Margaret Pilgrim

Cigalechanta, please be more transparant. I remember a plaque in the parking lot that indicated a relationship with Daniel and Denisse, a favorite bouchon in Lyon, but fail to grasp your reference. Obviously, I did not make any notes in the parking lot, and the reciept that I kept did not show a fax number. I do remember faxing them in the past, and it is entirely possible that their fax number is the same as their telephone number, as John Talbott indicates.

Thanks, Adanzig, for so precisely clarifying your target meal. Given your food preferences, regional experience, price point and the dismal dollar, I throw out a Michelin 1-star. We have enjoyed, and have sent not a few West Coast friends, to Les Magnolias in a relatively accessable eastern suburb of Paris. (PM me for simple directions.) It is in no way a "blow out" experience, but the service is sweet, the food inventive, and at all times you will have the feeling that "someone is in the kitchen cooking just for you.". Their website is slow but worthwhile. Wherever, enjoy.

Several years ago when we were spending a lot of time in Great Britain in the winter, my husband went shopping for a pair of winter-weight wool trousers. Now, you have to understand that in San Francisco where we live you really can't buy true winter-weigh anything! Every shop had only one recommendation: custom. We were amused and delighted when one very dapper salesman at Wilkes-Bashford, one of our better men's shops, said, "Buy winter weight trousers if you must, but do realize that every gentleman that you see on the street in any cold metropolis is wearing silk underwear!" My husband finally bought what he was looking for in Boston, but usually resorts simply to silk underwear.

John, you are my sunshine!

I promist to respond in kind whenever possible. Many thanks.

Adanzig, you have given us several pieces of information. First, you say that this is a repeat visit. Second, you describe your food preferences. As an aside, I can tell you that I ate with your proscriptions for a number of years, and ate very, very well in Paris and elsewhere. I would ask you a couple of additional questions. Where and what were the best meals you enjoyed on previous visits? And, what would be, in your imagination, a perfect "blow-out meal", both in terms of menu options/degustation plates and cost? In all events, enjoy. I envy your year's end.

This is good advice in any weather! As a friend of mine admonishes, if you really, really need it, you can buy it there.

Wow. You guys had it soooooooo lucky. My mother was an early follower of Gaylord Hauser. No, none of you have ever heard of him. He was the 1940's proponent of healthful eating. His mantra: You are what you eat. I used to go off to grade school with, get this, grated carrot/raisin/walnut/mayonnaise on Roman Meal bread sandwiches. Try trading one of those for a peanut butter and jelly! Social outcast at the lunch table! No wonder I am wierd! My aunt used to make what I thought were fabulous sherbets, combining canned milk with Kool-Aid! Grape or orange! Superb, and not a single natural flavor in the carload! (Actually, grated carrot/raisin/walnut/mayonnaise on Roman Meal is quite a good eat! )

Pizza crusts or baguette crusts in red wine. Bread sticks aren't bad, either. You do have to be careful, though, because floating crumbs or grease slicks on one's wine are patently unattractive.

I would be very interested in any eG reviews of Le P'tet Bougnat. We had reservations a couple of months ago but had to cancel because of illness, and never got around to getting back to it.

We hear so often of "the French paradox" but when I reflect on our experiences I think that it is more aptly titled "the French inigma". If we could decifer it, we would probably lose our mystical infatuation with the French. Our frequent hostess in the south of France is the epitome of the French woman that has been described in this thread, with the exception that I haven't a clue of her age, perhaps somewhere between 45 and 65. She has obviously been extremely beautiful in her early youth, and has lost little if any of her attraction in some 20 to 40 years. She is tiny: probably 5'4", hopefully 100 pounds. She is dressed by a local designer, and to the nines. She is, to make it short, adorable and tres tres chic. We have been at her table often, and, to my amazement, she "chows down"! But not by American standards. The meal is either choreographed in her kitchen or carefully chosen by her at a restaurant, also carefully chosen by her and her husband. She does chew each bite with relish, and does not hurry her meal, and engages in fascinating conversation throughout the meal. Taking this thought one step forward, I think so often about a man we met this summer. He was an American citizen by fortune of having been born in Mexico of a Philipine mother (the Philipines were at the time of his mother's birth an American territory). His father is Iranian. He lives with his French wife in Prague. At this point, my eyes began to roll! He engaged us in a discussion of current politics in America (and I really don't want to go there), and continued to share his description of the quintessential Frenchman. I am sorry that I didn't have a taperecorder to cement his comments, because although I was struck dumb by his brilliant description, in no way can I accurately relay it. In essence, he said that a Frenchman got up in the morning and started to celebrate his person. This person husbanded his resources throughout his day to bring the best benefit in terms of toilet, fragrance, simple breakfast, pleasant avenues to his work, alternatives of both place and company for lunch, and on through the day. Essentially, this person spent extraordinary time choosing from the best he could afford to wear, eat, drink, experience whatever his budget, or non-restrictive budget. This is perhaps what separates us from the French. The average American has a much more "snatch and grab" mentality to any single unimportant day. The French realize that no day is unimportant.

The short answer is that l'Entredgeu is a small, crowded restaurant that serves two full seatings each night. There is little welcome and service is basic. Three women, including Madame, serve two rooms. We have found the food quite all right but nothing outstanding except for the low price for the name recognition of the chef. It is not a dining room for a relaxed, intimate dinner, and barely one for the simple experience of good cooking. We usually add it to our mix of possible bookings, and usually choose another address without regret. This is one restaurant where I would not be against taking the earliest table available. This will give you a better chance of having a choice of tables, the full attention of your waitress and an unharried kitchen. The noise level will be lower before 9:30, as well as the stress level of the staff. You probably should go there once, then make up your own mind about returning.

When a table at A Ma Vigne was not available for the day and time we wanted, we booked at Daniel et Denise. It is a larger dining room than many of the other bouchons, but the food was excellent and the service adorable. My husband ordered muscles as an entree. Half way through his serving, the waiter quietly slipped away his shell bowl and replaced it with an empty one. My husband took this opportunity to count his remaining muscles: 42 left after eating half the serving, and this a starter course! He finally gave up, and shifted his bowl over to me. When I started to use a piece of bread to sop up some of the excellent sauce, a spoon miraculously appeared at my place. After I had polished off a workingman's portion of tablier de sapeur, leaving the potato accompaniment, our waiter paused at our table to appraise my plate and nodded with satisfaction over my accomplishment. Because portions were so large, we asked at the end of our meal if on future visits we could order smaller portions or fewer dishes. He said that we were welcome to order one dish or ten at lunch or at dinner. All they cared about was that their clients enjoyed their food and left happy. (A couple of weeks ago I was surprised to notice a sign on the front of the Bistrot du Paradou near Arles linking that Bistrot with this Lyonnaise bouchon.) Daniel et Denise 156, rue de Créqui Lyon 3e 04.78.60.66.53

I have never bothered to vac-pac cheese that I was bringing home, and we arrive home with cheese more often than not. Usually I either use the remaining store wrap or nest several like-kinds of cheese in a small tupperware-type container (read: recycled plastic traiteur box). I always declare it at customs, and they really don't enforce the age requirement. (As I understand it, you are allowed to bring in cheese that is partially aged; e.g., brie is fine while fromage blanc is not.) Off topic but perhaps relevant: On every re-entry in 2004 we have been specifically asked if we had any meat products. No. Canned? No. Pates? No. Etc. They are obviously enforcing the ban on foie gras and its derivatives, at least in San Francisco.

Katie, we come from all points west, sometimes heading east on 76, sometimes north on 95, yesterday east on 3 into Broomall after joy-riding our way east on 322! Essentially, we fly into Philadelphia 3 or 4 times a year; we are through with our events around noon and have some 6 hours to get from the Denver/Reading area to the airport for our flight. I should add that most of these flights take place on Sundays. Will these places be open then?

Many thanks, Katie. Exactly what I was hoping for!

Any suggestions for great tacos in Philadelphia? Near the airport, or just off 76 a plus, but not necessary. I'm thinking about real ethnic stuff (cabeza, lengua, etc), not American fast food versions.

One of my favorite little meals in France is in the "Petit Salle à Manger" in the heart of the Paul Bert market, actually under the ramp for the upstairs parking garage. It consists of an order counter on one side of the aisle and a tiny enclosed dining room across the way. We usually have a plate of three or four salads of our choice, basket of bread, glass of wine, maybe coffee. There is alway a quiche; the scallop and prawn quiche is one of the best I have ever eaten anywhere. There are always cold sliced meats, smoked salmon, foie gras. Always several hot main courses. The servings are "stop when I've put enough on your plate", and the seasonings are on target. Our tab is usually under 25 euros for the two of us. But best of all, I love the food at this little rest stop.

Gourmet Magazine (September 2004, page 196) mentions that they can be obtained fresh from melissas.com or (800) 588-0151. For those planning to attend the Fermier Show in Paris mid-October, there is a stall that sells both the pickled form, in a brine similar to cornichons, and a fabulous salicorne mustard.

I would avoid mid-day. It really isn't all that frenetic, certainly not much worse than our Saturday farmer's market. I found that having to wait a minute or so to reach the seller gave me a chance to taste and think about the product and to formulate any questions.

My, that was a fast year! It's time again for the Fall 2004 Fermier Show at Place Champeret. Opens 11am, Friday, October 15, and 10 am on Saturday, Sunday and Monday.

Fat Guy asserts "Furthermore, if a restaurant allows itself to be ruined by being discovered, it's not as great a restaurant as you thought it was. The truly great places don't get ruined. They turn the extra business and attention into better food, decor, and service." Better to some, perhaps. Certainly different.

I guess I am showing my age, John, as in "menu comprehension and decoding is womenswork"! Before our visits to Greece and Italy it was my job to become proficient enough to navigate reservations, check-in and meal-ordering. Perhaps it was because of these stressful times at table that for a decade I steered us to Great Britain before venturing back to the continent. When I think of the opportunities missed because I was afraid to tackle French! I think that we are talking about two kinds of traveler here. There are those like PS who find themselves in a peculiar situation, make the best of it and dedicate themselves to learning more about the culture, and there are those like the people Bux tried to help who were much happier when they could meld with a group that was equally ignorant and provincial. There is no amount of help we wouldn't give the former.

I ask others to correct me if I am wrong here, but I think that the kind of restaurant that is under discussion here is a 1) small, 2) personally run (often husband and wife), neighborhood kitchen and dining room (frequently at the end of a metro line in the outer arrondisements). The chef many times has experience in a multi-starred kitchen and has decided to strike out for himself, and following Yves' route, choosing a budget menu venue. Once he is established in his neighborhood, he has a full house of regulars every night. He may choose to do only one sitting an evening. His wife may run the front room. Even after they have a child, they may be able to continue this way of life. Life is good. Dealing with language/culture impared tourists is not a daily problem. At what point do he and his wife/family encourage additional seats or sittings in order to increase the daily take? Apparently not a few young chefs are finding that the good life is not necessarily the harried life.

Watch out, Bux. You are beginning to sound a lot like me. Seriously, I am ceaselessly amazed at the number of people we encounter who can't navigate a serious menu in French. Moreover, I wonder why they have so inconvenienced themselves by coming to a neighborhood place that probably has a simple ardoise, which, granted, is better than the old purple mimeographed sheets that no one, French included, could decode. There is a very simple machon in the 6th that we have used for over a decade, Machon d'Henri. It is tiny; really, really, "whose hand is that on my knee" tiny. The food is classic Lyonnaise of an very ordinary quality. The service is competent but not really service by any purist definition. We like weeknights better than weekends, but they are open on Sundays, which is a failsafe for us. My husband goes for the 7-hour lamb, I for andouillette. We use this place as a comfort address when we are tired and overfed and just want to be someplace familiar. Last time we were there, a couple of weeks ago, two different couples left after trying to read the chalkboard. When a third settled in and started showing signs of stress, my husband told me to give them a hand. I suggested that because of the peculiar angle of their table to the board perhaps they could use some help reading the board. They accepted with gusto, then begged us to translate as well as read to them. When we were finishing dessert, the husband leaned toward us and asked what we had had for dessert. I told him strawberry tart. He said, "No, in French". How do you get to France and not be able to figure out which of 4 or 5 dessert items might be the strawberry tart you are drooling over? This little machon is frequented mostly by regulars from the neighborhood. I have questioned how this is possible in the middle of the touristy 6th. My husband' answer: They don't make it easy for people who don't speak French. Interesting.