Spring has sprung. I know this because I have just had the first sighting of loafers without socks in Greenwich. It was at Méli-Mélo, the Brittany-inspired café founded by Marc Penvenne, which is celebrating its 30th anniversary this year.
Like a school canteen, Méli-Mélo, which translates as “mishmash,” is noisy and full of kids at lunchtime. There are teens dining, but also mothers and daughters dining (Alice headbands will be worn); friends dining; and even the occasional fathers and son dining – dad sockless in loafers, of course.
There can’t be a soul in the neighborhood who doesn’t know this landmark restaurant, but for those who haven’t stepped in for a while, it is worth a recap – if not a revisit. With 50 covers in all, at tables of two or four, plus a couple of high tables and space for another six at the bar, intimate Méli-Mélo often has lines for seating, although they do move quickly. The pale yellow and marigold walls exude an oddly institutional feel, but the rough and tumble only adds to its charm.
A container of Supremo Italiano sea salt, as heavy as a paperweight, sits on each table, making some kind of statement, though I’m not sure what. And art, by local artists, which the restaurant vets but accepts free of charge, is a méli-mélo – a mishmash – too. Paintings with Barbie references; a “Les Misérables” poster; and an homage to Jackson Pollock adorned the walls on my last visit. An aging air-conditioning unit and a potted palm with an American flag planted in the pot complete the look.
The menu – something-for-everyone, French-inspired definitely but with some other Mediterranean twists – is huge. For breakfast, nearly 50 add-ons for the eggs and omelets make choosing, at least under the pressure of a waiting server, nigh impossible. Smoothies, served in a jar, are enormous, whizzed up in a flash. At lunch, the list of sandwiches, salads and quiches seems never-ending, and that’s before we even get to the crêpes, which take center stage. Buckwheat, wheat or gluten-free; sweet or savory; traditional, “signature” or flambé: The only problem with these pancakes, as with the rest of the menu, is deciding what and which to choose. My advice? Try the traditional beurre et sucre – the benchmark crêpe that purists choose and that is the indicator of what all the others will be like. It is excellent.
On my most recent visit, white bean soup, more of an Eastern European broth than the Tuscan bean soup I was expecting, arrived piping-hot, perfect for lovers of hot soup like me. It came in a no-frills, microwaveable glass bowl, with a slice of a good, fresh white baguette. Croque Madame was served on a plate that had a pretty, Chinese decoration but was chipped. The cheese, lacking any sharpness, had melted into the bread to produce a stodgy mass, not saved by the Béchamel sauce. The egg, though, was perfect and the sandwich was served with some nicely dressed leaves. My favorite butter and sugar crêpe did not let me down, and the Essse coffee was first-rate.
The kitchen struck me as being a well-oiled machine, and service was quick and pleasant.
At the table next to me, a stick-thin teen ordered a spinach omelet with scallions, took two bites, pushed away her fork and then announced to the boy she was with that she was “done.”
“You know,” I overheard her telling her lunch companion, “there’s a college, like in Arizona, which has a branch of Nobu, actually on campus. Isn’t that sick?”
“Nobu – you mean the Chinese restaurant?” he ventured.
“Japanese,” she corrected him.
Only in Greenwich.
In an age in which nearly everything is dispensable and expendable, in which kids like to dine at Nobu and the art of making a perfect French crêpe is rapidly dying, Méli-Mélo has stayed the course. Congratulations, and we look forward to the next 30 years.
For more, visit melilelogreenwich.com.
