tour de treme restaurant

L'âme du lieux

Le restaurant.

Notre salle à manger chaleureuse peut accueillir jusqu'à 40 personnes et est idéale pour un repas en famille en toute tranquillité

Salle des fêtes

Notre grande salle des fêtes, ayant une capacité d'environ 150 personnes se prête parfaitement à toutes sortes de grands événements : anniversaires, mariages, soupers d'entreprise et autres. La grande salle est conditionnée à l'obligation de bénéficier de nos services de restauration uniquement

Salle de séminaire

Cette pièce isolée, située au premier étage, vous permettra de réunir une trentaine de personnes lors d'un séminaire ou un repas familiale.

Venez profiter de cet endroit à ambiance familiale et laissez vous tenter par un repas gourmand, préparé avec amour.

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Info à la volée

Lundi : fermé <> Mardi-jeudi : 0900-2300 Vendredi-samedi  : 0900-2400 <> Dimanche : 0900-2300

Nous vous proposons une carte française diversifiée au fil des goûts et des saisons. Vous y trouverez des plats pour toutes vos envies. Spécialité viande : Entrecôte de boeuf- Chateaubriand - Fondues Bressane, Chinoise, Bourgignone, Bacchus

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Critic’s Notebook

‘The Bear’ Season 3: Tastes Great, Less Fulfilling

It’s still TV’s best and most beautiful series about work and creation. But the new season is a tease.

By James Poniewozik

This article discusses scenes from the beginning through the end of FX’s “The Bear” Season 3, now available in full on Hulu.

No one loves a mixed review. The final moments of “The Bear” Season 3 confirm this, as Carmy Berzatto (Jeremy Allen White), the doe-eyed maniac at the center of the dramedy, receives an alert for the make-or-break Chicago Tribune review of his ambitious, cacophonous restaurant. He has imagined a million versions of it — absolute raves, devastating pans. Now it’s here.

We don’t get to see the review, only a Mad Libs rush of contradictory words, out of context: “Brilliant.” “Complex.” “Confusing.” “Innovative.” “Stale.” “Talent.” “Disappointed.” Carmy, alone with his phone and the verdict, lets fly the season’s last words, a hearty curse.

Sorry, Chef: Sometimes the truth is mixed. It is for the third season of “The Bear,” in which one of the most brilliant shows on TV attempts a complex , at times confusing , elaboration on its themes. The 10 episodes are often innovative in execution but sometimes stale in their repetition of established conflicts. It’s an astonishing display of talent. But it is likely to leave anyone hoping for narrative momentum disappointed .

“The Bear” does not lack confidence. The premiere, “Tomorrow,” is a bravura scene-setter that is as much an overture as an episode. Picking up the morning after the Season 2 finale — in which Carmy successfully soft-launches the Bear but sabotages his romance with Claire ( Molly Gordon ) — it’s an impressionistic tour of his manic consciousness.

There is very little dialogue; mostly this episode, written by the series creator Christopher Storer, tells its stories in a series of quick cuts set to a mesmerizing score by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross. It dips into the near and remote past, flashing on scenes from the previous seasons, sneak-peeking moments from later in Season 3 and fleshing out events from Carmy’s history. At times it’s hard to tell what’s present and past as you tumble about in his perseverating mind.

This is haute-cuisine TV, the kind of episode you can make only when you can assume an audience simpatico enough to trust you with the omakase menu. When I watched it for the first time, I was restless — this is beautiful, but is it telling me anything new? When I rewatched it after finishing the season, I was transfixed and moved. If you’ve watched the full season, I recommend you go back and rewatch it too. But it’s not every series that can expect that kind of commitment from the viewer, and not every viewer who wants to commit.

The table thus set, Episode 2 — after a glorious opening-credits montage of Chicago waking up and getting to work — returns to TV series mode. Most of it functions like a one-act play, in which a string of characters reacts to Carmy’s semi-unhinged list of “non-negotiables” to make the Bear a world-class restaurant. (They range from “Constantly evolve through passion and creativity” to “Break down all boxes before putting them in dumpster.”)

For Sydney (Ayo Edebiri), the chef de cuisine, Carmy’s decrees — among them, that the menu change every day — make her wonder how much of a partner she really is in this operation. For Richie ( Ebon Moss-Bachrach ), the screw-up turned front-of-house Jedi, “Chef Carmy needs his power phrases because he’s a baby replicant who’s not self-actualized.” (The episode, by the way, should put to rest the argument over whether “The Bear” is really a comedy ; it is a hilarious one, except when it’s a drama.)

The first two seasons of “The Bear” had style and visual flash to spare, but each also had a grounding story arc. Season 1: Carmy returns to Chicago after the suicide of his brother, Michael (Jon Bernthal), to save the family restaurant — then an old-school sandwich joint called the Beef — while evolving it. Season 2: The Beef is chaotically and expensively rebooted as the Bear, the amount of days left in the renovation ticking off at the beginning of each episode. Each question was resolved — the Beef stayed afloat, the Bear made its opening — while teeing up the next.

Season 3, on the other hand, is incremental and a test of patience. A good restaurant tries to level up (and, again, stop bleeding cash). Conflicts that existed keep existing. Carmy pushes and punishes himself (he quits smoking, to save a few minutes a day for work). Syd bottles up her anxiety and doubt. We begin the season wondering if Carmy will make up with Claire, if Syd will sign her partnership agreement, if the Bear’s patron, Uncle Jimmy (Oliver Platt), will pull the plug. By the time the season ends with “To Be Continued,” we’re still wondering.

But it would be simplistic to say that the problem is a lack of plot action. In fact, its two best episodes, both in the back half of the season, move the overall story little or not at all.

“Napkins,” directed by Edebiri, is a flashback for Tina (Liza Colón-Zayas), who becomes a line cook after losing an office job and wandering into the friendly chaos of the Beef, where she commiserates with Michael. “This place, it sucks,” he says. “But I swear, there are days that it is so much fun.”

In “Ice Chips,” Carmy’s pregnant sister, Natalie ( Abby Elliott ), goes into labor and is forced to turn to the last person she wants in a crisis — her mother, Donna (Jamie Lee Curtis), the volcano of liquor and cigarettes who erupted in last season’s flashback “Fishes.” The bitterness between them isn’t forgotten, but they reach a kind of understanding; in Donna’s intense gaze, you see how a mother looks at a daughter and sees the future and the past, her own life represented outside her.

Neither episode really advances the larger story of the restaurant. Each just has a clear thing to say — about dignity, about forgiveness — and says it like a shot to the heart.

The past seasons of “The Bear” have understood the need to balance artsy reverie with straight-ahead pleasure. The fictional restaurant is a metaphor for just that. While Carmy meticulously arranges peas in the front of the kitchen, around the side there’s a takeout window serving Italian beef sandwiches for the old regulars who say, “Blank this fancy blank, I want my blank.” (The other Chicago specialty the show serves is Mametian profanity, in big portions.)

But this season too often elegantly spins its wheels, especially in the drama around Carmy. Characters getting stuck in destructive cycles can be the stuff of great TV — the philosophy of “The Sopranos” was “people don’t change” — but you buy license for that with fresh stories.

The season also, frankly, feels a little too full of its love of and by real-life restaurant professionals, whom it shows off in cameos like expensive ingredients tweezed onto a plate. It spends most of the season’s final episode on a party that mingles characters with real chefs — Grant Achatz! Christina Tosi! Wylie Dufresne! — in a distracting pro-am tournament of acting. I appreciate that “The Bear” works hard for its culinary bona fides, but it’s all right at this point just to focus on the fake restaurant people we love.

Having said all that, I’m really just knocking half a star off a four-star restaurant here; these are the kinds of faults you notice in a series that’s pushing its boundaries while too much TV is content to turn out gourmet cheeseburgers .

What “The Bear” remains remarkable at is expressing emotion and ideas through food and its preparation. It harnesses the connection of taste and memory — just ask Proust — to reproduce emotion, as in the season’s lovely arc in which the pastry chef, Marcus (Lionel Boyce), channels his grief over his mother’s death into his baking. This show eats its feelings.

Not since “Treme” has a series shown such love and specificity for a city and the people who sustain it. And not since “Halt and Catch Fire” has a series been so good at dramatizing work of the nonmedical, non-police variety.

As Tina’s showcase demonstrates, work is important because it pays the bills, yes, but also because it creates purpose. “The Bear” understands that collaboration is its own kind of intimate relationship, separate from family or friendship or romance. (Which is also why the show should never conjure the Carmy-Sydney love affair that some fans have been shipping.)

And like “Halt,” it understands that failure is not just survivable, it’s necessary . It’s how we grow and advance. We are plates of Wagyu beef being chucked into the trash for the sin of being near-perfect, over and over, hoping to return next time a little better.

That kind of drive for perfection can seem wasteful and self-destructive. Maybe it is. But it’s balanced by another theme of the season: legacy, or the idea that everyone you work with carries on that work in the next thing they do, and so on. This implies that perfection doesn’t really exist, at least in the sense of an unimprovable end state. You just hope to advance as far as you can and set up those who come after you to go farther.

Maybe Carmy’s legacy will be in finding a way to run the Bear without destroying himself and the people around him. But it’s also possible to imagine “The Bear” without the Bear — maybe Uncle Jimmy cuts the restaurant’s funding, maybe Sydney takes the competing deal she’s been offered to start her own restaurant, maybe she carries on from there. I could certainly see this implied in the flashback that ends “Tomorrow”: Carmy sends out a dish of hamachi and blood orange that is served to Sydney (who in Season 1 told Marcus this was the best meal she’d ever eaten), sitting in an Edenic dining room framed by trees. One branch grows from the last.

Unfortunately, Season 3 ends without offering much sense of where the show is going. It is an impeccably assembled 10-course meal, but not a satisfying one. By the end of it, I still wanted to hit up the side window for a sandwich.

James Poniewozik is the chief TV critic for The Times. He writes reviews and essays with an emphasis on television as it reflects a changing culture and politics. More about James Poniewozik