appears the most in love to favor with the prized last sips. Who knew? When we pour the last drop in a friend’s glass, we were typically doing so from a place of good manners…but I now prefer the French sentiment of using it to acknowledge love more.

I learned about this tradition from the food blog of renowned baker and cookbook author Dorie Greenspan, who reported that she learned it after some missteps while hosting her first dinner party in France. She shared that the day after, a friend gently gave her a list of French customs she unwittingly broke that she may want to know before her next dinner party. That list of faux pas also included the rules that a woman was never to serve wine, and no one was ever to top off their own glass. Being the smart chocolate cookie that she is, Ms. Greenspan reported she rightly eschews those last two rules, as do I.

Looking back on a recent evening with Deborah and Carl Sottosanti at Henry’s Café & Fine Groceries, 20 S. Charlotte Street, Pottstown, I realized that every course involved a twist on honoring our multiple decades-long friendship with such social niceties as giving someone the first or last bite of a shared dish, building a proper perfect bite for someone to try their entrée, and, most importantly, pouring the adult beverages for each other.

For the uninitiated, there is no Henry in the kitchen at Henry’s. This BYOB is owned and operated by the talented Frank Raski, who merely kept the name when he bought the establishment a few years ago. Spoiler alert: he also doesn’t sell groceries. In his snug, darkly lit, 24-seat restaurant, where the menu is displayed on dry-erase white boards that sadly block the best view into the cramped kitchen, Frank evokes all the charm and romanticism of an authentic French neighborhood bistro where one would expect to find a server in a pristine white apron surreptitiously deciding upon whom he should bestow the last of the wine at dinner’s end.

While Frank advertises that his establishment is Frenchinspired, I was delighted to find many of his dishes had nods to his years of culinary training in Hungary. The prime example was our first course. It was an eggplant dip served with a ball of goat cheese and thickly cut, perfectly toasted crostini. Debbie mentioned it as a highlight when she invited us to dine with them. Just as in France, the crusty bread was first rate even though it came from a nearby boulangerie. The spreadable goat cheese had the right level of tang, like a good traditional goat cheese should, but that’s where the French similarities ended and the Hungarian influence in the appetizer took over. Frank cleverly uses whole Japanese eggplants instead of the larger and less flavorful Italian variety. He roasts them with the skin on before removing the sweet tender flesh I suspect he whips with a neutral oil until the combination reaches a state of sublime lightness. Dotted with herbs, this appetizer fulfilled every one of Debbie’s promises and was my favorite dish of the evening.

While Debbie and Carl typically love sharing a heaping bowl of Henry’s mussels steamed with garlic, shallots and white wine, out of deference to my shellfish allergic spouse, they opted instead for a shared pasta appetizer that featured small tortellini with provolone sausage in a light tomato and herb sauce. It paired well with the wines we each carried in. I could have happily ended the meal at that point as we were served yet more righteous bread, from nearby Produce Junction, with a small bowl of herb-infused olive oil for dipping that helped fill the gap between the first two courses.

For my third course, I enjoyed the John Dory served over an Israeli couscous with wilted spinach and thinly sliced half-moons of zucchini and carrots. The colorful plate was topped with sweet red pepper strips and finished with a silky white wine sauce dotted with a generous amount of freshly ground black pepper. To be honest, the delicate white fish was a little overdone for my preference but that masterful sauce kept it from being too dry while at the same time did not overpower the subtle sweetness of the fish.

Because the limited menu was heavy with shellfish offerings, my spouse opted for the safety of the filet mignon which was served over the same side as my fish. The dish’s rich mushroom and red wine sauce was so good it demanded to be mopped up the with last of the bread. The protein was served at a true medium, something not always found in restaurants that appear to focus more on seafood offerings than red meats.

The four of us shared a vanilla bread pudding topped with a mixed berry sauce, vanilla ice cream, and whipped cream. It was very sweet yet satisfying and the perfect size for the four of us to enjoy without feeling like we over-indulged.

The three-person staff that never seems to stop moving appears to be Frank, presumably a sous chef, and one waiter. Since the restaurant always has all of its 24 seats filled (reservations are a must), the service is slower than slow. But because slow service is the rule and not the exception, no one minds. The prolonged evening means more time to catch up with good friends over good food and drinks in an atmosphere where you are made to feel like family, even if someone else at the table is honored with the last pour.