My reoccurring NYC dining partner Lilah and I traveled to what seems to be an hotbed of pseudo-Parisian bistros in Brooklyn: Smith street in Cobble Hill/Carol Gardens. We were drinking wine at Bar Tabac but left there for fear that the place was too theme-restaurant to have authentic French food and stumbled into what might be the most inauthentic bistro of all: Cafe Luluc.
This place is what happens when one group of the multitudes of Mexicans that are well versed and seasoned in French culinary technique make the logical step off breaking off from whatever French-owned institution they cut their teeth in to start their own brand of bistrot.
I could tell this was the case right away, but then got excited at the idea of sampling this new, post-modern branch of cookery. The fact that the entrees were all close to five dollars cheaper than any of the other more authentic joints in the area sealed the deal.
As I had guessed everything was just a bit off: the bread seemed to have been sliced from a half-stale Italian loaf from the bodega, the wine was a bit sweet, and my steak was more like carne asada with a sweet caramelized shallot sauce and handful of fries that I thought might have been imported from a McDonalds. The meat wasn't bad at all, but also not nearly rare enough. Lilah's handmade raviolis with a sage brown butter sauce were delightful, though- they displayed that certain Gallic magic of making something swimming in fat seem light. Vivre la Mexique, guey!