For the first five years in Paris, I wouldn't go to Scoop. I'd walk by, scan the selections of hamburgers and "les wraps", and keep going. Even though I was intrigued with the list of house-made ice creams, I'd always reason to myself, "I didn't move to Paris to eat a hamburger."

I was reading recently about a site called My American Market that carries American foods, mostly targeted at expats living in France. There's some hard-to-find baking products, like unsweetened chocolate and molasses, but there's also plenty of goofy stuff, like muffin mixes, trail bars, and something called Molly McButter.

The other night I was sitting at Le Garde Robe, minding my own business, trying to get down a glass of natural wine. Being seven o'clock, naturally, in addition to being thirsty, I was starving, too.

And the lack of food (and sulfides) must have started affecting my brain because I started thinking about how I often hear tales from visitors, such as when they told a Parisian waiter they didn't eat meat and shortly afterward, were presented with a plate of lamb. Or they ordered a salad, that was supposed to come with the sandwich, and was actually just a single leaf of lettuce. Hoo-boy, and yes, I've made a few gaffes of my own, too: I once ordered a glass of Lillet (pronounced le lait, which isn't well-known around Paris) and the perplexed café waiter brought me out a long, slender glass of le lait (milk), presented with great panache, on a silver dish with a nice doily. Of course, everyone was staring at the grown man who ordered a tall glass of milk. And I don't think it was because of the starched doily.

Anyhow, I was scanning the chalkboard at Le Garde Robe, looking at the various charcuterie and cheese on offer, and noticed filet mignon, and thought, "A steak is a funny thing for a wine bar to serve, especially one that doesn't serve hot food." Until I remembered what it is in French. And if everyone wasn't already staring at the idiot at the wine bar, nursing a stemmed glass of milk, I would've kicked myself for thinking that's a big, juicy steak. Which it's not, in France.

1. Mixing Up the Mignons

Mignon in French means "cute". And to my pork-loving friends and readers, that can only mean one thing: pigs. French people think cows are attractive.

There's a new girl in town. And she owns a small crêperie which has been getting lots of good press in the food magazines, in spite what some might feel is a relatively obscure address.

To me, though, it's not all that obscure because I go over there all the time, as it's located near one of my favorite buildings in Paris, which I keep walking by thinking that one fine, lucky day, there will be a A Vendre (or A Louer) sign up so I can move into one of the fabulous retro apartments. (And as a bonus, I could have fresh crêpes whenever I want.)

I kept meaning to ask owner and crêpe-maker Sophie Le Floc'h how she came up with the name West Country Girl for her French crêperie, located in the nondescript passage Saint Ambroise. But it's an address I'm happy to travel to, even if I wasn't apartment-hunting, because she's a true Bretonne and really know how to fry up a crêpe.

She offers a number of crêpes and buckwheat galettes, and like her, I prefer the simpler ones.

Recently I ate at one of those small neighborhood restaurants whose fame spreads beyond the quartier and people come from other neighborhoods, as well as from other countries, to eat at because it is très reputé.

Le Repaire de Cartouche (99 rue Amelot) is one of those restaurants in Paris. It's known for very good food and an especially compelling wine list. The prices aren't too high (although not too low, either) and you can eat very well without spending the equivalent of a three-star restaurant.

Almost immediately after we sat done, something seemed up. Within moments of handing us our menus, the waiter asked if we were ready to order. I was with Maria Helm Sinskey, a well-regarded chef from the Bay Area and co-owner of a vineyard, with her husband. I'd chosen the restaurant because they're known for excellent game dishes and I figured it was something she couldn't easily get back in the states.

As she pondered the wine list, the waiter told us we had to order our meal before we could order wine. When we said we needed a moment to scan the interesting wine list, he quickly turned and scampered away in a huff.

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.

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.

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'm not much for trendy restaurants. And I don't really care for chefs that are trying to show-off, especially when they don't have les bourses to pull it off. I recall a particularly alarming meal...and the bill, at the end of it...at a very, very expensive restaurant where I was presented with half of a caramelized shallot which arrived in front of me with a blitz of fanfare, on a plate the size of a hula-hoop.

I took a bite and it was good, but for what it cost, I wanted at least the other half. And look, I worked at a restaurant where nothing was held in higher esteem than a perfect, unblemished peach, so I don't think it's wrong to present food or ingredients simply. I just have a hard time swallowing a €55 bowl of tomato soup.

Three of the hottest, most sought-after tables in Paris are lorded over by les américains. A few are part of the "underground" dining scene, which seems to be a global phenomenon, another is a one-man show (for now), and the forth is a cozy little resto located in a back alley where a French chef, who trained mostly in America, is combining the best of both cultures.

Hidden Kitchen

When two young cooks moved to Paris from Seattle, they began hosting dinner parties in their apartment, which was stark and nowhere near as sumptuous as their current digs. I can't tell you where it is, but once you reserve, you'll be in the know soon enough.

Hidden Kitchen is now in a more luxe location and the open kitchen overlooks the dining table where a multi-course dinner is served, and ten courses isn't unusual. The chefs head to the market beforehand to scope out what's fresh, so you won't know what's on the all-inclusive menu until you arrive.

But the courses are small, impeccably fresh, and inventive. So you won't leave feeling overstuffed. And multiple wines are poured to compliment the food. They're booked months in advance, naturally, but you can also follow them on Twitter, where they post last-minute cancellations, if you want to be in-the-know.

Chien Lunatique

One of my most frequently asked questions is: "Hey David, do you know those two guys from Chez Panisse who...." and I cut them off right about there and finish the sentence for them, since I know what's coming.

I'm a big fan of wine bars. Not only because there's nothing more I'd rather do than work my way through a large list of wines available to sip by the glass or pot, but because they're some of the most enjoyable places to eat in Paris.

And with summer coming up, bringing warm weather and longer, lazier days, I find I'm more interested in eating simply, preferring to snack on interesting cheeses or share a slab of pâté, a mound of unashamedly fat-rich rillettes, and slices of chorizo and saucissons, accompanied by a nice glass of Sauvignon blanc or a cool, fruity-red Brouilly.

Le Baron Rouge is one of my favorites. With the wines on offer, you can make a more than decent meal with a large or small platter composed of various cheeses, or pile up some of their excellent charcuterie on a crust of baguette.

I have two strategies for finding good restaurants, which I use often—especially when traveling. I've never, ever been steered wrong using them, and I'm happy to share them with you.

One method I employ is to walk into a fish market and ask them where to eat. Fishmongers always know where to find food that's impeccably fresh and those strapping young men never fail to steer me towards the best addresses.

The other method I rely on, if it's lunchtime, is to walk around and see what restaurants are packed-full of older businessmen. Most often they've worked in the neighborhood for a long, long time and have their favorites—which is usually because of the good food.

Proving that just because you have good ingredients, doesn't necessarily mean you can make them good. True, it's harder to go wrong with stellar vegetables, seafood, and meat, but a recent dinner at L'Assiette proved that a little finesse, and seasoning, can transform decent ingredients into something pretty good. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case on a recent visit.

For many years, L'Assiette was the "go to" restaurant in Paris. When I worked at Chez Panisse, every cook who came here simply had to eat the cuisine of Lulu Rousseau, the beret-wearing woman who cooked simple food, and did it very well. The food came with a slightly hefty price tag which was mitigated by the good food on the plate. She sold the restaurant and I recently went back for a visit. The prices remain high, but what's on the plate doesn't exactly justify them

A number of folks consult the site for information about Paris, but it's always best to get some second opinions. So I asked a few friends and in-the-know colleagues about their favorite places around the city, and I'm happy to share them with you.

Included are links, when available, for complete addresses and additional contact information. Hours change and places close in Paris without notice so it's best to call first before visiting. For restaurants and wine bars where food is served, reservations are strongly advised.

If there any Paris favorites that you'd like to share, please feel free to do so in the comments. I'd love to hear about them.

Favorite Outdoor Market

"Paris markets are one of my favorite subjects. I can go to the same market every day of the year and still always find something new. I regularly visit the boulevard Raspail market, a "regular" market Tuesday and Friday, organic (and expensive!) on Sunday. The fish merchants there are incredible on all days, and I adore the poultry people at the Tuesday and Friday market. I love testing one fish market or cheese stand against the other, grading them on each purchase. For 20 years I lived near the rue Poncelet market and still have a soft spot there, especially for Alléosse cheese and coffee beans from Brûlerie des Ternes."

"When I have time, I also love the President Wilson market on Wednesday and Saturday, where of course one finds the famed produce from Joël Thiebault but also wonderful fish, fresh crêpes, and Lebanese specialties. The market is near my dentist's office so I always schedule a Wednesday morning appointment."

Patricia Wells, of Patricia Wells.com
(Author: Bistro Cooking and The Paris Cookbook)

Favorite Steak Tartare

"As an American in France, getting into the French staple of steak tartare means getting past it's resemblance to an uncooked hamburger patty. At Les Fines Gueules (2, rue la Vrillière, 1st) near place des Victoires they have cap-and-gowned the French standard by hand chopping Limousin beef (the best in France) and tossing the raw meat with white truffle oil, parmesan and sun dried tomatoes. Certainly not a traditional preparation, but an unbelievably delicious part of this American's weekly diet."

Braden, of Hidden Kitchen

I've hesitated about sharing this place with you, but have finally succumbed. After all, everyone has a right to find a great roast chicken place. Especially one that's incredibly affordable. And pretty delicious.

Churrasqueira Galo is a dive, a place where there's a always a lively cross section of residents of this transitioning quartier, including families out with the kids, drag queens, Portuguese soccer players, and assorted dubious characters (like me) looking for a good, inexpensive meal.

And beware of going during the full-blast heat of the summer: last year we had to leave mid-meal because it was so stifling hot. When I asked the sweating owner, who was manning the fiery rôtisserie, why they didn't get a fan, he told me: "They're so expensive! A fan cost the same as a day's earnings in Portugal."

I didn't want to point out that A) We're not in Portugal, we're in Paris, and B) A cheap fan costs about €20. No one asked me, but I think twenty euros is a pretty good investment if your customers are leaving.

Turn on the television any night in France and chances are excellent that you'll land on a program, held in a brightly-lit studio, where celebrities, authors, and other French luminaries mingle, chat, and talk about issues—or whatever they feel like.

For some reason, though, they don't run a banner at the bottom while the person is talking, like they do incessantly on American television. And because of that, I usually have no idea who all those overly-made up people are.

So I'll ask—"Romain...who is that?"

He'll be surprised, really surprised..."You mean you don't know who Valérie Lemercier is? She is a very big star. Très, très connu!" I always hate bursting bubbles, so I'll nod kind of half-heartedly, although I'm not so good at keeping a poker face and hiding my feelings.

I was having dinner at Racines a few weeks ago, and excused myself during the meal to run upstairs and use the facilities. While up there, I had a few minutes to stare at the wall in front of me, which was covered with pictures and pages of text from various books. One page stopped me mid-moment, it was are recipe for something called Gâteau Zoë.

It was a pretty simple-looking recipe and when I finished up and went back downstairs, I noticed it on the menu, so we ordered it. And it was delicious! Because I'm a terrible journalist and never seem to carry either at the same time—and obviously, inspiration can strike in the most unlikeliest of places...at the most unlikeliest of times—I ran back up to the bathroom to jot it down.

It'll be a sad day in Paris if Chartier ever shuts its doors. True, the food isn't exceptional. But it's cheap and people seem to flock here in droves. And the interior? I don't think you'll find a more perfectly-preserved relic of an old Paris, with glass-globe fixtures, tables jammed together, coat racks high above the tables, and a menu that hasn't made a single concession to any of the culinary advancements of at least the last three or four decades.

Chartier takes no reservations and if there's a big line when you turn off the busy boulevard and step into the courtyard, don't worry. It's here you'll see living proof that refutes any notion that the French are inefficient. The host moves folks through the old revolving door and to their table at a shocking rate of speed.

On her last visit to Paris, I introduced my cousin who's a Franco-phile, to confit de canard, knowing that she'd love it. When I saw the rapture that took over when she put that first forkful in her mouth, I could see that she was hooked as I am.

I'd taken her to Chez Dumonet, which is reliably excellent. This time, though, I'd like to take her somewhere else. A lot of restaurants offer duck confit, occasionally, but it doesn't reliably appear on menus.

You notice I don't do standard restaurant "reviews" on the site. I think dining is a personal experience and while one person might find a dish excellent, it might not be to another person's liking. Some folks like loud, hip places, and I'm more inclined to hit the classics. Another thing is that when I go out, I don't always tote my camera or want to have to remember and recount every single thing I ate, or recall every vintage I sipped during the evening.

What I like to do is to point you in the direction of places that I think you might like here in Paris.

Les Cocottes often gets described as a local version of an American-style diner. I don't know if that's true. For one thing, everyone speaks French. And for another, there were no snappy apron-clad waitresses pouring bottomless cups of coffee, no trucks parked outside, and no plumber-cracks hanging over the backside of the stools. After all, this is Paris, ya' know.

In fact, Les Cocottes sits on a pretty prestigious piece of land, in the seventh arrondissement, not known for good-value restaurants, or truckers. But Les Cocottes is a good value, and what makes it even better, the food is worth every centime.

A few weeks ago, I went to hear Alec Lobrano speak and read from his terrific book, Hungry for Paris, and someone asked if there were ethnic restaurants listed in the book. He replied that he didn't include them, because most visitors coming to Paris probably are looking for French food, so that's what he concentrated on.

He's right, of course. Lots of visitors do come here specifically to dine on classic French fare, but I also know that there are a certain number of visitors that eventually tire of so much meat and rich food, and are willing to explore some of the more unusual and diverse food available in a multi-cultural city like Paris. I also think that Americans (at least this one) are hard-wired to eat ethnic foods, namely anything Asian. Living in California, sushi, Korean bbq, and bun bo are pretty much a part of my normal dietary fare.

Since I arrived in Paris, I've noticed a strong uptick in the quality of Asian restaurants here. And I've also noticed there's much more of an appreciation of them, too.

In my quest for a good burger in Paris, I was enthralled that many of you wrote with so many suggestions. I once took a course in food writing and the teacher told us not to use words like "enthralled" and "opt" because people don't use them in everyday speech.

When I opt to look out my window, I'm enthralled at the view of Paris.

So there.

Anyhow, thanks to my vigilant readers, I'm now armed with a comprehensive list—and so are you, of places to find a decent burger here.

And to the person who wrote on an online bulletin board that they didn't feel sorry for me, well, I ask you, where is the love, folks? This isn't supposed to be the RNC.

Let's just say I believe that it's every American's constitutional right to have access to a great burger no matter where they are in the world, and leave it at that.

For those of you who don't live here, you're probably scratching your heads as who in their right minds would want a hamburger in Paris. If you're a visitor, you probably don't come to Paris in search of a burger (unless you've got kids in tow). But Parisians, as well as the rest of us, often get the craving for a nice, juicy patty on a big, fluffy bun, and I'm happy to help in our quest to find the best of the lot.

Here's a list of the places that were suggested by helpful readers in the comments of my post on the burgers at Hippopotamus. I was pretty bowled over with the choices out there and look forward to trying some, or all, of them out.

Please note that I haven't been to most of these places (yet), and I can't personally vouch for them.

Hence I'm trusting you guys on these...so they'd better be good! : )

I've been craving a big, fat, piled-high juicy hamburger for the last few weeks. I don't know why. Romain told me, "C'est normal et culturel, Daveed." I'm not entirely sure about that since I've never been a big beef eater. But lately, just the idea of lifting a hefty, rosy, big mess-of-a-patty of seared meat wedged between two fluffy, lightly-grilled cushions of bread with plenty of fixin's, has been first and foremost in my little mind.

While l'hamburger is available at more and more cafés and restaurants in Paris nowadays, too often the dried-out burger is paltry, the bun is lame, and the much-anticipated le hamburger that arrives is wildly overpriced and nothing more than a glorified, microwaved sandwich.

During the next week, I'm going to do a series: Five Great Places in Paris That You Might Not Know About. In a city that hasn't been overrun by chain stores and restaurants, it's nice to be able to profile some of the smaller places around town that I frequent.

When I've had friends come to visit and suggested we go out for pizza, they balk.

"Pizza? I didn't come to Paris for...for...pizza!"

To which I always want to reply, "Honey, well I didn't come to Paris to listen to you diss my dining suggestions."

But when you live somewhere, no matter how good the local cuisine might be, one cannot live on duck confit and galettes de sarrasin slathered in butter forever, you know.

Clotilde Dusoulier is the ultimate Parisian insider, one shares her tasty tales of life in Paris on her blog, Chocolate and Zucchini. In this very handy guide, a native Parisian happily leads us around Paris, taking us from little-known specialty food shops and classic bistros to authentic Japanese noodle bars and wine tasting venues.

One of my favorite parts of Clotilde's Edible Adventures in Paris are tips on how restaurants and food shops work here. For example, knowing that you're not a "customer" but a "guest" explains a lot of things to foreigners, who are used to the Customer is King attitude.

Other cultural tips, like keeping your hands on the table while you're eating and not resting your bread on the edge of your plate, are explained so you can avoid making a faux pas, as I did shortly after I arrived in Paris and was scolded for my bread infraction by the host at a dinner party.

And I always thought it was rude to scold guests! Who knew?

No complaints about the food at Racines. In fact, it's one of the best places I've eaten in Paris in a long time.

Unfortunately I took some of the worst pictures of one of the best-looking—and probably the most heavily-inked—restaurateurs in Paris, so you'll have to go meet Pierre Jancou for yourself.

Here's a list of some restaurants in Paris that are open on Sunday. Note that some are quite basic while others may fall into the slightly touristy category. Nevertheless, I still think they're worthy of a visit. All but the most basic restaurants prefer that diners make reservations.

Another Sunday dining option is to visit one of the outdoor markets and make up a picnic. Markets open on Sunday morning (9am-2pm) include Richard Lenoir (M: Bastille), Aligre (M: Ledru-Rollin), Raspail (M: Sèvres-Babylon), and Place Monge (M: Place Monge).

Feel free to add any favorites restaurants of yours in the comments.

Breizh Café
109, rue Vieille du Temple (3rd)
01 42 72 13 77

Excellent buckwheat crêpes served in a casual, yet sparse setting. Especially busy at prime lunch hours.

Chez Paul
13, rue de Charonne (11th)
01 47 00 34 57

This traditional French bistro flies under the radar of many but is a great choice for Sunday lunch, especially after a visit to the nearby Richard Lenoir market. Hearty fare.

Alain Ducasse recently took over la direction of Le Jules Verne, the high-end restaurant in the Eiffel Tower that had lost its reputation and luster as a fine dining destination during the past several years. I hadn't ever eaten there, since its reputation had preceded it. But this week, I finally got my chance to dine there.

We waited patiently for the private elevator of the Tour Eiffel to lift us up to mid-tower, over four hundred feet in the air, above Paris.

I've been reading through a nifty, new guidebook to the bakeries, chocolate shops, and tea salons, called The Pâtisseries of Paris. This handy little book is full of great addresses and tips, and is just small enough to slip in your shoulder bag when hitting the streets of Paris, should you come to Paris on a mission for sweets.

I was surprised at how in-depth this guide takes you. Naturally, the usual suspects, like Ladurée and Stohrer, are in there. And chocolatiers like Jean-Charles Rochoux and Patrick Roger are always a stop whenever I'm on the Left Bank, so I was happy to see the nods toward them.

There's few places that aren't worth the trip. Such as Au Panetier bakery, where the dry cookies don't make up for the glorious art nouveau tilework.

This guest entry is from my friend Gideon Ben-Ami, who graciously stepped in and wrote this post about vegetarian dining options in Paris..Enjoy...dl

A you can imagine, being a vegetarian in Paris can be a challenge. During my 5 years in Paris I've witnessed many die hard veggies succumbing to the sins of the flesh. The usual excuse is that it's just too hard (or the temptations too great) in the self-proclaimed food capital of the world. "I never ate meat till I tried the duck," one friend told me while another announced, "Technically I'm still a vegetarian, though sometimes I do eat steak."

If you're dining at a neighbourhood bistro, you'll probably get by okay if you eat fish. But if you're vegan, then you might need to smuggle in a nut cutlet or two under your raincoat as you'll soon get tired of munching on side salads. Unlike many other European capitals, restaurants here don't necessarily have a vegetarian option on the menu.

Paris does, however, have its fair share of vegetarian restaurants.
Are they any good?

Christian Constant has a mini-empire of restaurants in the 7th arrondissement, taking over an entire side of a city block. On one corner is the Café Constant, bookended by his upscale bistro, Le Fables de la Fontaine. Violon d'Ingres was his high-end joint in the middle until he decided to go 'downmarket' and turn it into a more everyday dining experience. With linen table runners replacing the starched tablecloths and waiters shucking their Hugo Boss togs (which the menu duly noted), the food is some of the best in town and now it's more accessible to many more diners.

I had a terrific roasted Guinea fowl braised in a casserole, and learned an obscure new French word; "luttée", which I thought meant 'fight' (lutte), although here it meant a luting paste.

While Paris is a meat eater's paradis, there are pockets of places that are vegetarian-friendly, or are completely vegetarian. As a sideline to my guest post Vegetarian Restaurants in Paris, here's my tips for dining out and getting by.

One of the questions I'm rather frequently-asked is for romantic restaurant recommendations in Paris.

It's not that I don't go out to eat. It's just that I don't get asked out to romantic restaurants, so I wouldn't know. Most of the time, I'm lucky if a paramour plops a falafel in my hands on the rue de Rosiers or I'm sharing a nasty bowl of stag stew with sex writers and rugby players—which someone commented made me look kinda 'horny'.

There's a debate in the blogging community, that some of you may not be privy to—or more likely, give a hoot about—concerning gifts from companies. I'm always reading these things on bulletin boards, such as..."I'm really conflicted. Mercedes-Benz would like to upgrade the S-class sedan they gave me last year with a convertible, but if I accept it, does that compromise my integrity?"

And I'm, like, "Dude, take the upgrade!...and kill the blog!"

Not that I'd want to be apart from you for too long. But if it was me, I'd take the car, go on a very long trip, and when I came back, donate the car to charity and start a new blog.

(Reality Check Time: Figure out which of those previous statements isn't true.)

I don't know where they get these, and I don't really care. But if you stop in da rosa and don't pick up a bag of them, you're making a terrible mistake.

These little dusty ovals of chocolate enrobe a Marcona almond tucked in the middle and there's just a touch for the smoky taste of pimente d'Espelette, the bright-red Basque chili powder that I like to sprinkle over everything from pumpkin purée to chocolate-peanut bark. Once I open the bag of Pimandes, it's assured that the rest will soon be history.

To be honest, I wanted to show you the inside of one.

Really I did.

When a British travel writer asked if I'd like to meet for brunch last week, he also asked if I could suggest a reasonable place for the article he was doing. So I put on my thinking cap, kicked off my slippers, tossed my funky pajamas in the laundry bin, showered and...get this...shaved!...and actually took a break from my project and got a few breaths of fresh air.

Imagine that!
(This is getting to be a habit around here...)

Le Brunch is indeed available at some places in Paris, but je deteste being around people first thing in the morning—and I'm not so fond of Le Brunch either. So we compromised on the more civilized hour of 1pm. Not much is open in Paris on Sunday, which our President is fixing to change, so I suggested Breizh Café a tidy corner spot specializing in galettes de blé noir, commonly known as buckwheat crêpes.

This sparsely-finished restaurant is in the heart of 'bobo' (bourgeois bohemians) land, so there's no shortage of strollers or hipsters hanging out in this part of the Marais on Sunday. Once you get by all the posers skulking on the sidewalks peering in gallery windows, cigarettes perched in the corners of their mouth and the obligatory Sunday am dark glasses...(who unlike me, couldn't bother to shave)...it's a relief to find an inexpensive place to eat where the food is anything but trendy.

Because owner Bertrand Larcher is a true Breton, the Breizh Café focuses on the quality of the products and lets them shine, rather than trying to mess with the originals: there's no red pepper dust on the corner of the plate or twirls of squiggly sauces that have no business being there.

One of the best restaurants in Paris is one that I have a hard time recommending.

It's not that the food isn't consistently very good-to-excellent. Nor is the service anything less than friendly and sincere.

One problem with L'Entredgeu is that it's way up in the 17th, pretty much away from everything else. That's relatively minor, though. The big problem for me is the name; it's almost impossible for me to pronounce—although my French friends have a bit of difficulty with it as well, so I don't feel quite so lame.

In spite of those two minor flaws, I've never not enjoyed myself, and the food, at L'Entredgeu.

For those who need to avoid gluten, France may present more of a challenge than other countries, which was confirmed when I tried to find some tips online for gluten-free dining in France and turned up little information.

So here are a few helpful hints that will help you navigate French restaurants and dining, how to deal with waiters, and where you can find gluten-free products and foods in Paris, including a gluten-free restaurant and take-away shop.

While I wait for my life (ie, my television and internet) to return to normal....(although I'd be happy if they'd just return. period)...I left my perch in the Wi-Fi equipped Place des Vosges long enough to have a really nice dinner at Mon Vieil Ami, that I thought I'd recount. I was going stir-crazy sitting at home and was so bored that I almost had to work. Imagine that!

But since I procrastinated enough, which included scrubbing the knobs on my washing machine (yes, really...) and the ones on the oven too, then tackling a batch of ice cream using some leftover mascarpone in my fridge that had one day left on it, I am back in the Place des Vosges once again, sans chocolat chaud, but connected.

What more could a guy want? Yikes...now that's a loaded question.
I couldn't wait for my internet connection to return to normal, so I thought I'd offer forth a short, quick write-up of a great dinner I had last night. And judging from your very kind comments, I know 98% of you are sympathetic to my situation—and perhaps the other 2% are meanies, content to laugh at others' misfortune. So excuse any errors, mis-whatevers, and typos while the chill slowly creeps into my fingers here on this cold park bench. And since I'm sitting, need I say where else the cold is creeping into? Perhaps when I get home I'll take a chocolat chaud sitz-bath.
With marshmallows, thank you ver much.

(ha!...my first typo...)

My dining companion hier soir from Los Angeles was missing vegetables after eating too many rich meals while in Paris, so she was thrilled with the menu offered at Mon Vieil Ami. My first course was roasted beets from the gardens of Joël Thiebaut (sp?...I'll correct the spelling later.) In the huge terrine buried amongst the ruby-red and golden beets were four well-caramelized, succulent, sweet-sour chicken wings, as well as some raw beets that had been shaved into ribbons, added for good measure. Why not?

We both ordered the same entrée, which I love, since I hate to share.

Located a few blocks north of the historic place des Vosges, steps away from the hubbub of tourists clogging the sidewalks, is Café des Musées, a terrific restaurant in Paris.

Chef François Chenel makes his own pâtés and smokes his own organic salmon, which arrives with a spoonful of crème fraîche, chives, and toasted levain bread. Both are also available to take home, including pre-cooked lobes of foie gras, even if you're not dining here.

We split an order of grouse. One of the great things about France is that in the winter, restaurants will feature game like partridge, wild pigeon, and other specialties that are hard to find elsewhere. The grouse was dark and meaty-red, just as ordered. Alongside were triangles of braised celery root, a pile of dressed watercress and quetsches, Italian prune plums, cooked until jam-like. Although as unctuous and sweet as I would have liked, a shot of port in the deglazing would've sealed the deal.

Other menu options are a pretty well-crusted entrecôte steak, served with real French fries, which are unfortunately rare nowadays in Paris. Cochon noir de Bigorre (which looks like a licorice pig) is always great here, a neatly-classic steak tartare, and for those looking for a vegetarian option, a cocotte of seasonal vegetables comes in a casserole, bathed in olive oil. (A friend who ordered this pronounced it "boring", so perhaps that's not the best choice.)

For dessert, we shared a raspberry Dacquoise; a slightly-crisp almond meringue which had a nice cake-like chew. It was served with excellent, dark cherry-red raspberries which were so sweet they were syrupy.

For those on a budget, at both lunch and dinner, on offer is a prix-fixe option. One recent fixed-price menu was vichyssoise and foie de veau, veal liver, with dessert for just 19€. Another time it was a poached egg in red wine with a lamb shank following up for the main course, with dessert being rhubarb crisp.

The service is a bit scattered, but that to me is the charm of eating in a neighborhood-type restaurant where people just go for good food but are welcome to linger. It's the kind of place where the tables are pushed close together so you're rubbing shoulders with your neighbors and perhaps sharing a basket of good bread. That's one of the pleasures of dining in lesser-known Parisian restaurants and cafés.

My friends and I shared a bottle—ok, two bottles—of fruity gamay from the Touraine which went very nicely with everything from the charcuterie to the game and through the dessert. And afterward as well.

Café des Musées
49, rue de Turenne (3rd)
Tél: 01 42 72 96 17
(Map)

Related Posts and Links

Eating & Drinking Guide for Paris

Two French Dining Guides

Marling Menu-Master for France

10 Insanely Delicious Things You Shouldn't Miss in Paris

Gluten-Free Eating & Dining in Paris

Paris Favorites: Eating, Drinking and Shopping

Tips for Vegetarian Dining in 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.

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.

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.

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

There's lots of good food in Paris, but sometimes you have to travel to the outer neighborhoods to find the gems. And while the 14th arrondissement isn't all that far, it's worth the trek for the 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. 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.

Anyhow, our steaks arrived flawlessly cooked.
The French love their beef bleu, practically raw. But I like mine rare to medium-rare, or saignant. 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.

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 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.

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

There's a little bit of a war going on here in Paris on the rue des Rosiers, in the Marais. The Rue Des Rosiers is the Jewish street, sporting several good (and a few bad) bakeries, a few chic clothing stores, but a string of fafafel stands and restaurants. The most famous, L'As du Falafel, is always crowded, and teeming with locals, who come for their Heeb-Hop (Hebrew-Hop, as we call it), and tourists, who've read about L'As du Falafel in their guidebooks.

I always feel sorry for the other places on the street. There's often deserted, while the throngs of people line up at L'As in search of their falafel-fix. The only time they seem to generate any interest is when L'As du Falafel closes for the Sabbath, on Friday nights and Saturdays. But a few weeks ago I started noticing handwritten signs on the place across the street, Mi-Va-Mi, with slogans like "Taste and Compare", daring to take on the Ace o' Falafel, just across the street.

Today as I stop by to get my weekly falafel, making a beeline for L'As, I notice a swarm of missionaries agressively confronting passers-by with plates brimming with warm falafel, followed closely by someone with a guest-check book, pen-to-the-paper, ready to take their order. The scene was curious, since the French haven't quite grasped the concept of 'Free Samples' (or competition). When I asked a French friend why anyone rarely offers samples, I was told "Because it's not 'correct'. But there's a guy at the fromagerie on the Î'le St-Louis who's making a killing offering samples to passers-by, mostly tourists, who get one taste of great French cheese, and invariably come in and make a purchase.

Correct or not, that dude is rakin' it in.

So although there's no such thing as a free lunch, especially in Paris, there's lots of free falafels to be had this week as the street is abuzz with people bearing heaping bowls of freshly-fried falafels. I don't know how long it will last, and the offer doesn't extend to those who've already purchased. (I tried to get one of the falafel-pushers to augment my half-eaten sandwich, but being très Paris, there's little interest in the customer after the sale.)

And in an unlikely show of unity, as I was finishing up, I saw one of the fellows from L'As du Falafel pop one of his crisp falafels in the mouth of his main competitor, a woman who was offering falafels from Mi-Va-Mi. She stopped, took a taste, and nodded in agreement before going back to offering her falafels to all takers.

So perhaps there's something to be said for the absence of competition.

(Although I appreciate the presence of free samples.)

L'As du Falafel
34, rue des Rosiers
Tél: 01 48 87 63 60

Mi-Va-Mi
27, rue des Ecouffes
Tél: 01 42 71 53 72

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.

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! I haven't been since there was a recent change of ownership, but I hear the food is still very good.

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. Open every day and night, but be aware of the often abrupt servers.

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 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 appreciate 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 definitely 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. Nice portions, and cheerful staff.

UPDATE: Please note that this post was written in 2006 and not updated regularly. You can follow along at my Paris Restaurant Archives for more suggestions, as well on the My Paris page.

People that come to Paris commonly request something more famous from Brittany when they ask, "Where can we get a great crêpes in Paris?"

Although crêpes are available on just about every street corner, most of the young folks who make them don't really give a cul de rat (rat's backside) about the quality, any more than the kid flipping burgers at McDonald's cares about creating a fine specimen of America's Favorite Sandwich.

For street crêpes, in the area around the gare Montparnasse in Paris, there's a plethora of crêperies since the trains departing and arriving from that station go to Brittany and the immigrants set up shop there once upon a time. In an area crowded with crêperies, the one that stands out is Josselin. It's noisy, bustling, and lots of fun.

In the area around the Grand Boulevard métro, there's fun crêperies run by Arab folks who fill them with crumbly feta cheese, spinach, spicy merguez sausages, and olives. And at the outdoor markets, there is usually someone frying up crêpes, which is a great way to assure that you'll get a freshly-made one, since they go quickly!

But one of the best crêpes in Paris can be found at Crêperie Bretonne, in the unlikely area of 11th arrondisement, near the Bastille. I prefer crêpes made with blé noir, buckwheat flour, although buckwheat crêpes are generally called galettes rather than crêpes.

(Er...unless they call them crêpes blé noir, kinda like saucisse vs saucisson, if you remember that conundrum...which I don't care to revisit.)

On a recent visit, I had a classic galette enclosing a find slice of jambon de Paris, grated gruyère cheese, and a softly-fried egg resting in the middle waiting to be broken to moisten the whole thing. The galette was crisp at the edges and had the earthy taste of real, freshly-ground buckwheat. We had bottle of one of my favorite ciders, Val de Rance, brut, of course, which is the driest of the fermented apple ciders. For dessert I had a simple galette smeared with salted butter and a puddle of honey, warmed by the galette. The desserts are so delicious the women at the next table had two crêpes for dessert and they waitress gladly brought her a big jar of confiture de lait to pile on a volonté, as liberally as she wished.

Other addresses and links for great crêpes in Paris:

Josselin
67, rue du Montparnasse (14th)
Tél: 01 43 20 93 50

Crêperie Bretonne
67, rue de Charonne (11th)
Tél: 01 43 55 62 29

Breizh Café
109, rue Vieille du Temple (3rd)
Tél: 01 42 72 13 77

West Country Girl
6, passage St. Ambroise (11th)
Tél: 01 47 00 72 54

Related Posts

Breizh Café (updated favorite)

The best socca in Nice

Tips for Vegetarian Dining in Paris

Paris Restaurant Archives

Two Dining Guides to Paris

Paris abounds in cafés.
(In spite of what you might hear.)

There is one on each and every corner. In your quartier, you'll have a favorite, your place to hang out you affectionally call ma cantine. You go for the camaraderie and the ambience. Sometimes the food is good, sometimes not so terrific. But that's not the point. You go since it's close by, the patron greets you by name, and the wine is drinkable...and promptly refilled.

With the weather still chilly and damp (which hasn't thwarted the hordes of people protesting new government work proposals this week in Paris), those of us with cabin fever (who are protesting the outdoors until the weather becomes more hospitable) find that cafés become the perfect place to hang out and watch the world go by...and beats staying indoors after five long months of grey, dismal weather, when you just can't take it anymore. In addition to the strikers, there are other signs of spring everywhere: tiny blossoms on the trees, long underwear being tossed out of windows (well, maybe just mine), and the optimistic glimmer of sunshine every now and then peering through the grey skies.

Going for a walk, I like the idea of stopping for lunch in a café since the food is generally simple, modestly-priced, and decent. And with a petit pichet of red wine, the afternoon does drift by rather pleasantly. But most often if you order a salad, it's terrible. A few tired, leaves of wilted lettuce, the omni-present mustardy vinaigrette, tasteless tomatoes, and green beans so limp you can forget any final money shot.
Then there's the final insult: a spoonful of canned corn plopped smack in the middle of the whole mess, impossible to shove aside.

And don't get me started about the pile of rice that's too-often plunked down on la salade Niçoise. They should bring back the guillotine for whoever came up with that brilliant idea.

And please, allow me to be the one to release the handle.

While wandering through the 6th arrondisement this week to visit a favorite fromagerie in the area, we decided to stop for lunch at a café I'd heard about, passed by several times, but never sat down for a meal. The menu, frankly, never looked exciting enough to make me want to eat there rather than another favorite lunch spot in the neighborhood.

But we sat down and since I had reservations that night at Le Meurice, the swank restaurant in the Hotel Meurice, I wanted a salad. Scanning the menu, I noticed an entire portion devoted to French Fries, les frites. My interested picqued, certain they were à la maison, made in-house. So with little convincing, we ordered a plate to share. I decided on the salade œuf mollet, whose brief description didn't do it justice.

When the salad came, I was thrilled to find it practically perfect. Each bite was a wonderful revelation of textures, contrasting salty bits of meat and croûtons with the perfect ratio of crispness to tenderness. Fresh lettuce leaves topped with enormous lardons, cubes of smoked bacon fried extra-crispy with just a bit of fat to bind the pieces of succulent pork together. Mixed in were cubes of brioche, perhaps tossed with butter or bacon fat then toasted until crisp and toothsome. (Have I used the word crisp enough?) Moistening everything was the soft-cooked egg resting on top. Once split open, the runny yolk invaded everything, melding all the crisp (!) ingredients into a gorgeous and exceptionally tasty lunch.

And the frites? No bad at all. They would have benefited from an extra minute in the deep-fryer (What's up with that? Does anyone really like soft French Fries?) but they were very good and fresh. After a sprinkle of fleur de sel from my friend Susan's stash, they disappeared tout de suite.

At the next table the waiter set down The Most Magnificent Croque Monsieur In Paris (it's a favorite of mine so I'm in a position to know.) The version at Le Nemrod is served on a jumbo crusty slab of pain Poilâne, topped with a smear of béchamel sauce, then a few choice slices of ham and cheese. It arrives at the table still sizzling, the smell of soft, caramelized cheese bubbling away. It made me want to summon up a little bravado and ask for a bite. But I kept my attention digging into my salad but made a mental note to order that next time.
And there will certainly be a next time. Any takers?

For dessert we strolled a few blocks to Sip, a corner cafe specializing in house-made ice cream, but I had heard about their hazelnut paste-infused hot chocolate and was anxious to give it a try.

It was good, not great. It wasn't too thick, nor too thin. It was pretty to look at and went down rather smoothly.
I loved the interior, a 70's palette of pink and grey. Lots of chrome and mirrors and perhaps the goofiest clock in Paris. And being Paris, there was just a smidgen of attitude from the server.
As anyone know who lives here, the fun is learning how to win them over and get what you want (...if you're lucky!)

Back in the drizzle, I headed home, stopping by the pharmacy for a tube of La Presure (more about that later), which, due to my accent, they kept thinking I was asking for la pleasure.

Which I already had that day.

Twice, in fact.

Le Nemrod
51, rue Cherche-Midi
Tel: 01 45 48 17 05

Sip Babylone
46, Boulevard Raspail
Tel: 01 45 48 87 17

It's perhaps not much of a secret anymore that some of the best places to eat in Paris are the wine bars. Unlike some of the 'wine bars' in the US (where that glass of icky-oaky California Chardonnay will run you $14...not including tax and tip), Paris' wine bars are gathering places, where people might stop in the morning after the market for a friendly chat with the counterperson or in the afternoon for quick glass of red to get you through the rest of your day...not that I ever do that...

After work, the wines bars in Paris hum as people leave their jobs, and you'll see businessmen in dapper suits (and the aformentioned cartoon-emblazoned socks) as well as salesclerks from the local shops propped up against le bar zinc, cigarette in hand, sipping a glass of red wine while thinking whatever it is they're thinking as they focus their gazes somewhere off into space.
It's a skill I've yet to master.

One of my favorite wine bars in Paris is Le Rubis. Located just off the fancy-schmancy rue Saint-Honoré, Le Rubis occupies a little corner of this quartier, better known for handbags, jewelery shops, and all the other necessities of life for les bourgeoisie.

I like to go at lunchtime, especially in the cold winter months, where the friendly owners will squeeze you into a seat at one of the tiny tables covered with crisp white paper, a folded napkin, some utilitarian silverware, and an overturned wine glass, ready to be filled. After lunch of later in the afternoon, Parisians gather outside by the wine barrels covered with red-checkered cloth, drinking, smoking, and talking on their mobile phones, while absentmindedly polishing off a couple of glasses of Brouilly or Beaujolais.

Most of the wine bars in Paris that serve food keep it authentic and simple: peek into the kitchen at any of them and you'll find most are the size of a phone booth. It's all charming and convivial, reminding me of the old diners that have mostly disappeared in America (except the bottomless cup of bad coffee's been replaced by red wine...and people still ask me why I live in France!)

Lunch can be anything from petit salé, braised salt pork on a bed of nutty green French lentils, or a rich wedge of tarte au legumes, a quiche-like slab of eggy-custard, baked with vegetables and diced smoked bacon, served with a mustardy green salad. (And no, all you wine folks, they don't care that the salad has vinegar and mustard in it.)

Of course, though, the wine is important here. But not so important that it draws wine snobs. Thankfully all he pretention from the neighborhood is left outside the door. I like to come in the afternoon when the place is empty. I sit with friends, or by myself, sipping a glass of fruity Chinon accompanied by a plate of their outstanding charcuterie, served on dark-crusted slices of pain Poilâne, from the nearby bakery of Max Poilâne. Country hams, fat-rich rillettes, and slices of dry sausage are always a treat, and a welcome accompaniment to the wine.
By the time I'm ready to leave, the table's covered with bread crumbs, the paper table covering is stained with red rings from the bottom of the wine glass, and I'm feeling much better, no matter where I'm going afterwards.

Usually it's straight home for une sieste, another jour perdu...

Le Rubis
10, rue Marché St. Honoré
Tel: 01 42 61 03 34
(Full-meals served only at lunch)

If you plan on eating at Le Verre Volé (The Stolen Glass) be sure to call first and reserve a spot. It's located just next to the Canal St. Martin, a trendy quarter of Paris, and there's only seats for about 18 people or so. But unlike New York or San Francisco or Los Angeles, you could call that afternoon and likely get a spot. During dinner I told my dining companion that if this was in New York, there would be a line out the door...and around the corner.

I began the complex task of choosing from one of the wines from the shelves. Each has the price written across the neck of the bottle since Le Verre Volé doubles as a retail establishment. To drink it there, they add a modest 7€. I scanned the shelves and chose a red Mazel from the Ardeches (18€) that was very light and fruity. A bit 'fresh' when first opened—once it sat, it gained complexity. I was happy that it was the perfect choice for the warm evening and hearty food. During the evening, practically every three minutes, someone would roar up on their scooter, disembark, and rush in to buy a bottle of wine for dinner.

We shared a jellied terrine of oxtails (5€). The finely shredded meat was gently molded with some spring asparagus and peas, all barely held together with jellied beef stock that was light. It was served with pickled, vinegary capers on their stems and dressed salad greens.

All the main courses were meaty: blood sausage with roasted apples and potatoes, andouillettes de Troyes, and veal Marengo. Not being much of a fan of 'variety meats' (as they're politely called in America), I chose the caillettes ardechoise (10€), a patty of well-seasoned pork ground-up with tasty and still-chewy beet greens and spinach. It was roasted until searingly-crisp on the outside, and when I split it open, a moist cloud of steam erupted revealing fork-tender meat within.

One could also make up a meal composed of lots of the appetizers, like the roasted eggplant caviar, salt cod-stuffed peppers, or platters of various meats and cheeses.

The genial young men who run the place managed to keep the small crowd happy. One took orders and opened wine, while the other stood behind the tiny bar and dished up salads and roasted meats and sausages in the small ovens. Behind the bar is a glass door leading to an air-conditioned room, a jumble of boxes and bottles of wine.

I'll see you there.

Le Verre Volé
67, rue de Lancry
tel: 01 48 03 17 34
Métro: Jacques Bonsergent

A favorite quick-bite on the streets of Paris, at L'As du Fallafel.

L'As du Fallafel is one of the few places where Parisians chow down on the street. Beginning with a fork, dig into warm pita bread stuffed with marinated crunchy cabbage, silky eggplant, sesame hoummous, and boules of chick-pea paste, crisp-fried falafel. Spice it up with a dab of searingly-hot sauce piquante.

L'As du Fallafel: 34, rue de Rosiers, in the Marais. Open every day, except closed friday beginning at sundown, reopening for lunch sunday.