Paris trip reports

[jparrott]

(First of an intermittent series)

P IS FOR PARIS; THAT'S GOOD ENOUGH FOR ME

Paris, November 7-14, 2001

This trip resulted from the confluence of several factors--shockingly low airfares and hotel rates, total blahs about the state of the world, and a lull in work for both of us (at least interesting work). So after little consideration, we booked plane tickets and a hotel for a week in Paris of sun (a bit), fun (most everything) and gluttony (wall-to-wall). Here beginneth the story of our first-ever week in Paris.

November 6, Day Zero: Setting Sleep Cycles

Neither of us had been successful in avoiding "hitting the wall" on our last trip to Europe (Spain in September 2000), so we tried two vastly different strategies for setting our sleep times the day before the trip. I woke up at 3AM Tuesday morning and went to work for five hours, tying up loose ends. I put my wife to bed at 3AM when I woke up, and she slept from 3 to about 8. We finished the last bit of packing and drove to my parents' house to leave our car and get a ride to the airport. We planned on arriving about five hours early--we were flying out of Dulles, and we didn't want any surprises. The only surprise was the total lack of any lines. We were checked and through security to the lame duty-frees in about twenty minutes. With time to kill, we cruised the airport a couple of times, watched CNN for awhile while they waited, panting, for another rate cut, and begin a gentle marinating process (me with beer, Christina with amaretto) to help ease us to sleep after the "dinner" on the plane. After a final round of hydration, we boarded the plane, which left about ten minutes late (around 6).

We choked down dinner, I had some scotch and we were...OUT. Five semi-blissful, almost-uninterrupted hours of sleep (with some moderate turbulence in the middle for good measure) and we were on the ground in Roissy, rested and ready to conquer Paris. We got our bags and cleared "customs" and we were off.

November 7, Day One: Avoiding the Wall

We decided to take the RER train to Paris. Note to anyone taking a week's worth of clothes to Paris--unless your hotel is very near Gare du Nord or Chatelet, do not do this during rush hour. It was a struggle getting off the train, and changing Metro lines (escalators nowhere to be found) was even more difficult. A cab really isn't that much more. Anyway.

We dropped our bags at our hotel and strolled downhill (we were staying at the foot of Montmartre in the St-Georges neighborhood), down Rue de Martyrs and into downtown. We stopped for ham paninis and water/coke (not bad at all) and strolled to Place de L'Opera, admiring the shiny metalwork even on this dreary, drizzly day. We spent the rest of the day walking, down toward the Tuileries (where we noticed the line for the Louvre and passed), then up the length of the Champs-Elysees to the tourist office to buy museum passes. Along the way, we did a little shopping (including Vins Rares Peter Thustrup--no buys, though the prices on late-80s Bordeaux were pretty good). We were beat and returned to our hotel to check in.

Our hotel was the Residence Hotel Les Trois Poussins, on Rue Clauzel in the north of the 9th. A traditional European hotel (small rooms, leave-the-key-when-you-go-out), but newly renovated with clean, comfortable and large (for Europe) rooms. A very good value at ๫/nt through Expedia and about 250m from the St. Georges metro. We took a short nap, watched some CNN and Eurosport and headed back out for some shopping. We stopped at La Samaritaine, the department store near the Seine, and Christina bought some casual shirts (บ in Paris, ษ in USA), then it was off to the Left Bank. We window-shopped along Boulevard Saint-Germain and had kirs at a cafe near the Odeon. After finding L'Epi Dupin fully booked, we found a table at Salon d'Helene, the first-floor bistro of the one-star Helene Darroze. They serve only tapas, but we constructed a small tasting from the menu anyway.

First up was "Trois Foies Gras Confits," three chunks of foie gras--raw goose foie gras, terrine of duck foie gras naturel and duck foie gras mi-cuit with sweet spices. All were fabulous, reminiding us why French foie gras is superior to American--depth of flavor and smoothness, not to mention the more experienced French hand with the stuff.

We continued on with four tapas presented together--garbure bearnaise (a large white bean similar to the tarbais) presented cold with a mussel and snail and warm with duck and sausage, a duck pate en croute and a parsnip soup with chanterelles. All were very tasty.

With the above we drank a bottle of Charles Hours, Jurancon Sec "Cuvee Marie" 2000, which was rich and tart with pineapples, apples and minerals. Very yummy and a good restaurant value at ร or so.

We finished off with some Ossau-Iraty and and four desserts, presented simultaneously, a beignet, a custard with rosewated cake, bombe au praline and the everpresent (even in Paris) fondant au chocolat. All were simple, not too rich and complemented each other well (despite the lack of a light fruit dessert in the assortment). With that, we were home and to bed.

[robert brown]

J, when is the next installment? Bux told me he was planning to eat at the casual Helene Darroze restaurant. It will be interesting to compare your meal with his. (The upstairs part had about the worst service I ever came up against when I was there in the summer of 1999, not to mention the most arrogant, unapologetic maitre d'hotel imaginable who said to me when I got up to complain,"I know there's a problem with the service, and she (meaning Helene) knows there's a problem with the service". But the food was marvelous.  

Anyway, lots of us love to hear about dining in Paris and appreciate your taking the time to share your experience.  Also, does anyone know when Bux and Patrice are due back?

(Edited by robert brown at 2:25 pm on Nov. 15, 2001)

[jparrott]

Robert--next installment will probably be later today, and daily if I have time to write.  Takes a while to decipher my extra-cryptic notes.

We had lovely service at Salon d'Helene, except they forgot to pour our wine once--inexcusible, yes, but the least "damaging" of the catalog of service errors.  The waiter and busfolks were very nice, spoke very good English, knew quite a bit about the food (even in English), and gave me a quick lesson in the various beans of SW France.  Reminded me quite a bit service-wise (and food-quality-wise) of the Tavern at Gramercy Tavern, but cheaper and much quieter (tho no less jovial).

Jake

[jparrott]

NOVEMBER 8, DAY 2--How Savoy-ry It Is!

Omissions from Day 1: We stopped by the Legrand wine shop and found it a bit underwhelming, and I bought ring molds at Dehillerin.  I could spend all day in there if I knew what I was looking for; but without a plan, I sort of petered out at 30 minutes.  Great, great store--twice as much good stuff as Bridge Kitchenware and less useless stuff.  Also, the ossau-iraty at Salon d'Helene was accompanied by a none-too-sweet cherry syrup, and the foie gras with some quince compote.

We awoke about 8AM, showered, dressed, and strolled down Rue des Martyrs for a pain au chocolat and a chausson aux pommes.  Both were nice, though the apples in the chausson were completely pureed--is this normal?  After wiping the gluttonous crumbs from our faces, we slipped into the Metro and teleported to the Louvre.

The Louvre isn't that big when you're not a big fan of sculpture.  Like it or not, I take an historiographic approach to art, and while I'm able to grasp meaning and explain paintings in detail using this approach, sculpture has for the most part escaped me.  We did make it a point to see Venus de Milo, the code of Hammurabi and a statue of Akhenaton (if you don't know him, he's like the Michael Servetus of his time--a revolutionary figure totally forgotten by his contemporaries).  But mostly we looked at paintings.  Not the Mona Lisa--I don't get it, the artistic devices used in it are a mishmash, and it doesn't "move off the canvas" like some people says it does.  I'll take almost any Rubens over five Mona Lisas, thanks.  The Rubens here was great, as were the like two Titians, as well as two of the more forgotten paintings of Zurbaran, whose work I admire more than almost anyone else.  Despite a mid-visit stop at one of the terrace cafes for a coffee, we were bushed before we got to the 19th century Frenchies, but all the ones I cared about were at Musee d'Orsay anyway.

Exiting the Louvre, we trekked to Willi's Wine Bar, but the kitchen was closed and my wife didn't want cheese.  So we headed to Galeries Lafayette and the self-service place for passable couscous and very nice merguez sausage for me and lamb for here.  I had a dark beer whose name I forgot.  We ate about half of our plates, because we knew what was to come that night.  Following our repast, I cruised the Galeries Lafayette food hall and wine shop.  The coolest thing about the food hall was that it had about six places to stop and have a glass of wine and sample some of the wares for reasonable prices, as well as a pasta counter, a steak counter and a cooked fish counter (doesn't get much fresher than that).  None were opened when we were there, but imagine the kind of business Balducci's or the like would do with places like that in the store.  By the end of the food hall, I was tired and dehydrated, so we got some water and headed back to the hotel for a nap and a shower.

I had made our reservations at Guy Savoy through e-mail about a week before our trip, and was a little surprised when they offered me a free choice of days.  It looked like the place was fully booked, however.  We arrived somewhat early and were ushered through a smiling gauntlet of "Bonsoir!"s, started by the eminent M. Savoy himself (who shook my hand and took my introduction, smiling the whole time.  He looks like the happiest man in the world).  Our table was in a corner of one of the back rooms, and we ended up being next to a large, loud, smoky table of the chef's closest friends (it appeared).  Not that that was negative at all--it added considerably to the joie de vivre, though we didn't get any white truffles shaved on our soup :-).

The champagne card arrived and we chose the house cuvee of Deutz.  It was the best champagne we tasted the whole trip, well-integrated with real complex fruit over all the nuttiness.  Our captain came over and asked if we wished to converse in English or French, and when I explained to him that we'd like to attempt to speak French at times just for practice, he smiled, chuckled and said "after the first glass of wine, we'll try to speak French!"  If we were nervous, we would have been calmed by this line--we were already euphoric, so it was just another log on the fire.  Then came the first two amuses--salt-cured foie gras on toast and a small piece of Bresse chicken breast with a brunoise of peppers and eggplant in a vinaigrette made from chicken stock.  Both were wonderful, the salt-cured foie gras a total revelation in flavor and texture control, the best foie gras either of us had ever had and the best we would have on the trip.  Not that any of it was less than wonderful, of course :-).

Following those two amuses came three more, plated together.  Carrot soup with a bit of star anise quickly established itself in my mind as the flavor combo for my next round of glazed carrots.  A cube of quickly seared tuna, smaller than a Yahtzee die, accompanied some baby arugula that was all nuttiness and no bitterness, which is a long way to say that Christina actually liked it.  Quite possibly the most champagne-friendly morsel attainable.  Finally, a squid ceviche-style with bean sprouts and chanterelles.  The first of many appearances of the chanterelle on the night, this time exposing its sweet, apricot personality.

Next came another waiter with menus, which we refused, asking for a surprise tasting (many of you have probably read an account of such a meal on the Chowhound site--we acted similarly and got a similar response).  Our captain returned to assess our likes and dislikes--Christina doesn't like goat cheese, that's pretty much it, and we told him we didn't want to know anything.  He did ask if strong flavors, "like wild hare," were okay, and we told him absolutely!  He did volunteer, before I could stop him, that we would be having six courses, plus cheese and two dessert courses, with the signature dishes of Guy Savoy.  Or something like that :-).

A table was placed next to my seat for the wine list, the size of a phone book, only because the pages were thick and the type was large.  Guy Savoy doesn't have an encyclopedic wine list, but it's very good, with plenty of verticals and about ten half-bottles each, white and red.  I perused those lists, as with the champagne, some dessert wine and armagnac (and a wife who is a very light drinker and who might have a glass and a half for the whole night), that would be plenty.

Next came four more amuses on the same plate.  Pumpkin soup, or rather, white truffle soup masquerading as pumpkin soup, had none of the musty flavors of old truffle oil.  It's nice to come to a serious restaurant when both white and black truffles are in season!  Another soup of lentils and langoustines had neither whole lentils nor langoustines, but the haunting, concentrated essences of both.  I'm convinced the langoustine is the truffle of the sea, and I think Guy Savoy is too--more on that later.  Third was a beet chip topped with a slice of black truffle and accompanied by a pretty-classical mustard vinaigrette--one sweet, earthy, bite.  Last was a Savoy signature, an oyster on the half-shell topped with an oyster glace, in which floated a single slice of carrot (?).  The glace, made from oyster liquor, tasted like it took at least a dozen oysters to make.  I queried the captain about the number, and he agreed that twelve seemed about right.  

The sommelier returned and went over the half bottles with me.  He downsold me from a Meursault when I told him I didn't like very oaky wines (I used the example of Ambroise, which he understood right away and smiled), and upsold me a little from one red burg to another.  In the end, I chose the 2000 Georges Vernay Condrieu Coteaux de Vernon (is that designation right?  It's something like that) and the 1999 Pierre Matrot Blagny, 1er Cru "Piece Sous Les Bois," both about ึ bucks for half bottles.  He returned and opened both bottles and also poured some Evian (note, Guy Savoy operates on the "water fee" basis, charging you for one bottle, no matter how many you drink).

Finally came the first course, two almost-raw langoustines covered with lines of sevruga caviar and served with a caviar cream.  Nothing like a simple little starter to send you on your way :-).  This was lovely, though it didn't match well with the wine, and I thought the langoustines could have been cooked a tad bit more (they were a bit mushy in the middle).  Not that I minded, but the fully-cooked langoustines at Gramercy Tavern are a little sweeter than these.  With this dish, the Condrieu tasted a bit metallic and chippy.  It also needed air to open up, and air it got.  We told the captain that we were in no rush, and we were certainly not rushed, if one judges by the clock.  We were so into the experience, however, that we almost did feel rushed, only because each dish was worth an hour of conversation in itself.  Each morsel showed either a new technique or a new flavor combination, and probing (and pondering) the possible motivations behind them was a foodgeek's (and cook's) paradise.  I was also happy that Savoy chose to compose his plates very simply, validating (in my twisted mind) the menus I serve to guests at home, which often only have two or three elements on a plate.  Then again, his cooking is on about twenty-five million higher planes than mine.  At least.

Next was bass, seared in Savoy's way in olive oil with the scales on, with braised fennel and a vanilla, coriander and fenugreek cream sauce applied at table.  The scales puffed up, an eating experience not unlike a wispy-crusted soft shell crab, but with an earthier flavor lifted and enriched by the fennel and cream, respectively.  Now the wine was starting to sing, too (a tasting note later, I promise).  It was at this point that we began to pick up on the rhythm of plate service here.  The plates would be placed in front of us, silently, by a waiter.  The silence was a cue not to do anything.  Next, the captain would come with a pot of something to spoon on, usually a sauce.  Then, he would describe the dish.  It's a nice rhythm, one that I wish more places adopted, even though it means having hot food sit on a table for <gasp!> ten seconds.  People might think it was pretentious.  Those people (who always seem to write letters to the editors of restaurant reviewers) would be, well, wrong.

Next came the other half of our lentil dichotomy, a small plate of lentils cooked in broth and truffle juice and garnished with more truffle.  The headiness of this dish, which was cut surprisingly well by the wine, was a neat juxtaposition to the different kind of headiness in the truffle-langoustine soup amuse.  It was nice to see that Savoy had no qualms about repeating an item, even a lowly lentil, on his menus.  It probably took me twenty minutes to eat the maybe 3/4 of a cup of this stew, with its haunting, earthy flavors and perfectly cooked lentils.  Remember, kids (including me), don't salt the water until the lentils are done, and even then you've got only half a chance.  Lentils de Puy are both Christina's and my favorite starch, and so we were on all levels of overdrive by now--me in technique and menu composition as well as hedonism, and Christina with three times the hedonism to equal my total enthusiasm.  Or so it seemed.  And, no, I'm not going to give you a note on the wine yet.  There was some left in Christina's glass, and I reserved it (fending off a busboy's query about it) for my cheese.   Yes, at that point it was that unctuous.

The sommelier now poured some red wine (all Spiegelau glasses, BTW), and the fourth course was served and showered with sauteed chanterelles, white trumpets, black truffles and others that I forgot to write down (and couldn't remember after the captain, responding to my query, told them to me).  It was seared foie gras, a thin slice (a technical error in my view--can't get all the different textures with this thin a slice, or maybe just the hedonist poking up again) with a chocolate-black pepper cookie (including roasted cocoa beans) and bitter chocolate sauce.  Now _this_ is what I call young Burgundy food, with the FG (ironically) providing a lightening touch to the roasted and bitter flavors and the sweet earthiness of the shrooms.  This gentle recastment of ingredients all night shows great refinement as well as the ability to be modern without affecting the diner's hedonistic experience.

And the wine?

Pierre Matrot, Blagny Piece Sous le Bois 1999--half bottle: Medium ruby garnet, rich cherry and chocolate, a bit oaky but not harsh at all, long and stemmy on the finish.  Everything yound, reasonably priced Burgundy should be and then some.  

Next came the old Savoy standby, on the menu every day of the year, artichoke soup laden with parmesan and black truffles, accompanied by a mushroom "brioche" (it was like ten times richer than the name suggests, even richer than a brioche mousseline) smeared at table with truffle butter.  I'd never had my bread buttered for me before, but this was no slice of Wonder bread!  Amazing, as was the soup, although the flavor was so refined that the artichokes only really manifested as sweetness against the earthy and rich flavors (though that made the wine match better).  Dipping the bread, which was encouraged, produced a total explosion in the mouth.

As this was the end of the truffles for the night, I do want to point out here that the truffle flavor in Savoy's dishes was never harsh or unbalanced or musky, like it often is here in the States.  Rather, it was refined, pungent but also sweet, and luxurious without drowning out the other flavors.  With apologies to the advocates of black truffle ice cream, _this_ is what truffles are all about.

The last savory dish for the night arrived as a small brown trapezoid of meet on some dark brown sauce, garnished with a single rigatone.  Then came the waiter, spooning more of the thick brown sauce and some shrooms on the plate, before introducing the dish as "Wild Hare a la Royale [shooting a knowing glance at me], with a macaroni stuffed with celery root, and mushrooms."  The oldest, most famous recipe in the classical repertoire!  And it exploded tonight, with roasted, exotic flavors, plenty of the animal's fat in the terrine-like presentation of the stew (though it was warm and loose, unlike tightly-packed, cold terrines), a sauce clearly made from hare stock as well as the necessary blood, and a wonderful, sweet, pungent celeriac puree (and I know a thing or two about celeriac purees--it's my favorite root veg).  As the waiter suggested by his knowing glance, Christina didn't know what "a la Royale" meant, so I asked the waiter to explain it when he cleared our (virtually licked clean) plates.  Christina was very proud of herself once she knew it was blood (she had figured so much all along).

Next came cheese.  Savoy has a single cart, a manageable selection of about twenty cheeses, all attractive looking (except for the epoisses, which was kept closed, of course).  I chose for Christina, cantal (which was a little too lemon-cakey for the both of us), parmigiano-reggiano, st-marcellin (which she didn't like), and a wonderful reblochon, which she devoured.  I chose epoisses, of course, and the waiter had to fetch a separate spoon to serve it, vacherin, a corsican sheep cheese that I don't remember the name of, a beautiful and well-balanced southwestern goat cheese, and splendid roquefort.  I had never had Epoisses or Vacherin before, and I don't necessarily like really pungent cheeses.  But a lesson I have learned over and over again at Gramercy Tavern was hammered home here--no cheese is too funky for raisin bread!  On the lovely raisin bread provided with the cheeses (and re-provided), the Epoisses shedded any gag-inducing spunk and became beautifully pungent, balanced, sweet and earthy, while the Vacherin was milky and candy-sweet.  At no other restaurant we went to did raisin bread come with the cheese, and the smelly cheeses really suffered for it (the jellies and compotes notwithstanding).  Also, the white wine really shined off of the milder cheeses on both of our plates:

Georges Vernay, Condrieu Coteaux de Vernon 2000--half bottle:  Light straw, with powerful perfumes of white flowers, with lemon oil and orange oil coming on strong after four hours of air.  Lemony palate with bartlett pear skin and a pulsating, acidic, flowery finish.  Needs decanting.  Yum!

By this time it was 12am (we had sat down at 8:15), but we were floating on top of the world.  And so came the dessert amuses--a bright-green apple jelly with a marbled-chocolate wafer, a tart lemon cookie, an ultra-creamy vanilla macaroon, and a muscadelle grape sheathed in the thinnest possible layer of crispy sugar syrup, probably the most fun single morsel of the evening, even though the seeds were of course still inside.

The sommelier proposed a dessert wine, and we ordered one glass, a 1997 Coteaux d'Audonce (forgot the producer--the AC is near Savennieres) that was earthy and balanced, especially for a 97, and just sweet enough to accompany the next dish, a tasting of pear and lemon desserts, with a no-sugar lemon sorbet (yow!), lemon custard with pear puree, a pear chip garnish and a lemon-poached pear with candied zest.  The kind of dessert that would sell zero covers at most American restaurants, but the perfect palate cleanser from the robust cheeses, a festival of techniques and combinations (sometimes with the lemon providing the sweet and the pear providing the tart and sometimes vice-versa) and a vehicle for making the humble little dessert wine (which I think was only like ů/glass) explode.  As we were eating this, a small dish of eight chocolate "pawns" was set down--eight small taller-than-they-were-wide pieces of a milk-and-dark chocolate terrine.  Not too intense, just a segue to the next dessert.

The next dessert was a presentation of chocolate sorbet with another bitter chocolate cookie and coffee cream.  Probably the most conventional dish of the night, but a very pure expression of chocolate without resorting to complete cliches, and a comfortable way to ease back toward the ground.

Two more dessert amuses were offered, a creamy-textured tea sorbet with vanilla cream, and Savoy's traditional closer, a sliver of a very thin apricot tart.  I asked for an Armagnac, "nothing too expensive" and was poured a 1981 that was still a little chippy and tasting of hazelnut skins.  Judging by the miniscule prices for old armagnacs everywhere we went, I should have known to go for something a bit older.  Still it was a nice finish and aid to the digestion.  We lingered a bit, made smalltalk with  M. Savoy (he was chatting up the table next to ours the whole night, but glanced over quite often, making eye contact with both of us.  And when the next table said anything in English, which was rare, it was always positive, and we made a little smalltalk with them, too).

The restaurant called a cab, and unfortunately, it arrived.  We paid (4090 francs, or about 軟) floated out of the restaurant to handshakes from the entire staff and the warmest handshake of all from a grinning Guy Savoy (and a gentle josh of the master from our captain, who told us "we got lucky" tonight in an obviously kidding tone).  

Best meal of our lives?  Of course, though we are young and have many more great meals to look forward too, we hope.  But it was, and it sets a high standard.  Best food, best service, plenty of foodgeeking with the waitstaff in two languages, well-matched wines at reasonable prices.  Our own little corner of heaven on a drizzly night in the most wonderful city in the world.  And we weren't too full to wake up in the morning (tho we were close).

[jparrott]

November 8, DAY THREE--Settling In

Omissions from day two--The bread was good (but not too good--there is of course such a thing as too good bread in a restaurant), with two kinds of butter.  I asked the origin of the salt butter (Normandy, of course--didn't get into more specifics) but forgot to ask about the sweet.  We sat down at 8:15 and got up at 1:30AM.  The Louvre's musuem shop has almost no postcards (or at least we couldn't find them).  Everyone has to go through security to get into the major museums, which greatly reduces the convenience of the museum pass (which isn't that great a deal, 170FF for three days, unless you're into hardcore sightseeing, which we weren't).  And the staff at Guy Savoy seemed quite young for the classical vision of top-end French restaurants.

Anyway.

We awoke on Friday still totally sated from the night before, and my head was still spinning from the excitement.  We decided that lunch would be progressive, not exactly light, but not three courses in one place with wine.  We took the Metro into downtown and visited Sainte-Chapelle, the small, very old chapel on the Ile-de-la-Cite within the Palais de Justice grounds.  The art is only halfway restored, but there's a beautiful melange of styles in the stained glass and sculpture here; you can really see the progression of art through the years, particular in relationship to the depiction of eyes, gazes and expressions.  

We then ducked into the Crypt next to Notre Dame.  This small museum describes the various cities that exist in the ruins under "modern" Paris.  The remarkable aspect of this short tour was the close resemblance of the building styles between the 4th and 16th centuries.  Made us realize how much technology and techniques have changed in a relatively short time.  That whole globalization thing again.

We then toured Notre Dame and trudged up the towers.  Inside Notre Dame, there is a series of paintings representing the traditional May offerings of art to the Virgin Mary.  While some of these paintings were only okay, there were a few that really stood out.  I think cathedrals are wonderful venues for art—I wrote a college essay about the small, brightly-colored fresco at the top of the apse of the Cathedral at Antwerp, and the Rubens triptych there, which just sort of stands there in a corner of the room with no fanfare at all, are the three greatest religious paintings to my mind.  My wife does not agree.  On either point.  The towers were tall, the view was pretty good for an overcast day.  It was a good workout.

The Rue de St-Louis-en-L’Ile is probably the most concentrated street of cool shops and eateries in Paris.  Not a lot of high-profile things (Berthillon excepted), but the hits just kept on coming.  We stopped at Ferme-Saint-Aubin for a wonderful, candy-sweet bite of goat cheese (or, rather, I did), then to Calixte for an (overrated) croissant and small pots of acacia honey and cassis jam.  I broke the small pot of jam by dropping it, and I have yet to try the honey, but both looked very good and came well recommended in my readings.

Then, of course, we made our pilgrimage to Berthillon.  We sat in the café and had coffee with our noon ice creams—vanilla and caramel for Christina, the vanilla darker in color and more concentrated than any I’d ever seen or tasted, and the caramel shot through with little crispy bits of the stuff.  Divine flavorings.  I had agenaise (prune and armagnac) and marrons glacee.  I found out I don’t really like marrons glacee, though the ice cream in which they swam was quite agreeable.  The agenaise was divine, a classic interpretation of an even more classic combination.  I agree with Thor that there was some graininess, but it’s definitely its own style, and there was none of the waxy, eggy, off aftertaste you get in a lot of purportedly rich ice creams (like, say, mine).  How would you rate it against Toscanini’s, Thor?  I’d put them about on the same pedestal, towering over everything else (yes, yes, including Herrell’s—it’s so clear to me that smoosh-ins are just a ploy to counteract Tosci’s superior purity of flavor and richness of texture <g>).  

We then crossed over to the left bank to begin our Christmas shopping in earnest. Our first stop was Diptyque, a fancy parfumier headquartered in Paris.  We were there for candles, so strong that burning just a little while fills the room with very pure fragrance.  We ended up buying a candle, a room spray and seven soaps in various fragrances, for various people.  Christina and I enjoy perfume shops—she lets me smell everything, and I’m pretty opinionated.  I don’t like sweet scents (their quince, however, is absolutely balanced) and I don’t like vanilla, chocolate or coffee, or very white flower scents.  I like herb scents (blackcurrant leaves, fig leaves, basil) and the like.  Of course, Christina likes everything I don’t like.  This makes shopping very easy—there’s only ever about one or two scents we both like, and we stock up on those for her and for gifts.

Next we plowed through the bowels of the 6th (Derniere Goutte was closed both times we passed it) and found Huilerie Leblanc, a tiny closet of a store selling Paris’s most fragrant walnut oil.  To my mind, walnut oil was the first priority for bringing back foodstuffs from France—it’s legal, of course, and the French make the best in the world.  I bought a little bit here, and more at Bon Marche later in the week.

Christina had been looking forward all trip to Pharmacie Fouhety, which looks from the outside just like all the other pharmacies in Paris.  But their prices are the best in the city, and Christina wanted to stock up on some shampoo that has rum and egg yolks in it.  I’m sure after too many showers, your head turns into a giant crème brulee, but whatever.  I took the opportunity to sit down and have a rest.

We then hit the food hall at Bon Marche, where I found some “artisan” potato chips that were way too overtly greasy (Pennsylvania has nothing to worry about), some culatello that appeared to be the real thing or close to it (anyone know if the laws have been relaxed?  It did carry a DOC Parma), and the steal of the day, 1990 (!) Baumard Quarts de Chaume for ฾!!  Last bottle, unfortunately.  Bon Marche also has some great Huet prices at the higher ends.

We found a bar, Sip Babylone, at the Sevres-Babylone square and settled in for our daily foie gras, this time paired with southwestern ham, smoked duck breast, a good salad and pain Poilane grillee on a cold plate.  By this time, we had resolved to eat foie gras every day, at least a little, because of the sheer quality of it here and its very, very low price compared to the US (this whole plate, groaning with everything, was like พ, and that felt high for some of the places we went).  We guzzled kirs and went back to the hotel for a nap.  

We awoke about 10PM with not a whole lot of dinner options—we didn’t have a reservation, and Christina wasn’t that hungry yet.  So we headed to the Champs-Elysees for our first experience of the place at night.  What an mélange of light, color and motion!  We made note of shops to visit and strolled around, stars in our eyes.  Then we got hungry, and thirsty.  There was only one place to go.

Maison de l’Aubrac is a kitschy little place, with lots of fencepost décor and pictures of French cattlemen and their cattle.  We slotted in at the bar, asked for a table, and cooled our heels with the best kirs royals of the trip, made (I believe) with Pommery Brut Royal.  After about forty minutes, we were seated.  This place is all about beef, specifically AOC Aubrac beef from the southwest.  I had a wonderful beef terrine with some preserved morels and salad, while Christina had a “salade de boeuf” of greens and cold beef chunks that was exquisitely dressed.  Then came the main event—a glorious entrecote for Christina, a pretty good-if-slightly-passed-saignant faux-filet for me, accompanied by potatoes fried in goose fat.  Too mad this place is so serious about food.  It’d never survive in an American city ;-).  

With all this beef, we drank (from a great, pretty-well-priced list of Rhones and Southwesterns):

Dom. Font Douce Montpeyroux 1997: Big, big meaty nose, blackberry, blueberry, lots of meat and a little plum.  Tannic, and still opening up when we drained the bottle about 90 minutes later.  A big yum and about ฮ on the list.  

We were well sated (obviously more simply, but still very pleasurably) when we left.  We walked down Ave. George V, but the Tour Eiffel was not lit.  We walked back, found a cab, and strolled home about 2AM for a good night’s rest.

(Edited by jparrott at 4:36 am on Nov. 16, 2001)

[robert brown]

Jake, not bad at all for waking up in the wee smalls from jet lag! Your reports are sensitive and evocative. Did you major in art history? (By the way, we have the world's greatest Zurbaran authority in the family). I was particularly interested in reading about your meal at Guy Savoy. He clearly didn't grow up eating kosher. My wife and I had two of our most fun Parisian lunches at the restaurant he had soon after his finishing up at Troisgros. Just a smallish former bistro in the 8th, I believe, where everyone dining in the place chatted with each other. Guy Savoy also packed us a free picnic for our flight back home. I guess his enterprise has changed a lot, as has his cooking. If there is someone who epitomizes the expectation of a third star that never comes, it's him. As a good person, he certainly deserves it. Keep those reports coming.

[jparrott]

I did not major in art history (chemistry, minor in history with a focus on Spain and France, 1600-1850 in my papers); my history professors instilled the historiographic approach in me.

It must be cool being the world's leading Zurbaran authority--his paintings have it all.  Maybe if he had painted the Mona Lisa it would have had some personality.

Savoy probably deserves three stars; I don't have enough perspective.  He probably doesn't have a three-star cheese selection and his table spacing is a bit tight for three stars perhaps, and we did get something like five or six soups in our menu, but for sheer joy and interest he definitely warrants consideration.

Jake

[Bux]

Great post Jake. I might have considered breaking it up into several posts. I'm afraid the sheer length, was well as the separation between a comment and a reply may make if difficult to follow sub threads and I would hope this sort of post would generate good comments. Let me add my thoughts on Salon de Hélène Darroze.

We were in Paris a week earlier than you, but just got back after a trip north to Belgium. I'm afraid I was not as well rested and recovering from something that attacked me in NY just as we were leaving, so my focus may not have been as good or my notes as complete.

We had some mixed reactions to Salon de Hélène Darroze. It seemed the perfect place to dine on the evening of the day we arrived in France. It's hard to predict my level of fatigue and consequent appetite and mood, without knowing if, after an early morning arrival, I'll jump into a day's activities or if my room will be available for an early morning nap.

Unfortunately we had pushed our arrival date up two days without changing our reservation and by this time in our trip we were in the mood for a more traditional meal and not alert enough to adapt to the style of the Salon. The menu of very little plates described as tapas is eminently suited for grazing. All of the portions are smaller than what one might expect from an appetizer and by trying to construct a meal from too few dishes, we were faced with the fall back position of ordering a second batch of plates. Our lack of preparedness was not helped by one waiter who was clearly over worked and another who was less adept. Still, service was cheerful, if slow and the food generally pleasing if not what we had in mind.

It did not help that we found both descriptions and prices a bit misleading as to their size and quality. The Coquillettes au Foie Gras was a very tiny casserole of macaroni with mushrooms and hardly enough foie gras to affect the overall flavor at 95 F. The Bouquettes au Calvados, ten or so tiny shrimp may have been a delicacy, but we didn't find them flavorful (105 F). Poirettes, (small leeks? scallions?) Jambon "Bellota" and gratings of hard sheep's cheese (sarde) could hardly have been expected to be much of a serving at 45 F when we knew the price of excellent ham in Spain, but we were ill served by one out of three small slices--just gristle that should have gone to the stock pot for the beans.

On the other hand, the Jeunnes Betteraves served with a sauce of chèvre, were a treat at 35 F. Filet de Rouget de Roche at 50 F was another winner. Perhaps the best dish may well have been the Garbure Bearnaise, another very small pot of large white beans with a few pieces of pork and sausage. It was a real teaser and the one dish that would most inspire us to try Ms. Darroze's real restaurant on the floor above.

We finished on a high note with desserts, A very nice pot de crème au chocolat with whipped cream and some crunchy rice (soufflé) and a light rendition of Ile Flottante were both pleasing. The Salon is really a very chic interpretation of a neighborhood bar where one can graze lightly or compose a tasting menu of some duration although the list of dishes offered isn't that long. To it's credit, it offers a selection of inexpensive and well priced wines from the chef's home region, the southwest of France. It almost seems as if every new restaurant in France is run by a chef from the southwest.

We had a similar problem with wine languishing in a bottle while our glasses were empty. My attitude towards a waiter's responsibility about wine differs from yours. While I have no problem pouring my own wine in a three star restaurant, once the server decides to place the bottle out of my reach, I expect him to be absolutely dedicated to seeing that my glass is never empty no matter how simple the restaurant. In my book, it's a cardinal sin that is so easily avoided by leaving the bottle on the table near me.

(Edited by Bux at 3:30 pm on Nov. 16, 2001)

[jparrott]

Thanks for the writeup on Salon d'Helene.  Our wine was on our table, so pouring it ourselves was no problem.  

If you want to nuke the second and third sets of reports and make new threads for them, go ahead (it doesn't much matter to me--I was trying to balance cluttering the board with too many threads with cluttering a thread with too many reports).  I'll hold off on posting Day 4 until we figger this one out.  I think it's instructive that we were at Salon d'Helene a week apart from one another and had almost none of the same dishes--pretty impressive for a second restaurant.  And those garbure bearnaise were out of this world!

Jake

[Bux]

Oh I'm not going to go about redoing existing threads. I'm only a control freak in theory, in practice it's not worth all that trouble. Message boards such as this are almost guaranteed to be a bit chaotic. Please feel free to post what you want, where you want. I'm just pleased to find interesting content wherever it is. While I like all posters to think about how to name their threads and how to organize them, I'm not of the belief this sort of organic forum can be well organized anyway.

I'm interested in your comments and detailed report on Savoy. I've not been there and have mixed feelings about that. From all reports, it's as due for a third star as any restaurant in France.

•... and we ended up being next to a large, loud, smoky table of the chef's closest friends ...

-

This is one of the things that's kept us away. From one of my most trusted sources who loved the food and told me I would too, but who also warned me that the restaurant encourages cigar smoking and that if they had not had a corner table the somehow remined rather smokefree, they didn't know if they could have enjoyed their dinner quite as much.

•...seared foie gras, a thin slice (a technical error in my view--can't get all the different textures with this thin a slice, or maybe just the hedonist poking up again) with a chocolate-black pepper cookie (including roasted cocoa beans) and bitter chocolate sauce.

-

Well the Mexicans beat the French to the meat and chocolate combination by centuries, but this seems to be in the air in Paris. One of Steve Klc's demos at the chocolate salon was a "ganache" of foie gras in a chocolate cup. While at the salon, one of the really exceptional tastes we had was a bit of rillettes de lièvre au chocolate corsé prepared by David Van Laer of Restaurant Maxence. One of the first things we did was to try getting a reservatin at Maxence. We were assured at the show, that the restaurant was open seven days of the week, but it was closed on our only free day. This was the weekend after All Saints Day and I think a lot of places took a four day weekend, including those places that are normally open on holidays and/or Sundays.

•I'd never had my bread buttered for me before,...

-

Tableside service has returned in a big way. I remember restaurants from before the days when food came plated in the kitchen. Fashion is cyclical. Nevertheless, one practice that seems to carry over from one Ducasse restaurant to another is that that of having the waiter place your sugar cube in your coffee after you've selected the cube. I find that a bit over the top.

•The plates would be placed in front of us, silently, by a waiter.  The silence was a cue not to do anything.  Next, the captain would come with a pot of something to spoon on, usually a sauce.

-

I guess this is also what I noted above. More than once I've picked up a fork thinking the staff was finished garnishing my plate, only to find yet another sauce or garnish.

Above all else, my comments aside, I've vicariously enjoyed your dinner at Guy Savoy's restaurant. I've also realized that although we invariably lean towards gastronomic tasting menus in great restaurants, we shied away from them this trip after our experience at Darroze and Petrossian. More on the latter elsewhere and later. Our trip caused me to rethink several of my recent convictions, which is always wonderful. Boring is to have one's prejudices reinforced.

(Edited by Bux at 5:12 pm on Nov. 16, 2001)

(Edited by Bux at 5:16 pm on Nov. 16, 2001)

[jparrott]

I guess this is also what I noted above. More than once I've picked up a fork thinking the staff was finished garnishing my plate, only to find yet another sauce or garnish.

These guys had it right--they didn't describe the dish until they were done garnishing.

As for Salon d'Helene, we judged how much to order from the prices--an "assortment" was a certain price, so we figgered that was about what a plat would be under a more normal format, and ordered accordingly.

Jake

[jparrott]

November 9, DAY FOUR-Modern Art, Grizzlies and Cassoulet, Oh My!

Omissions from yesterday:  We tried to go to the Delacroix museum, but it was closed—big bummer; he’s my favorite French painter.  Then we headed to the Musee d’Orsay, where we saw the eternal Olympia and a selection of Gustave Courbet’s greatest hits, including L’Origine du Monde, which you either know or you don’t.  If you do, you know what I mean; if you don’t, you’ll be curious sometime and look it up.  All I gotta say is, can you believe they were selling postcards of that thing???

We awoke on Saturday knowing it was the last day of our museum pass, so we decided to see the modern art museum at the Centre Pompidou.  It didn’t open until 11, so we had time to scarf our culatello (very good, very truffly and garlicky, not as good as the best paleta iberico, but a #### of a lot better than anything that shows up on these shores.  We also tried some of the fromage de Pyrenees that I picked up at Ferme-Saint-Aubin, but it was not so good.  It’s nice when the price for trying a new cheese is one dollar, not seven as it too often is for a good cheese here in the States.

We rode the metro down to Etienne Marcel and strolled the bustling Montorgueil market street, one of the best in Paris, according to various guidebooks.  And it was great, with the smells of roasting farm chickens intermingling with the beautiful perfumes of stinky cheeses and dry-cured hams.  Of course, we stopped for pastries at a prominent patissier whose name I did not note.  Christina’s pain au chocolat and my pastry, a sort of star-shaped thing, made from croissant dough, stuffed with hazelnut paste, were the best we’d had so far.  Emphasis on so far, and not counting that mushroom brioche.

We found the Centre Pompidou, took the obligatory outside pictures, then strolled up the escalators to the modern art museum.  Normally I’d go on in great length about the art, but other than a few Picassos (I sorta feel like I at least understand him from an artistic point of view) and the odd Magritte, the rest of the place was filled with randomness, packed too tightly.  I firmly believe that a single piece of modern art can have a great deal of meaning, but if you put so many of these absurdities together, it dulls the senses.  Of course, many of the pieces have to be showcased in a museum to attain their value as art.  A paradox.  I guess I lost the song when the titles of artwork started to have meaning (see Courbet, Gustave).  Besides, we were hungry.

Le Grizzli has recast itself as “Grizzli Café,” presumably to attract more folks for those nice high-margin café tabs.  We sat down on the heated patio for lunch at this place.  Christina had a kir and I had a demi-pichet (25cl) of an unnamed Cotes de Gascogne wine that didn’t taste like cheap wine at all, and better than every Beaujolais I’ve had in my life, with rich plum, some earth and structure.

Christina had French onion soup (Jones #1 gone), which was light and flavorful and in the traditional style, with only a smattering of cheese.  I had an unctuous cream of lentil soup with shards of duck confit.  Mains were Fresh pasta with tomatoes for Christina, cooked a little past al dente, as is proper for very fresh pasta (and it was very fresh), but piled so high on itself that it continued to cook in the bowl.  Christina liked it, but thought the sauce could’ve had a bit more punch.  A nice August dish on a cool November afternoon.  I had wonderful lamb chops with a potato gratin and a pan sauce made with stock.  Simple, extremely flavorful (recently slaughtered lamb, maybe a smidge older?) and just right.  No dessert today, so we paid and left, feeling proud that we were able to conduct the entire meal in French—slowly improving.

We then Metro’ed toward Place Vendome to shop at Comptoir Sud Pacifique, a perfume and couture boutique, whose Paris prices are about 50% less than the US prices, when you can find the stuff.  We sniffed fragrances for about forty minutes, conversing all the while (in English) with a charming saleswoman.  Christina bought some perfume for herself and several more gifts and we hit the Detaxe milestone—score!  Note to everyone, their new “Rizieres” fragrance is out of this world—and again, it was the only one we really agreed on (well, that one and kumquat).

Next we headed to Place de la Madeleine, food shopping mecca of Paris.  On out clockwise loop around the rather uninspiring central building (church?), we stopped at several places.  Maille, the mustard folks, never noticed us, so we left without buying any of their blackcurrant mustard.  Whatever.  We had better luck at Verger de la Madeleine, the wine shop just off the Place, where I scored an absolutely pristine bottle of 1989 Coulee de Serrant for า.  

We broke our foie gras duck for the day at Hediard’s tea salon, where Christina had unctuous jasmine tea and I a glass of the 1997 house label Sauternes, which was a little chippy and earthy, which meant it went great with the thin slices of foie on Poilane grillee and some apple compote.  There were slivers of roasted red pepper on the toasts too, which added absolutely nothing at all.  Hediard’s wine selection is nice, though I didn’t pull the trigger on any of their small but interesting Loire and port sections.

We cruised through the rest of the Place, gawking inside and out at Maison de la Truffe and finding no deals on wine or spirits at Fauchon before returning for our evening nap and Eurosport before heading to a late reservation at Baracane in the Marais.  Here we encountered the most bumbling service of our trip, as they brought us the red version of the white wine we ordered (they didn’t have any trouble taking it back, even though it was opened—nice thing about half-bottles), then forgot to charge one of us for our menus (they caught the error before we left—I hadn’t even looked at the slip when I signed it, bad me), but couldn’t figure out the credit card machine, so we paid the rest in cash.  All that said, it was a lovely meal.  To wit:

Christina started with a kir royale and a mussel soup with saffron, which, while salty, was well balanced by the white wine we ordered (Baracane has a three-course-plus-coffee-plus-half-bottle prix fixe, so we had a half of white and a half of red—notes to come), followed by cassoulet (Jones #2, gone) which was also a bit salty but incredibly robust in every possible way, with excellent sausage along with the confits (no lamb).

I started with a black Muscat petillant (didn’t catch the producer), which was interesting, though not quite as refreshing as your basic kir royale, then an absolutely fabulous green salad piled with tenderly cooked duck gizzards.  My magret de canard was perfectly saignant (if I cook the magrets I get in this country to this color, they are tough), with potatoes fried in goose at with lots of garlic.

And, the wines:

Domaine Dulucq Tursan blanc 2000: Crisp, overtly mineral with lemon oil.  Like a light Savennieres, though not that serious.  Blown away by my salad but great with Christina’s soup.

Chateau de Lastours Gaillac rouge 2000: Fresh cherry and plum, doesn’t taste expensive (it wasn’t), but none of the bubble-gumminess of cheap-tasting wines. Solid if unspectacular.

Desserts were fun too.  Christina had crema catalana which was a little overcooked to my taste, but not so much that you would notice.  My apple tourtiere, apples cooked in armagnac and piled with shards of very thin pastry (I don’t think it was feuille de bric however) was great crackly fun and very tasty.  Espressos were fruity, not bitter, but not all that noteworthy.  After the bill hijinks, we metro’ed home on a cool night.

[Danielle]

Quote: from jparrott on 11:13 am on Nov. 15, 2001

(First of an intermittent series)

We decided to take the RER train to Paris. Note to anyone taking a week's worth of clothes to Paris--unless your hotel is very near Gare du Nord or Chatelet, do not do this during rush hour. It was a struggle getting off the train, and changing Metro lines (escalators nowhere to be found) was even more difficult. A cab really isn't that much more.

This is the first time I use the "quote" thing, so I don't know how it will work! We go to Paris frequently and use www.paris-anglo.com/clients/ashuttle.html. It is a terrific service, and cheap too: door to door, arriving and leaving, but you must make reservations and give your airline and flight number -- I guess they check to make sure you are on time, and while you wait for your luggage, you call them, no charge, no coins or phone cards-- you can pay the driver, or with a CC on line. They use minivans, know all of Paris, speak English for those who are foreign-tongue-tied... Anyway I love them and recommend them all the time.

This is because I hope you will take many more, and frequent trips to Paris.