Megan Blocker

Chocolate souffle at Bar Etats-Unis on 81st Street. Oh, c'est si bon.

It's so true! I owe you two a PM...I'm a bad eG'er. Can't wait to compare your Paris bistro reviews to mine...we did the same thing, taking all of our cues (well, most of them) from eGullet, with a little Jeffrey Steingarten mixed in for good measure.

If there isn't, there should be. I just bored my friend Faith silly with my Strasbourg memories. She thinks we should move to Barcelona...how do I help her see the light?

Have a great trip and consider sharing some of your food adventures upon your return. We don't have much discussion of foods in "Elsewhere in Europe" and it would be great to hear what you encounter. ← Here, here! I would love to hear about your trip, Kay - and please do PM me if you want any non-food recommendations. I'd love to help!

We did have the Ayala with the ravioli, and it paired well...I agree, I think it had something to do with the amuse, and I'm not sure exactly what could have caused it. The wine went really well with all of the other courses - VERY food friendly. It's going to be my number one Christmas gift this year. For the privileged few who will appreciate it, that is. Thanks, Doc! I've been reading through his report - we visited a few of the same spots in Paris, within a few weeks of each other, so that will be a fun comparison, I think!

That view was my absolute favorite thing about the hotel...I sat there every afternoon and either read my book or took notes about our travels. I'm such a city girl (Louisa actually had to tell me to calm down on the first afternoon, because I was all fidgety about not going, going, going), but sometimes it's nice to just...be.

The next morning, we woke up to this view. The fog rolled in each night and covered the Epernay valley, so that when you woke up, it looked like you were floating in the clouds. When I took the picture, the fog had actually receded pretty significantly... A few minutes after we woke up, there was a knock on the door...in came one of the hotel staff, bearing this beautiful gift: On the tray was a breakfast big enough for four - not that the size stopped us from eating pretty much the whole thing. An inventory: - Coffee - Yogurt - Fruit salad - Orange juice - Grapefruit juice - Croissants - Baguettes - Pains au chocolat - Jambon fume - Jambon blanc - Saucisson - Honey - Marmalade - Confitures - Coffee - Warm milk - Butter A close-up: A particular favorite of mine was the croissant with the strawberry jam, and the coffee, black, with sugar. Louisa went for the baguette with smoked ham and butter, and for the yogurt. We absolutely decimated that thing:

Our first afternoon in Champagne was a lazy one...Louisa went for a short run (OK, my afternoon was a lazy one), and I took a bath in the giant tub in our bathroom, which had a glass wall looking out onto the same valley view. After we washed and brushed, we headed up the hill to the main house and restaurant for dinner. We were seated at a lovely table near the fireplace, looking toward the wall of windows and the other patrons (providing excellent opportunities for people-watching). For dinner, we chose one of the three tasting menu options, and were very happy. Our sommelier, a lovely gentleman named Frederic, recommended a bottle of the Ayala Brut (I believe it was a 1996) - you have to drink champagne in Champagne! - and we put ourselves in his very capable hands. The amuse was a lobster soup, concentrated and thick on the bottom, brothy in the middle, and topped with foam. It was delicious, rich and fragrant, but it paired very poorly with the champagne, leaving an unpleasant metallic flavor behind in the mouth. Undaunted, we moved on to the entree, zucchini flowers stuffed with pesto. Also on the plate: a single, fried zucchini flower petal, a salad of fava beans, tomato, and ollive oil sauce, and a delectable langoustine. The langoustine was perfectly seasoned, and oh-so-tender. I ate it bit by tiny bit, trying to make it last all night. Unlike the soup, this dish went extremely well with the Ayala. Next up was the poisson course, which was a lobster ravioli. Well, several lobster ravioli. The pasta was thin, light, and very delicate (which was a good thing, since Louisa has a special hatred in her heart for thicker ravioli), and the filling...oy. Very rich, succulent, and served with a lobster jus and on a bed of garlicky spinach, which helped cut through what could have been a heavy dish. This was my favorite dish of the night, and really could have been a whole meal in itself. The viande was roast leg and breast of pigeon, served with poached foie gras. On the side was a potato and carrot galette, a perfect cube tied with a leek "ribbon". The dish was full of dark, meaty flavors - no brightness to contrast it, but still very good. Especially the foie. The cheese cart was amazing - and I'm not really even a cheese person! I can't remember the names of, well, anything, so I really, really apologize. I'll try to get Louisa to answer your questions if you have them - when I say I'm not a cheese person, I mean that sometimes, cheese nauseates me. I know, it's weird, what can I say. But I'm very proud of myself - not only did I try all six cheeses on my plate, I enjoyed three of them! Well, my mom was proud, though you guys probably just think I'm nuts. My two favorites were an epoisses-esque cheese (but not epoisses - I would have remembered that) and a sharp goat's cheese that came in a pyramidal shape and smelled like dark chocolate. Finally, dessert, a tarte framboise (moderne). A layer of pate sucree on the bottom, then a layer of confitures, then some huge, fresh, juicy raspberries. On top of those, more confitures, a paper-thin disc of dark chocolate, and then, finally, a layer of dense whipped cream. The tart was served with a tropical-tasting sorbet, which may have been mango and rose, though we weren't certain. Petits fours were sea salt and caramel truffles, strawberry macaroons, and minty marshmallows. On our way out, they asked if we would be having breakfast in the restaurant or on our terrace. Ummmmm...terrace, s'il vous plait!!!! And then we rolled home.

Fair point, Doc. I was actually pleasantly surprised by the lack of price-gouging in the Czech and French minibars (for instance, most 12-ounce bottles of water were around $1-2)...can't recall the exact price of the split, but I think it was around what you might pay in a New York bar - maybe $15-20 bucks? Then again, as a Manhattanite (and one who frequently checks out the minibar cards in her mother's various hotels), I have a skewed idea of what "price-gouging" really means.

Our journey to Reims (via Chalons-en-Champagne) was uneventful, and we were pleasantly surprised, upon arrival, to see a little park right next to the gare in the center of town. We hopped in the taxi that our hotel had sent to retrieve us, and settled in for the 20-minute drive to Champillon. For our stretch in Champagne, we stayed in a small hotel called Hotel Royal Champagne. Since we planned on using our time in Champagne to relax and recover from the hustle and bustle of the cities we'd visited so far, and to rest up for Paris, we thought posh was the way to go. We pulled up to the hotel, a former stop on the French postal route and a favorite spot of Napoleon's for a drink, and were escorted to reception. There we were served a glass of local champagne and a madeleine each, before walking down the hill to our room, which had a gorgeous view of the valley below and Epernay in the distance. We were busying ourselves with finding places to put our suitcases and hanging up our more sensitive-to-wrinkling garments when the door opened and one of the staff walked in bearing this: In addition to the sweeties, there were two glasses of a thick peach puree, which we drank down before realizing how well it would have paired with the split of Veuve in the minibar.

Thanks, Lucy...I've never been more jealous of you than during the ten days I spent in France.

Dinner that night was at a more casual vinstub on rue du Marche-aux-cochons-de-lait , about a block south of the cathedral, called Le Gruber. We were seated downstairs, next to a really wonderful French family (father, mother, and young adult daughter), who were incredibly friendly and very indgulgent of our French. On the table when we arrived was an egg cup filled with something white and brown, dotted with green...when the bread basket finally came, we spread some on the bread and gave it a go. I couldn't quite tell what it was until the gentleman next to us leaned over to me and said, "C'est schmaltz." Mon dieu! Schmaltz, with cracklings, on bread. For our entrees, Louisa ordered a salad with chevre chaud, and I went for a tarte a l'oignon. My tarte came with a green salad, and was irresistibly rich and creamy. Served at room temperatue, the contrast with the salad wasn't as sharp as I might like, but it certainly wasn't bad. For her main, Louisa went for an oldie but goodie, a tarte flambee all gussied up with even more chevre chaud! I was craving meat, and went for the onglets de boeuf, served with a shallot sauce and some really excellent frites (Twice in one day!). For dessert, we split a creme brulee. The creme part was great - really custardy, very creamy, rich, and just the right amount of vanilla. However, it just wasn't bruleed enough! There was sugar over the whole top, but only the very middle seemd to have seen the business end of a kitchen torch. We headed home, walking slowly but surely toward the hotel, and hit the sack in sated peace. The next morning, it was up early for breakfast at the hotel (where a fellow guest and I campaigned for a refill of the coffee urn, en francais, mais oui!), and then we boarded the train to Champagne!

Wow, Arne - that looks like an amazing trip! The photos are just stunning. Well done!

My 2:00 got cut short, so I have some time to post about our Saturday afternoon! After our breakfast of champions at Christian, we made our way back toward the Gare Centrale, in search of what my Rough Guide promised us was a good English-language bookstore. Both Louisa and I are big readers, and we'd both gone through our supplies, mainly due to the long train ride through Germany. We didn't have any luck finding the store (grrrr), but we had a great time riding the tram out to the northern side of town, and also walking around the neighborhood by the Gare, which was full of Indian and Middle Eastern groceries and restaurants, once you got a block or two in from the river. We then hopped back on the tram to ride clear to the other side of town, toward Place de la Republique and the university. We loved the trams - they were fast, quiet, efficient, clean, and modern. They're almost all window, and they sit very low to the ground, so it's almost like riding in a glass bubble. That's the tram in the background, at the Republique stop. A bus is passing in the other direction up front. During our walk back from the university area, we passed this church, St. Paul (which is the two-spired church viewable in the distance from our hotel room window): We also spotted a young, student-y couple kissing on a riverbank, and many, many couples kissing on the small bridges that criss-cross the Ill (no, you sleazy people, I did NOT take their pictures ). This will be important to our story later, I promise. One of the eG-recommended bierstubs was Les Trois Brasseurs (The Three Brewers) on rue des Veaux, just north of the river on the Grande Ile. We stopped in there for lunch, and I promptly ordered a glass of the blonde biere. I knew I wanted baeckeoffe, since I'd spent lunch the day before jealously eyeing Louisa's portion, and Louisa wanted a salad. She ordered a green salad topped with foie de volaille and a poached egg, expecting a small liver on top of a big salad. Well, the salad was big, but check out the pile of liver on that baby!!! It doesn't have quite the same impact on film as it did in person, but that is one big pile of chicken livers, I promise. My baeckeoffe was excellent, better than the one we'd had the day before. Its broth was more deeply flavorful and better-seasoned, and the pig's knuckle buried within gave the dish a rich, gelatinous quality (in a good way, not a Jell-O way). The piquant, cool salad was a lovely counterpoint, and my beer wasn't too bad, either. Les Trois Brasseurs was awfully dark inside, so we were grateful to emerge into the (slightly grey) light of day. We continued our walk along the quai, eventually reaching the aforementioned "Batorama" dock (I feel like its name really should have an exclimation point after it, even in legal documents.), where we purchased two tickets and got in line to board the next barge making its way around the city. We were promptly cut in front of by a large group of French tourists. The latest thing in our list of ultra-touristy activities, the boat trip was a great way to see the city. We'd planned to do it the day before, but the water had been too high, and the boats weren't running. So we felt like old pros as the boat went through Petite France, past the Ponts Couverts, through the medical school, and up the lock just past the Pont St. Martin. We also went out to the Institutions Europeennes, which meant that we got to see the Parliament and Court of Human Rights buildings without having to trek out on foot through the residential and embassy-rich neighborhoods around them. On the way back to the Grande Ile, we passed by St. Paul and the neighboring riverbank - upon which reclined the SAME student couple, in the SAME position, four hours after our first sighting of them. That is some impressive stamina, people. Upon our return to dry land, we decided it was time to buckle down, find some books, and eat some frites with mayonnaise. We walked over to Place Kleber, where I had a vague recollection of seeing a bookstore with the word international on its sign. On the way, we grabbed this, the seemingly-bottomless cone of frites, served with a squeeze-packet of tangy French mayo. Mmmmm... We got ourselves some books (Cat's Eye by Margaret Atwood for me, About a Boy by Nick Hornby for Louisa) and headed back to the room to stash them before dinner.

:laugh: Touche! Ludja, sadly, we didn't get to visit any markets while in Strasbourg. I'll soon be posting about the rest of our Saturday, and while we were hoping to visit the farmer's market, we were on a quest to refill our book supply before we hit the quieter environs of Champagne - something that sent us on a bit of a goose chase around town (though it was a great excuse to ride the tram). Must get back to work now...back-to-back meetings all day...but I'll be posting about Saturday and the beginning of our Champagne adventures soon!

Of course, Strasbourg is the Foie Gras Capitol of France, though perhaps not many people realize that. ← Quite a few other locations in France would hotly dispute Strasbourg's claim to be the foie gras capital. Its sort of like who has the best casoulette. ← So true...it's actually something that both guidebooks mentioned - Strasbourg's competition with the southwest to be crowned queen of foie.

See, John - now you have a reason to go and sample all those good things in the flesh! You simply must have the foie gras at Chez Yvonne. No time like the present, I say.

Well, I can't let this thread go a whole day without new pictures! The morning after Chez Yvonne, we woke up too late to grab breakfast at the hotel, so we decided it was time for another visit to Christian. We headed downstairs and snagged a sidewalk seat (quite a feat, given how much more crowded the city was at the weekend), where we ordered coffee (capuccino for Lou, grand cafe noir for me) and breakfast. I went for a viennoiserie - a croissant, to be exact. Miss Louisa decided to order a pain d'epices - chocolat! The chocolate in its center made the pain d'epices a little too much for us - imagine really spicy gingerbread with dark chocolate inside. Just too much going on, especially at breakfast (well, ok, BRUNCH) time. The croissant, on the other hand, was fantastic. It looked a little brittle at first glance, but barely crumbled when I pulled a piece off. Turned out that the crust was crisp but not crumby, and the inside was tender and fluffy. I'm normally a confitures with my croissants kind of gal, but not that time. I just had to enjoy it all by itself.

Oh, my - that is one of the funniest stories I've heard in a long time. I can just picture the look on your face...why do people do things like that?!?!? Oh, thanks, Shaya! I have to tell you, it's been hard to stick to the food stuff (I have some great stories about all the things we saw and learned), but I'm trying to give you some of the local flavor along with, well, the flavors. In Strasbourg and in Prague, the scenery was a huge part of what made our stays so wonderful.

Exactly - the best of both worlds, really. Just orderly enough for this anal retentive New Yorker, with enough French laissez faire and style to make it wonderful. Dinner on our second night in Strasbourg was absolutely, totally and completely one of the best meals of our trip. It cemented Strasbourg in my affections forever, and I have some really terrible news: I did not bring my camera along that night. I carried my little clutch, and had no room for it - I didn't expect what we got! Late that afternoon, after lunch but before Christian, we took a walk and happened to turn down a little street called rue des Sangliers, which cuts from Place Kleber, the commerical center of the Grande Ile, to la Place de la Cathedrale, where our hotel was located. We passed the most adorable little vinstub, called Chez Yvonne. We were both complete enchanted with what we could see through the windows - it looked a bit more old-fashioned, and more restaurant-y than pubby, than some of the places we'd eaten thus far. The name sounded familiar to me, so when we got back to the room, I checked my eG printouts (oh, yeah, they came all over Europe with me, baby), and found this: Not exactly a ringing endorsement, but we decided to go through with eating there in any case. And, boy, am I glad we did. I have to admit, I do not have clear recollections of everything Louisa ate, and I can't remember the name of the bottle of Riesling we shared, but I'll do my best. We arrived at Chez Yvonne around 8:30, and were seated in the upstairs salon. To our right were a pair of men who were on their first courses when we arrived and who lingered over their cafes until after we left two and half hours later. The hostess brought us the menu, wine list, and the specials, which were outlined on a chalkboard and propped up on the table to our left (A table later occupied by a delightful couple from Bucks County, of all places - we had lots of Pennsylvania stories to share, since Louisa and I met at Bryn Mawr.). Louisa decided on the fig and goat cheese tart with a green salad, and for her main, the quenelles de foie with sauteed potatoes and - wait for it - yet another green salad. The menu went into absolute raptures about those potatoes - where they were grown, how they were harvested, and so on. I started with a special - foie gras poele. My French isn't too bad, but my food vocabulary, oddly enough, is sadly lacking, so I wasn't quite sure what poele (with a circumflex over the first e and an accent agu over the last - I've never been able to figure out accents on my American computer, sorry!) meant. But foie gras is good in any form, so I felt quite safe. For my main, I chose the poussin braised in muscat, which came with spaetzle. Our entrees arrived, and I discovered, to my delight, that poele means seared! (I looked it up when I got home, and discovered that the noun, poele, means skillet.) There were two lobes, each with an incredibly thick, crispy, seared crust, drizzled with a caramel sauce, sprinkled with fleur de sel, and accompanied by a few luscious, dark grapes. This was the best foie gras I have ever had in my life - the crust was thicker than I've had, but in a good way, and the interior was like liquid held together by some kind of alchemy, a lusciousness that contrasted with the crust and blended with the slightly bitter caramel. Apparently, the faces I made as I ate it were a sight to see - and I wasn't alone. Louisa tasted it (again, I am a VERY good friend), and we agreed that it was the absolute Platonic ideal of foie gras. The fig and goat cheese tart was also fantastic - rich and earthy, with gorgeous figs and a delicious green salad with mustardy vinaigrette alongside it. The tart went really well with the Riesling, as did the foie gras. Our mains were similarly excellent. Louisa's quenelles were...um...unphotogenic, to say the least. Slightly pink, they came to the table dressed in a creamy sauce, with a green salad on the side and a Staub skillet of the famous potatoes placed in the center of the table. One bite, though, and you got right over the quenelles' appearance. They were rich, tender, and so full of creamy flavors that it almost tasted like eating butter, but better. And the potatoes? It's not often that you encounter two Platonic ideals in one sitting, but I think we managed to do so. Never before have I had a potato that tasted so much like a potato - and I've eaten lots of potatoes, some right out of the ground. Finally, my chicken. Small, delicate, and perfect, it arrived at the table in the middle of a large plate, sitting in a shallow pool of dark brown sauce. I couldn't resist - I reached out and dipped just the tip of my finger in the sauce and tasted it - it tasted like essence of chicken, like concentrated chicken-ness. The skin wasn't crispy, but it wasn't soggy, either. It was like slightly wet gold, full of flavor and with a darker taste than the chicken itself. The chicken was tender and juicy, and even the spaetzle were good, pan-fried rather than boiled, and tossed with herbs and butter. After devouring my foie and my chicken, I couldn't face dessert, but I ordered a coffee. Louisa ordered lemon sorbet drowned in lemon eau de vie, which was delicious and very, very strong. After dinner, we headed to Les Gayots for a few drinks. I'm sorry to report that whatever champagne they have by the glass is kind of icky, but happy to tell you that all you need to do to get chatted up by two Brits is be the only two English-speakers in the bar. We stumbled home, four drinks later, tottering the whole three blocks to the hotel to gulp down water and air out our smoke-filled scarves. Walking home tipsy, something I generally associate with Second Avenue and the need to avoid frat boys shouting into their cell phones in front of my building, is an experience made infinitely better by the towering shadow of that cathedral.

That eclair does look great... After hearing a friend's description of his time in Strasbourg I 've always wanted to go; your report reinforces this desire! Tarte flambee... ← Ludja, you really must go! I've become a one-woman tourism office for the city of Strasbourg. I've already convinced a colleague - she's going for a long weekend in November. I think I may try to go back next spring, if not earlier. My connection to Strasbourg really took me by surprise - it's pretty much the only place besides New York to which I've felt I could move with no misgivings. I really think I could live there. Which is an interesting point - it's not the most exciting city I've ever visited, but it has a lot of really positive energy, and just made me feel happy at every turn.

But it calls my name so well! And he makes some mighty fine hot chocolate... Interestingly enough, Strasbourg was the only place where I met a truly charming man.

... when you're looking forward to Megan's trip report more than to another round of your friends' boring beach-vacation pictures ←

More hot chocolate than should be legal, really. I DID! I saw the foolish virgins, the man with the apple, the whole deal...but I couldn't make out what was behind him (L'ouevre de Notre Dame continue, madame, et il y a beaucoup de barrieres.)! Tell me, tell me!

I should also note - when I gave her a few bites of the eclair, Louisa said, "Wow. You must really love me." True friendship is sharing the best effing eclair on the planet.