Le Pré Verre - Left Bank Spice of Life

Another dinner out with Moose, before his annual summer emigration back to British Columbia. Since this was one of his last nights in the capital, I invited Moose to offer some suggestions, and when his first pick was Le Pré Verre, I happily acceded. This is a venue I had on my list for a while, but never got around to trying. Sometimes great minds think alike, what can I say?

This popular Latin Quarter mainstay is just around the corner from the Sorbonne, so it's not surprising that the clientele is oh so Latin Quarter. The atmosphere is rather relaxed and convival, but that also means you're not going to expect any intimate conversations. In fact, I think the word I used most during our dinner was 'Whaaaat???' But, hey, I can shout with the best of them, so there you have it. I know this is kind of lazy, but it's summer and the living is easy, and what Fromer's says about Le Pré is exactly, to a word, what I was going to write. So in a nutshell:

Even if this is not an earth-shattering gastronomic experience, it is solid and reliable, with good cooking and market-fresh ingredients. The Delacourcelle brothers are firmly based in the French tradition, but they have added innovative modern twists by giving extra spicing to the food, many of the flavorings inspired by Asia.

The restaurant is owned by the Delacourcelle brothers (interestingly, there are several Parisian establishments run by brother teams) - Marc is the wine specialist who leaves the cooking to Philippe, the chef. A well-chosen, unpretentious wine list includes bottles of red (the only wine that matters) ranging from a 19€ table wine (dubbed "vin de petanque"! 2008 Domaine Mas de Libian) to an 85€ Château la bessane 2001 Château Margaux. And even better, a blackboard special bottle from the Loire, a Chinon Une soif de loup 2007 Loup - the thirsty wolf, which happens to be my second nickname after Mortstiff. At 19€, it perfectly complemented our dishes and facilitated our shouting match vis-a-vis the American menage a trois at one of the tables adjoining ours.

If you're not already aware, Le Pré Verre translates as 'the green meadow,'which has nothing to do with the restaurant's urban location or decor. So I assume, barring whatever story the Delacourcelles' can offer you to better explain the name, it is meant to refer to the freshness of the food, whose preparation is to the left of the traditional French fare, leaning in the direction of French fusion. Moose and I both opted for the 28.50 euro three-course menu. What we ordered: I started with one of my favorites, slightly cooked tuna - Mi-cuit de thon, rémoulade de céleri au sésame - four slices of slightly cooked tuna (despite the three you see in the image) surrounding a mound of celery in mayonnaise. I've tried tuna prepared this way far and wide, from Hawaii to Finland, and I have to admit this was somewhat disappointing. The celery was too rich for my taste and the tuna was nothing special. Moose fared much better, having ordered Hure de cochon grillée, chutney de betteraves. If you eat pig, this is the way to go. I have to say it again, year of the beet. This grilled pig was accompanied by chutney and the aforementioned beet. It really looked good even from my non-pig-eating perspective, and Moose lapped it up. For the main plate, we both ended up ordering the roasted skate dish, Filet de rascasse rôtie, risotto au citron confit, and we both agreed that this was excellent, accompanied as it was by the risotto and a couple small pyramids of lime confit. I think it was about midway through my fish that a knife came flying from the American table, nearly impaling my left thigh, the girl apparently having a bit too much of the vin de petanque!. The desserts put a nice cooling cap on the evening, with me going dark chocolate (Truffade de chocolat noir, glace mélasse) and Moose doing white (Compotée de rhubarbe et chocolat blanc au sumac). A couple cups of espresso rounded out the meal, which came to 78.50€.

Our waiter, a young guy who looked like he easily could have been a Sorbonne student was beyond unobtrusive. Imagine, in the US, we would have been greeted with 'hello, I am Luc, my specialty is Italian Renaissance art, and I will be your waiter for the evening.' At Le Pré, the only utterance from our server that I can remember of note was, 'oui'. At any rate, this is a good Left Bank address to include on your list, especially if you are seeking above average food preparation, an interesting mix of spices, and a fantastic price/quality ratio. My only gripe is that the menu doesn't seem to change that frequently, but it's not like we're going back every week. Minor quibble.

LE PRÉ VERRE
8, rue Thenard 75005 PARIS
tel. 01 43 54 59 47
Website
Video

Ze Kitchen Galerie Redux - Best Dessert in Paris?

A return visit to Ze Kitchen Galerie and I would have to say this is rapidly becoming one of my favorite dining spots in Paris. Nothing much to add to my description of the ambiance, design, service, and food quality as explicated in my February review, so I think Ze (can I call you Ze?) ages well. This time we (me & Co., that is) had the wall on one side and a couple of entertaining Brazilian girls on the other side, resulting in less of a sense of claustrophobia than experienced during the St. Valentine's visit. Anyway, one becomes accustomed to the sardine effect in many local restaurants, what with their particular predilection towards aligning square tables along the walls boxcar style.

This time around, we wrapped our taste buds around two formidable entrees. Co. won this round with her choice of the "crevette obsiblue" dish (21€), a minimalist preparation of shrimp, eel, and snails, with garlic and ginger enhancement. The French/Asian fusion emphasis of chef William Ledeuil hit a high note here, with the garlic and ginger adding a flavorful, but not overwhelming, boost to the seafood. My choice didn't hit as high a note, but given my guilty pleasures of powerful and contrasting flavors, I couldn't have chosen better with the Daurade marinee, the marinated fish accompanied by mango thai kelamenji, a thin slice of mango (21€). This dish had a strong citrony taste, no doubt a function of some unadvertised lime. When the waiter asked if the first course did the job, I was half tempted to add 'and I'll have whatever she's having' to my 'oui.'

On to the main course. Co. opted for the canard de challans confit-grille, jus teriyaki-grotte, an Asian-influenced preparation of slightly cooked duck (33€). Extremely tasty, but I prefered the more imaginative take on tempura; to wit, tempura de crevettes and blanc de seiche grille, marmelade d'aubergines, and vinegrette sesame (34€). The two large lightly battered shrimp mixed will with the thinly sliced, grilled cuttlefish, eggplant marmalade and sesame vinegrette. Two more thumbs up.

I know, dessert, the part you've been waiting for. If you've read my earlier review, you know where this is heading. Once again, like addicts waiting for their next fix, we'd been looking forward to a second go of the glace au chocolat blanc et wasabi (11.20€)(see photo at the top of this post). Now, I realize it would be presumptuous of me to declare that this dish is truly the best dessert in Paris because, well, I haven't tried them all, and though I may aspire to that objective, it is clearly beyond the realm of human endeavor. I do think any dessert with white chocolate already has an advantage over any challenger. But kudos to anyone who would imagine the combined effect of white chocolate and wasabi pastry, and, oh yeah, coconut milk, vanilla, green tea, crumble, and pistachio. Chef Ledeuil is that man. It may not be the best dessert in Paris, but I guarantee you will not be disappointed, and I also challenge anyone to find a better dessert in Paris. The prize? How about the recipe for the chocolat blanc et wasabi dish? Why wait? Here it is, fresh from the France Chef.tv website.




Now, if you can't read French, you can use the Google translator, and if you can't comprehend the resulting gibberish, I invite you to watch Chef Ledeiul's video preparation of the dish at the France Chef.tv site. Of course, if you can't understand spoken French, then you're sort of out of luck, just watch what he's doing and imitate it, or bring a French-speaking friend to your computer and you'll be fine. If you can understand French, you may, like me, get a good chuckle hearing the illustrious chef describe the process as 'tres, tres simple' with a straight face.

Dinner for two, with coffee and wine (2005 Madirin de Crampilh, 24€) - 162€


ZE KITCHEN GALERIE
4, rue des grands augustins
Paris 6th
tel: 01 44 32 00 32
website: www.zekitchengalerie.fr

Obama Eats Paris

Let me be the last to break the news – during his recent breakneck whirlwind visit to Paris, Barack Obama took Michelle to dinner, and they ate at . . . drum roll, please . . . everybody say it: La Fontaine de Mars!!! Yes, please let me be the last. Already, a Google search of “Obama’s dinner in Paris” turns up more than 2.4 million hits. Forget about the Middle East, international terrorism, GM, the lunacy of Kim Il, and this week’s EU parliamentary elections, everybody wants to know, WHERE DID OBAMA EAT IN PARIS??? And with 2.4 million Google hits, you would have to think that everyone on the planet already knows the answer to that question.

Of course, the WHERE and WHAT (we’ll get to the latter later) are only two of the basic journalistic W questions for any good story. More intriguing, at least from the French perspective, is WHY?, as in “why did the Obamas snub the Sarkos’ dinner invitation?" That question, as we all know, is pretty much a no brainer. And that brings us to WHO?, as in "who would want to spend an evening dining with Little Napoleon and the Model, when you could be having a nice, quiet romantic dinner in a casual bistrot alone together" (albeit along with the buzzing hordes of media and rubberneckers - see accompanying photo - just outside the door) in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower? Like I said, a no brainer. Rumor has it that Little Nap wanted nothing more than to impress the Obamas with an elegant dinner at the spectacular Jules Verne, an Alain Ducasse restaurant on the Eiffel Tower. WHEN you are a full 5-1/2 inches shorter than Michelle, as is Little Nap, maybe it’s not so obvious up there on the ET. Who wants to dine in the shadow when you can be part of the shadow itself? Well, obviously not the Obamas.

And so Le Fontaine de Mars it was, although the romantic dinner was not as intimate as first thought. Daughter Malia was there along with two other guests, and no the other guests, contrary to a rumor I am starting here, were not Mortstiff & Co. The two of us have indeed dined at the restaurant, also with a couple visiting American friends, although it was several years ago, well before I become the famous Paris restaurant blogger that I aspire to today. For all I know, the Obamas may have been seated at the same table Co. & I occupied at one time, so I’m thinking it could be true when I tell people that I shared a dinner table with the Obamas! As for our visit, I remember being exceedingly disappointed with the menu offerings, and the meal was quite forgettable. Nonetheless, probably not a bad choice for the First Couple, who no doubt opted for tactfulness over extravagance in choosing an unpretentious venue during a global economic crisis.

La Fontaine is a very old Parisian bistro which specializes in hearty Southwestern cooking (foie gras, confit de canard, you know the drill). This brings us at last to the WHAT question, as in "what did Obama eat?" You will find the answer among those 2.4 million Google hits, although not a very consistent one. Second drum roll, please ….. Lamb! No, duck! You’re both wrong, it was beef! Chicken, anyone? If you said beef, you were partly right – that was everyone’s choice but Barack’s. The answer is found in this statement from the Associated Foreign Press: "They [The Obamas] were very pleased. They said that they had had a 'wonderful meal'. The President was very friendly. He had gigot d'agneau and an île flottante. No wine, just water. The others had fillet of beef and crème brûlée." So if you said "lamb," you win. No wine? Sacre bleu!

Anyway, enough of this dinner story. It wasn’t half as interesting as the way the French media followed Barack in France, which was more about a visiting rock star than a foreign head of state. Perhaps it shouldn’t surprise us that the French are absolutely gaga over the Obamas. And let’s face it, they have their own supermodel First Lady in the Elysee, so that’s saying something. But then again, I think the whole world would be gaga over anyone who succeeded W (viola, I knew I’d get another W in there), for the sole reason that he or she is not Bush! But the French seem so intent to dub the Obamas as the second coming of Camelot that their noted anti-celebrity journalism guidebook is thrown out the window at the very mention of the name ‘Obama’. This afternoon, for instance, much of the round table discussion on my favorite French TV show, ‘Le Grand Journal de Canal+,’ (okay, I admit it, it’s the sexy, comedic weather girl that has won my heart, in addition to those hidden camera shots of ministers picking their noses and dozing off in the French Senat – now that’s entertainment!) was devoted to the Obama visit. And if the discussion was any indication of perceptions here, Barack is Monsieur Cool (or, more accurately, as they pronounce it here, Cooool-le). A highlight of the Canal+ show was a montage of the laid back Obama White House – Obama casually eating an apple in the Oval Office, Cooool-le!; his minions gobbling handfuls of M&Ms, Cooool-le!; Obama tossing a football back and forth with an aide, Cooool-le! Ooh-la-la.

Back on the other side of the pond, it is amusing to see how some New York restaurateurs—and I use that term in the loosest sense—are doing their best to capitalize on Obama’s rise to the presidency (see accompanying photos). There’s Obama Fried Chicken – already the target of protests launched by councilmember Charles Barron because “Fried chicken, watermelon and minstrels are part of the racial stereotyping of black people in America” (p.s., please don’t repeat this to the French – they already think Americans are weird). And let’s not forget the pioneering Crown Heights restaurant, The Obama Flavor, a Jamaican/Soul food joint that opened last March. You would think either spot would be a perfect place to host the little egomaniac who loves everything America (I love you Bush! I love you Obama!) and his Model, when they deem America worthy of their estimable presence. Now that would be Cooool-le!

Le Temps au Temps. . . – Time Is On My Side

When you’re on a roll, you’re on a roll. Fresh off the very satisfying dinner at Casa Olympe, a visit to the even more spatially-challenged 24-seater, Le Temps Au Temp, resulted in an equally favorable dining experience.

After a bit of typical Mortstiff chicanery, leading Co. into thinking we were returning to one of our frequent haunts, Le Bistrot Paul Bert, I grabbed her hand and led her across the street explaining we should check out Le Temps, a “place where it’s virtually impossible to get a reservation.” Hey, have to keep things lively and fresh. It didn’t take Co. more than two seconds to see through the ruse, and it didn’t take me more than a week in advance to get the reservation. Thinking that the recession might finally be denting the Paris restaurant scene, that idea quickly evaporated as the tables started to fill up at this tiny little spot (a dozen tightly-packed tables) in one of my favorite non-touristical areas for dining in Paris. Rue Paul Bert has its aforementioned namesake and next-door seafood counterpart, L’Écallier du Bistrot; around the corner is one of the better Moroccan restaurants in Paris, Mansouria. In short, if you’re up for a good meal, you can’t go wrong by getting out at Faidherbe-Chaligny metro stop. Just make sure you’ve reserved someplace first.

More casual and welcoming than Casa Olympe, Le Temps is without pretension. Thus, despite the tight squeeze, the experience tends to be pretty laid back. Forget about Fodor’s promise that single diners can sit at one of the stools in front of the bar. That’s a no go - no stools during our visit, but sure enough, behind the bar, mounted on the wall was a large facsimile of a clock – hence the name (‘Time to Time’). A single diner seemed to be enjoying herself at one of the two outdoor tables set up in front of the restaurant.

Taking the place of a fixed menu was a chalkboard listing of the day’s 30€ fixed price offerings. I’ve already lamented my distaste for the largely illegible chalkboards hanging from Paris est to Paris ouest. To its credit, Le Temps had at least one blackboard in full view on every wall, which didn’t necessarily make the task any easier for your’s truly. It’s not my fault my eyes aren’t getting any younger, and poor Co. isn’t faring much better. Together, we mounted a full-blown effort and made our choices. I opted for the linguine de saumon marinee with avocat moussiline and mint leaf. Co. went with the queu de langoustine au fenouil. Both dishes were creative and tasty. Now for the embarrassing part of this review. After the entrees, I settled into an eating groove and stopped taking notes, thinking I could not possibly forget the specific details of all that ensued. Well, beyond the memory of a fish plate with celery mousse for me, and an immaculately prepared plate of lightly cooked chunks of duck for Co., I am at a loss. Instead, have a look at some representative photos that I borrowed from a foodie froggie’s blog. I do remember our wine, a lusty domaine des Vercheres Bourgogne 2006 (27€), which did the proverbial job and then some. Although forgotten in detail, the overall experience was of an above-average, understated, but thoughtfully prepared dinner. We’ll definitely revisit, a compliment if I’ve ever heard one.


LE TEMPS AU TEMPS
13, rue Paul Bert
75011 Paris
tel.: 01 43 79 63 40
Video link

Casa Olympe – Tu Casa Es Ma Casa

First impressions are important, and my first impression of Casa Olympe, the highly-touted quasi-Corsican establishment in the 9th, was definitely favorable. This may have largely been attributed to the sign I saw attached to the front wall informing patrons, “Portable Interdit” (no cellphones allowed). That’s my kind of sign. In part, it accounted for a steady stream of patrons casually leaving their table throughout the evening and stepping outside to check their sacred messages or make that life-altering call that simply could not wait another hour or so. Idjits. In addition to the steady stream of patrons stepping out for a smoke, and another contingent in tandem, dashing in mad panic to move their illegally-parked cars, the filled restaurant at times seemed veritably empty. Which is a pretty good thing in a restaurant like Olympe, where the expression, “I want to be alone” does not compute. The main room, consisting of about 36 places lined along the left and right walls, barely left an unoccupied centimeter – a common hazard in Paris, where real estate is at a premium. Nevertheless, it’s a finally-appointed room (in addition to a couple tables in a small, back room near the bar), with butterscotch walls, murano chandeliers, and classical paintings interspersed along the walls. And the neighborhood warrants a visit.

Casa Olympe is owned and run by Olympe (aka Dominique) Versini, one of the most famous female chefs in Paris. You can get the full history at the restaurant’s website. The restaurant critic Alexandra Lobrano claimed to have been at Olympe one evening when Jean-Paul Gaultier arrived just before closing time with some friends. I bet Jean-Paul received a warmer welcome than your’s truly, despite arriving finely appointed with Co. only a half hour after the doors opened. But I’ve lived in Paris long enough, so I get it. You must first earn Olympe’s respect and, because this was my first visit, I obviously have not had the opportunity to prove myself as a worthy patron. Overall, however, I can’t complain about the icy yet efficient service. Coats taken, we were seated and immediately brought a plate of small, black olives to accompany our perusal of the carte. In addition, a small chalkboard on the far wall informed us of two entrées, two plats, and two desserts special for that evening, with a couple bearing a modest 5€ supplement. Co. and I ruminated long and hard over the choices, several of which competed for our favors. This typically takes some negotiating – I refuse to take any dish that Co. opts for because that simply reduces the sample size and the fun. Okay, that epic white chocolate dessert at Ze Kitchen Galerie was a clear exception to that rule. But it’s nice for a change to really have difficulty making up my mind.

The emphasis is on Corsican and Mediterranean dishes at Olympe, with a specialty being the roasted shoulder of lamb that must be shared by at least two at the table. I don’t eat lamb, so that ruled out at least one possibility. I couldn’t talk Co. out of the special entrée of paloudes sautee au thyme (small clams sautéed in their shell with thyme), so I went with an option you won’t find listed on the website’s menu, a dish comprised of betterave and bulots. This took the form of thinly sliced pieces of beet sandwiching a concoction of marine snails. If you read my earlier Finland posting you must be thinking, ‘my lord, this must be the year of the beetroot!’ I’m afraid I can’t disagree with you. Once repulsed by the bloody things, I find myself increasingly fascinated by what can be done with the underrated beet. This dish, although inspiring, didn’t reach the euphoric heights as that goat cheese dish or the salmon, beetroot, and rye entrée in Finland, but it was pretty damn good. Ironically, because it was my first choice, Co. wasn’t all that impressed with her clams, which she found unimaginative (and, depressingly, at least three of the shells had to pried open with force). She regretted passing on the croustillants de boudin, mesclun. Maybe next time. As for the main dishes, Co. found the ris de veau croustillants with capres de Pantelleria much more satisfying (see the photo). I was more than pleased with my espadon (swordfish) lightly cooked (nearly raw inside, as I prefer) in a coco sauce, innocently lying on a bed of vegetable strips. What started out as a pretty simple dish seemed to grow in complexity as the sauce kicked in. Co. was rather disappointed with the dessert on special for the night, a white cream with red fruits dish. I didn’t find the dessert options very inspiring, but my moelleux tiede chocolate noix was more than adequate. As for the wine, I couldn’t resist the Corsican (Corse Patrimonio – Antoine Arena 2005), reasonably priced at 33€. Though forewarned that this was a mildly sparkling red, I stuck with the choice because I’ve never met a Corsican wine yet that I didn’t like. I’m no fan of sparkling alcohol of any sort, and that includes champagne, but the Corse Patrimonio turned out to be a tasty complement to our dishes.

Overall, I’d have to say that Olympe warrants the many favorable reviews you’ll find in your restaurant guides. I wouldn’t go so far as to say there was anything incredibly special about it, but my interest has been piqued and I’m ready to try out some of the other menu options. That, of course, assumes that Olympe is willing to have me. Did I create a good impression? I don’t know, but I managed to resist strangling the obnoxious couple sitting next to us who were touchy-feely beyond even Parisian standards of decorum. Idjits. So be forewarned. Olympe would be a great place for a romantic dinner – if there were no other diners. But expect the restaurant to be full and that means you better not mind eating shoulder to shoulder with strangers. Jean-Paul excluded, of course.

Price: Two ‘menus’ (entrée, plate, dessert) at 43€ each + wine (33€) + one coffee (4€) for a total of 123€.

CASA OLYMPE
48 rue Saint-Georges, Paris 75009.
Tel : 01 42 85 26 01

Meze! Meze! Meze! – Dining Out in Cyprus

Another venture well beyond Paris, this time to Nicosia, capital of Cyprus, in the Mediterranean within shooting distance of Beirut. Of course, I mean that in a photographic sense. I wish I had more to tell you about the restaurant experience, but everything happens so quickly, albeit over impressively long evenings (even by French standards), that I’m not sure I can do the experience much justice. You just had to be there.

Complicating matters is that the names of restaurants are written in Greek letters, so half of the time you don’t even know where you’re eating. And even if you did know, you probably would have forgotten anyway if, like me and Co. (Co. and I?), you chose to partake in a couple of 33cl bottles of ouzo beforehand at a café in the old city center. In fact, my favorite discovery in the old city was an outdoor café that took up two alleyways in addition to a couple decrepit interior rooms, including a second floor space with Internet wifi access. This was Mondo’s Café (9 Arch. Makarios Avenue), located just off the main pedestrian way, Ledra Street near the Green Strip, the UN-patrolled border crossing separating the southern part of the city from the Turkish-occupied northern part. As I was casually sitting at one of Mondo’s tables, leisurely sipping my ouzo and eating the accompanying olives, I pondered first why the US is so adamant about having Turkey join the EU, then my mind drifted to wonderment as to why every male at the café had long curly black hair and a beard, and, finally, I speculated as to where I could get my hands on the outstanding compilations of music wafting out from the café’s interior. As a cafe, I should add that most of Mondo's patrons were not getting blitzed from ouzo, arack, or some variation thereof, but were instead sipping large, savory, frothed iced coffees (frapes) through straws
. . . before moving on to ouzo, arack, or some variation thereof.

Adequately lubricated, the sun starting to set ever so slowly in the temperate late April evenings, it was time to move on to dinner. In each case, we opted for traditional Cypriot taverns and didn’t give second thought to the myriad alternatives, such as pizzerias, gyro dives, and the sporadic international dining spots. In each case, we were pretty satisfied. The main Cypriot dining experience is the meze option. If you’re not familiar with meze, think tapas translated into Greek. The typical meze dinner consists of numerous (up to 10-15) courses of small dishes comprised of a wide range of offerings, usually beginning with vegetable concoctions, moving on to grains and cheeses, and graduating to meats (e.g., grilled lamb and chicken). Dishes include melitzanosalata (eggplant salad), dolma (wine-stuffed wine leaves), haydari (a thick yogurt offering), pickled beets, vegetable and egg mixtures, taramosalata (cod roe or carp mixed with bread crumbs, lemon, and mashed potatoes). Trust me, these dishes tasted a lot better than they sound. Not surprisingly, you don’t order a meze dinner when dining out alone. The more the merrier, as we found during one evening when we were accompanied by several friends to the tavern Pais:Paradosiakes Yefsis, located just behind the Kleopatra Hotel. The problem is that for the uninitiated, it’s difficult to pace oneself – that pickled beets dish may be tasty, but if you eat too much of it, you won’t have much appetite for the dozen dishes that, unbeknownst to you, are to follow in extremely rapid succession.

Our typical initial reaction upon entering the traditional Cypriot taverns of Nicosia was ‘uh-oh.’ In fact, sometimes you have that reaction even before entering. This was the case one evening when we followed a few friends to the Agios Georgios Tavern around 8 p.m. One of our party mentioned how she had passed the place a few nights earlier and thought it looked pretty interesting. What we saw on our arrival was a large empty room with a couple of seedy looking characters apparently waiting to get to work. My initial reaction was ‘uh-oh.’ In fact, my full initial reaction was ‘uh-oh, I have a really bad feeling about this place’. Wrong again, although the dinner got off to a rather inauspicious start. Our waiter bore an uncanny resemblance to Chigurl, the psychotic killer of Cormac McCarthy’s excellent No Country for Old Men, as portrayed by Javier Bardem in the Joel and Ethan Cohen film adaptation. When we asked if there was red wine, he responded, ‘Wine.’ When we asked about the squid dish, his reply was ‘Squid.’ When he brought glasses to the table, the first to leave his hand dropped to the floor and shattered. I wondered if this was some sort of Cypriot symbol of welcoming. By the end of our dinner, the restaurant was packed to the gills, the atmosphere was casual and lively, some traditional Greek musicians had started up an improvisational jam session in the front of the room and played on long into the night, and we even caught Chigurl crack a smile.

Recommended Nicosia taverns:
Pais: Paradosiakes Yefsis
tel. 22665070 and 22665090

Agios Georgios (see photo top right)
tel. 22765971 and 99697835

Erodos (see photo bottom right)
Patriarchou Gregoriou 1
tel. +357 22752250

Note: Buy all the bottles of ouzo you want at the Larnaca Airport duty free shops for 10 euros or less. Or forget the ouzo, go back to France, and just drink the Frenchman's ersatz absinthe, pastis. Same concept. I picked up a bottle of 'Z' for zavinia at the duty free, an equally putrid grappa-like alcohol.

Bofinger - Not For Tourists Only

When it comes time to compile the list of famous Parisian brasseries, Bofinger makes the cut. As suggested elsewhere, the city’s oldest brasserie, dating back to 1864, offers elegance without pretension, a combination that many aspire to, but few achieve. Located on a side street within striking distance of the center of Bastille and the original opera house, Bofinger, which specializes in Alsatian dishes, harkens back to France’s Belle Epoque period. Once through the doors, you recognize immediately that you are not in Kansas anymore. Just past the anteroom you can glimpse the boisterous surroundings in the expansive main room under the dome – waiters maintaining a frenetic pace, carrying their enormous multi-tiered platters of fruit-de-mer or choucroutes amidst the ornate décor and furnishings that now are protected as national heritage. Whoa, sorry . . . I’m starting to sound like an airline magazine.

Back in the day, Co. and I used to visit Bofinger from time to time, primarily to indulge in the meat (Co.) and fish (your’s truly) choucroutes (sauerkraut platters, for the uninitiated). Never an easy place to reserve, we’ve always found it next to impossible to get a table under the dome. Big deal. We find the second floor rooms
cozier, less formal, and more intimate – a great place to bring visiting friends who may commit some sort of embarrassing faux pas. You know it’s best to restrict one’s audience when there is a chance one of your dinner companions may opt to drink the little finger bowl of lemon water and exclaim, ‘garçon, the soup was delicious!’ These days, it seems, the only time we revisit Bonfinger is when we have guests visiting from outside France. On this occasion, that was the case – our friends from Valencia, Spain, whose identities will heretofore remain veiled, but consisted of husband, wife, and 17-year-old precocious daughter, the latter of whom could speak fluent Spanish, Valencian, English, passable German, and has begun to learn Russian. At that age, I could barely speak one language, English, and my parents never took me to Belle Epoque Parisian brasseries, and likely wouldn’t have even if they were closer than 3000+ miles away. Some kids have all the luck.

Our dinner turned out to be an enjoyable dining experience from start to finish, no major faux pas, no arrogant waiter, no overcharging for the wine. I don’t know if our guests were merely being polite or were taking a conservative no-sense-agitating-our-stomachs-during-our-trip stance, but they limited their choices, opting out of a couple entrees and desserts, and passing on the post-meal coffee, resulting in a reasonable bill for five of 190 euros, including an inexpensive (22€) bottle of Languedoc.

Co. and I went the tried-and-true route and selected the aforementioned choucroutes. Mine and the teen’s
wife consisted of haddock, salmon, lotte, and quenelles (50€ for two). Her’s, which was shared with the precocious teen’s father, consisted of a medieval-looking array of sausages, pork, and andouillettes, and was kept warm with the aid of a kerosene-generated flame (42€ for two). The multilingual teen chose the Royale St. Jacques plate (12.50€) and quickly learned that she liked scallops a lot, and could now ask for them in at least three languages. Her mother praised her entrée of blanquette de saumon (19.50€). A couple of us shared a platter of a dozen oysters Fine de Claire as an entrée (27€), and despite their relatively small size, these really excelled. Raised on Utah Beach in Normandy, these were the tastiest oysters I’ve had the pleasure to slide down my throat in a long, long time. A couple more oyster platters and I would have been a happy camper, even without the choucroute. I indulged in a café gourmand, happily donating my little crème brulee to Co. to accompany her moelleux caraibes option.

If you’re not comfortable with these options, don’t despair, chef Georges Belondrade’s carte is pretty expansive, including some Bofinger specialties (foie gras, tartares, bouillabaisse, onion soup, lobster salad) and pretty much anything you would expect to find in an Alsatian brasserie. Service was impeccable and our waiters projected that Parisian air of having seen it all before, which I am sure they had, at least at Bofinger. In short, if you are visiting Paris and need that Belle Epoque, ornate décor, bow-tied waiters, and hair-raising edifices of seafood experience, Bofinger is your kind of brasserie. And as the title of this post proclaims, it’s not just for tourists.

BRASSERIE BOFINGER
7 rue de la Bastille, Paris
Tel 33 1 42 72 87 82