Just taking a breather here and thought I'd share some thoughts as I looked at my crazy Inbox this weekend. I switched to Gmail last year and things just keep moving down as they come in, until they turn the corner and head into the 'older' page (ie: Siberia). Where they get forgotten. So yesterday, I deleted a few messages. As in, a few hundred messages. I don't even recall what many of them were about, or why I was saving them, but invariably a few likely got tossed that I probably should have answered. Drat.

There's a concept I've been hearing about called declaring "bankruptcy". It's not about the global financial meltdown, but it's about preventing another kind of meltdown by simply starting back again from zero, a blank slate. It's an interesting idea and it's nice to do a bit of spring cleaning now and then, even though spring is a few months away, unfortunately. (Although it did give me an excuse to buy a killer-stylin' new overcoat for winter last Wednesday.)

Occasionally I will write up a restaurant on the site. These are not traditional restaurant reviews; I don't visit three times, I don't take notes, I don't go in disguises, and I'm not qualified to critique certain cuisines and wine lists.

When I write up a restaurant it's because I think it's a place of interest to readers, whether you live here or not. Dining out anywhere can be a variable experience, depending on the guests, the staff, and other factors, and even the most reliable restaurant can have an off-night, so readers may have a different experience than I do.

The blog reflects snippets of my life in Paris and elsewhere, and while I do keep the My Paris page fairly up-to-date (which lists restaurants), individual blog posts go back many years (5+). During that time, restaurants can change. While I try to write about restaurants I think are very good and will be enjoyed by readers, that's not always going to be the case for every restaurant and reader.

My time does not permit me to go back and update the nearly one thousand blog entries on the site, but each entry is dated so you can read when the restaurant was written up. In addition, readers are welcome to leave constructive comments regarding their experiences at a restaurant, good or bad, to share with others. So you may wish to scan them to get other opinions.

I provide phone numbers for the establishments listed. Most places in Paris require reservations, and they're a good idea even in smaller places. (You'll get treated much better if they know you're coming rather than if you just show up unannounced.) Unlike restaurants in America, and elsewhere, reservations can often be made a few days, or the same day, except in places that are very popular.

I highly-recommend calling restaurants and any establishment listed on this site, regardless of whether a reservation is required, to be sure they're open before going.

Although many places in Paris have websites, few respond to e-mail requests and it's best to call. Usually there is an English-speaking employee available if you don't speak French. It's to ask, "Parlez-vous anglais, s'il vous plait?" first, no matter how shaky you think your French is. They appreciate the gesture.

And because out-of-towners have a reputation for not showing up, whether deserved or not, it's best to call and re-confirm your reservation the day before.

I never planned to write about this granola, since both Molly and Cenk did excellent adaptations. Because they are probably sick of me clicking on their sites, I finally jotted it down on a scrap of paper. And since that scrap of paper gets pulled out of my files at least once every other week, I thought that it was simply too good to keep buried away under my piles of paperwork and I'd share it here.

Although I haven't tried the thousands of variations of granola floating around (and in Why Stealing is Wrong?, I got my comeuppance for trying to pilfer another one), this is what the French would call le top du top—the best of the best.

(I don't know what they call "comeuppance" in French, but I seem to get mine frequently around here. Like the other day, when I was feeling cocky because I finally managed to extricate myself from my nefarious cable company and went to the France Telecom office to see if I could finally get one of those fancy iPhones like absolutely everyone else has. "C'est pas possible, monsieur", I keep hearing, even after I reason to them that I want to switch to a much more expensive plan, giving them more money, and let them sell me a pricey new phone. They say it may be possible, peut être, sometime in 2010. But I ain't gonna garde mon souffle...)

This Wednesday, October 28th at 7:30pm, I'll be at the American Library in Paris discussing my favorite topic—dessert!

Doing a culinary tour in Paris is always fun, because not only do I get to meet some new people and make new friends (important...since the old ones keep deserting me), but I get to revisit my favorite places in Paris. And this week, we made a detour in Lyon as well. So there was a lot more to see, and eat...

Lyon is a wonderful city. Kind of a miniature version of Paris, but younger, more spacious, and more relaxed. The people are plus cool, and in less of a rush—perhaps because they are so busy digesting all that rich food down there.

I've written about Bernachon before, and this trip, we had an especially warm greeting in their adjacent café, starting with puffy brioche and warmed pitchers of hot chocolate, made with the famed bean-to-bar chocolate that's fabricated just a few doors away.

It's no secret that I love Bernachon chocolate.

A recent phenomenon in Paris are Broadway shows coming to town.

In the past few years, plays like Grease, The Lion King, and West Side Story (and, bizarrely, Anne Frank, Le Musicial) have arrived amidst a fanfare of happy-go-lucky billboards in the métro. I don't think the words "infectious enthusiasm" or "feel-good musical" are part of the French vocabulary, but pretty soon they might be.

So don't be surprised if you come across a Parisian whistling "Greased Lightning" or "Beauty School Dropout" on your next visit.

I love musicals as much as the next guy (well, 10% of them, anyways...) so when I saw an ad for La Mélodie du Bonheur, I immediately wanted to call Romain to see if I should get tickets.

Alec Lobrano has been writing about the food in Paris for over two decades, and was the Paris correspondent for Gourmet magazine. When his book, Hungry for Paris came out, I immediately opened to page one and read it cover-to-cover. He's one of the best food writers of our generation and each chapter tells the story of one of his favorite restaurants in Paris. And now, as a result, whenever someone suggests a restaurant for dinner, I'll pull my copy of his book from my shelf and see what Alec has to say before I confirm.

We recently dined together on steak frites and I was thrilled when he agreed to write up a guest post with his favorite places for steak and French fries in Paris to share with you. He not only did that graciously, but included notes about what cuts of meat to expect in a French restaurant, which many visitors will certainly appreciate. And for vegetarians out there, he listed a healthy alternative, too!

You can read more of Alec's Paris restaurant reviews and recommendations at his site and blog, AlexanderLobrano.com, which I read religiously. Not only is Alec a wonderful writer, he's a terrific guy, and I hope you enjoy his company as much as I do...-David

In Paris, Where's Le Bœuf?

According to one of the cordial waiters at Au Bœuf Couronée, one of the last old-fashioned steakhouses in the Paris's old slaughterhouse neighborhood La Vilette in the 19th arrondissement, they haven't been so busy in years.

Pour quoi? It seems that these trying times have a lot of people craving meat and potatoes, or as the French would have it, steak frites, that infinitely Gallic and profoundly consoling combo of steak with fries or some other form of spuds.

If you're one of them, I'm happy to share my favorite steak frites addresses in Paris (vegetarians please skip to the last paragraph), but first a couple of pointers.

I keep a piece of paper near my front door. On it are places in Paris that I want to visit. When I hear about a place that sounds interesting, on the list it goes. Unfortunately, it seems as soon as I cross one off, a few more get added. And the list gets longer and longer and longer and longer and...

One particular spot that I've had my eye on for too long was Puerto Cacao, located in the farthest part of the city from where I live, requiring more than my limit of two métro changes. The focus of the shop is chocolate équitable, or fair trade chocolate.

So I was surprised when I was walking near the Marché d'Aligre and the store with the pricey mid-century modern furniture that I used to covet was gone. And in its place was a new hot chocolate spot.

When I worked at Chez Panisse, we had a customer who would come for dinner several nights a week and eat downstairs in the kitchen. Jean lived by herself in San Francisco and took a cab across the bridge to Berkeley for dinner once or twice a week. When the waiters knew she was coming, they'd set up a small table next to the pastry department and she'd eat there. And because she was a generous soul, she'd treat her regular cabdriver to dinner upstairs in the café.

Other customers would come in and say, "How do I get to sit there?" I'm not sure what the attraction was, since we were all busy working, chugging water, tracing around, dishwashers hauling dishes, garbage and compost bins, but the concept caught on and eating in the kitchen became de rigeur for foodies. Oddly, for a while, whenever I went out for dinner and they knew me from the restaurant world, they'd always seat me near the kitchen, so I'd have a view of it. And I always asked if I could sit somewhere else. Who the heck wants to watch someone else work on their day off?

Jean was born and raised in San Francisco. Her parents were fur traders and they'd take long boat trips back and forth to Asia, and she and her sister would accompany them. During the long voyages, she told me, Jean and her sister would sit in the chef's office and rifle through his cookbooks, picking out things for him to make.

For a recent talk where I was asked to give for newcomers to Paris, I decided to share some of my coping strategies for living in a foreign country. I came up with a list of eight things that I do when it all seems too much.

Like this morning, when I woke up and found that before I hit the "Save" button and called it a night, my cable company dropped my connection, which deleted two-thirds of this post.

Fortunately, I'm resilient now, and no longer a stranger to having to re-do things over and over. I sat right back down in my proverbial Aeron saddle and re-wrote them, which only took a few hours. Curiously, while I was typing away, a representative called me on my cell phone to try to get me to stay on as a customer. When I mentioned that he had to call me on my cell phone, since my land line service (which they provide) didn't work, he didn't see any irony in that. He probably also didn't understand a few choice words I used, since I said them in English, which was a good thing.

Nevertheless, there's plenty of things you can do, including ripping your cable company a new one, that'll make you feel a lot better when all seems lost and you feel like everything is conspiring against you. Like me, who courageously sat back down and started from anew—with an amazing bar of dark chocolate with toffee and salt (see #1), and went back to work.

I recently spoke at Bloom Where You're Planted, a program intended to introduce newcomers to the sometimes perplexing differences of life abroad. I stayed after my talk for a seminar on French health care. While I was familiar with some of the information, some of you might not be, especially those who are traveling to Paris.

This post includes numbers to call and places to go if you need medical attention. Of course, nothing here is meant to be construed as medical advice and you should always speak to your personal health care provider, who can advise you on the most appropriate actions in the event of an emergency or if you have a health-related question.

France has excellent health care and it is open to all. Care is not rationed out and you are guaranteed care regardless of your ability to pay or pre-existing condition.

How does Cognac get to this...

...from this?

I didn't know, but I was determined to taste as many glasses as I could to find out.

The first thing I was asked before heading down into my first Cognac cellar during my recent visit was, "Are you afraid of spiders?"

I don't know why, but on my recent trip to San Francisco, I was having a really hard time remembering the name of the restaurant called Fish & Farm. Maybe it was the jet-lag, or all the chocolate and cookies that were coming at me from all angles.

But I kept calling the restaurant Farm & Fish.

Or Fish Farm. Or Farm and Fowl.

Aside from having a hard time trying to find a listing for a restaurant about fish farming, because of the offbeat name, I thought the Fish Farm was somewhere in the outer Mission, one of the fringe neighborhoods of San Francisco. Not right downtown, in the gentle theater district.

When we pulled up to the restaurant, I was surprised at how slender it was. (What was I expecting? A farm? A hydroponic tank?) But then I was glad, because it's small size gave them the luxury of spending more time on the food for each guest.

Doubly-inked chef Chad Newton sources as much of the food as possible as close to the restaurant as he can.

Today, I stood in the middle of my apartment and screamed.

It's not something I normally do. In fact, I don't think I've ever done that before. Being fifty, I'd say my life is roughly half over and I hope to never have to do it again during my last half. (I'm sure my neighbors would be pleased if I never did it again as well.)

I've been dealing with my internet provider, who also provides—or is supposed to provide, phone service.

Since signing up with them last year, my service has been hit or miss. Since the beginning of August, it's been all miss, and I've been missing phone service and internet access since then. I do remember the days before we have the internet, so while it's a major inconvenience, it's not the end of the world. (Unless you have a blog. Then it's pretty close.) But not having phone service for nearly ten weeks is pretty crazy.

There's a lot of grousing about French customer service. I've seen the good, and I've seen the bad. Usually the trick is to find someone who will help you and once you do, they'll do what they can to help. And then the service is top-notch. You just need to find that person.

So far, I haven't found that person at my cable company. And believe me, I've tried.

If it seems to you like all that I've been doing since I arrived back in San Francisco has been eating, you're right. San Francisco really is the best food city in the world, and as I walk around, (...er...I'm in California..) I mean, as I drove around, and visit my favorite restaurants and markets, I often wonder if I could move back here.

I've been loving all the food and great restaurants: the quality of ingredients, many locally-grown with pride, and the attention to quality, continues to astound. I keep walking by piles of colorful heirloom tomatoes or flats of juicy-ripe figs, and although I've seen all those things when I lived here before, I'm still completely in awe of the bounty of the Bay Area.