More pictures

My pictures continue to get added on Flickr (thank you, FFXporter iPhoto plugin!) if you're interested. After Paris the additions might be more sporadic, as we likely will not have as regular access, but they will eventually make it there.

Europe 2009

One more thing

Tara just reminded me I left out the one of the good parts to that dinner...

When we were seated at Ribouldingue, a finely dressed older Frenchwoman occupied the table next to ours. She had just received her amuse bouche and bottle of white wine as we received our menus. As we were browsing the foreign words, using the culinary dictionary to actually understand what was on offer, she leaned over to Tara and, lifting her white wine from its tableside cooler, haltingly offered in English to give us a taste if we were interested. Either bewildered by the goings-on of the menu and the restaurant or uncertain of the commitment that would entail, both of us politely shook our heads and waved our hands to indicate we were alright.

After our appetizer plates were taken away, she leaned in again and asked, “are you for the first time in Paris?” From there, she no longer sat alone. Though her English was limited and our French was nonexistent, she told us about though she lives about 35 minutes north of Paris she likes to treat herself to a nice meal at a good restaurant at least once a month. Generally one of her friends from work joins her, but not that evening. She is 70, with two grown daughters – one of them, with her grandchild, live in San Diego. She showed me a picture of the granddaughter when Tara was in the bathroom.

She complimented me on my ordering – she seemed to approve of the brain and kidney – after all, she had the latter, though not as rare as I did. Our wine, she also approved of, though haltingly. “A white would have been better with the kidney, but that rose … it is ok with everything.” However, she gently chided Tara for her order. The cod seemed to upset her especially – she insisted that when going to a restaurant famous for the “insides” it is not appropriate to order the cod. And our desserts – Tara’s sorbet and my ice cream – these are things we could get anywhere.

Before settling her check, she asked the waitress for the menu and pointed out several items we must order when we return to the restaurant, her favorites from over her many visits.

Last night's dinner

Kristina lent us an amazing little book, Clotilde's Edible Adventures in Paris, which we've now taken to as kind of a bible to discovering great restaurants in Paris. Friday afternoon, while exploring the streets of the Latin Quarter and following our Lonely Planet's walking tour of literary haunts, we decided to stop by one of the bistros I had marked as a possible stop and make a reservation for the evening. Unfortunately, we arrived after lunch (12-2 PM) and well before dinner (7-11 PM). After some discussion of whether we should chance just showing up a few hours later or call, Tara finally convinced me to plug in their number and give them a call.

"Bonjor!"

"Bonjour."

"Parlay vou Anglai?"

"A lee-tle..."

A reservation in hand for 8:30 that night, we followed our map, finding the oldest mosque in Paris, Hemingway's apartment, James Joyce, and a flophouse where George Orwell stayed for some time before writing Down and Out in Paris and London. After a brief stop at a tourist cafe where we each had a glass of beer while watching people pass by and a group of amateur capouiera practitioners entertained an undulating crowd, we browsed the used books available at Shakespeare & Company, then made it to the restaurant.



Clotilde described Ribouldingue as a palace to offal – tripe, sweetbreads, snout, tongue, udder – just about any part of the animal not generally found on an American menu. On arrival, two very kind waitresses at the restaurant greeted us and, realizing we had very little French to assist us, tried as best they could to get us comfortable.


The menu, filled with ris, agneau, cochon, vache, cerveau, required another handy book Kristina lent us, the Lonely Planet World Food: France; more specifically the French culinary dictionary in the back of the book. Quickly sorting tongue from kidney from marrow from brain, Tara and I were ready to order. Tara ordered a fresh marinated raw salmon with dill for an appetizer and tried to order veal tongue as her main. Apparently the latter was a popular choice that night and they were out; she ordered cod with fennel instead. I chose as my starter agneau cerveau. The waitress immediately replied something to the effect of, “you know that is lamb brain, yes?” “Yes.” For my main, I ordered Rognon de veau. Again, “you know this is kidney, no?” “Yes – exactly.”

They promptly brought us a pork skin terrine, the aspic glistening despite the low light of the restaurant. Tara ordered us a lovely rose to compliment our dinners. After some time, Tara’s salmon and my sautéed veal brain with fingerling potatoes, raw garlic cloves, and fat capers arrived and we feasted. Finishing that course, our mains – Tara’s cod and my rare veal kidney with scalloped potatoes – arrived.

All the food we had there filled me with such joy. The brains –billowy, with a creaminess reminiscent of sweetbreads only more so; each forkful just melted on my tongue. The garlic cloves, soaked in lemon juice, were like intermittent little firecrackers of flavor. The kidney had a delicate flavor, a slight gaminess I’m used to in liver, but stronger and with a chew like a good steak.

For newness, for delicacy, this might be one of the finest meals I have ever had.

Dessert – a passion fruit sorbet for Tara and chartreuse-flavored ice cream for me – was less adventurous than the prior courses, but acted as a fine palette cleanser for our finishing espressos and treats to close the experience. Delicate chocolate candies, salted caramels, and anise and cardamom flavored marshmallows arrived at the table; in due course we paid the check and walked home.

Underground music

Alex and I saw this band playing Thursday morning in the Concorde Metro station.

The past four days

We purchased a four day museum pass on Monday and have been aggressively exploring the Parisian museums this week. If you're interested in that sort of thing, you can see Tara's pictures on Facebook or mine here:

• Day Four - Louvre
• Day Five - Musee de Orsay and Rodin Museum
• Day Six - Picasso Museum and Pompidou Center
• Day Seven - Louvre again, Notre Dame, and Arc de Triomphe

Some first week observations are forthcoming.

There is no sincerer love than the love of food ~ George Bernard Shaw

After stocking up on gourmet groceries at Le Grand Epicerie and Rue Cler, most of our meals have been assembled at home or eaten on the run during the whirlwind museum tour that occupied most of the week. Restaurants have been few and far between, but we did have two more good meals that rounded out our first week.

Tiny Le Florimond is around the corner from the apartment Alex and I are staying in. The first night we were here in Paris, I could smell the delicious aromas wafting from the kitchen as I stood on the sidewalk outside. Our dinner did not disappoint. We selected from the set menu (36 euros for an appetizer, entree and dessert) and added some daily specials. My appetizer is the best dish I have eaten thus far in France: risotto dyed black with squid ink, topped with juicy langoustines and delicate baby asparagus. Alex had a pate of boudin noir. Our main courses were also delicious - I had veal with potatoes and carrots; Alex had beef cooked two ways. We knew we ordered well when we generated jealous looks from the table next to us, and saw them change their appetizer order to the risotto!

Later in the week, we met some of my friends from Wharton for lunch at Aux Vin des Pyrenees in the Marais for a quick-ish lunch before hitting the Picasso Museum. The set lunch menu is a value at 14.5 euros for 2 courses: appetizer + entree or entree + dessert. My appetizer, a salad with roasted chicken gizzard, was great but the main course of lemon chicken with penne pasta was just ok. My friend selected a cote-du-rhone to accompany the meal which was lighter and fruitier than I expected. Alex ventured off of the set menu and got the beef tartare, which he loved. We'll definitely be back to try more things on the wine list.

Luckily, the rich food has not taken a tool on our health yet - we've been walking a ton and today we joined Velib to rent bikes. Looking forward to using our biked to reach restaurants further afield next week!

Food is an important part of a balanced diet. ~Fran Lebowitz

Ahhh, eating in Paris. You could eat all day and all night in this city and still not touch the tip of the iceberg in terms of the variety and quantity of food options. Alex and I fit in quite well here, where eating is practically the national sport. 

You can eat anywhere and everywhere in Paris. Upon seeing this sign in the metro, I joked to Alex that he should press the red button if he was hungry and "le chef de station" would quickly assist in this grave matter: "Quel désastre! No one should ever be hungry in Paris!"

We've branched out from French food over the last few days and have tried the other cuisines on offer. 

Last night, we met some of my friends from Wharton who were ravenous for Asian food. They wanted to try Au Coin des Gourmets, a Lao/Vietnamese/Cambodian restaurant in the Latin Quarter. We each selected a different set menu featuring dishes from the 3 countries, and Alex rounded out the selection with our favorite Cambodian dish, amok (a mild fish curry wrapped in a banana leaf). The food was solid - I enjoyed my beef and noodle salad dressed with mint and lime as well as my de-boned chicken wings stuffed with minced pork, ginger and vegetables. Alex's amok was quite tasty as was my friend's crab salad. I would recommend this restaurant if you are craving Asian food in Paris but I wouldn't go out of my way for it - its good but not a must try, especially on a short trip. 

After wandering around the Louvre for hours upon hours today, I was craving comfort food along with an air-conditioned place to rest my feet. Luckily, we were not too from La Marais and its myriad falafel joints! We beat a path to L'As du Fallafel, which came with high recommendations from friends. Israeli food and cute waiters - yum! Alex and I shared a falafel pita and a schnitzel pita - the falafel was average (even a bit soggy) but the schnitzel was a bundle of crisp & savory deliciousness! Although the falafel was not all that I had hoped it would be, we'll definitely be back. The schnitzel was excellent, so many people recommended the falafel that it deserves a second chance, plus as Alex was paying our bill the two ladies next to us got their order of chicken liver pate. The pate made my mouth water with a fragrant pile of fried onions on top, so now it is on my list of things I must eat in Paris.  :-)

Au Coins de Gourmets

5, Rue Dante
75005 Paris, France

+33 1 43 26 12 92

L'as du Fallafel 

34, Rue Rosiers

75004 Paris, France
+33 1 48 87 63 60

Two walks, a cathedral, and a chicken

Tara and I both stirred before 8 AM to the sound of rustling curtains and singing birds. The sky was a clear azure blue – not a cloud, not a wisp to seen above. While I dawdled, Tara ran downstairs to find breakfast –two croissants – we eagerly combined with butter purchased the day before. Slowly we readied ourselves and left the apartment just before 10 to find out what was out there.

Our first stop: Rue Cler, a short street with three bistros, two butchers, a wine shop and a greengrocer. While ogling in many directions to discover the source of the direction of fresh aroma after aroma, we found ourselves on the Seine, looking across at the right bank. We strolled down to the Musee de Orsay, where gaggles of tourists waited to pay entry. Passing them, we ventured away from the river. On Boulevard St Germain, we found a little boucher with an unavoidable rotisserie in the window. The chicken looked so well prepared and . . . happy . . . its meat was almost falling off the bone. Tara and I walked in and immediately purchased one, running it home to feast on with the rest of our bottle of viognier. A nap ensued.






After that nap, we ventured to Invalides, which has three small museums and is the resting place of Napoleon’s ashes. Like all medieval arms and armor exhibits, the first room is amazing and delightful – imagining being at court, seeing a joust, all of that – but after several hundred swords, muskets, flintlock pistols, plate armor, shields, and other weapons of local destruction, they all started blending together. No area made that more clear than a corridor between 16th and 17th century weapons that was filled with an armory of armor parts, as well as 65 fully posed knights armor.

We skipped the World War I and II museum and went instead to the top floor of one of the buildings, where they had meticulous scale models of late medieval fortified towns, as well as instructions on how those towns were eventually stormed and sacked by various armies. In that same building, in the basement, we watched a 20-minute hagiographic retelling of Charles du Gaulle’s life. Well, I saw a 20-minute hagiography – Tara fell asleep by the second scene.
Napoleon’s tomb is a strange experience – the space itself has remnants of baroque influence, as well as a pomposity that can only be described as gaudy. From the grand size of the tomb and sarcophagus to the sad (maybe bored?) statues to victory and liberty looking at the coffin, the experience in the tomb feels almost silly rather than solemn.



We made our way to the Latin Quarter, which was swamped with young people looking for food and laughing with their friends. I had an absolutely amazing crepe with Grand Marnier flambee. We walked over to Notre Dame cathedral, all lit up for the nighttime visitors. In the square, we heard French, Spanish, Portuguese, German, and English. Three college-age girls were talking loudly, one compelling another to take more pictures of the cathedral. She replied, “I’ve got enough pictures of Notre Dame; stop being so Notre Lame!”

We spent some time in the square, listening to Spanish guitar, watching a fire juggler, and discussing what it must have been like for a medieval peasant to come to Paris and see this cathedral for the first time. After dawdling there until 11 or so, we slowly walked back to the 7th and our apartment, walking in just a minute before midnight.

Wander down an alley in Paris and you'll make new friends

Parisians are not rude. At least, not to me and Alex so far. Every encounter we've had with the locals has been pleasant - from the wine shop proprietor who wanted to know if we were drinking the champagne soon so she could give us a cold bottle, to the happy cafe owner who prepared delicious Nutella crepes for us on his break, to the smiling old ladies who asked us for directions in French and laughed pleasantly when they realized we only spoke English. 

By far, the friendliness we have encounter is best exemplified by the chance encounter yesterday afternoon. While wandering the streets of the 6th arrondissement, I noticed a sign that said simply "Tomat's Epicurie fine" with an arrow pointing down an alley. I pulled Alex down the narrow sunny lane to investigate. We stumbled upon a small specialty food shop where the owner was hosting two friends for a late afternoon glass of champagne. The store was like a jewel-box of flavors - local jams, foie gras, mustards, and honeys all decorated the walls in tiny glistening glass jars. 

Alex selected two treats to take home and brought them to the register, where we were immediately offered cheese pastries and quizzed about who we were and where we came from. We chatted with the owner, Belina, and her friend named Chris, an American who lives in Paris and owns the photography gallery next door. Belina produced two more glasses from under the counter and poured us the last few sips of her champagne, urging us to come back in a few days for the foie gras tasting she is hosting. 

We left feeling warm from the simple gestures of sharing a bit of food and drink with good conversation. Parisians have so far proven themselves to be different from the rumors that circulate about their attitude. Or maybe, as New Yorkers used to putting up with rudeness, everyone else seems lovely in comparison. This I know for sure - we definitely will accept the invitation to the tasting in a few days to see our new friends again and will stock up on treats from Tomat's before we leave the city of lights. 

And, should you ever find yourself in Paris looking for the perfect foodie gift shop please visit our new friend Belina at:

Tomat's Epicurie fine: 12, rue Jacob 75006 (dans la cour) 01 44 07 36 58 

The first day

Though frustrated by Air France's check-in process - one line to get our boarding pass, another to check in our luggage, another to hand over our luggage, a fourth to go through security, and yes a fifth to board the plane - we had an uneventful flight to CDG aboard a huge Boeing 767.

Arriving at the airport, we quickly retrieved our bags, bought absurdly expensive espressos and americanos just outside customs, and tried to head into Paris with the train. That a major metropolitan airport would be connected to its metropolis by mass transit seems absurd to this New Yorker. This is where we encountered our first true problem. Twenty vending machines supported several hundred people buying tickets to use the various trains. And seven of those machines didn't work. And when we finally got to one that did work, it only took European credit cards (with the little smart chips in them). It also took Euros, but only coins. And there was no change machine to break our paper Euros.

We took a cab instead.

We arrived at our amazing little apartment on the seventh floor of an adorable 19th century building by 2 in the afternoon and, after unpacking some stuff, promptly took a nap. Two hours of sleep on the plane had left me, at least, feeling sleep-sickness.

We left the apartment around 5 PM and headed to a gourmet market recommended by everyone we know who loves food - La Grande Epicerie. On walking in and completing a quick lap around, we stumble into their wine department, where a salesperson hands us two glasses of champagne to sample. Already I love this country.

We also sample a Vioginer from Côtes du Rhône - Co Ho La - and talk to the saleswoman pouring it. Within three minutes, we find out she's heading to New York in late August. We buy pates, a baugette, butter, yogurt, micro-strawberries, and coffee and head home to prepare dinner.

After dinner we take a leisurly walk through the streets of the neighborhood, gradually meandering towards the Eiffel Tower. The lines to get to the top! It's about 8:30 PM, the sky is still bright with the sun, but we're getting tired. We make our way back to the apartment, climb into bed, and are asleep almost immediately.