What to do on Sundays in Paris

Sundays in Paris are still considered a day of rest, for religious reasons - that is, the French faith and belief in time off work. But if you live with neighbors in close proximity (and especially if you have parquet floors, like most Parisians) you'd better not spend your day off mowing the lawn, catching up on vacuuming, or installing some new shelves - that is, unless you want your neighbors thumping on the ceiling to subtly and oh-so-passive-aggressively point out that they don't like the noise you're making. (Thanks to Mazarine for that anecdote!) Some Parisians have even been forbidden by their neighbors from running their clothes dryers on Sundays.

You can also scratch off that other UK and US Sunday tradition, of reading a fat newspaper filled with cultural supplements, coupons and cartoons. Most French newspapers are relatively thin, and as I type, they're actually on strike. And if you need to do any shopping, you're not having a lazy sleep in - shops that are open on Sunday usually open in the morning (say, 9-1) rather than the afternoon. Exceptions include areas market 'tourist' - this includes the shopping mall in the basement of the Louvre and the 4 Temps, a big mall at the end of Metro line 1. Food shopping after 1pm is usually limited to gas stations and the corner shops, which are relatively pricey and may not have any fresh bread.

My recommendations instead? Church, of course - in French or in English (St Joseph's RCC, St Michael's Anglican, American Church in Paris, etc). MCM and I usually like to eat - heading to the market in the morning, buying supplies, and then cooking in the afternoon. We also usually try to counter the eating by getting out for a nice walk or a bike ride. You can now rent Velibs near pretty much every Parisian park, including the Bois de Boulogne and Vincennes.

Or, and here's my top suggestion, try one of the markets that are open in the afternoon. I like the covered, open-air book market in the bottom of the 15th arrondissement, which is open every weekend and specialises in used and antiquarian books.



Bring cash. Most books are in French although there are some in English. Some of the vendors are very specialised - like antiquarian books on French colonialism - and some carry jumbled bits of everything (Andrew Morton's biography of Monica Lewinsky, anyone? Or the Hachette Guide des Vins 1987?) There are sections dealing with children's books, cookbooks, fine art books, science fiction, and (gulp) erotic cartoons. If you're just looking for a pocket version of any French literary classic, you'll find it here for a euro.

When you're done, there's a little restaurant across the street, Les Tontons, which specialises in tartares, or there's a Poilane bakery. You can also take a nice walk in the Parc Georges Brassens, a pretty modern park that has lots of play areas for kids.

Restaurant Review: Chez Casimir: the best brunch in Paris?

Hello loyal blog readers! I'm on a break from work in Cathedral City, UK, and spending some time with Mon Cher Mari in Paris. I've missed him, and I've missed you all, too.

MCM and I had a joyful reunion at what is perhaps the best brunch spot in Paris. I've mentioned the recent French obsession with le brunch (and if you're a Froggie reading this, you can learn to make brunch US-style here), and their own afternoon invention, le slunch (shudder). Anyway, brunch at Chez Casimir came highly recommended by Francois Simon, the restaurant critic for the Figaroscope, a weekly events listing magazine associated with the Figaro newspaper. We had dinner at Chez Michel, Casimir's sister (brother) restaurant, about 18 months ago, and it was great. Both are in a neighbourhood close to Gare du Nord - which is gentrifying, though not fast enough for my taste (walking there at night is still slightly creepy but the daytime is absolutely fine). However, it's perfect if you're just walking off the Eurostar or RER from the airport and you are hungry.

Casimir's brunch is at the extreme end of casual and it's a self-serve operation. There's a closet-like wine cellar at the back of the small dining room where you choose your own bottle of wine, with prices starting at just 11 euro a bottle. (We'll get some rubbery bracelets with a 'WWOMD' - What would Olivier Magny Do - message for those of you who need a little encouragement and spiritual reinforcement in the sommelier department). MCM and I chose a zesty little Quincy at 19 euro which was a nice match for the seafood.

Once you've got your wine, you start to eat. And eat. This is not a coffee-croissant-OJ kind of brunch. First, there is a salad buffet (marinated mozzarella, gravlax, cucumbers in yoghurt, a smoked fish and potato salad, heaped baskets of crusty bread, round of gooey cheese the size of a small tire) on a round wooden table in the centre of the room, crowned with a mound of butter the size of a stock pot. Plates from the kitchen (no choice) start arriving: two oysters each, then raw scallops in their shells drizzled with a vinaigrette, then a delicious wild mushroom and tarragon omelette dusted with shards of parmesan, then a tiny Staub casserole of brandade de morue (baccalao), then a slightly larger mini casserole of a light veal stew. Still hungry? Well, you could have more of the salads, or there's a dessert buffet: moelleux au chocolat, little caramel puddings, Breton prune cake, financiers, madeleines... oh, and some grapefruit, in case you're watching your weight. (Watching it go up... and up).

What do you pay for this feast? 25 euro per person. For Paris, for this amount and quality of food, that's incredible value for money. I have no idea how their business model works. They're not spending much on decoration (the room is plain, save for a hideous mural in which, alarmingly, one of the figures looks just like Arsene Wenger with a moustache) or service - there were only two people working the room. Best to reserve, and get there early (12.30 was early enough) - both because it will be calmer, and, to be honest, because there's a lot of cured fish on the menu. On that note, you should turn off both your iPhone and your internal Anthony-Bourdain-brunch-food-safety-conscience.

Chez Casimir
6 Rue de Belzunce
75010 Paris
Metro: Gare du Nord or Poisonnieres.
01 48 78 28 80

Food: Tasty and copious. Casimir does dinner, too, of course, but Saturday and Sunday brunch, called the 'Traou Mad', starts late morning and continues until late afternoon.

Atmosphere/decor: Decor is unreconstructed Parisian cafe from yesteryear (with creepy Wenger-as-Bacchus wall art). Browns, ochres, wooden tables, cheap raggedy checked napkins. Atmosphere was completely relaxed and surprisingly un-bobo. It's all about the food, baby. Kid-friendly, provided your kids can sit at a table without screaming and eat raw fish. They have a highchair.

Service: Non-invasive but friendly.

Value for money: Staggeringly good.

What to wear: Very casual, although it is still not the IHOP, so pass on the PJs. I did see a French couple wearing matching Bad people go to hell, good people go to Waikiki Beach black hooded sweatshirts. That's a Parisian first.

Good for: Brunch with fun, food-loving friends. (If you don't have any of those, invite me).

Not good for: Extremely picky eaters - they will eat, but it won't be amazing value without the oysters and the veal.

Handicapped access: One level, but it's a crowded room with tight corners. Phone ahead and ask to be seated in a convenient place.

Julia Child made me write this blog

It's true. She appeared to me in a dream, held a wire whip to my head, and said, "Blog, woman, blog!"

Okay, it wasn't quite like that. But I thought it was time to pay homage to the great dame, now that the film Julie and Julia has been released in the States. The film stars Meryl Streep as Julia Child and Amy Adams as me. Oops. I mean as Julie Powell, the New York woman who blogged about cooking through Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking. (My mother went to see the film and said, "I kept looking at Amy Adams and thinking she was you, sweetie!" So once I finish Accidental Parisian: The Novel and sell the film rights, we'll have to give Amy a call. Reese Witherspoon will undoubtedly be disappointed, but that's just life. Romain Duris will play my handsome French hubby).

Anyway... Julia Child really did inspire this blog. Here's the long story. I had been really frustrated and down on myself and on France for my first few months here. MCM and I went to my parents' house in Massachusetts for Christmas and had a great time - we really benefited from the break, the fun, the time with my very warm and exuberant family. We made a great day trip to Boston where we saw the fabulous Tara Donovan show at the ICA, which completely restored my hope in contemporary art (in my book, she is in league with Barbara Hepworth and Anish Kapoor). We then went to a lobster shack on the pier and had chowder, beer and lobster rolls. It was, in total, a wicked awesome day.

Waiting for the train home at South Station, I started browsing the little book stand and made an uncharacteristic splurge on two paperback books - two books which filled two big voids in my brain. I have a huge stack of publishers' catalogues in my office here; how ironic that I found these two most helpful books in my hometown, in a train station of all places. The first was Linda Colley's biography of Elizabeth Marsh, a masterly work of world history that really inspired me and helped me to make the finishing touches on my own book manuscript, with which I had become frustrated in the final edit.

The second was My Life in France, Julia Child's memoir written with her nephew shortly before her death. Here she was arriving in France after World War Two, a newlywed, unable to work, living on a tight budget, not knowing anyone, literally sticking out in the Paris streets as she was a good foot taller than many French women. She even laboured on an intensely-researched book, with the frustration, loneliness and sense of accomplishment that comes with it.

The parallels with my own life here were strong, except that Paris was considerably less cosmopolitan at the time - if I was feeling self-conscious in 2008, how would I have done fifty years earlier? But the point is, Julia embodied what I've come to see as a great quality in American women: enthusiastic determination to succeed, even if that means looking a bit goofy in the process. She threw herself into mastering, not just French cooking, but France itself. She made French friends. She threw fun parties. She got annoyed with French chauvinism.

The book made me decide it was time to pull myself up by my bootstraps, seize the day, and stop feeling sorry for myself. I decided that I would start a blog to vent, chronicle and reflect on what I was experiencing here. It's worked: I'm much happier now than when I started writing. So thank you, Julia Child.

***

In other cooking-related news, my sister D just sent MCM and me our birthday presents: his-and-hers aprons that she made herself! I'm absolutely thrilled because they are the most adorable thing I've ever seen. Here's me modelling my super girly one:



Love it! Unfortunately the photo's a bit dark so you can't see the lovely gathering on the top. You're a genius, D.

La Bretagne

Brittany, or la Bretagne, or Breizh, is a western region of France, jutting out into the Atlantic. One of the few parts of France to have maintained the language spoken before French was introduced, it has a distinctive regional culture, an identification with other Celtic parts of Europe, and a small independence movement. It's a pretty region: very green, slightly undulating hills, stone houses with slate roofs and blue shutters, geraniums and hydrangeas growing enormous, and a ragged coastline fringed with small islands.


Brittany has produced two particularly noteworthy things: the creperie and, it would sometimes seem, half the population of Paris. MCM's family hails from Brittany. The French secretary and the one French teacher at my school are both Breton. In one of the companies where I teach, 5 of my 16 students are from southern Brittany. "Why does everyone in Paris seem to be really Breton, or at least from a Breton family?" I asked MCM. "I never meet that many people from Picardie, or the Auvergne, or Normandy." He didn't know the answer, but we think it boils down to a few things: Brittany is close enough to Paris, it's a largely agricultural region and thus a lot of people migrated for work, it can be reached in 2 hours by train from Paris, and it's a place people are proud to say they are from. Unlike poor Picardie.

In fact, Stuff Parisians Like could easily satirise how so many Parisians, I suspect, play up their Breton relations to emphasise how they are so not like those other Parisians. They are authentic. They are more pure than other Parisians. They have an exotic, Celtic, mariner side - even though they cannot pronounce Breizh and are allergic to oysters.


Brittany is also a place where many French people choose to take their holidays. It's relatively unknown to American tourists most visitors seem to be French, German or English. MCM and I recently spent the weekend at his parents' house. They retired to southern Brittany, a 4-5 hour trip from Paris. It's a pretty area and reminds me very much of the Irish coastline or my beloved Martha's Vineyard.

It also has the Irish weather which, in my (narrow) mind, is its great failing as a summer vacation destination. A typical summer day might be 64 degrees fahrenheit and partly sunny. Before we go for a walk on the beach MIL usually tries to convince us that we need scarves, sweaters and, on our last visit, a rain bonnet. I'm pretty sure that if I spent my whole summer there I would have seasonal affective disorder. But I know people who hate the heat - for example, an Irish couple with little kids, who like that they can go there, hang out at the beach and not fry.



Our visit coincided with the annual village summertime fair. This involved: a procession from the village to a large field where there were tents and food (lousy food, the ILs warned), a performance of Breton dancing in the traditional black velvet costumes...



AND, best of all, a display of antique and modern tractors, all souped up for the big event:


I'd recommend a visit to Brittany as it's a quintessential French experience. If you like walking, sailing, or looking at the ocean it's a very pleasant place to be; it's not a great destination for wild nightlife or sunbathing. Leave your black Parisan gear at home and pack your walking shoes, a navy striped nautical jersey and a primary-coloured raincoat to look like a local. We had a little wander around the pretty town of Auray, which would make a nice base for touring; unfortunately I forgot my camera that day, but their tourist office has some nice photos.

How we eat in France, Part 2

MCM and I are just back from a visit to his parents' house in Brittany and, as promised, here's a report on what we ate.

My MIL is, in many ways, a very traditional French cook, particularly in her insistence on many separate courses and on the strong emphasis on lunch over dinner. She would probably be surprised to hear that, because she likes to try new recipes and many of the dishes she makes are innovative - meaning, chiefly, not from her region of France. For example, she considers Provencale food quite exotic. But the fact that she still makes multi-course meals on a regular basis, as was the norm 50 years ago, is rare, even for her baby boomer generation. (I don't know any French people my age who do this - comment if you do!)

Note: portions are not enormous - this will sound like a huge amount of food, but actually it wasn't. If lunch was big, we had a lighter dinner. Bread is always on the table and eaten with most courses. We drank wine with the meals (not breakfast!) but they use very small glasses, so the actual alcohol consumption was very low.

Friday lunch:
- Aperitif (white wine); little toast rounds spread with tapenade and pesto; cherry tomatoes (all eaten in the living room, with the nibble passed around on a plate)
- Starter: melon (small canteloupe-like, served in a wedge, eaten with a spoon)
- Main: small local white fish, whole with the head removed, served with wild rice and some steamed carrots and zucchini, lemon-butter sauce on top.
- Salad and cheese: green salad with simple vinaigrette, plate of 5 or 6 cheeses.
- Dessert: a raspberry charlotte (a molded cake made with purchased ladyfinger-type cookies, cream and berries).
- Coffee or tea.

Friday dinner:
- No aperitif
- No starter
- Main: a provencale tian (casserole of sliced eggplant, zucchini and tomatoes, with lots of herbes de provence)
- Salad and cheese (cheese plate leftover from lunch)
- Dessert: kouing amman (a Breton pastry with obscene amounts of butter, mmm) and/or leftover charlotte and/or a piece of fruit from the fruit bowl (brought to the table) and/or one of the blueberry muffins I brought. First time in my life I've seen a muffin eaten for dessert with a knife and fork! (See my scones post for context on this one).

Saturday breakfast:
- Coffee (drunk from a bowl with no handles)
- orange juice
- toast (leftover bread from Friday and some brioche)
- a selection of jams (she makes her own and artisan jams seem to be popular gifts amongst her friends who come to visit)
- fruit from fruit bowl (white peaches and apricots)

Saturday lunch:
- Aperitif: olive-goats cheese cake (quick bread) from Picard, in little slices; a glass of white Port; dried apple slices.
- Starter: a special local, summertime treat: langoustines (like mini lobsters), steamed and served cold with a homemade lemony mayonnaise
- Main: rouget (red mullet) steamed, served with a roasted pepper and olive side dish, boiled potatoes (served in their skins - everyone peels their own on their plate).
- Salad and cheese
- Leftover charlotte or fruit.

Saturday dinner:
- Dined out at a creperie, the tradition in Brittany: ate the buckwheat galettes , filled with ham, cheese and mushrooms
- Dessert was a crepe filled with cooked apples and the local caramel, which is made with salted butter

Sunday breakfast:
- Same as Saturday

Sunday lunch:
- Aperitif: little toast rounds spread with tapenade; cherry tomatoes; rataffia, a liqueur made in Champagne
- Starter: melon
- Main: pork ribs, marinated in honey and herbs and barbecued (exotic!), served with green beans
- Salad and cheese (still working on the same cheese plate)
- Dessert: mirabelle plum tart (made with store-bought puff pastry) or leftover charlotte
- Coffee. A bar of chocolate was produced to accompany coffee.

So, is it absolutely amazing?
It's very nice. MIL is a good cook and I feel privileged to get to experience a disappearing way of life. That said, I absolutely used to dread these meals when I first started dating MCM - they are quite long, my French was limited, I knew that I was not doing a lot of things "correctly", and I created some diplomatic incidents by not trying all the cheeses. I feel more at ease now, although I can't see myself ever doing this on a regular basis. It requires so much time and organisation (even with some purchased foods and the use of leftovers), plus I just don't find it necessary. I come from a family that puts very strong emphasis on large family meals together, but they are much less formal and they're not structured into so many courses. It's a bit like how, on our honeymoon, MCM and I loved going to restaurants every day, but by the end we were quite happy just to have a simple meal at home after all the fuss.

Lest you thought I was joking...

A photo of the crappy little fridge:



Note the freezer "door," the cheapo rose, the full range of dairy products, and the jar of mustard that looks enormous. Don't worry, it's an optical illusion - but that little jar is still strong enough to take out a few rugby players. Not that I would ever use mustard for ill.

MCM naturally wanted to know why I was photographing the fridge, and I explained the post. "But did you mention all the great food I make for you?" he pouted. "Ohh! Just about to do that!" I lied. It's true - MCM made some delicious lamb and veggies tonight. But the point was not how good our food is, but whether or not our eating habits had changed dramatically since we moved here. The answer is that, surprisingly, they haven't.

How we eat in France, Part 1

A few weeks ago, when we thought that MCM would be moving to England with me, he said, "We're going to really enjoy being back in the UK... cooking together... going to the market... trying new recipes."

If this were a TV sitcom ("a serie", as my French students like to say), you'd hear that tape-rewinding sound right now. Huh? Come again? Don't we live in France?

MCM and I have been keen cooks for a long time but our culinary skills have not improved here. We haven't radically frenchified the way we eat, such that we actually associate great homecooking with the UK. How weird is that? I've thought about why this is and here's what I came up with:

Culinary Bulwarks:
- We have a crappy little fridge with a tiny freezer compartment. This is the kind of fridge an American would buy for a dormitory.
- We have a crappy little oven - it's a combination convection oven, microwave and broiler/grill. When a French apartment says "unfurnished," it really means unfurnished. We're lucky we didn't have to supply our own crappy little fridge and kitchen cabinets.
- Paris has lots of great restaurants. Our former UK city didn't so we had much more incentive to cook.
- We used to entertain a lot, but here we don't have much space - our table only seats 4. We also don't have as many people to invite over.
- We've been alternately stressed/cheap/busy. Traditional French cuisine is based on great ingredients (often expensive), exquisite technique (time-consuming), and shopping almost everyday (are you serious?). As much as I love French food, I've often felt that it depends on someone, usually a woman, not working and having the time to do all that shopping and cooking.
- French cooking magazines tend to feature extremely elaborate foods, rather than nice ideas for weeknight meals. We're a bit lacking in inspiration for our normal life.
- MCM really appreciates French food but he is also very curious about other kinds of food and doesn't feel French food is the be all and end all. Plus, he was on a diet for a while...

Here's what we do differently since we've moved here:
- Lots more wine! Recently it's been a nice little rose that costs 2.80 a bottle. We probably drink wine every night, as it's so affordable, accessible and enjoyable.
- We buy bread every single day. We love the fresh baguettes and, because they are preservative-free, you can't stock up.
- We have always been the type to sit and eat dinner together, but we're more likely to have a simple French starter now: a slice of melon, a bowl of vegetable soup, etc. I like this, as a good way to unwind when you sit down and a way to get more vegetables.
- We eat a wider range of meats, including guinea fowl, veal and rabbit, which are cheaper and more widely available than in the US or UK.

This weekend we're going to visit MCM's parents. His mother is a very good traditional French cook and always makes multiple courses - even at lunchtime. (MCM's dad used to drive home from work for lunch before he retired). I'll be reporting back on what we eat to give you a sense of what this kind of eating is all about.

Cafe Panique photos

Finally, some photos...

Rue des Messageries
Cafe Panique sign
Lime mousse served post-dessert

Chocolate-orange tart
Carambar tiramisu
Lamb with spring vegetables
Veal with sage, ham and tagliatelle
Foie gras served two ways, with mango coulis

Restaurant Review: Cafe Panique

After much research, MCM and I settled on Cafe Panique for my birthday dinner. We really, really enjoyed it. (I'll try to get some photos up soon, too!)

Cafe Panique is near the Poisonniere metro, in a slightly gritty-but-hip neighbourhood (but undoubtedly a gentrifying one, if not in the short term, then in the longer term). We know it well because MCM used to work close by, although he never would have noticed Cafe Panique unless we had come across reviews: it's on a residential street - in fact, it shares a front door with some residents! You do feel a bit smug and local walking into this smart restaurant, tucked away from the tourist action - so much so, that you don't mind sharing the place with a number of other tourists-in-the-know. It's a small dining room with a vaulted ceiling, open kitchen and small mezzanine level seating area. When we booked we were warned not to arrive too early, as the staff (of 4) would still be eating!

It was a very warm night and, like most places in Paris, Cafe Panique does not have air-conditioning, but our charming waiter (a student in finance who spent a semester in Chicago!) kept our carafe d'eau filled. MCM and I started with a bubbly aperitif, were served a complimentary shot of cold vegetable soup, and then each had the foie gras starter. MCM followed that with a veal dish, stuffed with sage and parma ham, served with fresh tagliatelle - a real success. I had lamb and spring vegetables, which supposedly had a thyme jus. This was the only disappointing dish we ordered - although the ingredients were all top, the dish was lacking a sauce or flavour to pull it together. We also thought the foie gras could have been deveined better. Oh well. Dessert was a chocolate-orange tart for me - correct - and a tiramisu for MCM - yuuuuuum.

The starched tablecloths, silver settings, and soft jazz music could make this place a bit austere, but the service was warm and the kitchen has a sense of humour: a Carambar wrapper was perched on top of the tiramisu like a little flag. (Carambar is a classic/nostalgic French candy). We enjoyed watching the chefs work in their small open kitchen - and they watched us, too. As I raised my fork to take my first bite of the foie gras starter, I looked up and saw head chef Odile Guyader watching me, expectantly, with a raised eyebrow. I tasted. I liked it. She knew that I would.

Cafe Panique
12 rue des Messageries
Paris 75010

Food: Modern, clever, but not too clever. Based on good ingredients and good technique. Tasty.

Atmosphere/decor: Light and fresh, a nice blend of modern and traditional. White tablecloths, simple placesettings. Abstract art on walls. Funky (purposely) mismatched chairs. No AC!

Service: Charming.

Value for money: Quite good, given the quality of the products. A three-course menu is 33 euro - starter, main, cheese or dessert. A main and a starter or dessert would be 32, so you might as well get the third course! Wines start in low 20s for a bottle, though most are around 30. We liked that they offered a Vouvray fine bulles at 6 euro a glass as an aperitif. Normally a coupe de champagne costs 8-12 euro a glass in Paris, so we thought this showed an effort to provide good value.

What to wear: Whatever. Most people were casual (jeans, even shorts), but in the smart decor you wouldn't feel out of place more dressed up. In the interest of full disclosure I should note that I looked totally hot. Of course.

Good for: A romantic meal; a meal with a small group of friends; a meal to impress your in-laws.

Not good for: Vegetarians, children, people with loud and annoying laughs, extremely picky eaters (menu is not very long and typical ingredients include lamb, foie gras, goats' cheese...).

Handicapped access: Toilets are to the side of the kitchen - it would be very hard to maneouvre a wheelchair through there. There is a mezzanine with some seating but otherwise no need to use stairs.

Housekeeping, and some questions for you

Let me begin by saying: The Blog Will Not Die, Long Live the Blog.

Yes, I know that I'm supposedly moving, but not for two months, and anyway I see no reason to kill the blog. I still have so much to tell you all - about my civic training day, the kamikaze pigeon that hit me on the head, the melon we've been eating, and the way Parisian women wear scarves in the summer time. Plus, if my prayers to Saint Genevieve (patron saint and protector of Paris and former resident of our very own `hood) are working, she is interceding on our behalf with some of MCM's potential employers. He has 2 interviews next week. In Paris. Both for fabulous jobs. Aieee!

So favoritise me, bookmark me, follow me, send me virtual thoughts and flowers... I'm not going anywhere!

Except on a little vacation. Next week the Accidental Parisian will turn vingt-huit ans and the week after MCM turns 3. Three-and-0, that is. Three days later, we'll be celebrating our first wedding anniversary. For these milestone events, MCM and I are hopping down to the south of France for a few days of sunshine, sea and seafood.

This is where I need your help, dear readers! I am looking for recommendations for restaurants in or near Antibes. Ideally, I'd like some place somewhat with outdoor seating, yummy and traditional food, romantic vibe, not outrageously expensive. (I've been reading southern French food blogs and found one about a retired couple who likes to go out for 300 euro lunches. Hello!)

We're also accepting recommendations for my birthday meal in Paris. Current ideas are Bistro Paul Bert (12th arrondissement), Je The Me (15th), Le Violon d'Ingres (7th). Thoughts?

Wine Post #3

Wine, wine, wine... My baby sister recently came to visit and, as she is not really a baby at all, but a new college graduate, we decided to take a trip to the Loire and sample the region's finest offerings: the beautiful Abbaye de Fontevraud, the chateau of Chenonceau, and, of course, the Loire wine. Very grown-up stuff befitting a woman in possession of a Bachelors of Science degree, I say.

We had brought along the Hachette wine guide, an annual bible of wine produced in France, rated and described. (I was reading this before bed for a while, but I was having really weird dreams. Fruity ones, with cherry noses, great legs and full bouquets.) Anyway, the plan was to just phone some vineyards in the book and ask if we could stop by for a taste. Eagle-eyed MCM was rereading the Loire guidebook before breakfast (while waiting for Baby and I to dry our hair - serious stuff, you know) and realised that, by marvellous coincidence, our trip coincided with the Vouvray wine festival. We decided that we would check it out on Sunday morning before proceeding to visit a chateau in the afternoon.

That's right. In the morning. This was either brilliance or madness: who goes to a wine festival at 10.30am? It must have been brilliance because we had an absolutely fantastic day, completely forgot about the chateau, and left at 4pm.

Vouvray is located near Tours, in a region known for its troglodyte dwellings: houses, garages and wine caves that are built into the local rock. The festival was held in a huge cave that snaked through the rock, and there were 19 winemakers exhibiting, offering tastes and selling their wine. Entrance was free but you paid 3 euro for a wine glass, which you used to taste the wines and then took home with you; nearly all the wines cost 5-8 euro for a bottle. Definitely a bargain.

Baby, like me, is an expert list-taker and noted down the name, style and year of each wine we tasted. And we tasted... weeeeel... about thirty-five wines. It was fabulous! I loved being able to ask the winemaker questions and the atmosphere was very friendly and not at all snobby. We told the winemakers that we had come to learn and discover new things, and they were all very happy to answer our questions. Baby was initially hesistant: "I don't know anything about wines! I won't be able to tell the difference!" Let me tell you, by noon she was musing about the merits of the 2006 over the 2007 vintage. It goes to show that you learn about wine by tasting it and it's really easy to learn to distinguish both quality and your own personal preferences.

Vouvray makes exclusively white wines from the Chenin grape. There are 4 styles: sec (dry, i.e. not sweet), demi-sec (sweeter), moelleux (quite sweet), and what is variously called petillant, cremant or fines bulles (sparkling). The dominant taste in the dryer wines was fresh green apple; the more mature and the sweeter wines are more floral (like honeysuckle) and honeyed. (Think that's all wine jargon hooohaa? Try one of these next to an oaky chardonnay or lemony sauvignon blanc, and you'll taste the difference). You serve them all quite chilled - say 8-10C/46-52F. Most of the wines have a sweet, inviting aroma, taste fruity but fresh, and pair well with food - not too complicated that they overpower the food, not so light that they taste watery. They're lovely as a pre-dinner drink (aperitif), with fish or shellfish, with light east Asian foods, or with poultry with light creamy sauces. The moelleux wines could be drunk with dessert.

All the wines we tasted were good; of the 35, there were only 1 or 2 that I didn't enjoy. But here were our favourites:

In general - 2008 - A better year than 2007. Vouvray grapes are picked really late - in October - and need a nice warm September in order to fully ripen. The weather was lousy in 2007 but 2008 was just right.

Fabrice and Laurent Maillet - these guys have won lots of praise from Hachette and they deserve it. Their sparkling brut wine, at 8 euro a bottle, was great and would be a perfect Champagne substitute for those on a budget, provided you like fruitier (rather than dry or citrusy) Champagnes.

Alain and Christophe Le Capitaine - Ahoy! We really liked their demi-sec - very balanced. They import to the US under the name L'Aumone. They are still recovering from a trip to Boston to meet their importer, where they went to Au Bon Pain. "Normally this name is very comforting and reassuring to us French, but we were very mistaken," Le Capitaine told me sadly.

La Grande Taille - As well as producing a lovely and very food-friendly demi-sec, Messieurs Bonzon and Boitelle cheerfully answered my inane questions for about twenty minutes. Lovely people, lovely wine.

The moral of the story is, go to a wine festival if you're visiting France. It's a fantastic cultural experience and a lot of fun. The Vouvray fest happens three times a year and is highly recommended. Sante, mes amis!

French Wedding Primer

As spring turns to summer and the setting sun casts a rosy glow over Paris, our American heroine munches contentedly on the rest of the carrot cake she made for her French in-laws (7 of them!), and naturally her thoughts turn to weddings.

Not just any weddings, mind you. French weddings.

I've had requests for information about what to wear, say and do at a French wedding and decided to compile a little dossier as the big season begins.

Let me begin by saying two things.

1). I love weddings. I'm a bit biased, because my wedding was probably the happiest day ever in the history of the world. Trust me, I'm a historian.

2). A French wedding is not a sprint, but a marathon. You'll want to spend a good bit of time preparing. The day will be extremely long and tiring, your feet will be killing you at the end and your dodgy knee might act up. You will alternately bond with the strangers around you and/or kick them. At the very end, you may find yourself being sick or limping around wearing a silver cape that someone threw on you. Most importantly, you will finish dazzled and thrilled, and will delight in sharing photos and tales with friends for years to come.

Very generally speaking, the French wedding industry is not as developed or vast as the American or British one. French brides I've spoken to are at once in awe and shocked at the amount of detail and money that goes into an average American affair. A larger percentage of the budget will be allocated towards food and drink, with much less emphasis on things like limos, bridesmaid dresses, favours and formal invitations. Surprisingly, you might find that the French wedding you attend is less formal that one in the US, even if the venue is extremely grand. The French weddings I've been to, while lovely and highly enjoyable, suprised me by the lack of interest in these details - some of it refreshing, some of it disappointing ("You splurged on a huge poofy dress but didn't get your roots done?").

Invitations typically arrive 2-3 months before a wedding and wedding websites are becoming more common. Some French couples have a formal engagement ceremony called a fiancailles. The couple might exchange rings - this is why you occasionally see French men wearing two wedding bands. This is often just for immediate family, but you might be invited to one.

A typical wedding-day timeline:

- Many French weddings begin midday and finish in the early hours of the next morning. Your invitation may specify that you are only invited to certain parts.

- In France, only the town/city hall (mairie) can perform legal marriages - unlike in the UK, Ireland or the US, where members of the clergy legalize marriages by signing a license. Everyone who gets married in France does so at the mairie, and has, if they wish, a religious ceremony after. The mariage civil oftens takes place in the morning of the wedding, but could take place a few weeks or days before the "real" wedding. Don't be offended if you aren't invited to the mariage civil: some mairies are quite small... and some are quite ugly, too. You're not missing much.

- Religious ceremonies: most people who profess a religion in France are Roman Catholics and most churches are centuries old, so you're in for a treat. Even if it's warm outside, you should probably bring a shawl or jacket for this part, because 12th century stone churches stay quite cool inside. A Roman Catholic wedding typically lasts an hour and features readings, music, an exchange of vows and a homily from the priest. (Tacky alert: there may be a collection so have some change or a 5 euro note handy. The guests pay for the church).

- After the final ceremony, be it civil or religious, there is always a vin d'honneur: a cocktail reception where champagne is served. The vin d'honneur is open to anyone who has attended the ceremony - in theory, that could mean locals in the village or work colleagues who aren't invited to the dinner. It can be held in a space next to the mairie or church, or it can be at the chateau where the reception is being held. (Note that chateau means castle, but don't be overwhelmed: it is also used to mean "place where reception is being held." It may be more like a nice 19th century home or manor house).

The vin d'honneur may last 2-3 hours, so pace yourself (remember: champagne = bubbles = alcohol moving quickly to your head!) and make sure to nibble. Right now verrines are all the rage in France: appetisers served in tiny glasses. If anyone can figure out how to maneouvre salmon tartare out of a plastic shot glass with a 2-inch plastic fork while holding a coupe de champagne, please enlighten me.

- Le diner: usually a sit-down affair, occasionally a buffet. Again, pacing is important. I went to a wedding where the mass was at 2pm, the vin d'honneur began at 4pm, we were seated for dinner at 8pm and we finished eating a little after midnight. The pros: the food is probably going to be great, with 5 or 6 courses and wines to match each one. The cons: even if you're sitting with people you know and like, 4 hours is a bit tough-going. Which is why there are....

- Les jeux! To faire une petite pause between courses, sometimes games are organised. These could be musical chairs, hide-and-seek, duck-duck-goose... very, very funny, until someone gets hurt...!

- Le disco! This may begin at midnight or later; there may or may not be a first dance from the couple. French people are, in my experience, not good dancers, but after 9 hours, 6 courses and a few bottles of wine, I'm no Ginger Rodgers, either. This is also the moment where that high-cultured French facade crumbles and they reveal that they, too, like insipid pop music. Party on.

- Stop the music! It's time for la piece montee: the wedding cake, really a pastry and not a cake. This is a tower of chou pastry puffs filled with cream, held together with caramel and installed on a nougatine base. Absolutely delicious. A conic shape is traditional, but I've also seen more "creative" bakers do windmills, lighthouses, and... uh, what is that?

- Will it ever end? Who knows. I'm not aware of a cue for when to leave a wedding. Back in the day, the bride and groom left first; now it seems they are usually the last to leave. You can leave when the meal is completely finished, which may be well after midnight. Just make sure to say goodbye to the couple and their parents before you go.

- Note the possible absence of the following: the speeches, the first dances, the receiving line, the Achy-Breaky-Heart.

What about gifts?

Wedding registries are becoming more popular in France. The Galeries Lafayette department store chain is probably the leading one, and you can buy from their website (which, until very recently, had hilariously bad photos of the gifts, maybe from when they sent an intern around the store to take photos on his phone?).

Cash is also acceptable, or a check sent in the post. If you are (rightly) nervous about leaving an envelope of cash on a gift table, give it to one of the parents.

And finally... What to wear?

Whatever you want. That's what French people seem to do.

Okay, snark over. Study your invitation: are you attending the wedding of a couple named Segolene de France de Paris and Stanislaus Sarkozy-Bettencourt-Royal, held at Notre Dame with a reception at Le Crillon? Then beg, borrow or steal a metallic pastel Prada dress with matching jacket and hat (over 40s) or Chloe dress (under 40s).

Otherwise, don't panic. I am convinced that France is moving towards a single transferable dress code. The French don't go out in pajamas, old sweats and flip flops, but nor do they really dress up. It's the tyranny of smart casual. People wear the same clothes to work, to dinner, to the market and to the boulangerie in the morning. At one summer wedding I attended a lot of the women were wearing linen shift dresses with flat sandals - nice but not dressy. Dresses and pantsuits are fine; jeans are not, and anything you could wear to the prom would be OTT. It is perfectly acceptable to wear black - in fact, all of the French women who came to my wedding wore black, except for my mother-in-law, who wore white.

Exception to the smart casual rule: one of my informants tells me that hats are having a big moment, so if you go weak for a brim this could be your big chance to bust out.

Last thoughts: think about how you are getting home and plan ahead for a taxi or designated driver. I ended up walking home from a wedding once at 4am, not having considered how that cute little village wouldn't have cute little taxis just idling outside the reception.

Have a great time, and come back and tell me all about it!

Je suis tres scones

Here's an unexpected way to impress the French: make them British or American sweets.

Le crumble, les scones, le cheesecake, les cookies, les muffins and les brownies are all the rage in France. (To sound French you have to pronounce the words with a lilting stress on the last syllable). I learned this a few years ago when my mother-in-law asked me for a baked cheesecake recipe; my mother, herself diplomee in French patisserie from Cordon Bleu, passed on my grandmother's recipe but puzzled at why a French person would want to make an American dessert. Weren't the French self-proclaimed (and maybe even self-important?) masters of desserts, the finest desserts in the world?

Next came requests from recipes for le crumble. I told my MIL that I didn't really use a recipe: if I had apples or pears on hand and wanted to make a quick dessert, I would chop and toss them with sugar and cinnamon and bake with a Streusel-esque flour-butter-sugar-oatmeal topping. I also tried to explain that I was more partial to the New England cobbler than the English crumble, but I think the distinction was lost in my (clumsy) translation. Anyway, I can't figure out why the French love our Anglophone treats. They still think that British food is horrendous but have always held British teatime sweets in high esteem. I tried to explain to my students that London actually has fantastic food now, especially with the rise of gastropubs, but they fell over themselves laughing because they thought gastro was short for "gastro-intestinal", not "gastronomic."

I realised that this could be my secret weapon. To me, French culture, especially culinary culture, seems dominated by notions of what is correct: this is the word used to describe things done well, appropriately, correctly. When you are dealing with well-known, well-loved classic dishes that have been made in the same way for centuries, you know if they are correct or not correct. I used to panic about what to say and do when I visited France with MCM before we lived here. He would reassure me and tell me to just be myself and I would respond that he knew very well that France didn't work that way. It didn't matter that I was an educated, well-travelled and cultured person: I would only be judged by the standards of France and, in general, I felt that I was not correcte and meeting with disapproval. It didn't matter that I had a PhD, because I didn't have a Bac! (French national exam that confers high school diploma - a post in its own right). If I rested my bread on my plate instead of on the table, I had poor manners. As I live here longer and my French is better and more confident, I am coming to terms with this. It's a personal challenge: perhaps because I attended a Catholic primary school and study nineteenth-century culture, I love rules and order and I don't like to unwittingly break social codes. (Although I just split an infinitive - I am a rebel deep inside!). But I also recognise that, like in any other culture, French cultural confidence can veer towards chauvinism and I shouldn't to take it too seriously or feel self-conscious.

So, I decided that instead of attempting to make French desserts for French people or trying to conform to codes where I risked not being judged correcte, I would be exotic. I would bring brownies to social functions, make a crumble for dessert for the in-laws, or send blueberry muffins with MCM when he went to visit his parents. The reactions have been very positive. Ahh! J'adore ces petits muffins! It works for me on several levels - I love these desserts and they are easy to make, too.

This reached comic heights when MCM and I were invited to a brunch at one of his colleague's home. Brunch itself is, of course, a North American import - and very trendy with the French. In my experience it is more breakfast than lunch in France: pastries, fruit, sliced ham and cheese, juice, coffee. No bloody maries, either; I got looks of horror and fascination when I suggested that alcohol was served at an American brunch. I recently saw a cookbook on sale at my local Monoprix supermarket for le slunch, a horrific term that has apparently been invented by an enterprising French foodwriter to combine supper and lunch. It's almost as bad as le fooding, a trendy French word that supposedly combines food and feeling. Gag. I need another post how the French are plundering and abusing my beautiful native language. (In fairness, we've done the same to theirs...)

Anyway, I made a bold move and brought homemade orange-cranberry scones to the brunch. I adapted them from this Martha Stewart recipe, adding the grated zest of an orange and substituting whole milk for half-and-half. The French girls gobbled them up! There were squeals of excitement and one of them pronounced confidently, "Oh, tu sais, moi, j'adore les scones. Moi je suis tres scones." I've since told this story to my students and they think it is hilarious. "Je suis tres scones" translates, very approximately into American teen-speak, as "Omigawd, scones are just like, soooo me. I am so into scones."

I actually felt a bit embarrassed that everyone was eating my scones and not the other treats the hostess had purchased (yes, purchased). One guest, an Italian woman, actually announced that she would take the 2 leftover scones home with her. I think there were 2 left because no one wanted to take the last one and risk getting scratched. Meow!

So, if you're invited to a French person's house, stand tall, be proud, bring Toll House cookies and don't rest your bread on the edge of your plate.

Budget Bistro Update: Restaurant Reviews, Le P'tit Canon and La Bastide d'Opio

It's the end of the weekend and I feel like I'm ready for another one. Where does the time go? I still haven't answered all my emails, finished cleaning the kitchen, or launched my consultancy business. Or completed Book 2. But I've got priorities and one of those is saving you, dear readers, from overpriced Parisian bistros serving flabby frites.

Restaurant Review: Le P'tit Canon

This is the restaurant we selected for Best Man and Miss Mousse's Parisian visit two weeks ago and I think it was a great choice. In the trendy but actually residential Batignolles neighbourhood (17th arrondissement - not on the tourist track at all but where "real" Parisians live), this is a small bistro with a traditional ambiance: zinc bar, cozy dark woodwork, vinicultural decor and... everyone's favourite... red-checkered tablecloths! Food is mostly traditional but well done: cassoulet, confit de canard, some steaks, sausages with white beans, and a signature steak tartare. We only know about this place because we met a lovely couple who live in the neighbourhood and invited us there. After our meal MCM and I went home and immediately turned on the computer to look at rental apartments in the neighbourhood. (Negatory: we'd be looking at a 40% increase in rent to have the same amount of space as we have here on the border of Paris. Oh well - maybe once I launch that consultancy).

As far as I'm concerned (and it's my blog, so ha!), I think this is a perfect bistro. It's not a Michelin-starred restaurant, that's for sure, but so what? I'm not very impressed by so-called "best" restaurants: most inventive food, maybe, but "best" for me is the restaurant that best suits my mood. As a matter of fact, my favourite dining experience in the whole world involves eating lobster from a plastic takeout dish at a picnic table while watching the summer sun set over Menemsha, Martha's Vineyard. Fine dining? Hardly. But fabulous.

Le P'tit Canon, 36, rue Legendre, Paris 75017
Food: Unpretentious, hearty bistro classics done very well.
Atmosphere/decor: Cozy and traditional.
Service: Warm, friendly, efficient. Bartender is completely bilingual.
Value for money: Very good. Starters and desserts were 5-7 euro; main courses were mostly 11-14 (a bit more for the day's special). Affordable wines. Count on 20-30 per person.
What to wear: casual. Jeans are fine.
Good for: dinner with old friends; adults of all ages - bring your parents or your great auntie; when you want a meltingly soft confit de canard with very garlicky potatoes and a crisp green salad, washed down with a light and easy red. Mmm.
Not good for: Food snobs - it's good but it's not fancy. Vegetarians.
Handicapped access: Toilets are a tight squeeze, but no steps.


Restaurant Review: La Bastide d'Opio

About a month ago MCM and I had dinner with a lovely old friend who was having a relaxing girls' weekend in Paris with her mum. I suggested we meet for drinks at La Garde-Robe and then have dinner at La Bastide d'Opio. This is partly because her mum is a fish-eating vegetarian, and I knew this place would have options.

One lesson learned: if your visiting friend might be pregnant, don't bring her to a wine bar that serves unpasteurised cheese, cured meats and, uhh, wine. I had no idea, but I still felt like an idiot when she told us her exciting news. Congratulations - get this woman some tap water so we can toast!

La Bastide d'Opio is a Provencale place in the 6th arrondissement, south of the market in St Germain des Pres. It's located in a street crowded with little restaurants of widely varying quality - and a few of them are, I know for a fact, tourist traps. So, if you find yourself in the area and hungry, this is a safe bet. It is also, by the way, a special place for MCM and me: we dined here on our first trip to Paris together, in May 2002, and had a long, lovely, last lunch: kir and tapenade toasts, then rabbit with olives for me, my first taste of bunny, which I love, finished with an orange creme brulee. Then MCM brought me to CDG Airport, where we parted for 7 1/2 months and I cried through passport control. (The passport agent just stared at me and handed my passport back silently, looking a bit freaked out: obviously they don't get training in emotional women).

Back in 2009, main courses included a lamb "crumble" for me (really a gratin - the French flirtation with crumble needs its own post), a delicate sea bass dish for Granny-to-be, and juicy chicken with herbes de provence for our friend. The flavours were strong and well-balanced. Desserts were tasty and straightforward. I suspected that my moelleux was from Picard: now I do love Picard's moelleux, but it doesn't belong in a restaurant. Service was brisk but not unfriendly and the restaurant is a bit noisy; we were tucked happily into a cozy corner, but the middle of the room would have been too lively for us.

La Bastide d'Opio
Food: Straightforward Provencale cooking.
Atmosphere/decor: Traditional, rustic, bustling.
Service: Efficient. Maybe too efficient. It's a small place in a high-rent area - they probably need to turn their tables to make money. We did, however, have to ask for water quite a few times.
Value for money: Good. Choices of menus at 23 or 27 euro in the evening. Wine available by the pitcher.
What to wear: casual.
Good for: vegetarians; affordable and tasty eating in a touristy, often pricey area.
Not good for: a romantic dinner (too hectic).
Handicapped access: Toilets on first floor (up a flight of stairs).


So, these are my thoughts. What about you? Got thoughts? Let me know. I've had half a dozen emails from people saying, "But ahh! Commenting is too hard!" These have all been from college-educated, intelligent adult women - women who understand tax codes, or teach children how to read, or speak several languages, or who are published authors. Commenting on my blog is much, much easier than doing any of these things! Just click on the "comments" button and follow the instructions. If you accidentally send a comment you don't want, I can delete it for you. You can post anonymously or by using a nifty nickname, like me... and Mel Gibson.

Chime!

The past ten days have been surprisingly busy and I've missed my blog. MCM and I had a lovely Easter, complete with lots of chocolate cloches. (Instead of the Easter bunny, French kids learn that huge church bells - cloches - leave Rome on Easter Sunday and fly out over the world, clanging and chiming and dropping chocolates. If only.) I metroed into town on Sunday morning and met Mazarine for Mass in the posh St Germain des Pres neighbourhood. We went to St Sulpice, an 18th century church that has become famous for featuring in the Da Vinci Code. On the side walls there are small signs that say "That silly book is wrong and full of lies and there is absolutely nothing weird about this place, so don't believe it, okay?" (I'm paraphrasing slightly).

St Sulpice is also famous for its enormous organ, and thus the 10.30am Organ Mass seemed like a lovely idea. But I'd forgotten that St Sulpice, though beautiful, is a dark, looming church built of greying stone, the altar weighed down with thick gold candlesticks and heavy ornamentation. Then BAAAAAM BAM BAM BAM BAM BAAAMMM.... the organ. I recalled the delicate negotiations I had last year with the primo uomo organist at the church where MCM and I got married: he really wanted to play the organ through our nuptial mass, and I wanted piano: organ, I argued, wasn't right for a fresh, light, happy occasion in the summer. We ended up having to compromise - organ for processional and recessional, piano for the rest.

"This is like funeral music," Mazarine whispered. And it was, all through the Mass, altogether more Lenten than Paschal. Plus, it's very difficult to sing along to an organ. Especially in Latin, and there was a lot of Latin. Or French. French is not sung the way it is spoken - the endings of words are pronounced (Ha! I thought when I first learned that, So you admit that they are there!) and I'm always suprised by where the singer puts the stress on the words.

One hour and fifteen minutes later we filed out into the Parisian sunshine. "This is the kind of Mass that Catholics are embarrassed to show Protestants," I said to Mazarine. "Really? I've never been to a Catholic Mass that wasn't like that," she replied. Oh, the horror! And people wonder why Mass attendance is down in France; the experience, for me at least, was one of tradition without passion. I usually find Easter joyful and uplifting; this was ponderous and left me feeling a bit empty. That might just be me. Oh well.

We got American tourists (a family from California toting a bag of Pierre Herme goodies, a blonde college student in a pink Lily Pulitzer skirt) to take pictures of us in our Easter dresses in front of the fountains outside St Sulpice. After we strolled down to Cafe Flore, one of the famous "literary" cafes in St Germain. Neither of us had ever been there before - it seemed too touristy, too obvious. We sat outside in the lovely enclosed terrace and, I am amazed to report, their coffee is really, really good. Pricey (10 euro for two coffees), but excellent. Such a famous place could easily scrimp on quality, but they don't. I also got the faintest of sunburns on my exposed collarbone. I felt great.

MCM made a lovely lunch, featuring a roast leg of lamb and gratin dauphinois, followed by a strawberry tart with vanilla pastry cream. Wow, I love my husband. I had thought about choosing a Puisseguin St Emilion (Bordeaux) wine to go with the lamb, but my local wine guy had talked me out of it and told me that I needed a stronger Bordeaux wine - a Medoc. Yikes. I think my instincts had been right on this one. The Medoc was great - heavy, tannic, complex, a bit musty - but overwhelming. It was demanding: drinking this wine and trying to eat at the same time was totally freaking out my tastebuds. It mellowed after it had been open and breathing for a while but it was still too strong for our delicate spring lamb. I drank it anyway (yes, what a sacrifice).

Beyond Rapport Qualite-Prix

I am struggling to find a restaurant for tomorrow night.

Our old friends Miss Mousse and Best Man are visiting and, quite naturally, they'd like to dine out one night at an affordable French restaurant. Easy, you'd think - Paris is heaving with bistros! But where to begin? I've had quite a few bad meals in Paris. When bistros stick to simple, classic dishes*, it's not difficult to tell the good from the bad (mostly determined by the quality of the meat. I am also on a personal crusade against limp frites, having been let down too many times).

As I've noted before, many of the Parisian bistros serving more inventive, exciting food offer three course meals at 31-34 euro per person. These restaurants score very high in what the French call le rapport qualite-prix: the relationship between quality and price, or value for money. (Thanks to Dr Mmm for explaining this to me when I arrived in Paris).

Three courses of fantastic food for 31 euro, in Paris, is certainly great value for money. But what if you just don't want to, or can't, pay the prix, if you don't want to spend 80-100 euro on an evening meal for 2, delicious though it may be? Mazarine and I were discussing how awkward this can be with visitors, too: you want to advise people on where they can have great food, but you can't forget that a meal that costs more than $100 for two is, in most parts of the USA, a very special meal indeed. At the lower end of the price range, the RQP is more elusive. If you're a budget diner who loves to cook, you may feel doubly cheated by a disappointing meal, considering that you could have made it much better yourself.

Of course, we have to be realistic. Paris is a big city and it's expensive. Repeat visitors may also need to adjust their memories for inflation: yes, you may have found a great steak frites for 9 euro the last time you were here, but when was that? 2001? Have prices gone up since then where you live, too? Thought so.

One of the best restaurant bargains in Paris is undoubtedly a couscous, served at one of the many North African Restaurants in Paris. MCM and I recently went to Le Bec Fin, supposedly one of Paris's best, where we ordered Couscous Super Royal for 2 and had more than we could possibly eat, and wine, for 35 euro. Our meal had a variety of barbecued meats (lamb, chicken and spicy merguez sausages), a tomato-based sauce full of vegetables (turnip, zucchini, peppers, carrots) the semolina couscous itself, and garnishes of harissa, golden raisins and chickpeas. Absolutely delicious, an important part of the French culinary and cultural landscape, and highly recommended if you are visiting Paris and dining out for a few nights.

But, in terms of bistro food, the search continues. I'll update you on my results, and I also welcome comments on affordable bistros in Paris and the surrounding suburbs. If you know of a good place with a pleasant atmosphere where you can get hearty, honest bistro food, and where two people can have a filling meal with wine for, say, 60 euro for two, please let me know.

*The Bistro main course classics that you'll find on most bistro menus (served with fries, sauteed potatoes or a salad):
Steaks: une bavette (a chewy cut - from the word "baver," to drool!), une pave, un rumsteak, un onglet, une tartare (that's the raw one - don't knock it till you've tried it!)
Confit de canard
Andouilette, a tripe sausage. (The most revolting and stinky dish in the world, IMHO, but MCM loves it).
Salmon, usually simply broiled, often with an oseille (sorrel) sauce

Restaurant Review: Cafe Constant

MCM and I finally went out to celebrate the completion of Book 1, and we had an obscenely good meal at Cafe Constant, Rue St. Dominique (Ecole Militaire Metro).

Cafe Constant is one of a number of restaurants owned by chef Christian Constant in the very posh 7th arrondissement of Paris. We briefly considered Les Cocottes de Christian Constant on the same street, but opted for the more traditional Cafe. Our little nosy around revealed that Les Cocottes serves cocottes, of course - warming meals served in individual, mini Staub casserole dishes - but has a slick, modern interior, all chrome counters, angular bar stools and lime green trim. We wanted something a bit cozier.

Both restaurants do not take reservations, which is extremely rare for Paris. This is not a city where you just roll up someplace on a Saturday night and enquire about a table; if you come to Paris always, always book ahead, even if you phone up just a few hours beforehand. Heck, I've even phoned about half an hour beforehand and said, in most polite and apologetic tones, that I knew it was terribly late, but was there any chance that they had had a cancellation? And I got a table - the fact is, there probably had been a table free, but many Parisian restaurants are tiny and understaffed, and they appreciate much more knowing in advance. (The universal exception if a restaurant doesn't take reservations: if you are in a big group. I used to work at a restaurant that didn't take reservations, but we sure wanted to know if a group of 8 was going to show up in the middle of Saturday service, because that could throw everything off.)

This is the funny thing about Cafe Constant. Because it's small, serves fantastic food and doesn't take reservations, you must heed the advice of your guidebook (and it's in every guidebook, mine included) and show up early. In Paris, early means before 8pm. MCM and I arrived at 7pm - ravenous after a day of walking, shopping and talking - and it was half full: 2 tables of American families (couple plus 2 teenage kids each), 1 elderly French couple du quartier, 2 American women in their 30s. With the arrival of 6 more Americans (2 couples, 30ish; 2 well-heeled female study abroad students), the downstairs was full, and by 7.45 the small upstairs was, too. The elderly couple were replaced by two men, one of whom I am pretty sure is a French film actor.

Therein lies the problem. If you want to get a table, it means getting there early and being surrounded by American accents. There's nothing wrong with American accents (I usually have one myself!), but the American tourists are surely looking for a Parisian experience, and feel a bit foolish to be surrounded by their compatriots. It's obviously not a rare thing, because one of the waiters spoke near-fluent English and they had an English-language menu chalkboard. MCM and I spoke French the whole time, and I think our neighbours were none the wiser about my origins; in fact, I almost felt I was being observed as Exhibit A: French woman eating in cafe! Let's see how she does it!. The study abroad student next to me even politely asked about my dessert in French. I wanted to give her a medal.

Before I get to the point (the food! the food!), there were a few things that Cafe Constant could improve on. Like the atmosphere, which does the hardworking staff and great food a disservice. The interior was traditional of cheap cafes - red banquettes, bare plastic tables, simple chairs. For a place that serves such beautiful food, a simple white paper tablecloth would be classier. Decor includes the Constant empire's cookbooks propped behind the banquettes and a few naif paintings of Provence; they could - they should - try a bit harder. The lighting is harsh and too bright, too; changing the bulbs would change the entire atmosphere.

The waitstaff were friendly and knowledgeable but run off their feet. That's true in most Parisian restaurants, but this was extreme: a bartender and three waiters for approximately 55 covers. No manager, expediter or busser. There seemed to be a big problem getting food out of the kitchen, and too often the bartender had to hop out from behind the zinc bar and fetch food or clear a plate. This place would be dramatically improved with an expediter, someone stationed at the kitchen and responsible for getting all the food out. It was a bit embarrassing when we got our food long before the American family next to us, even though they ordered first.

Okay, are you ready? Cafe Constant has 6-7 choices for each course. Fish and seafood choices were plentiful; I don't recall a vegetarian option. Entrees (starters/appetisers) were 11 euro; plats (main courses) were 15 euro, and desserts were 7 euro. There is no obligation to have 3 courses, but the servings are sized so that you can comfortably eat 3, so you might leave a bit hungry if you don't. Most places in Paris that serve creative, solid food in a casual atmosphere require that you order 3 courses and charge 31-34 euro, so this is in line. There were lots of wines available by the glass, which I like, as MCM and I are increasingly interested in pairing wines well and it's often hard to find a bottle to match ("A light red again, cheri?"). They also offer house wines by the pitcher or glass, which is a great value option. Some restaurants with comparable food prices only have wine by the bottle, usually in the 25+ euro range.

I started with foie gras with toast and a little salad; solid and good quality, although I would have really liked a little tangy jam or compote on the side. MCM had an amazing dish: three oysters (raw) topped with a salmon tartare - raw salmon diced with, I'm guessing, shallot and lemon. It was incredible: so fresh and zingy, a true appetiser in the sense that it whet the appetite and woke up the taste buds. We each had a glass of Quincy, a light, fruity sauvignon blanc-based wine from the Loire. It was a bit too citrusy for my starter but still enjoyable.

Then the mains. Oh wow. We couldn't decide between the lamb and the bar (sea bass) so we ordered one of each. We asked the bartender for wine recommendations and he assumed, unusually, that I was having the meat. "Do you like Bordeaux?" Yes, I said. He suggested a Montagne St Emilion, a deep, velvety, complex red wine. MCM was offered a very pleasant, golden Sancerre, which picked up the sweetness in the sea bass, which was served with truffle oil and a sweet potato puree. The sea bass was lovely - light, refined, complex but not overpowering. A bit small, but a fish option usually is.

But the lamb! Wow. I have no idea what they did to it; it was slices of a thick cut, served just pink as requested, with white beans and a thyme sauce. It was fantastic. It was earthy and rich, yet delicate; perfect for the season, when the sun has come out and we are dreaming of spring but there is still a chill in the air.
I wanted to lick my plate.

Dessert was fine - correct, as the French would say. I had profiteroles, two huge pastry puffs filled with vanilla ice cream and topped with an indecent amount of chocolate sauce, which the waiter poured for me from a little pitcher. MCM had the comparatively dainty chocolate quenelles, little mousse spoonfuls in a sauce.

As MCM noted as we left, walking back to the metro past Les Cocottes (now heaving with people), a place that is so popular with tourists could slack off on the food, but they didn't. All in all, a fantastic celebration meal. It was cheaper than we had expected - in part, I realised after we had left, because they had forgotten to add on two glasses of wine. See what I mean about needing more staff? I don't feel too bad, because we'll be back.

Cafe Constant
Food: Delicious.
Atmosphere/decor: Disappointing.
Service: A+ for effort, B- for execution.
Value for money: Very good, given the quality of the food. Extra credit for the affordable wine options. Count on 30-40 euro per person.
What to wear: casual or smart casual. MCM and I both wore "dressy" jeans.
Good for: small groups of friends, people who love food, people who want updated takes on French classics.
Not good for: vegetarians, little kids, people with enormous appetites or people who have trouble squeezing into banquettes.
Handicapped access: Toilets are up a narrow flight of stairs.

Food for thought

Alright, I know what you all really want to know. How's the food?

It's good. Sometimes it's great, and sometime's is lousy. It is very possible to have a terrible meal in a restaurant in Paris - in fact, I try to plan ahead as much as possible, as it's not always so easy to just wander around and find a nice little neighbourhood restaurant with tasty, reasonably-priced food. I read a lot of restaurant reviews and guides (this one, which was a birthday gift from my sister, is great) and try to reserve ahead, even though I get nervous about making phone calls in French.

Friday night MCM and I had a great night out. We had some errands to do in the city, afterwards went for a fun meal at Chartier, and had a quick wander through the Louvre on our way home. Chartier is a nineteenth-century worker's cantine turned restaurant. It's loud, chaotic, and cheap (most main courses are 8-11 euros, which is crazy for Paris at dinner time). We loved the art nouveau decor, which reminded us of our favourite places in Brussels, like this one and this one. And the food? Okay. MCM's pork terrine was tasty and classic; our profiteroles for dessert were textbook-perfect. Main courses were average - the frites could really be improved. They should be crispier!

I happened across an old article from a British newspaper on the state of French food in which the owners of a British-style bakery-cafe in Paris bemoan the state of French cooking. They complain that bistros are not inventive, turning out the same dishes again and again. (In fact, MCM and have discussed this before: we can predict a bistro menu with about 90% accuracy). While I agree with some of the points in the article, I think the cafe owners exaggerate a bit: French food is not in crisis. The French are, in general, picky consumers when it comes to food: MCM went to the market on Sunday and one of the vegetable-sellers was offering unsolicited apologies on the state of the lettuce, since he only buys Perpignan lettuce and Perpignan has been battered by recent storms.

I'll be curious to hear other opinions.