It has been glacially cold in Paris – the kind of weather that gives rise to raclette comas and big bold glasses of red – but right now people are swooning over Chez Carrie, a ‘Mediterranean-Californian’ restaurant bringing sunshine to the second arrondissement. Outside there’s a butter-yellow awning and inside is a warm wooden nook of hazy lighting, comfortable banquette seating and pretty tiles, anchored by a colourful oil painting of a leafy picnic spread.
Carrie Solomon will be familiar to anyone who visited Aube, an 11ème brunch spot where she cooked for a couple of years, or has read one of her veg-forward cookbooks. She opened Chez Carrie with American chef and barista, Dawnie Perry, in September, bringing her largely meat-free cooking to her first restaurant. The sourcing is exemplary and she’s keen to tell you about it. Olive oil is from Kaia, sourdough is from Ten Belles, vegetables are from Ferme de l’Envol (a cooperative in the Essonne), butter is from Borniambuc in Brittany. “Protein is used judiciously here, almost as a condiment,” the website declares, and this feels refreshing in a city where, surprise surprise, veggie-friendly bistros are thin on the ground.
It’s a place that celebrates women and wears that commitment proudly. The oil painting is by Johanna Solal, the logo from Anna Polonsky. Jill Cousin, co-founder of Provisions in Marseille (a dinky wine-bar-slash-bookshop) curated the wine list with an emphasis on female producers, who, as the Chez Carrie menu rightly tells us, are too often overlooked.
If you don’t want wine, though, Chez Carrie has perhaps the most eclectic and fun drinks menu kicking about Paris: Paris Cola, low-alcohol Bière de Travail, guava-apple-ginger agua fresca, 76% dark chocolate hot chocolate from chocolatier Plaq, horchata, iced tea, smoky lapsang souchong—you name it. On my first visit I tried a homemade fig kombucha that was sweet with a tangy, sherbet-like finish; a fine antidote to the grey skies outside.
What they’re building feels special: laid-back Californian conviviality underpinned by good cooking and stellar sourcing
I visited the restaurant twice, once on a Sunday (where a brunch menu runs all day from 11am) and again for Tuesday dinner. Paris still hasn’t quite cottoned onto brunch. Most places offer oddly enormous formules of viennoiserie, bread, eggs, salad, drinks and dessert that sound fun but ultimately feels like too much on a Sunday morning. Chez Carrie’s approach is flexible. It works for people like me who show up at 1pm expecting lunch, but it also accommodates the insouciant Californian types who wander in at 11:30am. The weekend menu had some brunchy offerings (Turkish eggs, cacio e pepe scrambled eggs with smoked paprika) but plenty of dishes read like lunch, which suited me.
The restaurant was packed both times, with people even sitting outside bundled up on the terrace. Sunday daytime it was loud and chatty with small families and friend catch-ups; on Tuesday it was romantic and sultry with dripping candles and white tablecloths. Get a girl who can do both! The staff remained exceptionally warm and professional despite the busyness, and Solomon herself was plating up at brunch, then greeting diners on the restaurant floor at dinner time.
We started with their seasonal pickle plate with slivers of squash, teeny baby peppers and ribbons of yellow carrots. A bright, crunchy rainbow of gut-health righteousness (especially paired with that kombucha) kept my mouth entertained. It was a zippy little grazing plate, light and ideal to pick at with drinks. We also ordered polenta fries, which must be having a moment in Paris (I started my meal with the same dish at Mischief last month). These were rather tempting: chunky, crunchy batons topped generously with prettily piped labneh, green harissa with a little heat, fried rosemary, and fermented jalapeños. The texture was wonderful, though they were slightly dry in the middle and could do with a few minutes less cooking. Still, you don’t often get to try dishes with jalapeños in Paris (Mexican food is mostly diabolical here) and so this was refreshing, and the portion felt generous.
Seasonal pickle plate
Huevos rancheros
Polpettes with Hungarian blue squash, shiitakes, puntarelle, smoked ricotta sauce, mint and fennel
We also opted for the butternut squash beignets with grated scamorza, more pickles, and a fabulously made lemon confit aioli, which was creamy and well-balanced. The beignets were light and cakey inside with a hint of smoke, though the batter on the outside felt a tad oily. Starter-wise, both dishes felt quite similar in taste and texture and you probably only need one or the other. Go for the polenta.
Moving on, we shared the huevos rancheros, my favourite savoury dish on the brunch menu. The plate was more petite than the polenta and beignets—a corn taco topped with a fried egg, crumbled ‘nduja, pico de gallo, crema and butternut squash—but it delivered sophisticated textures and great depth of flavour: smoky, salty, creamy, crunchy from the fried ‘nduja, all playing off each other beautifully. We could happily have eaten three.
At dinner, the smaller starter-type plates expanded slightly. The pickle plate, butternut beignets, and polenta fries were accompanied respectively by œuf mayo with ‘nduja, stracciatella with fermented haricots verts, and a squash and white bean hummus topped with fried parsnip crisps and sourdough crackers. The latter was well-seasoned, but I’m not sure it made for the best appetite-whetter (it’s hard to make hummus feel exciting). The handmade parsnip crisps on top were nice and salty though, and the sourdough crackers were tasty enough too.
The egg dishes disappeared in the evening and the menu shifted slightly toward fish and meat (tuna crudo, jambon) but vegetables remained the focus. I ordered the polpettes: courge bleu de Hongrie (Hungarian blue squash), shiitakes, and puntarelle, topped with smoked ricotta sauce, mint, and fennel. An amazing smell had been drifting from the kitchen, and it turned out to be these delightful morsels — rich, sumptuous, and much more substantial than they looked on the plate. The smoky, salty ricotta sauce was robust and comforting, though it came close to overpowering things; it could have done with a slightly lighter touch. The crunchy fennel was a relief, cutting through the richness. This was great veggie cooking, holding nothing back, and I didn’t want to stop eating it.
While the menu could use a few tweaks—there’s a lot of brown crispy stuff (polenta, polpettes, beignets)—they’ve only been open a few months, and what they’re building feels special: laid-back Californian conviviality underpinned by good cooking and stellar sourcing. The second arrondissement, already thick with foodie destinations off rue Montorgueil, now has a vegetable-forward bistro that’s both welcoming and ambitious. It’s pricier than other neo-bistros (€20 for two polpettes has raised eyebrows) but when you consider the work (most things made in-house, which isn’t always the case in Paris) and the fact that well-sourced food costs, it feels fair. I left satisfied, and in a rather good mood.
14 Rue Léopold Bellan
75002 Paris
France
December 2025
