<a target="_blank" href="https://www.leliondor-arcins.fr/">Le Lion d’Or</a>&nbsp;

11 Rte de Pauillac

33460 Arcins,

France

BY NEAL MARTIN | JANUARY 24, 2025 

The Food:

Pheasant maison terrine

Lièvre à la royale (royal hare) with truffle tagliatelle

The Wine:

2016 Mauvésin Barton - 91

There is a restaurant nearby whose doors you never entered, whose food you
have never eaten. Over time, familiarity bred indifference. Every time you walked
or drove past, you rebuffed its silent entreaties beckoning you inside. Eventually,
indifference metastasized into scorn. You ignored it for so many years that the
reason for your apathy has been long forgotten. In any case, its proximity
insinuates that its cuisine is substandard. After all, the clue is in the phrase…destination
restaurants. We travel afar to be rewarded with fine dishes. The journey is
part of the dining experience, building anticipation, and you don’t get that by
nipping ‘round the corner for a bite. &nbsp;

Don’t you?

Le Lion d’Or is located nowhere near where I live. However, I have passed
this restaurant hundreds of times driving up and down the D2 artery that threads
its way through the Left Bank appellations. It lies on a gentle swerve between
Margaux and Saint-Julien in the village of Arcins. I always spot it from the
corner of my eye. But it is viewed not so much as a restaurant, but a signpost informing
how much longer before I reach my destination.

During my week in Bordeaux in December 2024, a friend and gourmand who
goes under the nom de plume of Cortex suggested Le Lion d’Or as a place
to eat that evening. It came out of the blue and piqued my curiosity. Why not? At
the very least it would validate my stubborn refusal to patronize the
restaurant. Instead, it proved that I had willfully ignored a wonderful place
to dine for no rational reason except my own obstinacy. 

<img alt="" src="https://s3.amazonaws.com/images.vinous.com/uploads%2F1737645513487-Vinous_lion+dor+facade.JPG">The facade of Le Lion d'Or. Being December, the facade is lit
up with Christmas decorations twinkling in the night sky. The reception desk lies
opposite a kitsch fake Christmas tree overdressed in baubles and tinsel,
underneath which a toy electric train made figures of eight through a plastic snowscape.
The interior décor is old school, an augury for the dishes served. Modernity is
left at the front door. 

The friendly maître d’, who has worked here for fifteen years, escorts
us to our table. The clientele this Wednesday evening comprises locals—a family
celebrating their lad’s tenth birthday and two couples, one playing music on an
iPhone at an annoying volume until the woman seated behind them snaps and gives
a sharp vocal rebuke that shatters the restaurant’s convivial atmosphere. For a
moment, I fear that I will have to break up fisticuffs on the opposite side…

As for the food, this is real, old-school French cooking, unchanged
since the Postwar era (probably). I half-expect Escoffier to be in the kitchen.
Chalked on the blackboard are several entrées and mains: a cassolette&nbsp;of l’escargots, boudins aux pommes, pigeon rôti, joue de porc, etc. Our choice is made as
soon as Cortex spots the lièvre à la royale. 

“We have to eat this! Royal hare. You rarely find this dish in French
restaurants.”

<img alt="" src="https://s3.amazonaws.com/images.vinous.com/uploads%2F1737645597722-Vinous_lion+dor+terrine.JPG">The maison terrine made an excellent first course. Before the main event, we share the maison terrine that turns out to be one
of the best I’ve eaten in a long time. Using pheasant and pork as the meat with
foie gras, I found this less fatty compared to others. This example is relatively
light but delicious, especially the golden jelly made from veal stock that I
liberally spoon over the terrine to lend a little sweetness. 

Lièvre à la Royale originates from Périgord or Orléanais, according to
the Larousse Gastronomique, and gained popularity when the newspaper
columnist Aristide Couteaux published a recipe in Le Temps. There is an
apocryphal story that this dish was invented for King Louis XIV since the Sun
King suffered terrible toothache and could only chew soft dishes, though
disappointingly, this is now disputed. The recipe for lièvre à la royale&nbsp;at
Lion d’Or uses two hares: one for the flesh and one for the stuffing (farce
in French). This is mixed with the giblets, foie gras and black truffles, with
the hares’ blood used to combine ingredients. It is then cooked slowly. 

<img alt="" src="https://s3.amazonaws.com/images.vinous.com/uploads%2F1737645621877-Vinous_lion+dor+hare.JPG">Though a classic French dish, lièvre à la royale is rarely found in most restaurants. Ballotines arrive. They look formidable, a glazed deep brown color that
could be described as…shall I put it… fecal? I guess I have become accustomed
to vividly colored, aesthetically appealing works of art meticulously arranged
on a plate with tweezers. The ballotine looks as if it is paddling in brown
sludge and yes, yes, yes, I am using vernacular that is putting you off going
within ten miles of the place. I understand why one person on my social media
timeline wrote that it looked “disgusting.” 

Au contraire.

Sure, over the first couple of mouthfuls, the unctuous sauce almost
overwhelms the senses with its bloody goodness. It does not take long to adjust,
and thereafter, I am enamored by the delicious hare whose neutrality and
texture act as a perfect foil for the sauce, aided by the side order of black
truffle tagliatelle. 

As I realize that I am about to swallow the shot that killed bunny, I
wonder whether this hare hopped around Pauillac or Margaux and ask the waiter
where it comes from. 

“D’Angleterre,” he replies.

So here I am, eating classic French cuisine courtesy of English hunters.
Cortex later informs me that this is because in France, demand currently exceeds
supply. The shortfall has been exacerbated by the incessant rain that depleted
the hare population (just as it has done with grouse in these fair isles, as
described in my <a target="_blank" href="https://vinous.com/articles/vinous-table-grouse-club-bouchon-racine-london-uk-oct-2024">Grouse Club</a> article). Restaurants
must source hare from overseas, though the UK is actually renowned for the
quality of its hare, not that you see it often. &nbsp;

<img alt="" src="https://s3.amazonaws.com/images.vinous.com/uploads%2F1737645721695-Vinous_lion+dor+mauvesin.JPG">The accompanying wine matches the hare with style. The 2016 Mauvésin
Barton, from the Barton family’s Moulis-en-Médoc estate, is in fine form.
It has lost the floral elements on the nose that I observed previously, the
fruit turning a little darker with blackberry, bilberry and touches of
raspberry. It is a little disjointed at first but melds together with aeration.
The palate, again, demands decanting to really coalesce. Like many 2016 Left
Bank wines, there is no shortage of fruit, although it requires air to shave just
a soupçon of rusticity. With impressive depth on the finish, this Mauvésin
Barton is reaching its drinking plateau and will continue to give pleasure over
the next decade.

Tummy stuffed, I eschew the tempting desserts. By the time my espresso
arrives, rapprochement between the warring couples has been reached and bizarrely,
they now seem lifelong friends. The restaurant sings “Happy Birthday” to the
boy. I like to think that he celebrated his tenth orbit around the sun with lièvre
à la royale&nbsp;while his friends made do with Big Macs.

Le Lion d’Or is unapologetically traditional and a little quirky, the
cooking perhaps too rich or unsophisticated for those accustomed to Michelin-starred
finery. This is hearty, stomach-filling French food that cares little for fad
or fashion. That’s why I fell in love with it. The next time you pass that
café, that bistro or that restaurant, the one that has bred indifference,
imagine that you are passing for the very first time.

Go and open their door. Venture inside. Give it a chance.

You never know what might be lying on your
doorstep.© 2025, Vinous. No portion of this article may be copied, shared or re-distributed without prior consent from Vinous. Doing so is not only a violation of our copyright, but also threatens the survival of independent wine criticism.

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