Feasting without reservation

We'd been walking.  We were hungry.  It was dinnertime.  We had no reservations.

Still, when Tom asked about dinner, I suggested that we go to Le Blavet.

The Pont de Bir Hakeim was formerly called the Viaduc de Passy.  It is on the
opposite end of the Ile aux Cygnes from the Statue of Liberty.

Two decades ago, when we first dined at this little restaurant, Madame la Patronne would have frightened us with a scalding glare if we walked into her place without a reservation.  But she retired years ago, and Le Blavet is now much more relaxed -- like the river it is named for.

Without a reservation, we thought we'd be anonymous at Le Blavet (as real restaurant critics should be), but the chef periodically came out of the kitchen, stood behind the bar doing something, and kept looking right at me, like he was trying to figure out if I was really that person from Florida who continues to blog about restaurants in the 15th arrondissement, summer after summer.

Croustillan de Chevre at Le Blavet.

We've never met him in person.  He, like some other shy chefs, stays in the kitchen almost all the time.

At Le Blavet, two fixed price menus are offered.  The food is extraordinarily consistently excellent.

I ordered from the 27-euro fixed price menu, and Tom ordered from the 36-euro menu.  Each includes a starter, main course, and dessert.  No problem -- we brought our appetites with us, and we'd just walked four miles.

Sole Meunière at Le Blavet.

I started with a croustillant de chèvre -- a thin, crispy pastry wrapped around a deliciously warm little chunk of goat cheese.  It came with an onion "confiture" that was identical to the onion "chutney" that accompanied Tom's terrine de foie gras.  Both starters were delicious, and amazingly identical to the ones we remember from previous years' dining at Le Blavet.

Tom ordered the classic sole meunière, which came with the classic accompaniment, white steamed potatoes.  Sometimes sole meunière is served in a slight pool of clarified butter, and sometimes it is not.  I'm not sure which is more "correct."  The version at Le Blavet is served without the pool of butter.  The server did not offer to de-bone it for him;  that's just as well, because we de-bone our fish ourselves (maybe they remember that we do?).

Magret de Canard at Le Blavet.

My main course was a classic magret de canard.  It was wonderful.  It was superior to the magret I'd had at another, nearby restaurant recently.  The sauce was sweet and sour, with apples, and the accompaniment was a gratin of potatoes dauphinois.

We each had crêpes, but they were of different kinds.  Mine was two folded crêpes, one with dark chocolate sauce, and the other with rum sauce.  Plus there was a dollop of whipped cream and a small scoop of French vanilla ice cream.  

Le Blavet is on the Rue de Lourmel, south of the Avenue Emile Zola.

Tom's was a flat crêpe with roasted apples and a Calvados sauce, with vanilla ice cream.  

Fortunately we'd started dinner early, at 7:30PM, because the restaurant was hot and full by the time we left.  A large group of 20 or so people occupied the larger dining room.

This morning, I persuaded Tom to go to the market at Grenelle with me.  He needed a shirt and some socks, and believe me, these markets have the best prices for those kinds of things.  We meandered through the dense crowd at about 11AM, and Tom was successful in finding and buying what he needed.

We enjoyed looking at the Oriental rugs in the market, and in the window of a closed rug store on the Boulevard.  Caution:  do not buy Persian rugs in Europe now; you cannot take them home to the U.S. because of the current sanctions against Iran.

Most shops are closed on Sundays, except for those that sell food.  The latter tend to stay open on Sunday in this neighborhood because of the Grenelle market (which is on Sundays and Wednesdays, until about 1PM).  

Walking along the Ile aux Cygnes, in the middle of the Seine.

So we went to the grocery and bakery, and came home to have a "picnic" lunch before this final stage of the Tour de France.  The Tour comes to Paris today, and I adore watching all the helicopter views of La Capitale.

Au revoir!

Good things and good people

August 3, 2017 -- Health care costs are far lower in France than in the U.S.; we aren’t sure what the entire explanation for that may be.  Tom just had blood tests done here in Paris for 39 euros; these would have cost over $390 in the U.S.

We received the results only one day after the blood was drawn.  The blood was drawn at a laboratory that is only a few blocks from our apartment.  These labs are conveniently scattered all over Paris; we pass by them frequently on our walks.

The people working in the lab (the receptionists and the medical technologist) were all super friendly and helpful. 

Looking into Carte Blanche, and installation designed by Jacques Garcia at the Gobelins Galleries.

I won’t say that everything about the French health care system is better than we have in the U.S.  For example, I think the super-expensive medication that Tom is taking now (the one that is keeping him alive and well) is theoretically available in France, but it did not show up on the database of drugs that Tom’s doctor in Paris consulted.  Is that because the national health insurance here does not want to pay for a drug like that?  I don’t know, and I can’t find the answer on the internet.

We were very happy with Tom’s test results on Tuesday, and we celebrated by taking a pleasant walk in the 7^th arrondissement, through the neighborhoods on either side of the Champ de Mars, and up the rue Chevert to the Square Santiago du Chili, a charming little park located off the northwest corner of Les Invalides.  We sat there on a park bench for quite a while, soaking in life on a beautiful day.

Looking down at the floor of Carte Blanche.

The Tuesday afternoon walk didn’t seem like much, but it added up to over 10,000 steps.  Then we walked to Le Blavet for dinner.  By the time we returned home, I was surprised to see that we logged over 14,000 steps for the day.  All that walking seemed effortless.

Then we walked all the way home from the 13^th arrondissement yesterday, and dined at L’Alchimie which is nearby.  The total for the day was 12,000 steps, yet it seemed like we did more than that.  The moral of this story is that walking some distance to and from dinner is an easy way to increase your step count for the day.

Both dinners were delicious, but L’Alchimie still holds first place in my heart, when it comes to restaurants in Paris. 

Looking up at the ceiling of Carte Blanche.

On Tuesday, we were dining in Le Blavet on the night before it closed for vacation.  So there was only one choice for the main course:  duck breast in sweet-and-sour sauce with au gratin potatoes.  Tom had a delicious gazpacho starter course, and we both indulged in a Dame Blanche for dessert.

My starter was cocotte with foie gras.  I’ve never had cocottes before, because coddled eggs just don’t seem that appealing to me.  However, I enjoyed this dish so much at Le Blavet!  The dinner was all great, but we were one of only two tables occupied in the resto.  The other table was a couple of Americans who did not speak French.  They just stumbled on the place, I guess; they had no reservation. 

Les cocottes at Le Blavet.

As we were leaving, I congratulated them on selected a really good restaurant.  I explained that the limited menu was because the place was closing for vacation tomorrow, but that we’ve been dining there for 20 years, and the place is consistently good, and is a good value.

At L’Alchimie last night, we were given an especially warm greeting when we arrived.  That wonderful sole meuniere was still on the menu, so we both ordered it.  It was just as perfect as before – maybe the best sole meuniere I’ve ever tasted. 

For a starter, we consumed shrimp on a bed of avocado-based sauce.  It was a nice, summery dish.  We also shared a dessert: a rich, warm moelleux au chocolat.  Heavenly.

So that’s goodbye to Le Blavet and L’Alchimie for 2017!  We’ll return next summer.

The grounds at the old Gobelins tapestry factory.

The purpose of yesterday’s trip to the 13^th arrondissement was to visit the galleries of the Gobelins manufacturers and the Mobilier National.  I’d been reading about the history of both on the intenet.

The galleries had a special exhibition of chairs and sofas, called “Sièges en Société” (seats in society).  That may seem boring, but it was not.  Fine French furniture dating from 1700 to the nineteenth century is far from boring. 

In a round room off the back staircase leading to the upper gallery was a special installation called “Carte Blanche” by the designer Jacques Garcia.  It made use of mirrored walls, floor and ceiling, as well as a few tapestries, a couple well designed chairs, a fire screen, and a tree hanging upside down, decorated with colored glass ornaments, to create a dazzling and disorienting effect.  As I walked up to it, I had a sense that I might lose my balance and fall into it, as it if it were a deep and magical well.  I looked down at the mirrored floor, which was reflecting the mirrored ceiling, and it was like looking into infinity.  The same was true when I looked up at the ceiling. 

“Carte Blanche” is difficult to describe;  I hope the photos above help.

The courtyard at the Gobelins factory.

After our visit in the galleries, we watched a video about the Mobilier National’s workshops, where fine furniture is still made by hand – all to furnish government facilities like the Elysees Palace.  Then we strolled around the complex, and looked into the Gobelin’s handsome courtyard.

We began our walk home by strolling up the avenue des Gobelins to the boulevard de Port Royal.  We realized that we’ve never walked along that boulevard before.  It is lovely and shady, even though it has big hospitals on either side at the west end of it – the famous Val de Grace military hospital, and Cochin, the ancient maternity hospital.

By the time we crossed the avenue de l’Observatoire, where the boulevard de Port Royal becomes the boulevard Montparnasse, we were very hungry.  We stepped into a Vietnamese resto where we thought we could get something light. 

Gaspacho at Le Blavet.

The name of the place was Chao Sapa (150 boulevard Montparnasse).  As we were dining on two lunch specials (with a glass of wine, only 12.80 euros each!), the couple at the next table struck up a conversation with us.  Philippe and Nicole were their names.  He is a retired executive who is still on the board for Pernod Ricard.  For his work, he travelled all over the world.  She is the niece of the former president of Vietnam.  Her father and uncle (the president) were assassinated in a military coup in 1963.  She told us about a book, “The Lost Mandate of Heaven,” by Geoffrey Shaw, which tells her family’s story.  I plan to read it soon.

We talked with them for an hour.  Early on in the conversation, Philippe sought out our political persuasion.  I told him without hesitation where we stand.  He was pleased with that, and I am sure that is the reason our conversation went on for as long as it did.

Duck breast and au gratin potatoes at Le Blavet.

They both seemed not to have used their English in a while.  They were pleased to meet an English-speaking couple earlier in the day as they waited for an MRI for Philippe.  They were especially pleased to have another conversation with an English speaking couple (us) over lunch.

And so we have a couple of new friends who live in Paris.  They also have a place in Belgium (where Philippe was from originally) which they are trying to sell now, in an effort to downsize. 

Philippe and Nicole are fascinating people.  We look forward to seeing them again sometime.

Dame Blanche at Le Blavet.

Joan of Arc and Lady Liberty

July 27, 2017 – Wednesday and Sunday are the market days for our Grenelle neighborhood.  I like to rise fairly early so that I can process photos and write before 10AM, which seems to be the ideal time to walk through the outdoor market on the boulevard de Grenelle.  By that time, the vendors are completely set up, even the latecomers, and the shoppers are shopping.  There are others like me who just walk through the middle of the market, gazing at the wares in each stall, looking at all the people, without buying anything. 

The Lulu dans ma Rue stall in the Grenelle market.

I combine this walk up and down the length of the Grenelle market with a walk up to the rue Cler, a pedestrianized market street.  In between, I walk along the end of the Champ de Mars, with the war college on my right and the peace pavillion on my left -- war and peace.

After walking through the pedestrianized section of rue Cler, I walk home via the rue de Grenelle and the Champ de Mars.

Yesterday, as I was walking from the boulevard de Grenelle to the rue Cler, a couple of the young women who I call the “do-you-speak-English scammers” were behind me.  They were pestering everyone they passed, trying to scam them.  Most people brushed them off quickly.  A few who had not encountered them before, or who had not been warned about them, were taken in for a few moments – but not for long. 

Two female scammers walking behind me at the end of the Champ de Mars

Scammers bothering a tourist as his wife is trying to catch up with him.

One poor man couldn’t get away from the scammers because he was waiting for his wife to cross the street, wheeling her suitcase behind her.  Jet-lagged tourists hauling luggage are favorite targets for the scammers, I’m sure.

Yesterday the scammers never approached me, even though they were in front of me, behind me, and passing me several times along that end of the Champ.  I was looking very Parisian, I guess, with my black clothes, gray silk scarf, and sunglasses even on a cloudy day.  So I wasn’t taken as a tourist.

But I did have my camera in my palm, and I took a couple photos, surreptitiously, of the scammers at “work.”  I really wanted to get away from them, but wasn’t able to do so until I crossed the boulevard de la Bourdonnais, leaving the Champ behind me.

In the afternoon, the five of us went for a walk up the Ile aux Cygnes to the Pont de Bir Hakeim.  We paused to look at the Monument de la France Renaissante, which is a gorgeous statue reminiscent of Joan of Arc on her horse, symbolic of the spirit and power of France.  I love that this symbol of power is the image of a strong woman, and I was sure to point that out to Olivia and Sarah.  They thought that was very cool.

Monument de la France Renaissante

A little earlier, we'd looked at the Statue of Liberty at the other end of the Ile aux Cygnes.  Strong women at each end of the Ile -- that was not simply happenstance.  This Statue of Liberty originally faced east, toward the Eiffel Tower,  It was turned to face west, in the direction of her big sister in New York City, in 1937, for the World's Fair.  Look what happened to liberty in France in the next several years!  Never forget.

This Statue of Liberty was moved to Japan for a year in 1998, then returned to Paris in 1999 -- all 14 tons of her.

Looking up at the Statue of Liberty on the Ile aux Cygnes

We dined well at Le Blavet on rue Lourmel last night.  Dan and I had the duck breast, while Tom and the girls had the beef filet.  Lovely starters and desserts were consumed as well.  The restaurant, one of our longtime favorites, offers delicious food at good value.

The girls were absolutely exhausted.   This morning, Dan and the girls left very early to take their flight home to Louisville.   The girls said it was a wonderful vacation – all three weeks of it – in France, Spain, and Italy.

In their absence today, Tom and I set about a thorough housecleaning of the apartment.  The cleaning lady is on vacation in Portugal, so the job is ours.  But who better to vacuum and to dust the thousands of books than a professor emeritus from The Ohio State University, who has a Ph.D. in American Literature from Indiana University and a B.A. from Duke?  Who better to scrub all the germs and grime away from the bathroom and kitchen than a science writer who worked for a research institute and a college of engineering?

We did it.  The place is gleaming, and quiet.

The Eiffel Tower as seen from the Pont de Bir Hakeim

A fine museum and a fine dinner

June 29, 2017 – The Petit Palais is a stunningly beautiful museum in the middle of Paris.  Admission is free, yet the permanent collections include very important Impressionist and other paintings.  The size of the museum restricts how much can be displayed at once, and the City of Paris resists the urge to clutter this place devoted to showing off its Fine Arts collections.  Works are rotated; every time we go to the Petit we see works that are new to our eyes, and we see old “friends.”  I have the impression that the City of Paris has lots of storage for artworks not currently on display at museums.

The garden in the Petit Palais, as seen from the cafe.

The Petit Palais building itself is a work of art, meticulously maintained.  Its centerpiece is a round, central garden.  Facing the garden is an inviting café, with food and beverages served cafeteria-style.  We started our visit there, because it was lunchtime.  Mine was a piece of steamed cod on a generous bed of peas, carrots, and small lima beans.  Tom’s lunch was basically desert:  a lemon tart, a piece of orange pound cake, and coffee.

Our walk to the museum took about a half hour, but it was interrupted by a haircut for Tom.  We were walking up the rue de la Croix-Nivert, right past Look Coiffeur, the barbershop run by French-North Africans where Tom gets at least one haircut every year.  I suggested that he stop there if the barbers weren’t busy, and they weren’t.  I told Tom I’d wait near the “improper lion,” a name that we Cooleys have given to a statue in the Square Cambronne, a few blocks to the northeast of Look Coiffeur.

I entertained myself with people-watching and playing with the settings on my aging camera (Nikon Coolpix S6800).  I’d only been waiting about 25 minutes when Tom appeared.  His haircut looks good.

The "improper lion" statue in the Square Cambronne.

After we walked around the back and side of the École Militaire, we explored a street that we’d never yet walked along (imagine that!) – the rue Chevert.  This is a quiet lane that stretches between the École Militaire and Les Invalides.  On it we noticed the Hotel Muguet, a well-located three-star accommodation with air conditioning.

The Hotel Muguet on the rue Chevert.

The next section of our stroll was up the calm, western edge of the Esplanade des Invalides.  Then we crossed the mad intersection Quai D’Orsay to traverse the Seine on the most beautiful bridge in France, the Pont Alexandre III.

When it was time to walk home after our leisurely museum visit, we chose to walk along the Seine even though rain clouds were threatening.  Amazingly, the dark shapes passed us by, one after another.  We were unexpectedly dry when we reached our neighborhood, where we ran a few errands before going inside to rest up for dinner at Le Blavet, a longtime favorite resto that is a 12-minute walk from our apartment.

We had a dinner of classics:  paté foie gras for Tom, and tartare of salmon for me, then sole meuniere for Tom and duck breast in sweet-and-sour sauce for me.  Finally, dessert was an apple tart with ice cream for Tom, and a rich, dark moelleux au chocolat for me.  It was a fine feast, which we enjoyed in the table set directly in the resto’s front window.

Tartare of salmon.

Duck breast in sweet and sour sauce

Sole meunierel

Moelleux au chocolat.

Apple tart with ice cream.

In the news, we notice that Donald Trump will be here in Paris for Bastille Day.  While it is a grand tradition for the President of France to invite a President of another country to sit with him during that holiday’s main events, I have difficulty imagining President Trump sitting through the very long, somber military parade that takes up the entire morning.  Then there is a garden party in the afternoon at the Elysée Palace.  I predict that Melania Trump will wear a wonderful garden-party dress, and Donald will wear the usual somewhat ill-fitting suit.  Also in the afternoon, the two main TV stations (France 2 and 3) each have a journalist who, together, interview the French president.  In the evening, the City of Paris puts on a stupendous fireworks display and concert.  It’s the best.  It’s incredible.  It’s yuge.  Really yuge.

Some entertainment that we were looking forward to this week was a big-band jazz concert at the Luxembourg Gardens on Saturday evening.  But alas, I read online yesterday that it has been cancelled due to security concerns.  Darn.

We’ll carry on, however, walking and walking, enjoying the delightful sights and sounds in the city.

A New Day

August 25, 2016 -- I rose at 6:30AM and dressed for my morning walk: black cotton tank top, black Zenergy pants (all Chico’s), black Sketchers, and my black camera bag slung diagonally across my body, with its peace symbol turned outward.  Outside, the air was as cool as it will be today: probably in the lower 70s, with rising humidity.

Statue of boy with seashell at the Village Suisse

I walked silently and swiftly in those Sketchers, up the rue du Commerce and avenue de la Motte Picquet toward the Champ de Mars.  Shops were closed.  A few joggers appeared, here and there.  Trucks tried to make their deliveries before the streets became busy:  a huge bakery truck, a truck with goat cheese from the provinces, a truck with escargots from Rungis (the wholesale market just outside of Paris).

Otherwise, the streets were quiet.  As I approached the neighborhoods on either side of the Champ de Mars, I listened.  Songbirds were singing their morning repertoires.

I moved silently through these neighborhoods and through the gardens on either side of the base of the Eiffel Tower.  I’m always impressed by the thick canopy of tall trees there, and the extreme calm right next to such a major tourist attraction.

To accomplish this loop, I did have to walk for a short distance on the sidewalk of the Quai Branly, right in front of the Tower.  Across the river was the Trocadero.  Nothing was open yet; the throngs of tourists hadn’t arrived.  They were still sipping coffee and eating croissants at their hotels.  The Trocadero appeared to be empty.

The area immediately below the Eiffel Tower is now cordoned off with tall, temporary wire fencing.  A temporary building sits next to the security entrances to house all the security personnel, I guess.  To exit the area under the tower, people must pass through turnstiles not unlike the ones in some of the metro stations.

No longer can one just walk idly through the crowds under the tower.  Movements are tightly controlled there.

One of the planters at the Village Suisse

As I gazed ahead down the streets that would take me back to the avenue de la Motte Picquet, I noticed a slight haze in the air, highlighted by the angled morning sunlight.  A hazy, hot summery day had begun.

To avoid the road work areas at the busy corner of the avenues Suffren and la Motte Picquet, I took a turn through the Village Suisse.  All the antique stores there were closed, but I love to look at the magnificent flower beds in large square planters at the Village Suisse.  Someone works hard on these plantings, and I am dazzled by the results of their efforts.

On the way home, I stopped at the bakery. First, I said good day to the beggar from the neighborhood who often sits near the entrance.  We’ve seen this man on the streets of this neighborhood for several years.  We don't think he is homeless -- he's just living on limited means, with the help of social services and subsidized housing.

I bought the usual baguette for Tom.  Then I turned the corner and headed for home.

I realize that on this walk I’d seen a few homeless people sleeping here and there who do not look as worn out, sick, dirty and desperate as many who have substance abuse problems.  Today, I’d seen some of a different type of homeless – people who look habitually cleaner, more resourceful, and healthier.  I would not be surprised at all to learn that these are refugees – recent arrivals from Syria or Afghanistan.

Duck breast slices in sweet and sour sauce with potatoes au gratin

I’m glad my Sketchers are so quiet that I didn’t disturb their sleep.  I wish all of them well.

France has much in the way of social services to help all the different kinds of homeless people.  In the summer, there are special programs that pick up the slack as some of the private nonprofits take a summer break.  I don’t think anyone has to go hungry in Paris, but some may resist going to the soup kitchens and shelters for various reasons.

Sometimes I see social workers sitting with homeless people, talking with them about their situations.  I think France does a good job of caring for the least of these.

We don’t take for granted our ability to go out and enjoy life here in Paris.  We are thankful, every day. And we’re doing our part to stimulate the economy here – an economy which is slumping.  Business is visibly off.

Last night, we dined at Le Blavet, one of our all-time favorite little Parisian restaurants, tucked away on the rue Lourmel, just off the rue des Entrepreneurs.

Beef filet with foie gras et sauce Perigordine, and potatoes au gratin.

The evening was very warm, and there is no air conditioning at Le Blavet.  So we started with a couple of cool dishes:  gazpacho for Tom, and a salade landaise au copeaux de foie gras, magret de canard fumé et gésier confit for me (a green salad with foie gras, smoked duck, and confit of duck gizzards).  Delicious!

Then came a steak with foie gras and sauce Perigordine for Tom, and slices of roasted duck breast in sweet and sour sauce for me.  Both dishes were accompanied by gratin dauphinoise – potatoes au gratin.  Excellent!

There was too much food, so we spirited away some meat and potatoes in a zippered food storage bag.

For dessert, I had a cool Dame Blanche (ice cream with whipped cream and a drizzle of caramel sauce; Tom had a little apple tart called a panier de pommes (basket of apples) with a luscious creme Anglaise and a little scoop of ice cream --all very pretty, smooth, cool and tasty.

Panier de pommes -- apples in a pastry basket, with Creme Anglaise and
raspberry sauce, accompanied by a scoop of ice cream

This place should be packed every night, and it isn’t.  I don’t understand why.  The prices are amazingly good; my three-course dinner was 27 euros.  Tom’s had a 7-euro supplement because he ordered one item (his steak) from the 34 euro menu.  But 34 euros is also a good deal for three courses!  (Tax and tip are always included in these prices.)

The one criticism we have had about Le Blavet in past years is that the service has been slightly begrudging.  But that wasn’t true last night.  Our server, a young woman, did a good job.

Dame Blanche at Le Blavet

The location of the restaurant is off the beaten path, and I don’t think Le Blavet advertises much.  The restaurant is participating in Lafourchette.com, with a 20 percent discount on certain nights.

For quality and price, you just can’t beat Le Blavet in Paris.

There's something about Paris

September 19, 2015 -- Even when we’re holed up all day, working at our computers, there’s something about being in Paris that is special.  Certainly we feel that something when we break out in the evening to walk and dine.  But we feel it even when we’re at home in the apartment, with the screen in front of us looking pretty much the same as it would look no matter where we could be – provided there’s an internet connection available.

Le Blavet is a river in France.

Maybe it is the light flowing through the balcony doors, even on a cloudy day.  Or maybe it is the sight of the geraniums through the sheer curtains.  Or maybe it is that view over the higgledy-piggledy rooftops – especially when I open those sheer curtains in the dining room.

I look down from the balcony and I see shops with everything we need for daily living and more.  I know I don’t need a car to run the daily errands. 

When the cashier at the grocery shows that he knows us, we feel just as much at home as we do in our small town back in Florida.  We feel that way even though we don’t know anywhere near as many people in Paris as we know in Florida. 

That’s by design.  We like the seclusion we enjoy in the big city.  People leave us alone, yet we know they’re out there.  Parisians care; they’re good people, with generous hearts and spirits.  When we’re out and about, we can rely on Parisians to be polite, except for the occasional odd duck, of course.  But the odd ducks seem to be amusing, somehow.

I love to see Parisians lined up out on the sidewalk, waiting their turns at the butcher’s counter so they can buy one of those heavenly-smelling roasted chickens on Saturday or Sunday.  Roasted chicken, leg of lamb, roasted potatoes – all steaming and waiting for the customers who are not steaming, but waiting patiently.

The blackboard in Le Blavet in July.

I love that “bonjour madame” that I hear as soon as I walk through the door of the wine shop or the fromagerie.  I love that exchange of merci-au revoir-bonne journée as I leave the shops.

I love the professional poise and decorum of the servers in the restaurants.  It is always a jolt when I hear a bubbly, “Hello, I’m Jennifer and I’ll be your server today” when we return to the U.S. and its plethora of casual dining spots.

Many Parisians – but not all of them – still have that casual elegance that seems to come so naturally to them.  Oh the scarves – even the men wear them well.

Parisians have an understated warmth, a hospitality, that is not unique to Paris.  I felt an abundance of that warm hospitality when we were in Rome, for example.

I remember a very rainy evening in Rome when we ducked under an awning over a shop’s entrance, just to wait for the rain to lighten up before we continued.

 

The shopkeeper came out with a worried look on her face.  I thought she was shooing us away, so, with disappointment on my face, I turned to leave.  She stopped us.  No, she was inviting us to come in to her warm, dry shop, even though we were dripping.  She was kind to strangers.

Last night it was raining as we walked to dinner at Le Blavet.  What would normally be a 20-minute stroll was a 15-minute brisk walk, because in the cold rain, one doesn’t stroll.  So we arrived at the restaurant 5 minutes early.

Decor at Le Blavet is a little stark.

We could see that the staff was still sitting around having after-dinner cigarettes inside, because it wasn’t quite opening time.  We stayed out under the awning, respecting their time and space.

When I thought it was 7:30 (but it was really 7:28), I turned around to open the door.  It was locked!  I was mildly shocked.

After a minute, the host came over to the door and looked at me like I was a bad child because it was a minute or two early.  There was no concern for customers waiting in the cold rain; customers who’d walked through the rain to get there.  He unlocked the door.  I didn’t forget that look on his face because it was not normal; that isn’t how Parisians normally behave.

Nevertheless, we were polite, saying “bonjour,” “merci,” “ça va,” as we entered and placed our dripping umbrellas in the proper receptacle.  We settled into our regular table in the front window.  I just wish the restaurant didn’t have bright klieg lights in that front window!  That light is too harsh for a romantic dinner.

Shrimp ravioli came in a buttery sauce with a parmesan crisp on top.

The chef did a wonderful job, and he’s the reason we love Le Blavet.  One of our starter courses, a foie gras entier with a roasted apple on a slice of spice bread, was scrumptious – almost as good as the last time we dined at Le Blavet.  The other starter, a shrimp ravioli, was very good, but the buttery sauce needed seasoning.  Fortunately there was salt and pepper on the table.  That isn’t always the case; often some restaurants’ staff believe that salt and pepper aren’t needed because their food is perfectly seasoned – as it should be.  In those places, you must ask for the salt and pepper if you want it.

A wonderful foie gras starter course.

Tom and I managed to have “surf and turf” by sharing our main courses – sole meuniere and a beef filet with foie gras on top, a couple of steamed potatoes and some scalloped potatoes.  All of it was excellent, but copious.  We used two ZipLoc bags to carry leftovers home.  Mort au gaspillage!

(We just had a little of the leftover foie gras on small toast slices for today’s lunch, with a few fresh raspberries from the Dia grocery on the side.)

Le Blavet structures its menu so you have three courses each.  Fortunately, the desserts we selected were light – one thin crepe with a few delicious cooked apple slices and a light caramel sauce, with a very small scoop of ice cream.  Very good, and manageable.

Other diners didn’t arrive until we were almost finished with dinner.  We were surprised the restaurant didn’t have more customers, because the food is so very good.  But we suspect the weak business is because of the restaurant’s copious 3-course menus.  The menus are reasonably priced, one at 26 euros for three courses, and one at 34 euros.  However, nobody enjoys wasting food.

We had a pleasant chat with an Asian-American family just before we left.  The daughter has recently started a job in Paris, and her parents are visiting.  We complimented the daughter on her choice of living in the 15^th arrondissement.

Sole meuniere.

We walked home alongside the Place du Commerce park, the heart of the Grenelle neighborhood, and enjoyed the smell of fresh rain on the chestnut trees, filtered light and laughter from the Commerce Café across the way.  

There’s something about Paris.

Bistrot or brasserie?

Last Monday, we’d stopped for tea and coffee in the late morning at a brasserie that we’d been admiring.  We enjoyed our break there, and I noticed one of my favorite dishes, aile de raie (skate) on the blackboard.  We decided to go there for dinner sometime this week.

Last night was the night.  We arrived at Les Trois Garçons brasserie at 7:30PM and were given a table in the middle of the dining room.  The only people out on the terrace were smokers; it was a cool, damp evening.

Les Trois Garçons, on Place du Comtat Venaissin

Soon after we arrived, the place began filling up with locals – mostly families.  That’s always a good sign.  Most people ordered one of the steaks – I think there were three choices.  Some had fries, some had puréed potatoes.

That’s probably what we should have ordered.  Instead, we had a mixed bag.

Tom ordered a country terrine as a starter; it was delicious.  I ordered a burratta, and it was too much cheese and too little else.

Napkins in cubbyholes at Les Trois Garçons.

For the main course, Tom ordered pork medallions stuffed with foie gras – very good! And very small.  I had a mullet that was supposed to be done in meunière fashion (the skate was no longer on the menu).  There was nothing meunière about it, although the fish was very good.  The overcooked veggies that came with it were not, however.

We shared the tart of the day – a fig tart flavored with anise and served on a sablé crust.  Yummy!  And attractive.

The price for this brasserie dinner?  75 euros (no discount).  That was too much for what it was.  I will say that the food came out of the kitchen quickly at Les Trois Garçons; for those in a hurry, this might matter.

Compare this brasserie dinner to the dinner we had at the bistrot, Le Blavet, the night before.  You can see the photos of the food on yesterday’s posting.

For the same price – 75 euros with no discount – we each had three courses, plus a mis en bouche.

For a starter, I had a beautiful tartelette aux tomates cerises, oignons confits, sardines grillée.   Tom’s starter was some foie gras entier (i.e., not a paté) that melted in the mouth, served with a roasted apple slice on spice bread with a fruity sauce.  Delicious, and beautiful.

Wallace fountain next to Les Trois Garçons.

My main course -- slices of duck breast in a powerful sweet-and-sour sauce served with rich scalloped potatoes, and roasted apple and prune, with a homemade olive-and-anchovy flavored cracker -- was a beautiful and sensuous creation.  There was a plethora of rich flavors on that plate.

Tom had a true sole meunière, although I thought it should have had some of the butter sauce with it on the plate.  Nevertheless, it was delicious.  Really delicious.  And Tom did a great job of de-boning it.

Tom had a fandarole of several small desserts, and I had a homemade apple pie (tarte tatin).  I will say that the fig tart at Les Trois Garcons was superior to these desserts at Le Blavet. But dessert is not the most important course, in my opinion.

Needless to say, I had to use a ZipLoc back to surreptitiously take some of the food home from Le Blavet.

There was no comparison between Le Blavet, the bistrot, and LesTrois Garçons, the brasserie, for 75 euros.  This is not unusual.  The bistrot is better value almost every time.  That’s why we’ve only gone to brasseries a very few times this summer.

Vive le bistrot!

Excellent fig tart at Les Trois Garçons.

Dear Reader

September 12, 2015 -- In the same way that I disapprove of the news media reporting too much on themselves, I also don’t want this journal to call attention to itself.  Nevertheless, today I’m going to reach out to Paris Journal readers in Venezuela, Indonesia, and Thailand.  A little later, I’ll get to those readers in France, too.

A Wallace fountain in the square in front of the town hall for
the 15th arrondissement.

Blogger.com keeps statistics on the pageviews by country.  That’s how I know this Paris Journal has readers in Venezuela, Indonesia, and Thailand.  I also know that the Journal has readers in Ireland and Mexico, but I think I know who they are:  my friends Carolyn S. and Debby H. W.

So, if you don’t mind my asking, dear readers in Venezuala, Indonesia, and Thailand, what do you like about this Paris Journal?  What don’t you like about it?  How did you learn of its existence?  Why do you read it?  Or do you just look at the photographs?

You can send me a message at barbarajoycooley@facebook.com .  I’d love to hear from you.

I’m not surprised at all that the Paris Journal receives plenty of pageviews from France.  But I am surprised at the number.  I can only guess that some of these are from restaurant owners or managers in Paris.  Since I write about Paris restaurants, photograph their food and dining rooms, am a senior contributor on TripAdvisor, and have achieved “gastronome” status on lafourchette.com (simply by dining out so frequently using the lafourchette.com reservation service), a few of them might be curious to see what I have to say, or show, in the Journal.

Today, social service and other associations have an information fair on the square in front of the 15th's town hall.
This is an annual event that happens every September.

So for those Parisian restaurateurs, I have a special contribution today: an explanation for why Tom and I prefer the menu in French to the menu in English.

English is a tricky language.  Translating a French menu (carte) into English requires not only a thorough knowledge of the English language, but also a knowledge of cuisine and how we English speakers communicate about it. 

The mis en bouche given to us at Le Blavet, where we dined last night.

Translations by those who aren’t up to the task can result in some amusing bloopers (mistakes).  Sometimes, these bloopers are far more than amusing.  They can be outrageously funny, just as funny surely as some of the mistakes that Tom and I make in French.

Richard Lederer, author of The Bride of Anguished English, has collected a sampling of some of these menu bloopers for one chapter of his book.  If you don’t understand why some of these are funny, then please write to me (email address above) and ask; I will explain what's wrong and funny for each and any one of them.  Here goes:

Whores Dover

Gritty Balloons in Soup

Barely Soup

Fisherman’s Crap Soup

Limpid Red Beet Soup with Cheesy Dumplings in the Form of a Finger

Soap of the Day

Salad

Salad, a Firm’s Own Make

Groin Salad

Meat

Buff Steak

Warm Little Dogs

Calf Pluck

Roast Beast

Sir Loin Steak

Gut Casserole

Hambugger

Dreaded Veel Cutlets

Pork with Fresh Garbage

Boiled Sheep

Sour Pig’s Fore Shamk

Special Big Leg

Meat Dumping

Beef Rashers Beaten Up in the Country People’s Fashion

Tortilla Topped with Chili, Melted Cheese, Sour Cream, and Glaucoma

Live Wurst

Seafood

Muscles in Sailor’s Sauce

Drunken Prawns in Spit

Shrimp in a Casket

Dead Shrimp on Warm Vegetables

Sea Blubber in a Spicy Sauce

Desserts

Pie Tongue

Honey Do

Tart of the House

Chocolate Mouse Tort

Finest Moldy Cheese

Strawberry Crap

Lady’s Finger

Chocolate Sand Cookies

Pustache Ice Cream

Fire Pudding with Hard Sauce

Rice Kooky

Beverages

White Whine

Cock and Tail

Fried Milk

Turkey Coffee

Lemon Jews

Garlic Coffee

Floating Iceberg

Special Cocktails for Women with Nuts

By now, I hope all the journal readers who are native speakers of English are in stitches.  Tom and I enjoyed reading excerpts of Lederer’s book so much that we’ve ordered a hardcover copy for our home.  We’ll put it in the guest bathroom or bedroom for our visitors’ enjoyment.

Tartelette aux tomates cerises, oignons confits, sardines grillee, 

There are additional reasons why we want the French menu, and not the English translation, when we dine in Paris restaurants.  The main reason is that it is less confusing for us; we are accustomed to the menu in French, when it comes to French cuisine.  There are many dishes I know well only by their French names, and I must think hard or do research to decide what these would be called in English.  This is particularly true for fish, since species vary from one part of the globe to the other; there sometimes aren’t exact translations to American English.

Some of the English menus in Parisian restaurants are accurate enough, but they still do not convey the magic of French cuisine; the English words do not sound right, they just don’t feel right.  As Tom explains it occasionally, when he asks for the French menu instead of the English one that’s been given to him, “Le goût est mieux en français”  (the taste is better in French).

Foie gras entier on spice bread with a roasted apple.

On a very few sad occasions, we have noticed that the English menu at certain unnamed restaurants did not list the best specials, or the better values, at all.  This is a blatant attempt to fleece the tourists, and we do not approve.  Fortunately, this only happens rarely.  [I think I have never seen this done in Florida, but the only foreign language menus I’ve seen there are in Spanish, and I don’t read Spanish very well.  Most Spanish-speaking tourists in Florida are those from Latin America, and they tend to visit the east coast (Miami) area, not so much the Gulf coast, where we live.]

Le Blavet's superb magret de canard with sweet and sour sauce, roasted apples, and scalloped potatoes.
The pointy cracker in the middle is flavored with tapenade (olives) and anchovy paste.

We do have plenty of French Canadian tourists in Florida during the winter (peak season), but they are very accustomed to having to read English, and so menus translated into French are rare in Florida.

When we dine out in Paris with friends who do not speak French, I’m happy to explain the menu to them.  Usually we will ask for English menus for our non-French speaking friends, but we stick with the French menus for ourselves.  And I still need to explain the menu to our friends, because important aspects of some dishes can be omitted, improperly translated, or not really translated at all.

Sole meuniere at Le Blavet, on the rue Lourmel.  Our dinner there last night was superb, and reasonably priced.

The best solution, in my opinion, is to offer French menus to English speakers, and forget about translating menus into English.  English speakers will understand far more than you think; we already know about cassoulet and bouillabaisse, for example.  Much wonderful French cuisine and language has worked its way into our culture through the centuries.  And there is no need to translate “tarte” into “pie.”  English speakers know what “fromage” is.  They often know far more French than they realize.

(Remember when George W. Bush said, “The French have no word for ‘entrepreneur’”?)

I think it is better for a French restaurant to offer no printed menu translation to English.  Instead, have a server available who can answer some questions in English.  The blackboard listing daily specials, which is almost never translated into English, will still need some interpretation.  Some of that is needed because European handwriting is very different from American handwriting, and to the uninitiated, those handwritten blackboards can be difficult to read. 

In Parisian restaurants where we are known, we have been asked, from time to time, to translate a particularly difficult word for the benefit of a table of English speakers.  For example, Chef Eric at l’Alchimie recently asked us to translate “pintade” when he was trying to explain his menu to a young American couple.

“Guinea fowl,” we cheerfully answered.  But realizing that this translation wasn’t enough, I quickly added, “It is like especially delicious chicken.”  This was necessary because many Americans still won’t know what “guinea fowl” is.   So a strict translation would not have been adequate; a bit of an explanation was needed.  We really don’t mind being asked to do this at all.

We aren’t just translating words; we’re translating culture and art.