Well-known ones include Naturalia, La Vie Claire and Biocoop.

Many carry gluten-free products and grains. Natural food stores here are some of my favorite places to shop anyways since they carry many regional, organic, and unusual products which are hard-to-find elsewhere in France. Biocoop is perhaps the most varied, although Naturalia has more shops.

You can find a list here, or do a Google search. It's a good idea to call to make sure they're open before heading over since they come-and-go in Paris.

Continue reading "Gluten-Free Eating and Dining in Paris" »

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10 Insanely Delicious Things You Shouldn't Miss in Paris

I'm not sending you in search of wasabi-carrot-pistachio-veal verrines topped with fennel-durian marshmallows or raw sesame-crusted tuna towers with filo triangles served on square plates with a dusting of dried porcini powder and a scribble of sauce in the corner. Instead, these are some tried-and-true places and things that I like to eat around town and confidently recommend to all visitors.

And seriously, you shouldn't miss them if you come.

1. Arabesque Macarons at Pierre Hermé

I love les macarons and although I still think the classic ones at Ladurée are tops in town, Over at Pierre Hermé, he's always experimenting with unusual flavor combinations so you never quite know what you'll find here. But if you happen to be there and see pastel-orange cookies the color of apricot with a soft, creamy filling oozing out, hiding a nugget of crackly almond croquant covered with fine pieces of pistachio dust, I urge you to try one.

Although each time I go in, the amount of filling seems to be increasing to the point of excess, I can't resist popping one in my mouth. And in fact, when I go in now, my favorite saleswoman there instinctively hands me one over the counter.

(And people ask me why I live here all the time as well...)

One tip: The shop on the rue Bonaparte is usually mobbed and it's difficult to see anything or linger. Head over to the Pierre Hermé shop at 185, rue Vaugirard, which is much more spacious. And while you're there, stop in at des Gâteaux & du Pain at 63, boulevard Pasteur; the pastries and breads are drop-dead gorgeous there as well.

Continue reading "10 Insanely Delicious Things You Shouldn't Miss in Paris" »

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Paris Ice Cream: Les Glaciers de Paris

Here's my address book for the most popular, and my favorite places for ice cream in Paris.

In addition to these glaciers, some of the pâtisseries make their own exceptionally-good ice cream which they'll scoop up from freezers parked on the sidewalks outside during the summer. Some of the best include Kayser, La Maison du Chocolat, and A La Mère de Famille.

Many of the places keep curious hours, some of which I've noted. Most don't open until mid-morning, and one, Deliziefollie, simply closed for the winter while Berthillon closes mid-July for the summer. I've listed phone numbers so you can call in advance.

Berthillon

Little needs to be said about Berthillion that hasn't already been said. This most-famous of all Parisian glaciers makes what many consider the best ice cream in the world. Go see for yourself! I was a fan of their glace chocolat until I saw the light and switched to the chocolat amer sorbet, which has the deep intensity of chocolate but without the distraction of cream. Their Caramel Ice Cream is excellent, but I think the Caramel-Buerre-Salé doesn't measure up to it. The fruit sorbets are excellent and the one made with tiny wild strawberries, fraises des bois, is worth the supplement.

Berthillon is served at many cafés in Paris, and other locations near the original also scoop it up, which is helpful when they're closed. Beware of other storefronts nearby which some people confusing think serve glace Berthillon as well. (They'll always display a Berthillon logo if they do.)

Berthillon
31, rue Saint-Louis-en-l'Ile (4th)
Tél: 01 43 54 31 61
Métro: Pont Marie or Sully-Morland
(Closed Mondays and Tuesdays, the second half of July and all of August.)

Amorino

Popular with tourists and locals, Amorino does quite the business, making delicate 'flowers' of gelato on cones. I'm not a huge fan (one of my Italian readers called it "...an insult to Italians everywhere."), but that doesn't stop folks from lining up day and night. Interesting flavors include Bacio, the Italian-style 'kiss' of hazelnuts and chocolate and Amarena, candied sour cherries embedded in vanilla custard. Those of you who are lactose-intolerant can find digestive comfort in Amoriso which they say is made with rice and rice milk. Twelve boutiques in Paris.

Amorino
31, rue Vieille du Temple (4th)
Tél: 01 42 78 07 75
Métro: St. Paul or Hôtel de Ville

Pozzetto

More often than not, you'll find me at Pozzetto, waiting from my scoop of sticky gelato in a cone being handed through the window to me.

Continue reading "Paris Ice Cream: Les Glaciers de Paris" »

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Ce weekend à Paris

Taillevant & Le Cave Taillevant

Last month I had a fabulous lunch at Taillevent, the recently-demoted three-star restaurant, courtesy of some good friends from the states. But if our lunch was any indication, I don't know who's plucking the stars. And at 70€ it's the deal of the decade: Three courses and lots of little extras. Plus they were very pleased to substitute any of the desserts which didn't appear on the fixed menu for the selection offered. And to make the lunch even more special, another recent guest kindly bought me a bottle of lovely champagne...what's not to get all starry-eyed over?

But whether or not you can make it to Taillevent, the restaurant, you should definitely visit their wine shop in the main Printemps department store. Run by Alison Vollenwider, with the help of Stéphanie (aka la petite), this wine cave is one of the most interesting in Paris.

Alison trained as a sommelier at Windows On The World with famed wine expert Andrea Immer, then worked in Bordeaux as a sommelier before settling here in Paris. Stop by and say hi—you'll find plenty of reasonably-priced wines, starting at less than 10€, and lots of good advice from Alison. She's friendly and knowledgeable...what more could you want from a caviste?

What's that? You do want more?
Then visit Alison's blog on the Taillevent web site.

Silly Illy

Ever since I got my new espresso machine, I've been trying to learn as much about the complex art of making espresso as possible.

Continue reading "Ce weekend à Paris" »

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Paris Restaurant Round-Up

I got a very cute message lately from a couple who had come to Paris and followed some of my restaurant suggestions. But it got to the point one evening here they were undecided where to go one night, and her husband said, "I don't care. Let's just go anywhere that chocolate-guy says to go!"

I was glad to be of service, but I like being known as 'that chocolate-guy' just as much.

But frankly, I don't go out as much as most folks imagine. I love going to my market, talking to the vendors, and coming home with something new that I've never tried before, like the chervil roots I bought the other day, which involved a rather detailed, lengthy conversation with the vendor.

I mostly cooking all the fine things I find here and learn about. So when I do go out, I want it to be good...no, I want it to be great...and I find the best food in Paris is classic French cuisine; confit de canard, steak frites, and coq au vin. When you find a good version, I don't think there's anything more satisfying. Especially if it's accompanied by good friends.

And, of course, a few obligatory glasses of vin rouge.

So here's a round-up of places I've eaten lately.
There's a few you might to want to bookmark for your next visit, as well as one or two you might want to avoid.

Continue reading "Paris Restaurant Round-Up" »

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Cooking On Rue Tatin: Part 2

Since man, and woman, cannot live by chocolate alone (although wouldn't it be nice if we could?), our group spent the rest of our time slaving away putting together sumptuous meals, and learning about wine the hard way: by tasting it.

One of my favorite snacks of the class On Rue Tatin turned out to be these golden-brown, eggy gougères enriched with gruyère cheese and a dusting of freshly-toasted, fragrant cumin powder.

While it was a bit chilly to sit out in the garden overlooking the cathedral, enjoying our apéritifs and goûtes, we had plenty things to cook up indoors...

Continue reading "Cooking On Rue Tatin: Part 2" »

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Baking Class On Rue Tatin: Part 1

What do you get when you take eight dedicated bakers, put them in a country kitchen (one that's professionally equipped), and put them to work for three days of cooking and baking with chocolate?

You get a whole lotta chocolate!

If you didn't come along on my three-day cooking class with Susan Loomis at her home On Rue Tatin, here's a run-down of our week...

Continue reading "Baking Class On Rue Tatin: Part 1" »

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French & Italian Menu Translation Made Easy

After spending years learning the language, I'm pretty comfortable with menus in French and I'm rarely in for any unpleasant suprises when waiters bring me food anymore. But on my trip to Italy, I was completely baffled when handed an Italian menu, scarcely knowing stinco from souris d'agneau. Stinco I Iearned the hard way: a Fred Flintstone-sized hunk of roasted veal knuckle was plunked down in front of me, after a hearty pasta course, and there was no chance of leaving until I finished it off. All of it. And you might want to be careful ordering souris d'agneau in France, since a 'souris' is a mouse, which doesn't sound as appetizing as lamb shank, which is actually what you'd be ordering.
Well, hopefully...just don't forget the 'd'agneau' part.

So I carried along Andy Herbach and Michael Dillon's Eating and Drinking in Italy on my trip. Although I need little help deciding what to drink, many times I was stumped when presented with a menu. Luckily I had slipped this slender guide into my pocket, which is one of the most appealing features of these guides, so one could discretely refer to them without looking like a total rube.

These guides are inexepensive too, and the Paris menu translator has everything from pibales (small eels...ew) to pithiviers (puff pastry filled with ground almonds and cream...yum).

It's rather difficult to find a good, comprehensive, and compact menu translator, so most people resort to tearing pages out of their guidebooks, which are rather broad-based don't get into the nitty-gritty of the difference between congre (big eel) and colin (hake). Then they end up facing a heaping platter of something they'd prefer not to encounter either on sea or shore. Another bonus is both books also have loads of information about European dining customs, like never filling a wine glass more than halfway full in Paris, as well as restaurant suggestions and the Italian guide has brief descriptions of the regions of Italy, and what to order when you're there.

Both are highly recommended, so much so that I plan to take their Berlin Made Easy guide with me on my trip this winter, so I end up with gegrillt jakobsmuscheln instead of gekockten aal.

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Les Papilles Restaurant & Wine Bar

Although not Michelin-starred, one of my favorite restaurants in Paris is Les Papilles. I have to admit that I rarely go there, since it's equally far from any métro station, and I don't make it over to that part of town very often. But when a friend called me about having a leisurely saturday lunch, I jumped at the oppoprtunity to revisit the restaurant.

A few people commented when I first wrote about Les Papilles a few months back, and I mentioned the "Small portions". Well, I guess I had been there on a day when they handed out menus (it was a weekday), when I had ordered a tartine, an open-faced sandwich that I recall as being not-too-filling for my American-sized appetite.

When I returned for lunch on a saturday, they were offering one menu, which looked great (and since we had no choice), sat in anticipation of a great meal.

This first thing you notice about Les Papilles is the wine, and the place does double-duty as a wine bar. The window has boxes and boxes of bottles of wine stacked neatly, and as you walk in, one side of the restaurant is entirely devoted to wine and a few choice food products, like smoky pimente d'Espillete, chocolate sauce with sour cherries, and chocolate-dipped almonds, that are definately worth trying to pilfer...just kidding, no need to take the risk since they offer a small bowl of them with coffee.

Before you start, the waiter suggests ou choose your own bottle of wine, which arranged by region, and the staff are happy to help. Since it was sunny and brisk outside, and the menu was decidely autumnal, I picked a 2005 Sancerre from Domaine des Quarternons, which was crisp and full-flavored, with a hint of cassonade, or cane sugar. I knew it would be good with our first course, and I wasn't wrong. (It's hard to go wrong with white Sancerre, anyways.)

We started with a velouté of carrots, served with coriander seeds, a creamy quenelle sweetened with honey, and crisp hunks of smoked bacon, which came alongside in an oversized white soup plate. Aside from the slightly-annoying bits of coriander and cumin dust on the side of the plate (why do places that serve nice wine use cumin with such recklessness?) the soup was lovely, and we were able to ladle out ourselves from the tureen the waiter left on our table.

Our main course was a poitrine of pork, a centimeter-thick slab of braised then sautéed pork belly served in a copper casserole in a rich broth with young potatoes, mushrooms, black olives, and dried tomatoes. Off to the side was a brilliant-green dish of pistou, which had the intended effect of lightening up the whole dish, a wise counterpoint to the hearty pork and potatoes.

Afterwards, a small, blue-veined wedge of artisanal Fourme d'Ambert cheese from the Auvergne was brought to the table with a poached prune and a swirl of red wine reduction on the plate, followed by dessert; a glass of panna cotta with Reine Claude plum puree on top, that we both licked clean.

Completely sated, we left Les Papilles completely happy, with the rest of our Sancerre in tow, which the waiter gladly re-corked for us before sending us on our way.

Les Papilles
30, rue Gay-Lassac
RER: Luxembourg
Tél: 01 43 25 20 79

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The Buzz On French Honey

When I take folks into épiceries in Paris, I invariably drag them to the honey aisle. I start explaining how the French love honey, and buy it based on what varietal it is...rather than just stopping in the supermarket and picking up a jar of that vaguely interesting looking syrup that you know is going to leave an annoying sticky ring from the bottom of the jar in your kitchen cabinet that you're going to have to get a damp sponge and clean up, and then when you start cleaning that up you're going to notice that maybe you haven't cleaned your cabinets in a while, and since you have the sponge already in your hand, you start emptying out the cabinet, pulling everything out jars and bottles of everything, etc...etc...(then there goes your morning).

Still, I hope to engage them, get them as excited as I am for honey. But mostly they respond with a somewhat glazed-over look, similar to the look that perhaps I had when I tried to read the road signs to the Miellerie de la Côte des Légendes, in Brittany.

But I love honey and it's become my habit to enjoy a slick spoonful on my morning toast, which I saturated with beurre au sel de mer, or butter with crunchy grains of sea salt, that I buy from the big, golden mound at my cheese shop. So now my job is to convince at least a few of you to give honey another look.

I've fallen so much in love with honey, that I've become a bit of a collector and when I travel, I try to scope out unusual flavors of honey, like Marshall's Pumpkin Blossom honey, collected from hives in the San Francisco Bay Area. When I go to Italy, I bring back jars of tiglio, made from linden flowers. But my absolute favorite honey in the world is collected at the Miellerie de la Côte des Légendes, on the north coast of Brittany.

Last summer I met Martine Prigent, who sells her honey at various outdoor markets in the region and has quite a following. At least at my breakfast table, she does. When we visited for the first time, my friend was raving about her honey, and we made a beeline for her stand. I tasted a few of them, asked a lot of questions in between contented lick-smacking, and bought as many jars as I could schlep (and afford). But they're definitely worth their higher price and when I went back this year, I bought a whole lot more. Enough to get me through to next summer.

Curiously, she offered me a sample of something I'd never had before: honey made from bees which buzzed around the wild thyme flowers in the nearby dunes of Keremma, an ocean-front site under national protection. This particular honey has an unusual graham cracker-y, buttery-nutty quality and one little taste was so scrumptious that she had to close the container to prevent me from double-dipping (je suis très americain!) But boy, was that good, and I'd never had any honey with such a deep, complex, curious flavor, and a few jars went into my shopping basket tout de suite.

Having a particular affinity for very dark, flavorful honey, I gravitate towards flavors like sarrasin (buckwheat) and châtaigner (chestnut). But lest you think all honey's are created equal, I, being hopelessly frugal, picked up a jar of buckwheat honey elsewhere that was super-dark, but less expensive, which I thought would be delicious. But instead, when I opened it, I was hit was a smell that was dank and funky, like the smell of a pair of undies after a rush hour ride in the Paris métro.

And who's into that?

(Well, maybe if they belong to a young page racing through the corridors of congress and you're a Republican congressman from Florida, you might be into that. Then, I guess, it's okay to be into that...as long as you mysteriously check yourself into rehab afterwards, and get the House Speaker to cover for you.)

Can you can see the difference between the two?
The two honeys, I mean.
(Not the difference between the two jars of honey and two back-slapping congressmen). The honey in the back is the ordinaire buckwheat honey, and the one in the front is the superb honey from Martine. Quelle difference! I also like very much châtaigner honey which is so bitter than many people can't eat it plain. I couldn't the first time I sampled it. But drizzle chestnut honey over buttered-toast, or plain yogurt, or vanilla ice cream, and it's instantly palatable. I also like bourdain honey too, which is called 'black alder' to us Anglophones. I'm still not sure what 'black alder' is, but perhaps there's some connection between Anthony Bourdain and something sweet and delicious.
Or something thick and rich. Like Bobby Flay?

Um. Where was I?
Oh yes, here in France, honey is not just eaten for flavor but each variety of honey is reputed to have specific health-giving properties for what ails you. For example, bruyère (heather) honey is said to be good for your urinary tract (no, I'm not obsessed...), lavender honey is taken for respiratory ailments, and chestnut honey is taken to improve circulation. And in case you're a House Speaker making a lot of apologies, sapin, fir-tree honey, is said to be good for your throat, and aubépine is a relaxant.
Just in case any House Speakers happen to be reading this.

(Though I don't know any honey that cures congressmen from lying.)

And what can you do with honey?
Try puddling a bit of it on a creamy, pungent wedge of Roquefort as a sweet counterpoint, or atop a round of fresh goat cheese with some dried fruit or pomegranite seeds. I spoon honey over fruit that destined for the oven. When baked, the honey forms a lovely, syrupy glaze for the warm, delicate fruit. Swirl honey over hot oatmeal and add a bit to a glaze for roast pork. I also like to poach dried apricots in a honey syrup, adding a splash of sweet dessert wine, such as Sauternes or late-harvest Riesling. I serve the honey-rich apricots with my favorite Almond Cake.

So if you happen to find yourself in Brittany near the north coast...and can read a Breton road sign while your French-speaking partner tries to make sense of you frantically try to give directions and mangle incomprehensible Breton words with lots of z's and pl's, like Trégarantec and Plounénour-Trez, it's certainly worth a visit to Martine and her husband, Pascal. They offer weekly tours of their miellerie, just 200 meters from the ocean, which are quite popular (call for availability in off-season). Inhaling the odor of the fresh, breezy, salty air, you can watch them demonstrate collecting honey; scraping the thick beeswax from the hives then separating the delicious syrup from the chunky wax. There's an amazing boutique with floor-to-ceiling shelves stocked with all kinds of honeys and locally-baked spice bread, known as pain d'épice, dark brown and fragrant with various spices and a good dose of honey.

So instead of buying bland honey at the supermarket, why not start trying some of the locally-produced honeys collected in your area?
And believe it or not, I recently discovered that there's even honey collected right here in Paris.

No lie.

Miellerie de la Côte des Légendes
Prat Bian
Plouescat
Tél/Fax: 02 98 69 88 93
(Offers weekly tours on Fridays, and will ship internationally)

Their honey is available at the outdoor markets in Lesneven, Saint-Pol, Saint-Renan, and in season at Roscoff, Plouguerneau, and Plouescat.

You can find a limited selection of honey from the Miellerie de la Côte des Légendes in Paris at:
La Campanella
36, bis rue de Dunkerque
Tél: 01 45 96 08 92

Locally-collected honey in Paris:
Union Nationale de l'Apiculture Francaise
26, rue des Tournelles
Tél: 01 48 87 47 15

In the San Francisco Bay Area, visit Marshall's Honey, which is sold at the Ferry Plaza Farmer's Market, and is collected from bees buzzing around unusual places in the region.

To learn more about honey, two of my friends have written books on the sticky stuff: Covered In Honey by Mani Niall, and Honey: From Flower to Table by Stephanie Rosenbaum, aka the Pie Queen.

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French Chocolate Indulgence On Rue Tatin

I'll soon be joining my friend Susan Loomis in her spectacular kitchen in Normandy, one hour from Paris, for a series of cooking classes November 5th-8th, from her home, On Rue Tatin...

We'll learn cooking tips and techniques from Susan in our hands-on classes and I'll be leading seminars focusing on all aspects of chocolate during special tastings and hands-on demonstrations: you'll learn everything from candymaking to making breakfast treats, and other ways to bake with chocolate in every way imaginable!

Susan is the author of On Rue Tatin, which chronicled her life moving to a village in France, restoring an ancient convent to become her cozy family home. Her other books include The French Farmhouse Cookbook (one of my French cooking bibles), and her latest, Cooking At Home On Rue Tatin.

There are just 2 spaces left for this culinary adventure and you can take advantage of some of the low airfares being offered right now to join us. You'll learn the secrets and techniques of French country cooking in Susan's stunning, professionally-equipped kitchen. Afterwards, we'll gather to dine by the fireplace with wines chosen from Susan's antique cave, and have a chance to savor a selection of Normandy cheeses, considered the finest in the world.

One evening our special guest will be Hervé Lestage, of Feuille de Vigne in Honfleur, who will lead us through a wine tasting, teaching you a new way to taste wine. My first tasting with Hervé changed everything I knew or thought about wine. Hervé is one of the most intriguing people I've met in France and we'll taste amazing wines from his cave which he'll specially select just for us.

As a grand finale to this culinary adventure, you'll have the option to spend a day and me and Susan exploring the gastronomic delights of Paris. We'll begin at an outdoor market, where you'll find an outstanding selection of Provencal olives, hearth-baked breads, artisan salt, raw-milk cheeses, luscious fruits, and sparkling-fresh seafood.
We'll dine in one of our most beloved Parisian bistros...but be sure to save room for all the chocolates we'll sample when we visit my favorite chocolate shops, bakeries and pastry shops in Paris afterwards!

Special Note: For this extra day on November 8th, we've made available 3 spaces available for people who aren't on our tour to join us, so if you live in Paris, or plan to be visiting then, you're welcome to come along! The price for the full-day gastronomic adventure, including lunch with wine, is just 225€. Contact me to reserve a space, using the email link on left.

You can read more about this Three-Day Chocolate Indulgence and at Susan's site, On Rue Tatin.

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La Brocante

In my previous post, a reader commented on the picture of a restaurant that I used, which obviously wasn't the restaurant that I visited (which would be both cool, but very Twilight Zone.) Still, you can't argue with a depiction of a restaurant where every table has a bottle of red wine on it and the parents are blowing cigarette smoke in their kids faces. The picture is called a carte scolaire and they're used in French classrooms to teach les enfants about life in France. The red wine I guess is there to get 'em started early and the kids seem oblivious to their parents puffing away.

How could I resist.

When I was on vacation in August, the weather was decidedly not too fabulous. You know that expression, "Everyone complains about the weather, but no one does anything about it."...well, we all complained about the heat wave, so something was done about it--August was cold and wet. And to top it off, I was on vacation along with the rest of Paris. So what do you do when the weather stinks and you're out in the countryside?

You visit the flea markets.
There's lots of brocantes in France, but the best bargains are when you find a vide grenier, which literally means 'empty attic', and that's what people do. While they hold them in Paris, the ones in the distant countryside, far from the scavenging Parisian antiquaires, are where you can get some good finds.

I like the pick through boxes of things, since they can yield unexpected treasures like old gratin dishes and terrines, but unfortunately, I've yet to come across any old Charo or Barry Manilow records. Have these people no taste?

Fotunately there are reassuring signs of the invasion of American pop culture, and this home-version of The Price Is Right caught my eye, but I eventually passed since "David Lebovitz...Come on down!" somehow sounds more fun than "Allez-y, Monsieur Lebovitz!"

Les brocanteurs (and brocanteuses?) here drive a very hard bargain and it's tough negotiating...especially when they get a whiff of my American accent. So I try to be discreet and just hold up an object nonchalantly, trying not to smile. My rack of gleaming-white American teeth and upbeat enthusiasm are always a dead give-away. Sometimes I try to get my French dude to ask the price, but he always winds up talking to the seller for 20 minutes, and I just want to cut my losses and run, thinking I'm missing out on the elusive Saarinen table basse at the next stand that I've been searching for, or some really cool antique chocolate molds that I'll buy in anticipation of using, but which will eventually get rusty sitting on the shelf, and I'll eventually sell myself at a future vide grenier.

Curiously if you decide you don't want something, each and every time you put it back down, the vendor will respond 100% of the time with, "C'est pas cher!", or "It's not expensive!" For some reason, it's difficult for them to fathom the connection between the fact you're not buying it with the fact that, yes, it is indeed trop cher.

Whenever I vacation in Brittany, I always end up eating way too many buckwheat galettes and crêpes, drinking too many bowls of cider, and eating way, way too many of those buttery Breton pastries (which I plan a round-up of in the near future.) Luckily there was only one sunny day that I had to don the 'ol Speed-o (thank God...) for a dip in the Atlantic, but I did find a diet book to help me shed those unwanted kilos.

Aside from all the plastic children's toys (a hazard of any vide grenier or tag sale), the most appealing things I found were these cartes scolaires, with depictions of of everyday scenarios in French life...

Here you can see the salt marshes where fleur de sel is harvested from the nearby Guérande...

.

You can find a comprehesive list of all brocantes across France in the monthly magazine Aladin, available at well-stocked newstands across France. The best way to find out when vide greniersand braderies are is to ask the locals or check for signs, which tend to get plastered everywhere about a week before.
And If you see a Knoll coffee table, or say, a Barry Manilow record, would you mind leaving them for me?

Especially if they're "pas trop cher".

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Le Severo

I don't do restaurant reviews very often here, simply because there's so few good places to eat in Paris.

Okay, I just had to say that since it's been a while since I got hostile comments in French, which incidentially is good for my language skills. So yes, there's lots of good food in Paris, but sometimes you have to travel to the outer neighborhoods to find the gems. But speaking of hostile comments, what about all those people coming at me right-and-left about having Barry Manilow on my Pandora list?
Gimme a break. Frederick wanted to hear a little bit of Mandy recently...so who am I to refuse?

But this week I had an excellent meal at Le Severo with some other friends at a little petit coin of a restaurant, a schlep from wherever you are in Paris, in the 14th arrondisement. There's only 10 or so simple tables and a lone cook in the open kitchen who presides over the dining room. An old zinc bar acts as a catch-all for bottles of water, wine carafes, and a big container of fleur de sel...which was a good omen.

One entire wall of Le Severo is a chalk-written wine list and menu. Notice I said 'wine list' first. That's because three-and-a half lengthy columns are up there, listing all sorts of wine, heavy on the reds. Somewhere in the midst of it all lurks a terse menu, and it's almost all about beef: steaks, Côte de Boeuf, Lyonnais Sausages, and Foie de Veau. First courses range from a salade Caprese, (a dish you shouldn't order outside of Italy) and a salad with goat cheese. But the real star here is le meat, so we started with a platter of glistening slices of cured jambon artisanal, which isn't really beef but I'm too revved up to go back and change that, and it came with a too-huge slab of yellow, ultra-buttery butter (which is the only way I could describe it...it was really, really buttery...I don't want to change that either) which we slathered on the bread, from the organic bakery, Moisan, then draped our slices with the ham. We then gobbled 'em down.
Delicious.

The other starter was a Terrine de pot au feu. Pot au feu is the French equivalent of a boiled-beef supper, complete with vegetables and broth. When done right, it's excellent, and at Le Severo, my hunch paid off. The terrine featured cubed, boiled beef parts, tender and neatly diced, loosely held in place with a light, jellied beef broth.

Since it's rather warm and humid here in Paris right now, I chose a bottle of Fleurie, which was an overwhelming task considering the size and scope of the wine list. But the prices were gentle enough to encourage experimentation and the list is full of curious wines, so I think whatever you chose would be the right choice. The Fleurie was light, upbeat, and fruity...yet sturdy enough to stand up to a slab of beef.
Kinda like how light and fruity superstars always stood up to their detractors, like Barry Manil....oh, never mind.

Anyhow, our steaks arrived flawlessly cooked.
The French love their beef bleu, practically raw. But I like mine rare to medium-rare, or saignant so you need to beware since somehow overcooked meat-loving Americans ruined things for the rest of us by insisting their meats be well-cooked, and sometimes French cooks overdo it a little to avoid potential American freak-outs. The chef-jacketed owner William Bernet, who is the singular server, assured me I'd be happy with saignant, and when he brought my faux filet, the rosy, juicy slices were indeed cooked just to the lower edge of my desired point of tenderness. To the side, my steak was accompanied by very, very good house-made French Fries, which have become as rare in Paris as a quiet evening by the fire listening to Barry Manilow with someone as wonderful as Fre...oh, never mind.

My only fault was that the fries could have spent an extra 48 seconds in the deep-fryer to get that deep-golden crust that everyone loves but cooks seem to have trouble attaining around here, a fault I find in too many restos in France. Does anyone really like undercooked French fries? But I didn't need to reach for that container of fleur de sel at all during dinner; everything was salted just-right. That to me, is the sign of a great cook, and a great restaurant. If you can't salt food properly, you should find another line of work. I mean, look what Charo did, after Xavier Cugat died. Do you think that girl just sat around on her duff? No sir-ee. She cuchi!-cuchi!'d her way onto The Love Boat as April Lopez and found fame, fortune, and happiness sailing the high seas.

I was able to talk my companions, who just moved here from Rome and were delighted to chow down on good, honest French cooking, into splitting a cushiony-round disk of St. Marcellin cheese, which was roll-you-eyes-back-in-your-head amazing. I had a simple Creme Caramel, which arrived properly ice-cold and floating in a slick of dreamy burnt sugar sauce. And because they were eating cheese, I didn't have to share one bite of it (Ha! My strategy worked.) My friends then had a Mousse au Chocolat, which they liked, but they were not as conniving as me and shared a bit, but I felt it could've used a wallop of more chocolate flavor, but that's how I am about chocolate desserts. The espresso served after dinner was quite good, and living in France, I've gained a new appreciation for Illy café, which is all but impossible to ruin. (Insert hostile French comments here.)

First courses at Le Severo are in the 10€ range, while main courses were priced 15 to 25€. The hefty Côte de Boeuf, which they'll prepare for 2 or 3 people, is 30€ per person and I'm going to have it on my next visit.

On the métro home after dinner, it suddenly dawned on my that my dining companions were macrobiotic. So if macrobiotic people can enjoy a beef restaurant like Le Severo, you can imagine how happy it makes us carnivores.

Le Severo
8, rue des Plantes
M: Mouton Duvernet
Tél: 01 45 40 40 91

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My Hero, Henri Le Roux

While I know that many of you reading this blog are desperately searching for information on Tucker Carlson, so call me a lousy blogger as I beg your indulgence while I introduce you to someone who I consider if far more interesting and important (and judging from the comments, better-liked): Henri Le Roux.

If you don't know who Henri Le Roux is, it's time that you did.

There's a lot of very talented chocolatiers and pastry chefs in France. Some are quite famous, and some just go to work everyday and do their jobs well. A few have rather large egos, others are more humble, preferring the lights of the kitchen to the ones in the television studio. (I was at a recent event with another food blogger who correctly noted that all the famous chefs mostly talk about is one thing: Themselves.) But if you mention the name 'Henri Le Roux' to any chocolatier or confiseur in France, they stand silent for a moment. Then nod agreeably. He is perhaps the most respected and admired pastry chef and candymaker I know.

I first met Monsieur Le Roux when I went to the Salon du Chocolat in Paris with my Thierry Lallet, who has an excellent (and highly-recommended) chocolate shop in Bordeaux, Saunion, one of the best in France.

Before that day, I thought that caramels were caramels, and until that point, I'd tasted so many things in my life that there was little left that would deeply impress me. M. Le Roux is a very kind man, who basically changed the way pastry chefs, glaciers, and bakers everywhere think about caramel: he created caramel-buerre-salé (caramel-salt-butter), which he simply calls C.B.S.
And they are truly divine.

Henri Le Roux, whose Breton father was a pastry chef (and lived in New York for 5 years, cooking at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel) started making caramels in the seaside town of Quiberon in 1976, located at the tip of a dramatic peninsula in the south of Brittany, where the best butter in the world is found (the first chapter in his book, is called "Le Rideau de Beurre", or "The Curtain of Butter". He decided to open there, selling cakes, candies, and ice creams. But like warm, buttery caramel, word of his candies spread and he stopped making cakes and tartes to concentrate all his energy on candymaking. Just 3 years later, in 1908, M. Le Roux won the award for the best candy in France, Le Meilleur Bonbon de France at the Salon International de la Confiserie in Paris.

Salted-Caramel Buckwheat Florentines just-slathered in bittersweet chocolate

M. Le Roux was kind enough to let me explore his workshop with him when I paid a visit during my August vacation in Brittany. As he raced from room to room, he flipped open bins of almonds from Provence or hazelnuts from Turkey to give me a sample, later showing me how he grinds his own fresh nut pastes in his broyeuse with massive granite rollers which keep cool, while metal rollers would heat the nuts too much, losing some of the flavor. And a rarity in the pastry field nowadays, M. Le Roux uses true bitter almonds in his almond paste, which he sources from the Mediterranean. Almond extract is made from bitter almonds, even in America, but they're hardly used anymore since they're difficult to find (and those pesky toxicity issues.) But in the land sans lawsuits, M. Le Roux makes that effort and blends a few into his freshly-pressed almond paste which tastes like none other I've tasted in France.

Exceptional chocolates from Henri Le Roux, which were too good not to eat right away

I like to ask chocolatiers which chocolate they use.
Most are secretive, but M. Le Roux led me into a cool room packed floor to ceiling with boxes of various chocolates he gets from all over France and Belgium. He tore into them, breaking off chunks for me to taste and explaining how he uses some of each, blending them as he wishes to get the desired tastes he's after. Valrhona and Barry-Callebaut are used, but he also sources chocolate from François Pralus, an artisan chocolate-maker located in Roanne, just outside of Lyon, who specializes in single-origin chocolates, as well.

I wanted to describe each and every chocolate in the box, but decided that that would constitute cruel and unusual punishment. (Actually, I ate them all and didn't feel like writing down what tasted as I was eating as I went. As mentioned, I'm a lousy blogger.) But I remember Harem, a filling of green tea and fresh mint, Sarrasine, infused with blé noir (buckwheat), and Yannick, blended dark cane sugar, salted butter and ground crêpes dentelle, hyper-thin, crackly lace cookies ground to a crunchy paste.

Oh yes, there's C.B.S. too, nutty salted-butter caramel enrobed in dark chocolate as well, which was my favorite.

Le Roux
18, rue de Pont Maria
56170 Quiberon, France

(Will ship internationally.)

Henri Le Roux's caramels and chocolates are available in Paris at:

A l'Etoile d'Or
30, rue Fontaine
Tél: 01 48 74 59 55
M: Blanche

M. Le Roux will also be at the Salon du Chocolat in Paris which takes place October 28-November 1st, 2006.

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Fleur de Sel de Guérande

There's been a lot of discussion lately on what is the best salt in the world. There's lots of opinions, tastings, and scientific studies floating around.
But I'm here to tell you, my absolute favorite salt is Fleur de Sel de Guérande.

And I think there's no finer salt in the world.

When I was invited to visit the salt marshes and learn to rake the highly-prized, precious crystals of fleur de sel, I decided that the Guérande, in Brittany, would make the perfect place to begin my August vacation. Brittany is a rugged part of France that faces the Atlantic and is unspoiled by tourists. The coastline is gorgeous: large rock formations are piled everywhere, giving one many opportunities to ascend the boulders and enjoy the magnificent views in all directions. The ocean was a bit too cold for me to swim in, but Bretons have no trouble diving right in.

(Trust me, it's freezing cold, which meant no swimming at the beach for me...especially the naturist beaches!)

But there's also lots of buckwheat crêpes and sparkling apple cider to keep your spirits up as well, just in case you get stuck in one of the rainstorms, as I often did. And although the Guérande lies in the south of the region, and in spite of Breton flags everywhere, I was curiously told by the locals that the Guérande was actually part of the Loire-Atlantique, not Brittany.
Like the numbered roadway signs that lead to nowhere (locals told us not to follow the signs since they're wrong), and in spite of the magnificent Michelin maps, driving in France provides its fair-share of frustrations.

Still, we managed to make it, and by the time we arrived I was ready to throttle someone. Yet looking out over the marshes did indeed have a calming effect—perhaps they can build a salt marsh in Paris, visible from my apartment?

These are the salt marshes of the Guérande, les œillets.
They're so prominent, that they're visible on the Michelin maps of France, although when I got home and tried to look on Google maps, viewing the region was prohibited. Perhaps there's a military installation nearby, since it's on the coast. The exceptional salt from the Guérande is justifiably famous since it tastes like no other salt in the world. Although the words 'fleur de sel' have been bantered around and used as marketing tools for many salts being promoted (nowadays you find salts labeled as such from Portugal, Italy, and elsewhere) nowhere else on earth does the salt have the same fine flavor and delicate crystals of Fleur de Sel de Guérande.

Continue reading "Fleur de Sel de Guérande" »

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Vert d'Absinthe: Absinthe in Paris

Paris is always full of little surprises, like any major city. It's always fun to poke around and find something new and unusual. And there's plenty of the unusual in a big city like Paris, as I often report. I think of Paris as a big village, full of colorful characters with lots of stories to tell and unusual offerings. And getting the know the people in your neighborhood, especially the vendors selling fine foods and drink, can be especially rewarding since often if you stay for a while and talk to them, there's always something fascinating to learn.

...and, of course, taste!

I've been meaning to take you to visit one on my favorite shops in Paris for quite a while: Vert d'Absinthe. This little shop is located in the Marais, but a bit removed from the busy tourist streets, just off the Place St. Catherine. Owner Luc-Santiago Rodriguez tells me his shop was the first boutique anywhere dedicated just for the purpose of selling absinthe, that wickedly suspicious elixir that's recently been getting a lot of attention lately.

Although the drink was originally produced as a cure-all medical tonic in 1792, Absinthe became a rather popular drink amongst Parisians in the late 1800's, mainly with hedonists living in Montmarte who would sip it in cafés and clubs, like Le Moulin Rouge, before it was ultimately banned by the French government in 1915.

Although experts are as unclear as a cloudy glass of absinthe on exactly why it was banned, the most colorful theory was that people went mad drinking absinthe due to the rotten wormwood used to make the drink. It was dubbed le fé'e verte or 'the green fairy', since it was said to inspire hallucinations as well.

(Absinthe was banned in the US in 1912, and so far, it's still technically illegal to import into the US.)

But nowadays, most people, including Luc-Santiago, agree that the powerful French wine industry at the time was upset that people, especially the artsy bohemians who lived in the north of Paris, were drinking cheap, hi-test absinthe (at 70% alcohol) instead of pricey wine (around 12% alcohol), in an attempt to get a better buzz for their buck. Since the French wine industry had suffered a severe set-back from the phylloxera infestation which killed most of the grapevines in France, the price of wine had gone up enormously. So it's thought that the wine industry pressured the French government to put the kabosh on absinthe production.
And that was that.

In 1988 absinthe made a comeback and the French government once again made it legal to sell and drink the anise-scented exilir, absinthe attaining a bit of a cult status in the process. With all the ceremony of pouring something previously forbidden in a fancy glass, pouring water over a sugar cube to make it cloudy (called louching), then slowly sipping it while staring into space in a deserted café...how could anyone not be entranced by the romance of absinthe?

If you come to France and want to try or purchase absinthe, be aware that not all drinks that look and sound like absinthe are indeed absinthe. You'll come across 'absente' (missing the 'h'), which has a bleary picture of Van Gogh on the packaging (it was said he went mad drinking absinthe and cut off his ear because of it, which to me is a rather iffy marketing move), but these impostors use a wormwood that's different than the variety of wormwood (artemisia absinthium) used in true absinthe.

The wormwood used to make true absinthe contains thujone, the most important compound in real absinthe.

Anyone interested in absinthe should make the trip to visit Luc-Santiago's little shop Vert d'Absinthe, where 25 different kinds of absinthe are stocked. All are French except for one, which is made in Switzerland, and most of the French absinthe varieties are made near the Swiss border. Monsieur Rodriguez stocks all the proper paraphernalia for properly preparing and drinking a glass of absinthe, from vintage to contemporary; spoons, glasses, fontaines, and, of course, the bottles themselves.

And perhaps you'll get a demonstration and a taste-test. Although drinking absinthe French-style means louching the drink by pouring water over a sugar cube through the special spoon before it clouds up the absinthe, the more flamboyant Czech-style method involves lighting the cube of sugar dramatically on fire, which I've yet to see him do.

Vert d'Absinthe
11 rue d'Ormesson
Paris
Tél: 01 42 71 69 73
Open daily, from 11am to 8pm (closed Monday)

(Although absinthe is technically illegal in the United States, a source for online ordering is eAbsinthe, who ships internationally.)

Heather at Secrets of Paris notes a few unusual places for les amis of absinthe in, or near, Paris:

"The Hotel Royal Fromentin (11 rue Fromentin, Paris, tel. 01 42 81 02 33) serves absinthe at their historic bar, a former cabaret at the foot of Montmartre. Visit in the evening for a presentation by the staff of the history of Absinthe.

The Musée de l'Absinthe (44 rue Alphonse Calle, 95430 Auvers-sur-Oise, tel. 01 30 36 83 26, about fifteen minutes outside Paris) is open on the weekends and holidays and sports all sorts of memorabilia and paraphernalia from absinthe's heyday. Take the train from the Gare du Nord."

For more information about absinthe on the web, here are some interesting articles and sites to read and learn more:

Matt Bites: Here's Your Bottle

Absinthe Online: Liquors de France

Chubby Hubby: The Green Fairy

Accidental Hedonist: Of Poets, Absinthe and Coffee

In Absinthia

The Wormwood Society

La Fée Verte

Absinthe: The Myth and The Reality

Cantada: One of the few bars in Paris to serve a wide selection of absinthes.

Coming Soon: A dessert with absinthe?...

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Currants? Oui, Currents? Non

I am a bad food blogger.
I mean, who would post a picture like this?

The most successful and popular food blogs start with a clever idea or beautiful image, and generally follow it with a witty or an emotionally-involving story behind it all.

Instead I'm posting this picture of the room where was to spend the entire weekend locked inside, which was to be my private retreat. Think Edvard Munch and The Scream, and I think you get the idea of my internal torment.

Last week I had left Paris to work on my next book, since it's impossible to get anything done around here with all the caramels, chocolates, and glasses of red wine interrupting all the time. So off I went to the countryside for the weekend, armed with my laptop, some paperwork, too-little chocolate (which I later discovered, in a panic) and a good book.

So I arrive, start unpacking, and Merde!, I forgot my powercord! No electricity, except for the few hours on my battery, which luckily was new enough to get my through the first day. Since I'm two hours from anywhere civilized, and the hope of finding an Apple retailer is undeniably nil (although there is a nice egg farm & retailer next door) I was stuck doing nothing but reading and baking all weekend. So when you buy my next book, and find the last third of it blank, you'll know why.

But all was not lost, since the house was surrounded by red currant bushes and the branches were loaded with tiny red berries, I spent a good portion of the weekend picking the little red orbs, relieving the branches of the tiny clusters of gorgeous little fruits.

And as I greedily filling my mouth with the puckery berries, I was overcome with a feeling of having to bake something. So all was not lost, and bake something I did!

For dessert the first night, I made a terrific Rhubarb and Red Currant Crisp with Polenta Topping. I sliced rhubarb into little pieces (about 8 cups), tossed it with some sugar (about 1/2 cup), some flour (about 3 tablespoons), a vanilla bean, and a few big handfuls of freshly-picked red currants, and voila, we had dessert practically right from the garden. Except for the sugar and vanilla and flour, although the house was surrounded by wheat fields, which was too green to pick and mill into flour. And besides, I'm not thatcrazy. Although I did go picked some wheat and cracked it open, but it was too fresh and I'll sadly have to wait a few more weeks.

Aside from red currants, there were black currants (cassis) too, but they weren't quite ripe. But the white currants were sweet and lovely but too precious to cook with, so I enjoyed them right off the branches. And next time you, or anyone around you, complains about the price of a basket of berries, go outside and pick a few hundred red currants and tell me what you think each basket is worth.
There's a few running debates about the price of locally-produced, hand-picked berries, but you're welcome to post comments here. And if you feel like picking any red and black currants, we're heading back in a few weeks and could use a few extra hands.
(Warning: The pay stinks, but the rewards are delicious.)

Oddly enough, last year I saw a few baskets of white currants in my local convenience store. (You know, the kind of place where you can buy milk or butter or wine on dimanche if you urgently run out.) In their tiny, miserable produce section, just next to the shriveled carrots and brown, wilted lettuce (who buys that?), there were three baskets of plump white currants, so I made a mental note that if it's ever a Sunday and I need some white currants in an emergency, I'd know exactly where I could get some. But finding a powercord in an emergency?...c'est pas possible.

No, the grapes weren't quite ripe for picking yet...

But the egg farm nearby had lots of fresh eggs, so I made a Tortilla Española with bacon, and pomme de ratte potatoes, which everyone tries to tell me are called 'fingerling' potatoes in America, but I don't think they're the same thing, since I've never tasted any potatoes in the states that were as good as these. But if anyone out there can define what exactly is a fingerling potato, please let me know. Is it just any tiny potato?

So since this is summer, I'm becoming obsessed with making a lot of fruit crisps (instead of earning a living). One of my favorite ways to top them, and to ensure they live up to their crispy moniker, is to make a topping with polenta, coarsely-ground cornmeal. It can be difficult to find in Paris, and although instant-polenta is available, I bought it once...and that was one time too many. (C'mon folks, we're friggin' right next door to Italy!) But I was happy a few years back to find a good source for coarse polenta at the Arab markets that I like to prowl through, which they stock in abundance.

Fruit crisps are perhaps the best and easiest of desserts to make during the summer, when all the great fruits and berries are at their peak. They're incredibly easy to put together if you're anything like me and keep a bag of Polenta Crisp Topping in the freezer, so you can make one at a moment's notice. In general, I find that 2 to 4 tablespoons of sugar, and 1 tablespoon of flour, plus a dash of vanilla is just about right for almost any mix of fruits and berries. Mix it all together and put it in a 2-quart baking dish. Cover with crisp topping and bake in a moderate oven until the fruit is bubbling and the top is crispy and nicely-browned.

If using plums or apricots, double the amount of sugar, since they get rather tangy once baked. Although I used rhubarb and red currants in mine, you can use any mixture of peaches, nectarines, apricots, cherries, and plums. Add a few raspberries or blackberries as well. Although I wouldn't necessarily use white currants, you're certainly welcome to. But if it's Sunday and you're fresh out, go check at your corner store to see if they have any in stock.
There's something nice about living in a country where it's impossible to find a powercord in an emergency, but white currants are available whenever you need them. Talk about priorities!

(More pictures from the country are on my Flickr page.)

Polenta Crisp Topping

Enough for about 8 cups of fruit filling

3/4 cup (105 g) flour
2/3 cup (90 g) polenta
1/2 cup (55 g) almonds or walnuts, lightly toasted
1/2 cup (110 g) firmly packed light brown or cassonade sugar
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
8 tablespoons (115 g) salted butter (chilled), cut into 1/2-inch pieces

Put the flour, polenta, almonds or walnuts, brown sugar, and cinnamon in the bowl of a food processor. Pulse a couple of times to mix everything together.

Add the chilled butter pieces and pulse until the butter is finely broken up. Continue to pulse until the crispy topping no longer looks sandy is just beginning to hold together.

If you don't have a food processor, chop the nuts finely with a chef's knife then work the butter in with your hands or use a pastry blender.

Storage: Topping can be made in advance and stored in the refrigerator for up to 5 days. Can also be frozen in a zip-top bag for up to one month.

Recipe Adapted From: Ripe For Dessert.

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The Rules: Bringing Food Home From France

"Can I bring it back?"

Answering many of the questions visitors have about what's allowable to be brought back into the United States (legally), here's an excellent article from Janet Fletcher in the San Francisco Chronicle with the facts that tell you what foods can, and can't, be brought back home from your trip abroad.

For more tips and news, Think Twice Before Stuffing Your Suitcase, which offers additional information.

Good reading before your next trip!

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Favorite Paris Restaurants

Here are some of my favorite places to eat in Paris. This is not an exhaustive list, and I've mentioned many of my other top picks here on the site, so you can use the search engine to find them. And there's others on My Paris page here as well.
I don't normally write up restaurants that I eat at here on the site since, to be honest, when I go out, I'd rather just enjoy the experience and not think about what I'm going to write about as I'm eating, setting up a tripod and taking pictures, and they giving you a play-by-play retelling of what-course-came-after-what-course.

(Actually, the truth is, we're all usually having too much wine and too much fun to remember much, other than if I had a good time or not. I'd make a lousy restaurant reviewer.)

Several of these are also not fancy places. Sure, many people come to Paris for fine-dining, and you can find many of those addresses floating around guidebooks and online. But sometimes you just want a big plate of vegetable salads instead of half a carrot garnished by a shredded basil leaf with a dot of saffron sauce. I've included a few stand-by, reliably decent restaurants in case you happen to be in Paris on a Sunday, when many places are closed.

If you have some favorite places that you'd like to share, I'd love to hear about them since I'm always looking for new places to try and I'm sure others would too.
Feel free to leave your dining suggestions in the Comment area.

Before you start, here's a few tips when dining in Paris:

• It's always a good idea to reserve a table. Even if you arrive and the place is virtually empty, they like to know you're coming and you'll get a warmer welcome. Unlike the US, often you can call most restaurants that afternoon and get in easily. Hot restaurants, or ones that are fancier, you should call about a week in advance, or longer. Don't bother using email links on most restaurant's websites here since you're unlikely to get a response.

• Don't be embarrased to order wine or water by the carafe. You probably think you'll feel like a cheapskate...but get over it. If you look around, most of the Parisians are doing the same thing. And yes, the water is safe to drink in Paris. Why do people keep asking that?

• Adding a tip is not required, but in spite of what you hear, most people leave a little extra for good service. If the check is 28€, you could leave 30€ if you were pleased. Or if your meal is 95€, you could leave 100€. But remember that it's not required and if they don't bring you back your change, request it. I've had a few places pull that one (in Paris and in the US.) It's rude and presumptuous.

• LIke anywhere in France, always say Bonjour or Bonsoir when entering a restaurant, and when you leave, say Merci. Preferably add a Monseiur or Madame along with it.

• Many restaurants have 'deals' at lunch, or fix-price menus that are often a bargain. Some have them at dinner as well, and they're generally a good value.

• Please, do not bring out your hand sanitizer at the table. Do your grooming in the bathroom.

• No one has doggie bags, so don't even ask. (Although a friend of mine showed some cleavage and got one. Once.)

• No one has ice, so don't even ask. (Ok, well, you might get one or two. Wear something low-cut if you plan to ask.)

Rôtisserie Beaujolais 19 quai des Tournelles, tel 01 43 54 17 47. Grilled and spit roasted meats, and typical French fare. In the 5th. Avoid seats just next to the opening to the oven...it's très hot and they like to stick out-of-towners there, who they think won't complain. But I do since they invariably lead me to it. Open Sunday night.

Chez René 14, blvd St. Germain. Tel 01 43 54 30 23. Great French classics. The best Coq au Vin in town, with a sauce as smooth as velvet. If you don't order the fix-priced menu, be prepared for a lot of food. It's quite an experience and the cheese plate(s) is/are insane. Dinner menu, approximately 40€. In the 5th. You didn't hear it from me, but there's a clear brandy digestive hidden behind the bar...with a snake in it!

Cuisine de Bar 8, rue Cherche-Midi (M: Sevres-Babylon), tel 01 45 48 45 69, in the 6th. Open-faced tartines, or sandwiches, served on pain Poilâne, the famed bakery next door. Order the 12€ formule with a salad, tartine (I like the one with sardines and flakes of sea salt, or poulet with anchovies), a glass of wine or bottle of water, café and a spiced cookie. Very casual yet chic. And friendly. No reservations...lunch only. If the wait it long, they'll often pour you a welcome glass of wine.

L'As du Falafel On 34, rue des Rosiers in the Marais (M: St. Paul), closed Friday night and Saturday for the Jewish holidays. The best falafel anywhere! Join the crowd clamoring at the window. A dive & definitely a must...decent frites as well. One dining room is non-smoking. No reservations.

For something vegetable-oriented, Chez Marianne in the Marais at 2, rue des Hospitalieres St. Gervais, tel 01 42 72 18 86. Come here for decent Mediterranean salads. You choose a combination plate of 4, 5, or 6 salads. This is a good address to know about if you're craving something without a lot of meat. Perfect with a bottle of house rosé. Approximately 20€. Reserve, or wait for eternity. Can be a bit smoky, but open every day and night.

Chez Omar is one of my favorite restaurants in town. Specialties are couscous and they have excellent steak and French fries as well, but I always have the roasted lamb, or méchoui d'agneau. Very lively, no reservations. Open daily for lunch and dinner, as well as Sundays. If you go for dinner, be prepared for a wait after 8:30pm. Don't let any Parisians cut in front of you! A simple shove with your shoulder, followed by a very apologetic "Oops! Pardon" is usually all it take to get them to recede. Do it firm enough and you'll only need to do it once. Trust me. Moderate prices, which do seem to keep climbing each time I go. In the 3rd, at 47 rue de Bretagne. (M: Temple or Arts and Metiers)

Another great couscous place that's less-hectic is L'Atlas, with fine Moroccan food. Feathery light couscous and savory tagines. Skip the first courses. Not fancy nor too pricey considering the fine food and gracious service. DIne in the lovely tiled dining room, or outside in fine weather. Located at 12, St. Germaine des Pres. Vegetarians will love the large selection of seafood tagines. Tel 01 44 07 23 66 (M: Maubert-Mutualité), in the 5th.

Bistrot Paul Bert 18, rue Paul Bert, tel 01 43 72 24 01 (M: Faidherbe-Chaligny) Out of the way, but definately worth going to. I love this restaurant. Some of the best desserts in Paris too. Offers a 3-course fixed menu for 32€. In the 12th.

Les Papilles 30 rue Gay-Lussac, tel 01 43 25 20 79. Wine bar and light, 'market-fresh' food. Menu approximately 30€. In the 5th. Small portions, but cheerful staff. (Update: Follow link...I stand corrected about portion sizes!)

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