Fifteen years of just enough.
Camille Bertrand opened Passerine in the autumn of 2011, in a sliver of a room that used to be a glove shop, with one stove, six tables, and a borrowed wine list. The first menu was hand-written on a single sheet of butcher paper. The room smelled, fittingly, of leather and butter.
Fifteen years later we have grown to twenty-eight covers. We still hand-write the menu every afternoon at three. We still buy our pigeon from M. Mignière, our salt from a man named Yvon in Guérande, and our flowers from the stand on the corner of rue Lamartine. We are a neighbourhood bistro that takes itself just seriously enough.