Never ones to ease into things, we put Lindsey and Chris on a crash course of all things Paris. We sent them to the Louvre to soak up all the art and french history they could in a few hours (a small fraction) while we took off to explore more of the outer edges of Paris. Turns out that New York royally ripped off Paris. Know that you read it here first, dear reader. We are definitely breaking this scandal wide open.  NYC IS A GIANT COPY CAT. Here we thought the High Line was novel and it turns out that Paris did it first (and better). Once an elevated train track, this area is now a gorgeous park which the Parisians hide out and run on and generally – the awesomeness seems to make them very happy.

We walked the entire length before finding our restaurant for lunch about 6 minutes before the chef would have locked the front door and told us it was time for his nap.  After sitting through six weeks of meals where Sean orders better than I do, I’m happy to report I finally nailed this one.

He did not, however.

Instead of feeling awesome and victorious – I felt very sad for him as he tried to figure out what to do with his beef tails (though he did refuse my offers to switch for my amazing steak and caprese).

After our lunch, we wandered around Bercy, checking out the park (this time on terra firma) that once was a series of railway lines.

Turns out every cool kid in Paris hangs out here: (and they were oh so pleased that I was going Ansel Adams on them).

Did I mention that Sean danced through the park?

The weather seemed to be changing every five minutes but we charged on and wandered over to the French National library which is an impressive complex of four glass skyscrapers which resemble open books at the top of a four story underground complex that reminds one of Jurassic Park.

Note the shutters, which were installed AFTER the buildings were errected when they realized the books were literally baking in the sun.

We met back up with Lindsey and Chris at the flat, who had spent the majority of the day in the Louvre.

After some quick cheese fun, we headed to Regelade St Honore for dinner. Tucked around the corner from Spring, we’ve been looking forward to eating here since we arrived. Turns out, we’ve gotten pretty good at this restaurant picking hobby. The food was outstanding, as was the copious amounts of wine and cheese that accompanied the meal, which you can check out here…

Sunday started as our others have – we were going to the market, we were going to make a big lunch and then explore a bit of the city.

Except I couldn’t get Mr. Mills off the couch. No matter what I said (which as it got later escalated to “I’m going to melt if I don’t eat in the next 10 minutes), he wouldn’t move. Well, a knock on the door divulged the reason for his procrastination – he was waiting for a special delivery of my friends Chris and Lindsey from San Diego who were on their way to surprise me.

Another surprise.

One would think that I am getting better at metabolizing such shock, but instead I wandered around in another happy haze. We did go to the market, though we skipped the oysters and wheatgrass without Cousin Dave.

While Chris and Lindsey went to explore Notre Dame,

I made lunch of chicken with mushrooms and pasta (sorry, no pics. Blame the happy haze) before tucking them in for a nap.

Not wanting them to feel badly, we had a quick nap too before heading off to a classic French bistro, Fontaine de la Mar. I have to tell you that the Obamas ate there on their last trip to Paris, mostly because the restaurant tells you whenever they have the opportunity. We couldn’t have summed up France any better for Chris and Lindsey than bringing them to this adorable, overheated French bistro to feast on pate, roasted chicken, and crème brulee.

We wandered off to show them the Eiffel Tower (Sean is SO good at this planning stuff), watched it glitter on the hour and then finally put them out of their jetlagged misery (sleep, not putting them down permanently!).

For the next week, Chris gets quite a few photo credits, we’ve combined our pics and you’ll get a smattering of both of ours.

Here we are. We haven’t forgotten you, we’ve just been uber busy. And actually, even more than uber busy, we’ve been busy resting. And then there’s my latest surprise. After our dinner, we woke up on Saturday to rain and gray skies. I made eggs, roast beef hash (the best I’ve ever made, thank you Grand Epicerie), and a mashed potato pancake out of those lovely mashies from the night before. Breakfast was divine but set us on a crash course of nothingness. This time, it was me who was feeling under the weather a bit and dragging Sean out into the cold and rain didn’t seem like a winning recipe for fun this week. We were much more content to listen to the thunder from inside and read (Sean is on book 6).  We finally ventured out for dinner, Italian this time. Not to kick a gift horse in the mouth but all the amazing french food has made us spoiled and happy, but after a month, it’s good to spice things up a bit. Well, boy, did we ever spice things up. Our new name for the restaurant is La Gimmick and should you ever need to spice up your culinary adventures in Paris, we’ll give you the real name. One of my earliest memories as a child is watching Steak Diane made at the Marriott hotel and ever since, I’ve been a lifelong addict when it comes to any sort of silliness that happens tableside.  Well, this may have cured me of that. To be honest, my meal was pretty subpar so we’ll leave that aside but Sean had quite the adventure. He first ordered a ham salad but when a lobster salad instead materialized we realized that the language barrier had struck again. It wasn’t that he had ordered incorrectly, he just couldn’t send it back when he realized the mistake. And an important omen for the next course. He had ordered this lovely pasta that actually transpired as quite the show. The waiter brought over what had to have once been a 40 lb round of grand padano. He lit a small saucepan of brandy on fire and at once, threw cream and pasta into the cheese shell. With what could be described as a pick, he then swirled it about, hatcheting out cheese before dumping it unceremoniously on Sean’s plate. And then five other people in the restaurant promptly ordered the same thing.

Dessert was a bit of a stunner too.

Our panna cotta had pop rocks on the plate. Straight up pop rocks like when we were kids, making our eyes bulge, us giggle, and quickly pay the bill and jet. We walked home down the Champs Elysees (and by the Arc) and hopped the train before Sean laid down on a park bench (admittedly, he would have had lots of competition for said bench).

Look, Kelly’s just as sad as you are about our lack of blog updates.  So we’ve looked at the calendar and committed to the following schedule: we will post at least two days worth of blogs each day from now till the end of the trip, which would have us be almost caught up by the end of our trip.  Two updates to come shortly…

so, funny thing about French Fast Food. They love their McDo. they’re everywhere. But until i started seeing these ads, i hadn’t noticed that there really aren’t any Burger Kings anywhere in the city. Upon further research, (ie- this NYT article from the late 90s) i discovered that there literally aren’t ANY BKs in Paris.  Business wasn’t so great for them, so they folded up shop and left town more than 10 years ago.

But, apparently the ad folks at BK think there’s some sort of untapped demand for BK in Paris, so rather than open an outlet here, they’ve started a reasonably extensive ad campaign (this was the 3rd or 4th one we’ve seen, not all near major transportation hubs) directing people to take the Eurostar to London (only 2 hours and 15 min!) to get their Whopper fix. 

Hmmm, let’s do the math:

- McDo: 5-10 minutes to find one, order and get your food. and another 5 min to eat and be on your way. probably 5 euro for your meal (7 euro if you have to buy a one way subway pass).

- BK: 30 min trip to Gare du Nord, 2.5 hour train ride to London, maybe 15 min to find at BK (if you’re lucky and it’s located in St. Pancras), then 45 min to check in for the next Eurostar, then another 2.5 hours to travel home, then 30 min to get home from the train station. So your total travel time is about 7 hours. And the eurostar ticket is going to run you at least 150 bucks, plus about 7 to 8 bucks for the BK (everything is more expensive in London), plus 4 bucks for your subway passes to and from Gare du Nord.

15 min and 5 euro vs. 7 hours and 160+ bucks.

Call me crazy, but i think BK has figured out how to successfully crack paris! ;-)

My geekery really starts to shine when I’m presented with any opportunity to wander around an awesome grocery store or anything that involves cooking. Somehow, the other part of my brain that doesn’t have to be responsible or linear clicks in and I’m truly happy.

We often wander around in grocery stores in our destinations, mostly because they offer an unadulterated view into how folks live and shop in other parts of the world. They are often the most underrated spot for souvenirs too but that’s a trade secret. The sad part about visiting all of these markets around the world is that I rarely get to actually buy something to cook, instead having to dart jealous glares at the regular patrons.

Well, no more.

We went to Grand Epicerie and I was allowed to buy whatever I wanted, well, almost. I wish I had had the presence of mind to take pictures because you should have seen the meat counter. Trying to be cost conscious, we bought a simple chuck roast. I was slightly timid in trying to negotiate for something more complicated, afraid that I would arrive home with pied de cochon (editor’s note: pig’s feet) or something. They had this awesome machine behind the counter that was making ground beef, they were sticking all different kinds of meat and out came this massive (it had to be 6 inches across) pile of ground beef. For a country that doesn’t like hamburgers (though McDonald’s does seem to be taking over the country), they seem to have some of the world’s best equipment to make them. It’s sort of what I imagine that Shake Shack has in the back room.

One last note about the meat counter, they wrap everything in paper and then it’s sealed by something that looks like a Cryo-vac, leaving you with an astronaut like packet of meat. Obviously, I was impressed.

Sean was starting to look a bit pekid (though for the record, he was actually looking MUCH better all day). We bought some veggies (haricot verts and onions) which were weighed out in the produce section so that very proper cashier doesn’t have to remember all the codes, picked out a few other things and we were on our way.

Sean has been checking out every last menu we pass in hopes of finding some french onion soup now that the weather has turned cold. Since he’s had little luck finding any outside of the tourist areas, I agreed to make him some (I make REALLY good onion soup).

I also set out to make another tart, this one lemon, since our standing taste test at all of the city’s patisseries have been tart au citron. Can’t really pass judgement on everyone unless I tried it out myself. Admittedly, these sorts of experiments will be much easier once I get home to a fully stocked kitchen but it wasn’t bad – it was actually very good. Not as good as Paris’ best, but loads better than a few we’ve had. Anyway, we had onion soup, chuck roast, mashed potatoes (which Sean has deemed “the best I’ve ever made”), green beans, and roasted cherry tomato caprese salad.

It was all quite good, though the soup was a bit salty. How does a food mecca such as Paris exist without stock? It’s impossible (literally) to get here, and everyone uses boullion cubes instead, which taste tinny and well, not like stock. Regardless, it cured Sean’s need for onion soup and we can commence a hunt for something else or just hatch a business that brings these poor people some quality stock.

Another thing checked off my life list – cooking dinner from Grand Epicerie. Next, world peace.

<k>

Oh, hello.  Remember me? i’m sean. the guy who felt like death the last 3 days, and only left the bell tower once a day to get a good meal. Enough of that. i’m happy to report that I’m finally feeling somewhat better, so today’s plan was to ease back into the excitement of Paris by having a lovely lunch followed by some light sightseeing. 

Now, even though i was feeling rather terrible, i could appreciate the amazing meals we had over the past three days (spring, frenchie, spring), so i knew that there was likely to be a let down with today’s lunch at Saotico, a new lunch spot in the 2nd. And i was right.

Don’t get me wrong. The lunch wasn’t horrible, by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, it was a perfectly good lunch. but it just wasn’t Frenchie or Spring, and when you’ve gotten accustomed to life-changing meals every day, well, it’s only natural that other meals will fall short.  

Kelly started with a very good lentil salad (how do they make them so soft and smooth here?!?).  

Meanwhile, I greatly enjoyed some warm goat cheese croquettes with an underdressed salad.

For entrees, Kelly had a lamb sausage dish, while i had a sirloin steak with caramelized onions and peppers. These dishes didn’t photo well, so we’ll spare you.    

Actually, the best part of the meal was the service. I mean, the actual service we received was pretty standard French, maybe even a bit below, since the restaurant is still somewhat new, and it appeared that they were busier than they were used to (every table was full at 1:15pm). So i’m not actually referring to the service we received, but rather the people who delivered it. Well, just one person, in fact. 

Rewind to the first Saturday we were in town, when the gang of 9 traveled to the flea market, then to Sacre Coeur, followed by a less-than-stellar dinner nearby.  If there was one memorable thing about that dinner, aside from my dad and Dave eating frog’s legs, it was the mother and daughter service we got.  As a reminder, here’s a picture of the daughter introducing Dave to the pleasures of their infused rums. 

So imagine our surprise when we walked in for lunch and found none other than the daughter from our mother-daughter dream team working the floor! Kelly couldn’t put her finger on where we knew her from, but i recognized her immediately, but of course couldn’t remember the name of her restaurant (Tartine Mariolle, for those of you keeping score), so i started saying things like “mother’s restaurant” and “near sacre coeur” until both kelly and the waitress recognized each other. turns out she works at this place during the day for lunch, then helps her mom out at night. at first you got the feeling she thought we were stalking her or something, but later we chatted at length, both amazed by the coincidence of finding her again.

after that, we had big plans to wander a big outdoor market to buy provisions for dinner, then go see a movie or explore a new neighborhood.  but after a bit of walking around, and some serious disappointment at the Marche Bourse, I was starting to feel not so great, so we called an audible and went food shopping at the Bon Marche (ie- most expensive grocery store ever; makes Whole Foods look like a dollar store) then back home to rest and cook for the night.

Seeing as the Bon Marche shopping/dinner has been a lifelong dream of Kelly’s, i’ll turn it over to her for the rest of the day…

<S>

It turns out we’re going to have to stay here and continue this life of leisure forever. Each fantastic day that we have just reaffirms that living in a gorgeous flat in Paris, walking the bridges by night and eating glorious food (not to mention, being work-free) seems to suit us very well.

I stood in a wine store today, with a sommelier who urged me to just stay and hang out for the afternoon after plying us with tastes after we came in to browse and thought, “yes, this is the life for me”. Oh but I’m skipping ahead.

We had a really lovely lunch today, one that has pushed Spring into the lead for me. First, when we walked in, they remembered us from the other night and my oyster/wine Frenchman friend was happy that we were back in a French “I’m pretending I’m not that happy” way.  Sitting upstairs was an entirely different experience, one served well by the 1.6 million dollar renovation they did of the lowly skate shop it once was. It’s an airy and light dining room though the size of a postage stamp by our definition. But a gorgeous postage stamp that I could call home very easily with its open kitchen and wealth of amazing ingredients. We were seated away from the kitchen but the cacophony of voices speaking English and French at once was a welcome change (in the kitchen and not in the dining room).  Our French friend brought us some wine, a theme that would continue throughout the afternoon until the dreaded (and likely amazing) cognac surfaced.

We started with a riff on our legume course from the other night, eggplant. This time it was accompanied by roasted mushrooms, walnuts (wow!) and pomegranate seeds.

I was very proud when the next course of eggplant arrived (we’re convinced that our dish the other night was a test run for the full service today at lunch)  - this time I actually understood that it was confited, that’s why it was packing all that flavor and delicious texture. With this eggplant, there were fried calamari rings – though most of my hand would have fit through one. Topped with a bit of fried chorizo and a sauce that neither the waiter nor me could translate, I could easily eat this dish every day for the rest of my life. But that’s the thing; the food (and wine) just kept improving with each course. By the second to last bite of this dish, Sean was suffering and had lost all ability to taste. It was a really shame and though I offered to eat both of our lunches, he suffered through.

Red mullet was next with roasted sweet potato, rutabaga and turnips, which was then quickly bathed in a duck broth that seemed to finish cooking the fish as if coaxing it into one last heroic act.

Sean had to exempt himself from writing this post at about that point as I waxed poetically about the dish and all he could taste was snot. The different wines continued and our next one was a white but yet it was heavily tannic, almost tasting like you were eating a rose. The waiter also had another description of it which was far more crass and French so I’ll hold off on relaying all of the descriptors.

Sean refused to pass up the cheese course given that our friend had plied us with so much good cheese on Tuesday. We had what Sean says is the best cheese of his life (are you seeing a recurring theme on this trip?). I have to admit that the goat cheese with honey was, well, just all of the cheeses were amazing. 

Somehow by this point in the meal his taste buds had realized that they were missing out on something extraordinary, though his head was back against the glass wall next to us.

So, right here, we were thinking that this was a good meal and one that we’d gladly hop on a plane for (which another couple had done – they had planned their trip around their reso – at least we’re not THAT crazy!).

And then came dessert, it’s hard to explain but it was essentially roasted pumpkin, topped with yogurt sorbet (which has to be one of the best things I’ve ever eaten in my life), shavings of pistachio, and then little crumbles of cookie. It was hideously good and thankfully we were dining a bit behind everyone else or I would have made friends with every table and stolen their desserts when they weren’t looking. The glasses on our table just seemed to keep multiplying, a common affliction here.

But then see, this other thing happened. It got better. Hard to believe but we both sort of grimaced when they brought us about this little extra bite of something – we heard chestnut and both began to mentally barter with the other about eating both servings so as to not be rude. The French get really upset when you don’t eat everything on your plate, like they will admonish you and tell you it’s rude. Anyhow, it was this chestnut cream with a dollop of chocolate and a drizzle of salted caramel.

Our French friend decided we needed something glorious to drink too – cognac to be exact, very expensive cognac. I’m not a big fan though I did try some with the dessert. The bite, or three, was likely something I will always remember eating. It was just ridiculously good. The cognac however was tough for me and I made Sean a deal (this is how we roll, are you seeing?). I made such a face when sipping it that he insisted on taking a picture for all of you to see. If I agreed, he would drink the rest of mine (he couldn’t taste it anyway). Though that last bit is sort of a fib because his eyes widened and watered when he slurped down the double dose. So here are those lovely pictures of me, for your enjoyment…. even I admit they are pretty funny.

After lunch Sean dilly-dallied and I wandered into the boutique that these guys have down the street. It’s essentially a pantry of all their favorite things and based on everything they’ve fed me this week, I’d gladly buy out the lot. I was on the hunt for a wine that we had on Tuesday night. Long story short, after 90 minutes, we had tasted 6 wines, bought 3 and I nearly had to carry the patient home. Everyone in the shop was so lovely and wanted us to try all of their wines and they kept asking us to just hang out. Trust me, I could have.  Well, that and I could have bought every single thing in the store. When I close my eyes and think of heaven, it’s a fancy grocery store. Now, it’s this little shop with my American sommelier friend, the wine distributor that happened by and insisted we taste, and all the chocolate, spices, and wine a girl could love.

While Sean was a bit wobbly by this point, we soldiered on and stopped into one of the top patisseries in Paris on the way home, Pain de Sucre. While I wasn’t sure we’d make it in the final blocks, even he perked up when we walked in. The very nice man made it quick when I asked him to give us the three best things in the shop and off we went. Sean climbed into bed after barely making it to the belltower (don’t worry – he looks much better now, must have been the cognac) and napped the rest of the day. Rather than braving the sub-30 degree temp this evening for dinner, we had fancy pastries for dinner after a starter of cheese and bread.  Here are our pastries; we decided that the lemon tart was the best…

We’re playing Scrabble on the iPad and doing the “no more Sick Sean” dance for the rest of the evening. Hope you’re having just as much fun wherever you are. And again, please send our things.

Breakfast in Paris

Sean (still sick - UGH) put in his order and I crept down the stairs into the cold (I could see my breath) and into our bustling little hood for breakfast. The problem? Where are we going to get all of this in Brooklyn?

Sean’s still sick. Giant frown.

However, after deeming his first meal at Frenchie as the best of his life, it would take a lot more than his current cold to keep him away. Plus, there’s always his Plan B – have me carry him there. Thankfully, that wasn’t needed though I was slightly nervous that we’d need that sort of measure on the way home. Poor guy went straight back to bed after lunch.

So, did it live up to the hype? Yes. While we both realized that the first meal could have been a fluke, we also knew that the chef doesn’t sign menus or book through dinners til January on a fluke. We also understood that the tomato starter that we had last time was a dish that we would never be able to replicate or even explain fully, it was magical. Knowing that the bar was high and that we shouldn’t really rub it in since my Dad was ill and missed the last meal, we can tell you that this was another really stunning meal (sorry Dad). 

We sat in the same table and were surprised to see mostly larger parties yesterday at lunch – including a table next to us of 6 business men that totally lost their cool when the meal came. There’s nothing as awesome as watching a serious Frenchman freak because the food is so good, it juxtaposes their normal sneer quite nicely.

Since Sean was sick we opted to skip the wine, though I did end up having a lovely white Burgundy with my main, prompting me to take a picture of the wine list and hope we can find it next week. We’re just so cool when we travel…. Snapping pics of menus… ugh.

Sean really wanted the mushroom soup, as did I, but when the waitress told him he should really order the other starter he rolled over like when Angel wants her belly rubbed. She whispered it was terribly good and she was quite right. The soup was stunning, with the most delicate poached egg (I woke up wondering how he did that this morning), pickled chard, dill and croutons in the base. A pitcher of soup was then poured over the top. While we’ve been told this is the best mushroom year in decades here, these mushrooms were heavenly. It’s hard to describe but rather than tasting like earth or even sometimes dirt, they tasted like the forest, with loads of cream added in for good measure.

I wish I could describe the next dish but since we didn’t really fully understand it on the menu in French, an English translation is going to be muddled. It was some sort of foie that had been whipped and had the texture of a panna cotta but instead was shaped like a tiny scoop of ice cream. Toast, and the loveliest chutney (it seemed to be grapes and shallots?) accompanied the funniest little green, it almost looked like something that belonged in the bottom of a fish tank.  When eating here, you must remember to take a bit of everything on the plate and especially here, you are rewarded by taking the time to make the perfect little bite. 

The mains were beef, braised for what seemed like 3 weeks, in the most glorious mustard sauce. Sean didn’t instantly love this one, likely because of the piquant taste of the mustard seeds but was singing its praises in the end.

I had a butternut squash risotto with pepitas, mascarpone, and shaved Parmesan. This would definitely go into the “get on a plane and come to Paris to eat this.” It was likely a combination of technique and raw ingredients but the entire dish was bliss. I’ve never tasted a squash that had such flavor  - it sort of makes our butternut squashes look like they’ve come out of a can.

We once again had the lovely blue cheese with cherry jam that gave us another excuse to eat more of the delicious bread. But it was the poached pear, with red wine reduction and fromage blanc that had me thinking about it this morning. I’m impressed and have a feeling I’ll spend many months thinking, “How did he do that?”

Another great meal at Frenchie, we’re incredibly lucky that we made those reservations when we had the chance. Sean hopped the train home to get straight back into bed and I walked home through the neighborhoods enjoying the startling sunlight and brisk temps. We finished off the chicken soup leftovers last night and laid on our respective couches reading – even with Sean being sick, this is heaven.

We’re off to Spring this morning for lunch and then we’ll see how the patient is holding up. Promise our food posts will be shortened once we start doing other things during the day again.

<k>

It’s hard to truly capture how stunning the bridges look at night here, or the crispness of the air, or just how happy and in love we both feel. We can only tell you, hoping that you realize that while all of those things are true in NY, they seem greatly intensified here. Another thing that we could spend our days worried about is how to explain just how amazing and fulfilling (in ways other than physical) the meals are. While we’ve had some clunkers, the majority have been stunning. And then there have been a few that we can only describe as ethereal. The best way to describe it – if someone told me they had scored a dinner reservation at one of these lovely spots, I would hop on a plane and come. We opted to have more meals rather than less meals of a fancier persuasion and I’m happy to admit that the line of thinking was brilliant. These meals leave you sitting there, trying to soak in every detail, every flavor profile, and every smile or wink from the staff. And there is the difference in and of itself, these are casual affairs, ones which bring you into the company of a staff that cannot wait for you to see how magical this food is going to be, they sort of wink and smirk when they put down your plate. It’s as if they are letting you in on the secret.

So far, amongst all of our fabulous meals, only Frenchie could cause Sean to threaten a hunger strike until we could return. Last night, we had dinner in the wine bar basement of Spring. If you’re not familiar with the tale of the restaurant, here’s a quick recap: http://tmagazine.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/06/10/eurofile-springtime-in-paris/#more-86971. I’ve been following them since they opened, was very sad when they closed up their “experiment” and then couldn’t get through once they opened again five weeks ago in their new (stunning) space. After Sean’s epiphany at Frenchie, we walked over to Spring and I begged for a reservation. Dinners are booked through January (like Frenchie) but I walked away with a lunch reservation (for Thursday) and one for last night in the wine bar. With the strike, we were one of three tables in the restaurant which worked to our advantage as we sat at the bar and chatted with our two new lovely friends behind the counter.

As is often the case here, when someone gives you limited or no option, you come out with only winners. The wine bar menu has two dishes from upstairs on it, assorted nibbles, and a veggie. While I have no clue whether there is typically a stream of wines poured for you, we had 5 tastings poured for us that were among the best I’ve ever had in each varietal, even varietals I don’t usually like.

Sean was feeling slightly better and was ready for some fresh air thankfully, he wouldn’t have wanted to miss this. We started with 6 oysters which proved to be a bit much for the patient so I happily embibed instead. They were the size of my fist, I realize that usually typifies an oyster that tastes like cardboard but instead, these were just amazing. They tasted like the sea, like you had been rolled in a wave and just had punched through the surface to take a breath. Three of them were all that would fit on the plate and quite frankly, I loved the show of shucking them at the counter in front of us just as much as eating them. Not only are they so deft in such a careful maneuver but the care with which they study them and smell them is how one might treat a baby.

But quick like that, they are on your plate with a dollop of grapefruit something or other and down the hatch.

We had ordered one of each main and the veggie (aubergine or eggplant this evening) and whether the talented man behind the bar just wanted to show off the ham and cheese board or was truly worried that we’d be too hungry waiting – he made us a lovely little plate that was awe-inspriring. It just melted in your mouth, and in one spare moment you wandered why you don’t eat things of that caliber that taste that good all the time.

And then our entrée’s arrived. I wish I could tell you what they were, other than some of the best food I’ve ever had. Sean had something that was tantamount to beef stew, only the beef was shredded after spending many hours colluding with an incredible red wine in a pot resulting in a texture and density that is hard to explain. There wasn’t much liquid, it instead resembled a pot pie filling but by even saying that I’m desecrating it – it was just so good. It had a very light layer of celery root puree on it that was such a nice counterbalance and honestly, didn’t taste much like celery root. I’m forgetting about 100 ingredients and since I could never cook at that level, I’m likely leaving out some of the main descriptors. It’s worth a trip to France.

Mine was some sort of little package of goodness, wrapped in the most lovely salty pastry. It was ground veal, foie gras, and vegetables inside but it didn’t taste like any of those individually; it was amazingly light and didn’t taste like mush either. It was absolutely incredible and made my mouth happy. Yes, that’s the best I can do! Sadly, the pic doesn’t help you much. There being very few diners and obviously sitting at the bar made it tough to sneak in a quick pic.

Sean’s not a huge fan of eggplant but he was slyly moving the bowl nearer to him whenever I wasn’t looking. There were two types of eggplant, mixed with a green and the lightest most ethereal pomegrante seeds as a counter balance. When I asked whether both were eggplant, I got a “but, of course” but without a lifetime of food education, I wouldn’t have even known to ask. If I could even just make that one dish, everyone I know would be lined up to come over for dinner every night.

Sean was starting to look a bit pekid by this point, though he hadn’t been able to turn down the subsequent wine tastes after the delicious first one. He refused to budge before trying the cheese board so we had a plate loaded with stinky and awesome cheese (even the “strongest” cheese in France” made an appearance), had one last lovely taste of a champagne made from pinot noir grapes and off we went into the night to get Sean to bed. In fairness, we could have stayed there most of the night and were invited to hang out. We made fast friends with both folks behind the counter (including an adorable Brit) and I would have happily sat there discussing all things France and taking down every last drop of the stunning wines behind the bar. This just doesn’t happen everywhere in the world, and it certainly doesn’t happen to us on a regular basis - it was so amazingly comfortable and yet we were so ridiculously spoiled at the same time.

We’re headed back to Spring for lunch upstairs on Thursday and I’m slightly concerned that with Spring and Frenchie in one week, Sean will have to transition all his work to Paris and make a second career of a sous chef.  Kidding, though wouldn’t that be magnificent. Instead, we’ll have to savor every moment and come back!

Believe it or not, i did not make it in to see if they have Blue on tap.

<s>