Le Gaigne

(Paris, FRANCE) During our preparations for the Paris trip, we followed various food blogs in order to suss out that "special place" where we might find a particularly noteworthy eatery. That's how we stumbled upon Le Gaigne. Noted for particularly inventive cuisine, this husband-and-wife establishment came highly praised for quality and consistency. We caught a taxi to the 3rd arrondisement, meeting up with Harry for our last dinner in France...

He Fed:
We have been extremely lucky during our visit to Paris. Not only have our dining experiences been exemplary, we've managed to dodge the iffy weather. The outlook before we'd left the States had been a patchwork of sun, clouds and potential thunderstorms. But whenever we head out, it is nice, and if rain is predicted, it somehow holds off until we pop into a bar or restaurant for a moment of respite. Tonight is no different; the short rainfall ceases and the streets are slightly damp but the skies are clear. We enjoy our short stroll to Le Gaigne, which appears to be squeezed between two other businesses. Indeed, I wonder momentarily if this is the back window because there doesn’t even appear to be a door! Upon closer inspection we find the knob and enter.

Inside, "cozy" doesn't even begin to describe the dining area. I suddenly feel like the typical gigantic American...Godzilla stomping around Tokyo. I will myself to appear smaller. We are shown to our table (one of about 5). Modern, sensuous artwork adorns the wall. Long bamboo reeds serve as a partition for the spiral staircase in one corner, which must presumably lead to the wine cellar or other storage. The front counter is tiny, with a shiny espresso machine sitting next to the laptop that runs the restaurant's software. On the walls are bottles of wine, settling upon shelves for display (but also for serving, as we later discover).

The wife, Aurelie, manages the front. She is young and beautiful, quietly friendly and efficient, smiling patiently at our bad attempts at French. She also offers us a nice dry Prosecco aperitif and a small plate of almond cookie-like spheres. We sip and munch slowly, perusing the English menu, with no desire to rush this meal. To my mind, there is no better invention in the world of eating than the Prix Fixe menu, especially if it's a tasting menu. That means you get a smaller portion of all the different dishes the chef has to offer. Sure, you might encounter some you would never order on their own but if you pass by this smaller offering, it's not like you plunked down a fortune on a dish you end up not liking. Instead, you may actually encounter something new and expand your likings. And if a Prix Fixe tasting menu is accompanied by wine pairings, I am immediately in for the experience. Happy and excited, I await the first course.

A slightly sweet 2008 Coteaux du Languedoc Blanc (Chateau de Karantes) accompanies a small black bowl of Pencil Squid marinated in dill and dark squares of Cuttlefish ink aspic, over which is poured a chilled veloute of Paimpol white kideny beans. The presentation is playful, but the ingredients are somewhere intimidating. Trepidatiously, I dip my spoon in and take a sip. The veloute is buttery, silky and slightly earthen with the dill spiking it with freshness. On the next bite, I make sure to include the squid and aspic, both of which are mild and meaty. A sip of the white wine completes the symphony. My mouth is singing inside!

Another glass of the same vintage is poured for the next two courses: Confit thigh and chilled supreme of Vosgian Quail, Belgian endive in two sauces, with a fried egg. The entire plate is composed as if it were a Picasso painting of what that quail might have looked like in life. It is almost too beautiful to eat, but I somehow manage to break the illusion. Now, as you know, my past experiences with fowl (namely, squab) haven't been too illuminating. This delicate quail, however, is a revelation...almost a mini tasting menu of everything this bird has to offer. The walnuts and endive add some depth and contrast to the meat, rounding out the experience.

Following the quail is a sauteed Sea Bass steak and a faux ravioli comprised of thin beet slices encasing sticky rice. The fish is mild, with a nice snap to the skin, and maybe a bit drier than I'd like (thought it must be tough to get just the right moisture in a piece of fish this small). There is an airy foam topping that tastes vaguely of the sea. Mixed into the sticky rice are bits of seafood (tiny oysters, we think) and mushrooms; the smoky salty taste is offset by the deep sweetness of the beet. This is my least favorite of the dishes, but it's still a success. Ordinarily I wouldn't be caught dead eating any of these things!

Our final main dish course is lamb two ways: roast saddle with rosemary and sauteed epigram with forest mushrooms, accompanied by an heirloom tomato tartin. It is difficult to pick out which slices are the mushrooms and which are the lamb, in the sauteed portion, but I somehow manage. The mushrooms are not very palatable to me (too strong) but they do impart some sweetness to the lamb. The saddle is just past rare, and cuts easily, sheathed in crispy layers of fat. Again, I would probably avoid this dish in the USA, but here the expert preparation and high quality of meat makes for a delicious piece of meat. The rosemary-topped tart somehow reminds me of spring fields. A glass of 2008 Costieres de Nimes (Chateau de la Tuilerie) pairs very well.

At this point Aurelie asks if we are interested in the supplemental cheese course. "Yes!" I almost shout, without even conferring with my dining companions. "Oui!" Together we glance at the menu. Evidently the cheese course is creamed farm-fresh Munster from the Ferme de Breitzhousen, a nearby farm. It must be good, right? Shortly thereafter a small white bowl of what looks like whipped cream arrives, some leafy greens dipping into the mixture alongside. Tentatively, I take a spoonful...

Irises contract. Mouth waters. Brain explodes. For a mere 3 euro, I have just tasted the best thing in Paris! Who knew creamed cheese could be so good? Before I know it, the bowl is empty and I am left with only the happy memory. In fact, the cheese eclipses the dessert, a savory-scented Fecocourt Mirabelle plum dish with marmalade and macaroons served with a short glass of plum liqueur to end our evening.

As we settle the damages and relax in the afterglow of a truly wonderful and enlightening culinary adventure, the realization that our trip to Paris is nearly over descends on the table. We've had great food, seen wonderful sights, and met friendly people everywhere we went. Hell, we even braved the Metro! And during our long walks we saw many, many places like this, just waiting for us to pop in and explore their enticing menus. We'll be back to Paris at some point, and next time I will honestly have a difficult time not coming back to Le Gaigne.

She Fed:
I am really hankering for another casual dinner of rustic French classics, but this is our last night in Paris and Jeremy wants to make it special. We throw caution to the wind and opt for the multi-course tasting menu with wine pairings.

We start with the chilled veloute of white kidney beans with pencil squid and cuttlefish ink aspic. A deep bowl arrives with three pieces of squid tightly rolled up, which reminds me of wrapping curling ribbon around a pencil as a kid to make bows on my holiday packages. Alongside the pencil squid, sits the black shiny rectangle of aspic. There are also several fronds of dill which add nice touches of green. Our waitress returns to pour the veloute into our bowls; the squid pencils and dill fronds rise, but the aspic stays at the bottom of my bowl. The soup is a slightly unattractive grey color, but tastes much better than it looks. It's rich, creamy and comforting, despite being cold. (I usually find hot soups comforting and cold soups refreshing.) It is so luxe and velvety, we check the menu to see white kidney beans as the main ingredient and not heavy cream. While I'm usually a fan of squid and octopus, this dish is just not for me. The squid is cold and extremely tough. It feels like I'm chewing on a cold eraser. The aspic is hard to cut, tastes like salty grit and adds nothing to this dish. I finish the veloute but leave the remaining squid and aspic at the bottom of my bowl.

The second course is a "confit of thigh and chilled supreme of quail with Belgian endive, two sauces and a fried egg." Confit is the method of cooking meat in its own fat, so I know I'm going to love this one! The thigh is moist and not at all gamey. It has been deboned and is served on a thick bed of sauce that takes me a few tastes to realize is puree of the quail. It's just a little too baby food-like for my tastes. The supremed breast and wing portion of the quail is layered on two spears of Belgian endive with a few small greens scattered about. The endive is bitter and makes my entire mouth pucker up while the supreme is rich and buttery. In the center of the plate is a schmear of blue cheese puree with some walnut halves surrounding it. And I haven't even gotten to the tiny fried quail egg yet. I begin to see this plate as an exercise in contrasts...warmed confit of thigh with chilled supreme of breast, bitter greens with a rich runny egg yolk, creamy pureed quail confit with astringent blue cheese puree. So while the quail puree isn't my fave, I appreciate the thought and effort that went into this dish.

I am looking forward to our third course: a sauteed sea bass steak with red beet and sticky rice ravioli and shellfish sauce. The ravioli has me very interested and I can't wait to see how they pull this off. The plate arrives and like the first two, it is beautifully composed. A generous slab (looks like a large filet and not a steak cut) of sea bass is topped with some sort of bubbly foam. Under the fish is a line of bright maroon syrup leading to the free form ravioli on the other side of the plate. The ravioli is actually two paper thin slices of red beet with sticky rice sandwiched in between. I can't wait and dig in to the ravioli with gusto. The beet and the red syrup are slightly sweet and the sticky rice is perfectly cooked. But there's a surprise in my second bite, a mussel. Indeed the sticky rice is full of them, which is a major turn-off for me. I move on to the sea bass which is light, clean and buttery. The foam on top is the seafood sauce, so I get a bite of sea bass, briny seafood foam and a daub of the beet syrup. I forget about those rubbery mussels and concentrate on this side of the plate.

The smell of rosemary arrives almost before the plates from the fourth course are set on the table. A large portion of lamb saddle (loin) accompanied by a saute of wild mushrooms and lamb loin strips are sitting before me. Lamb on lamb action! I almost don't know where to start, but I decide to go with the mushrooms. For a few bites I can't tell the lamb from the veggies because the mushrooms are so meaty. I can't imagine anything as good as this saute, until I cut into my lamb saddle. It's cooked perfectly to medium rare, as ordered and is tender, juicy and deeply scented with the aforementioned rosemary. As someone who enjoys lamb, this is a real treat and one of the best dishes I'll experience here in Paris. There is a little tomato tart on the plate which is lovely, but honestly as I munch on it I'm trying to figure out how to score more lamb.

Despite the fact that we've eaten more than we should, we opt for the cheese supplement. It's described as a creamed farm-fresh munster and I'm dying to try this as the only munster cheese I've ever seen is in the deli. Our waitress brings us bowls with mixed greens and a generous dollop of creamy goodness. The cheese is like nothing I have ever experienced. I expected it to be creamy and luscious, but am surprised by how light and fresh it is. I liken it to trying fresh ricotta for the first time—eye opening, almost life changing. I don't know how munster got translated into the tasteless slices of yellow cheese I see in my market, but fresh creamed munster is worth the price of an airline ticket to Paris! I know at this moment nothing back home will measure up to this and I begin to get a little sad knowing this is our last night in Paris.

Our final course is dessert. I try a few bites of the savory-scented Mirabelle plums with marmalade and macaroons and it's an exquisite dish, but one I won't be able to finish. I am overloaded with all the fabulous food tonight. While not every dish was a favorite for me, each one was an experience. And each one was impeccably presented; there is an artist in the kitchen. The attention to detail has been unprecedented, from the actual dishes each course was served on to the wine pairings accompanying each...both were carefully selected to elevate each course for maximum enjoyment.

I think this impeccable eye for detail embodies Paris and its people. This is easily the most beautiful city I have ever seen and the people are incredibly well-mannered. (It is my newfound belief the French are mistakenly labelled rude and ill-mannered, when in fact they are simply excruciatingly mindful of etiquette and are just not as outgoing as other nationalities.) This short week here has been my own little "tasting menu" Of Parisian life. Not everything was as described or as anticipated and there were more than a few unexpected delights and discoveries along the way. I am confident I will return, both to Paris and Le Gaigne, hungry for new adventures.

© 2010 HeFedSheFed.com

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Willi's Wine Bar

(Paris, FRANCE) On our final day in Paris, we were joined by our good friend Harry, who had been busy jaunting around Europe the previous week. We needed a good lunch place to meet and Willi's Wine Bar fit the bill because it was midway between our two hotels. It was also the original restaurant that influenced Willi's Wine Bar in Santa Rosa, one of our faves in California. We were about to find out if the pupil had become the master, or if the original place still live up to its reputation...

He Fed:
As usual, we arrive early for our noon lunch reservation. The owner, an Englishman named Mark Williamson, encourages us to have a drink at the bar, conversing with the waitstaff in French while simultaneously engaging us in English. We order some champagne (which is very good) and catch up with Harry while they prepare our table. The place is bright and airy, with the tight seating we've come to expect in Paris. On the walls are amazing posters from artists paying tribute to the restaurant. During our wait, Mark hands us the daily menu "hot off the presses". He explains the waitstaff doesn't even know what the chef has put together, the menu is that fresh. We finish our champagne and peruse the menu.

Finally, our table is ready. We reluctantly give up the comfortable stools at the bar and take our seats near the back corner, where an open window lets in fresh air. It only took six days, but I'm finally feeling very comfortable in a Parisian restaurant, listening to the slow pace of the streets outside, and the quiet murmur of conversation in a language I can't fully understand. I can imagine staying in this city forever. Or maybe that's the champagne talking.

To begin, we order some red wine to go with our crusty bread and sparkling mineral water. Our server is friendly and able to help us decipher the menu, as well as relate some specials. Without pause, I order the chilled cucumber soup as my first course. I like gazpacho and other cold soups (I even tried a tangerine one years ago); plus, cucumber can be very refreshing. Indeed, the soup is heavily laden with cream or butter, yet crisp to the taste buds. A nice island of freshly chopped tomato relish topped with micro greens floats serenely in the middle.

Not much else is grabbing me from the menu, so I go with the old standby: beef. It is a medium-rare piece of rib, broiled and drizzled with a red wine reduction sauce. Beneath the slab of meat are green beans and quartered potato. On top are watercress leaves, which add a crunchy texture. The beef is cooked perfectly and the sauce adds tang, but otherwise it's just a well-prepared simple dish. I should have stepped outside the box and experienced something new (a chance I will have later that evening).

For dessert, I cannot resist the rhubarb tart. The puckery sweetness does not last long, as I scoop up every last forkful before anyone else at the table tries to horn in on my selection. As coffee follows the meal, I suddenly realize we've been sitting here for about 2 hours, talking away and enjoying the food. Even so, we are reluctant to pay the bill and head back out. It may have taken nearly a week, but we finally learned how to eat like the French!

She Fed:
We walk in the door as the place is opening and they are clearly not ready to seat us yet. A tall, distinguished gentleman behind the bar invites us to belly up. We order a glass of champagne to toast Harry's arrival. The barkeep is personable, demonstrative and the most outgoing local we've encountered during this trip. He tells us the menu changes daily and jokes that none of them even know yet what's on the menu. The champagne he recommends is extremely drinkable, light, and not too sweet. I am slightly buzzed already, having skipped breakfast.

We take our seats nearly 45 minutes later and peruse the menu, entirely in French with many unrecognizable words. Luckily, our affable waitress comes to the rescue and describes each dish in faulting, charming English. After enjoying a ridiculous amount of beef and foie gras for the last week, I am thrilled to see a vegetarian option. I begin with the salad of artichoke hearts, cioppini onions and greens topped with a poached egg. I can see the marks where the blade trimmed the artichoke hearts, which tells me someone at Willi's prepared these by hand. I pierce the egg to let the insides burst free, still marvelling at how orange the egg yolks are over here. I cut every veggie into bite-sized pieces and mix it all up...there is no better salad dressing than an egg yolk.

For my main, I go with the Parmesan polenta with white beans, mushrooms and haricot vert. The polenta is rich and creamy and makes me never want to eat meat for lunch again. It's cut into a generous slab and sitting in a little puddle of lovely broth, surrounded by a formidable moat of veggies. The mushrooms are unlike anything I've ever seen before: short with fat, floppy caps. I assume the white beans will be run of the mill Navy or cannellini beans and mushy, but these are different: meaty, firm but not tough and larger than beans I get at home.

For dessert, I opt for the platter of four cheeses. There is a mild sheep's milk cheese, dry and full of minerality. Next a chevre coated in ash, tart, creamy and divine smeared on a piece of bread. Then a deeply veined bleu that begs for a sip of my red wine with each bite. But the penultimate is the ripe, unpasteurized Camembert. It's so ripe and blossomy that I smell it before the server places it on the table. The cheese is runny, almost "sweaty" looking; I love it and it disappears quickly.

Willi's Wine Bar in Sonoma is a favorite. One of those places we will visit everytime we're in the area. Good service, innovative food and fabulous atmosphere. I can't speak for Jeremy, but I suspect Willie's Wine Bar in Paris is now on our favorites as well and I am already anticipating our return.

© 2010 HeFedSheFed.com

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Le Bon Saint Pourcain

(Paris, FRANCE) Through the advice of a friend, we found Le Bon Saint Pourcain in the 6th arrondissement, just south of the busy Saint Germain shopping district. A church and a lovely fountain park were not far away, where couples sat and talked and watched the world go by. You could almost hear your heartbeat slowing amidst this balm against the rush of tourism. Hand in hand, we strolled to the restaurant just as twilight descended...

He Fed:
The owner of the restaurant is standing outside in the street, talking with a passer-by. His apron is clean but well-worn and his demeanor is animated, joyous even. He pays no heed as we sneak inside. The place is pretty tight, with seating for about 20 people. Pictures of famous visitors adorn the walls. Like the owner's apron, the place is clean but frayed around the edges. Already, we can tell we're in for the authentic rustic meal we've been craving.

We are met by the owner's daughter, a quiet and friendly woman who alternates between looking wistful and smiling warmly. She shows us to a tight table, allowing us a good view of the rest of the place. A middle-aged couple sit at the other end, casting curiously glances at us and talking rapidly in French, obviously enjoying their meal and each other's company. In retrospect, we should have sat outdoors at one of the cafe tables; indoors is a bit warm.

Immediately, we are presented with a presumably gratis glass of white wine as an aperitif. Nice touch! It is a mild white, not overly sweet, that helps wash down the butter and crusty bread. Our waitress helps us with the menu, speaking halting English but getting the message across. We order a bottle of sparkling water and the special bottle of wine of the day: 2007 Saint-Joseph Le Grand Pompee from Paul-Jaboulet Aine.

I begin with a sausage platter, which is really thin discs of salami-type sausage arranged around a crock of butter. I spread the butter on the crusty bread and make little sandwiches. The meat is greasy with striations of fat but spicy and hearty. Given the warmth of the place, it's not the best choice for a starter (I should have manned-up and gone with the snails).

For my main, there is no question what I will order: the Cassoulet Maison. I've become quite the fan of cassoulet over the last few years (which, having read our reviews, you already know). I'm excited to find out what an authentic French restaurant will deliver. When it arrives, I'm a little perplexed and excited. A large stone bowl, hot out of the oven, is sat on the table with a burnt-black duck leg sticking out of the white beans. I am also given a plate...for what, I have no idea. I immediately start digging into the bowl, the creamy white beans melding with the rabbit, duck, and sausage. Each spoonful is more rich and delicious than the last. Only then do I see another patron (several more have filtered in during our meal) also order the cassoulet and digs out the duck leg to put it on the platter, where it might be dissected more readily. No matter; my cassoulet is gone. The wine goes very well with my dish and Juliet's (I sneak a bite of her olive Beef Bourguignon...heavenly).

At the end, we have no room for dessert. Indeed, I am stuffed to the gills. We squeeze out from the table and head out into the mild evening, the fresh air and long walk back to the hotel the perfect cure-all for the heavy dinner. It's easy to see why Le Bon Saint Pourcain is a recommended favorite of travelers looking for the real meal deal in Paris.

She Fed:
I have very high hopes for tonight's dinner as the restaurant has come highly recommended by two co-workers, both serious foodies who term it their favorite place to eat when in Paris. I'm told this is a truly authentic bistro located in the shadow of Saint Sulpice, that it's off the beaten path and a favorite of locals, all of which gives me hope.

The menu is written on a chalkboard out front, but I only give it a cursory glance as we enter. As soon as we are seated, our waitress pours us each a glass of "Saint Pourcain" white wine to start. (I discover later Saint-Pourcain is a wine region in central France.) The wine is dry, slightly grassy, and a lovely start to the evening along with a gorgeous basket of crusty bread.

I soon realize the menu out front is the only menu I will see all night. Our waitress asks "French or Anglais?" and after Jeremy answers "English" she quickly runs through the various choices we have for starters and main courses. Recognizing only a few dishes, I decide this small authentic bistro should be the place to try some rustic classics. I begin with the shrimp salad and it's a jaw-dropper when it arrives. There must be more than two cups of small shrimp bathed in a pink aioli and heaped on some greens. While the shrimp aren't large, they're not those tiny chewy ones with the consistency of pencil erasers. They're tender and taste incredibly clean and light, like the sea. The pink sauce is sweet and salty, reminiscent of bottled Thousand Island dressing minus the pickles and preservatives. My only criticism is the over-abundance of dressing; the shrimp and greens are swimming in it. I use a few slices of bread as blotters to absorb the excess dressing.

Our "plats" arrive and it's the ultimate in Parisian bistro fare. Jeremy's settled on the cassoulet and me on the beef bourguignon. This is the hearty rustic food I've been hoping for since our arrival. I am surprised to find bright green olives alongside the usual suspects of carrot and onion slices in my bourguignon. The beef is chewy but not tough and the olives, still with their pits, add a layer of saltiness to the dish. I discover chunks of carrots that have obviously been braised with the beef. While the carrot slices are still toothsome, the carrot chunks are mushy. I smash them up in the bourguignon sauce and smear it on a bread slice like jam.

We enjoy a bottle of red wine with dinner, but I am so wrapped up in the beef, the brightness of the olives, the sweet mushy carrots on the crusty bread that I don't pay as much attention to the wine as I should.

The hearty food, the red wine and one too many slices of bread derail my plans for what I am told is the best creme brulee in Paris. And as much as I'd love to linger over an espresso and soak up just a few more minutes of this lovely slice of Parisian life, the small restaurant has become much too warm for comfort. It is now packed with locals, just as promised. I cannot recommend Le Bon Saint Pourcain enough. Merveilleux!

© 2010 HeFedSheFed.com

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Bateaux Parisiens Dinner Cruise

(Paris, FRANCE) According to acquaintances who have visited Paris in the past, a night-time cruise down the River Seine warranted a "must-do". As luck would have it, Viator provided several different cruises, with different options. We chose the best option, which included a 3 course meal and views of the illuminated monuments along the riverbank. This Bateaux Parisiens Dinner Cruise certainly looked good on paper, but would it stand up to HeFedSheFed.com scrutiny? Time will tell...

He Fed:
Our shuttle driver is late and I have to call Viator in order to ascertain, yes, he is on his way but only delayed a few minutes. Sure enough, the shuttle pulls up and our driver apologizes. Seems they double-booked him at the same time for two different hotels. We hop on board, not at all upset, to join some very quiet Californians who clearly do not want to mingle with a couple Michiganders.

We arrive a short time later to the Seine launching point. Our driver goes ahead to clear the path, then whisks us to the front of the line for priority seating. The boat is impressive, completely roofed in glass panels for a full view of all sights. Our table is well-appointed with white wine chilling alongside. Our waiter offers us a champagne apertif, which we gladly accept. As we clink glasses, we believe we are in for the greatest experience of our lives! Well,...

The trouble start immediately. My water glass has a chip out of it and our less-than-attentive waiter takes forever to replace it. Literally, 20 minutes and several reminders. The food comes out rapidly, not at all like the leisurely French meals to which we've grown accustomed. Feeling adventurous, I ordered the swordfish marinated in thin slices with spiced avocado. Little did I know this was fishy-smelling carpaccio-thin discs of swordfish accompanied by marinated vegetables. My first bite is all fish. Yuck! I bravely move forward with my choice, and find that when mixed with the veggies, the fish taste actually dissipates. I nearly finish it all, and at the very least get a glimpse into how foods can make other foods taste completely different. The white wine—a 2007 Côtes de Provence from Château Real Martin—doesn't quite do its job.

Shockingly, I order the beef tournedos for my main. They are pretty good, especially when paired with the amazing ratatouille side. Blizzam! The tart ratatouille overshadows all other side dishes. I want another turine of this, please! Our bottle of 2007 Saint-Estèphe from Château Morin pairs very nicely, and turns out to be the best red we've had since we arrived.

The cheese plate is pretty good, but I'm counting on dessert to bail me from the lackluster experience: Crepes Suzette with orange butter and Grand Marnier. They arrive flaming and, like most of the food, are pretty good...but not worth the money in the long run.

Although we're not the most romantic people on the face of the Earth, the scenery and atmosphere—with views of the Eiffel tower and Notre Dame all lit up—does lend itself to quiet conversation and stolen glances. (Though the rooftop terrace at Hotel Raphael beats all for romance.) If the quality of the food had been higher, or the service been closer to what we paid for, the cruise might have been a success. As it stands, it'll probably be the last we take.

She Fed:
The evening starts with a bit of a bump as our shuttle driver is nearly 30 minutes late picking us up. However, once we arrive at the docks, he is extremely helpful and leads our group onto the boat up to the VIP line. Luckily, we score a table for two (I hate sitting with strangers at a meal) right next to the window and enjoy our champagne toast as the last bit of sunshine seeps behind the impending rainclouds.

While we have a terrific choice of courses, for some reason I play it safe and pick old favorites. I start with the duck foie gras, toasted brioch,e and asparagus tips followed by the beef tournedos with bordelaise. Both courses are fine and my steak is cooked perfectly to medium rare, but there's nothing spectacular going on here. For the price we paid, I expected to be "oohing and aahing" all through dinner. It's clearly not going to happen here.

For me, the highlight of dinner is the cheese course which features Cantal. One of the oldest cheeses in France, it's named after the Cantal mountains in the Auvergne region. Jeremy nails it when he says it tastes similar to cheddar. It's tangy, buttery, and made from raw milk. As a fan of unpasteurized cheese, I immediately fall in love and gobble it up along with the accompanying jam-smeared piece of bread. (Dessert is something with strawberries. It's unremarkable and I'm still thinking of the Cantal.)

Our server is friendly enough, but harried and forgetful for most of the evening. We have to remind him three times to bring Jeremy a new water glass (his original had a large chip off the rim), and he brings Jeremy duck instead of beef at one point. At the end of the meal, he plops a dish with French candies on the table, mumbles "please use this dish to show your appreciation for tonight's service" then scurries from the table. Now Jeremy and I tend to tip on the heavy side, even in Paris where the tip is included in the price of the meal and no one leaves more than a few coins at the end of a meal. But this is too much for us and we both agree to leave the dish as is (comme c'est).

Despite dismal service and middling fare, I still recommend the experience of Bateaux Parisiens. The evening boat ride takes us past the Eiffel Tower, Musee d'Orsay, Notre Dame, the Great Library (whose four towers were built in the shape of open books), the Louvre, and more. The buildings are lit up against the inky night sky. There's soft jazz playing in the background along with an occasional appearance of a torch singer. Yes,it's borderline schmaltz, but I'm in Paris with my husband on a dinner cruise along the Seine; I push my jaded American sensibilities to the background and enjoy some fairytale-like romance, if only for one night. The boat offers a luncheon cruise, which might be a more affordable alternative...minus the moonlight.

© 2010 HeFedSheFed.com

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L'Etoile Venitienne

(Paris, FRANCE) On our third day in Paris, we rode around some more on Les Cars Rouges (getting our money's worth of the two day ticket). The overcast skies tried to rain but only managed a pitiful occasional spattering of the covered bus roof, not even enough to warrant breaking out the umbrellas. Tired of looking at monuments and hungry enough to eat a Royale with Cheese, we picked a busy brasserie known as L'Etoile Venitienne...

He Fed:
I have no idea what L'Etoile Venitienne means when we decide to squeeze inside for lunch (it means "Venetian Star" according to Google Translate, which I access later), but I'm up for anything. My appetite is still a tad unstable but the smells coming from the small kitchen in back are enticing, and all the other dressed-for-business folk seem to be enjoying their food. We are shown to another tiny table and given menus. I'm dying to try the menu of the day, but since I can't be sure how it'll sit, we decide to go à la carte again.

Since we know the omnipresent crusty bread will be coming, I pass on an entree (which is what they call an appetizer or salad). Instead, we order a French rosé and some sparkling mineral water. Juliet's been wanting to try the pink wine since we got to Paris and now's her chance. I don't mind it once in a while, usually with food; this vintage arrives in a unique cooling bag, which is pretty nifty. The wine tastes much like the pink wines back at home, though. No great shakes but not bad. A rosé is a rosé is a rosé... It doesn't really go very well with my meal, but at least Juliet is happy. (And if she's happy, then I'm happy.)

It seems like I'm going to be on a meat kick here in Paris, because the Onglet Boeuf (beef tournedos) is the only dish that's jumping out at me. You have to be careful when ordering beef or certain other meats, according to Rick Steves. If you order "medium" it'll come out rarer than you're used to, if you're American. For me, that's perfect. I order my medallions medium and they have just the right amount of pink for me inside. The beef is tender, easily cut with a serrated butter knife, and topped with still-crunchy stewed onions and tomatoes. Now I see why they call it the Venetian Star! This combination of beef, onions, and tomatoes screams Italian. The chunky steak-cut fries sop up the sauce and I unwisely try to finish all the potatoes. Too much good stuff!

While Juliet soldiers on with dessert (another apple tart), I must sit back and relax with a Grand Café (essentially a double shot of espresso), hoping somehow it will soothe the food on its journey.

The fun part is watching all the other people, as more and more diners drift in during their lunch break to completely fill the place. Skinny ladies in suits wolf down course after course of gigantic seafood salads and desserts without batting an eyelash. Hyperactive executives chow down on L'Entrée, Le Plat Principal, and Le Dessert while washing it down with glasses of wine, taking hours to complete their meal. I love this country!

She Fed:
We are pleasantly surprised to discover the charming brasserie across from our hotel is finally open after being closed all weekend. (We later discover this neighborhood is comprised of embassies and traveling diplomats, explaining why the weekend was so quiet.) I'm blurry-eyed from last night's indulgences. Our waiter quickly runs through the daily specials in French and I decipher one fish and one beef dish. I've eaten more red meat in two days than I usually do in two weeks, so I decide to go for the supreme de poulet listed on the regular menu.

Culinary History 101: The airlines needed a way to serve chicken back in the day when everyone got a meal on real china. They decided to supreme the breast, but leave the "drummie" portion of the wing with the bone in so it could be picked up and eaten easily. I think that bit of history makes the name a bit more palatable. The French are on to something. Supreme de poulet sounds much nicer than "airline chicken". Maybe it's the jet lag or sleeping in late (the first thing that hits my stomach today is a chilled glass of French rosé), but I begin to ponder how airline chicken is making a comeback in the US and how strongly I believe we should call it supreme de poulet. There is absolutely nothing appetizing about the word "airline" and the name stigmatizes the dish. (At this point in my diatribe, Jeremy looks slightly bored, but clearly I need to drink a glass of French rosé every morning, because my synapses are firing on all cylinders this morning.)

My lunch is not the most photogenic when it arrives. The chicken has been baked and the skin is flabby and colorless. (I'm a roast chicken, snappy skin, caramelization kind of girl.) That said, this becomes one of the best lunches I have ever had anywhere. Once I pull off the pale, grey slab of skin, I find the chicken is incredibly moist, tasty and nothing about it speaks "airline". There are two boiled potato halves and a mound of haricot verts along with a pile of fresh salad greens on the plate. Our waiter has given me a crock of Dijon mustard and I quickly discover that a forkful of chicken, potato and haricot verts with the tiniest dab of mustard is truly amazing. Contrasted by the green salad with a mild dressing (the French prefer less vinegar in their vinaigrette), this is delightful. Simple but just delicious. Clearly the rosé doesn't hurt either.

I finish lunch with a grand creme (the French equivalent of a latte) and a tarte tartin. The tarte is better than last night's. It's thinner with sturdier slices of apples and topped with a dollop of creme fraiche. The coffee helps bring me back to earth from my rosé trip and I am ready for a day of sight seeing.

© 2010 HeFedSheFed.com

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Le Corner

(Paris, FRANCE) After a long day of braving the Metro for the first time; strolling the noisy and cloistered aisles at the world-famous Les Puces (Parisian flea market); riding Les Cars Rouges throughout the city; and suffering through a thoroughly "touristy" lunch near some ancient landmark, we finally decided to wander down the road in search of more authentic fare for dinner. Thankfully, we found Le Corner...

He Fed:
It is a beautiful and mild Sunday evening in the diplomatic area where our hotel (Hotel Raphael, showcased in Wes Anderson's Hotel Chevalier) is located. We walk down Kleber Avenue, away from the Arc de Triomphe, peering curiously into closed shop windows. Many restaurants and brasseries are also closed on Sunday, so we're dubious about finding a decent place. Indeed, we pass up the Corner Cafe because it looks too busy and possible inauthentic. Instead, we head down one more block and are accosted by the owner of another cafe that is clearly catering to the masses, with "American Cheeseburgers" on special. We beat a hasty retreat back to Le Corner to look at their chalkboard. One glance and Juliet declares, "I'm in."

Most Parisians prefer to eat much later in the evening, around 8p, so we are in primetime. A friendly hostess greets us with a smile and some broken English, then shows us to a small table outside on the patio. We sit amongst locals and other tourists (so many different languages swirl around, all at once), perusing the menu. Thankfully, there are translations beneath each entry. We order sparkling mineral water and some decent red house wine to start, which is delivered with delicious crusty bread.

I'm not quite ready to jump in to the world of escargot, foie gras, and various seafood, so I opt for the Travers de porc (pork ribs). They arrive, two very meaty slabs (about a half rack total), slathered in a savory gravy, sprinkled with diced tomatoes and accompanied by a mound of jasmine-infused rice. The ribs slide off the bone, each section thick cut and tender, though not overcooked. Mixed with the gravy, the rice offers a sweet and redolent counterpoint to the deep tones of the meat. It may not be the norm for French diners, but I clean my plate very quickly. I can see myself ordering this meal every day for the entire vacation!

My appetite is a little shaky since the body is on another time zone. Despite that, I opt to try the crème brulée for dessert, with a café (pretty much an espresso). Surprisingly, the dish is a lot less buttery tasting than the brulée I'm used to in the states. You would think the French would add more butter! Perhaps they are just better at making it? At any rate, I finish every silky smooth spoonful, delighting in the way the candied orange peels melt on my tongue. I wash it all down with the hot coffee.

As we pay our bill and watch the friendly waitress flirt with some locals (who puff deeply on French cigarettes and check their iPhones), it feels like we've experienced the real Paris for the first time. The slow walk back to our hotel, while the stars shine benevolently above, is very pleasant with the strong taste of good food still in our mouths.

She Fed:
Despite the six hour time difference, we are ready for dinner. We take a short stroll passing a few cafes and brasseries that don't strike our fancy. At one the menu is very short and the place is nearly empty—never a good sign—and at another, the place is so packed there's no outdoor seating. We've never discussed what our first meal in Paris should be, but I have a feeling we both want to sit at a sidewalk table.

We arrive at the Corner Cafe which has a varied but not intimidating menu, as well as a few open tables on the outdoor sidewalk area. We are seated immediately. When our waitress arrives, Jeremy orders us a carafe of the house red wine and a bottle of sparkling water.

Still feeling tired and out of my element, I want something comforting. What says "home" better than medallion de veau avec parmesan rissoto et champignons? I order with confidence. Actually, I don't really order at all. Instead I say, "I'll have..." and point to it on the menu. I'm not in the mood to embarrass myself by trying to pronounce "medallions of veal with Parmesan risotto and mushrooms" in French. (I should note our waitress is unfailingly polite and friendly throughout the meal. We don't know it yet, but the stereotype of the rude French waiter seems to be a myth.)

My veal arrives perfectly cooked to medium as I requested. Two beautiful medallions perch atop a Parmesan risotto cake, encircled by four roasted mushrooms. I don't wait for Jeremy to get any video, I just start digging in (typical greedy American!). The veal is flavorful, tender, and scented with thyme. Jeremy's ribs are infused with thyme as well, so I may just be "tasting" the aroma from his plat?

The risotto is cooked all the way through and while I prefer it a bit al dente, it is creamy, rich, and comforting. Besides, I'm sitting at a Parisian bistro with my husband; I'm not complaining about a thing tonight! The deeply bronzed mushrooms are the highlight for me. Vanity and lack of language skills are the only things holding me back from ordering a platter of these meaty little babies. They are earthy and sweet from roasting. There's no sauce or wine, it's just intense heat versus mushrooms. Magnifique!

I indulge in a classic French dessert by ordering (and this time I actually speak) the tarte tatin. It is much thicker than I've seen before—the same height as American apple pie. The apples are those classic thin slices and it's quite lovely; not overly and very satisfying.

Good house wine, wonderful French food, the realization that we are finally in Paris, and a bit of jet lag are all too much for me. It's time to toddle back down Avenue Kleber to our hotel for a good night's sleep. The Corner Cafe was everything I had hoped my first dinner in Paris would be.

© 2010 HeFedSheFed.com

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