Paris: River and Boulevard 2

The rain was beating down on me as I passed the Trocadero and headed uphill through the swanky Rue de Magdebourg neighborhood.  There was nobody else silly enough to continue to tromp through the torrential rain that I could see.  Finally, I decided to shelter under a chestnut tree which blocked out at least some of the water.  A few moments later, a nice older lady [walking a dog] stopped and asked me if I were lost and if I needed any help.  I told her I was engaged in my premier voyage a' Paris and that it was a wonderful day.  She gave me a sad smile and nodded, heading off down hill.  Or down stream, as it were.

I made the Avenue Kleber and turned northeast toward the Arc de Triomphe.  I planned to stroll down the Champs Elysees from there to a long lunch at Fouquet's but I was too cold, too damp and too hungry.  I stopped at the Fleurus, a small cafe on the Avenue Kleber where I could sit outside under an awning and have a classic Croque Monsieur and a Kronenbourg draft beer...

It was a very nice break and a lovely lunch, even with the continuing rain.  The Fleurus is a great cafe run by a cute young couple and the food and service are very good.  A video about the Fleurus Cafe can be seen here.  The next time I visit Paris I plan to return to the Fleurus on a sunny day to enjoy a nice leisurely cafe meal.  Feeling fully restored, and with a momentary letup in the rain, I pressed on toward the Place Charles de Gaulle.  Passing by banks, embassies, and other addresses of note, I was almost to my destination when an Italian man stopped his car and asked me if I wanted to buy some designer suits.  I told him that I was certainly too big to wear designer Italian suits sold from a car and he drove off looking disappointed.

Then, I was at the top of the Champs Elysees...

the Arc de Trionphe is a striking and moving monument.  The rain began again in earnest...I did my best to stroll, not slog, down the Champs, fortified by my fine lunch...just like that fellow in the Joni Mitchell song...

I was tempted to slide into Fouquet's and have a second luncheon......but I just didn't feel dressed well enough and I looked a bit like a wet rat.  I put it on my "another day" list and stroll/slogged on...

Almost got killed to bring you that last shot of Les Invalides.  Not a good idea to stand in the middle of a boulevard.  Those little cars can close on your location very rapidly.  I entered the Place de la Concorde where the Obelisk of Luxor is counter posed with the Tour Eiffel...

A fountain where the guillotine used to be...

The glorious Hotel Crillon...

...and an unexpected historical marker that made me proud to be a Yank...

..finally I found myself in the Tuleries as the weather began to clear and a very lovely evening approached...

I love a garden where a section is devoted to statues of naked nymphs...

 

At this point, the light was failing and it occurred to me that a cup of hot chocolate would be proper.  I decided to make my third [and final] run at Cafe Angelina, not far from The Louvre on the Rue de Rivoli.  The return reader may recall that my previous attempts to have the renowned hot chocolate at Cafe Angelina had ended in frustration and disaster.  I was on a quest imposed upon me by a pal who insisted that I go to Cafe Angelina for hot chocolate on my first Paris trip.  I gave it another run...

...and I actually got in and got a table!!! Although the cafe looks small when you come in it is actually pretty cavernous and rather dark inside.  It was full of happy looking diners, however, and I counted myself lucky to be among them.  I ordered the famous hot chocolate and a raspberry pastry.  They were both astounding.  The bring the chocolate in a silver pot with a separate pot of heavy creme and you stir the creme into the chocolate or pour them both together...just the aroma of the chocolate and the creme are enough to make you weak.  If you like such things...

oh, and the raspberry pastry was pretty and a towering achievement of the patissier's art...

...you find it so pretty you don't want to eat it.  But you do anyhow.  The macaron cake was flavored with roses and strawberry, the raspberries were fresh and perfectly sweet/tart and inside there was a tiny layer of lavender cream.  It was like eating a Monet painting of a field of flowers.  With raspberries.  And chocolate and creme.  There aren't many places that I will say were worth three attempts to visit, but Cafe Angelina is one of them. 

After this lovely break in the soaking day, I found that the rain had stopped again and I walked home to the Isl Saint-Louis for a nap, a bath, and a change of clothes.  Of course, I woke up hungry but not interested in doing much exploring after my day of wandering.  I recalled a great article by Herbert Gold which mentioned the Brasserie de St. Louis en L'Isl.  He told of its fine Alsatian food and fair prices.  It was about a block from my hotel so I decided to give it a try.  As I was walking in the door I heard a British voice behind me saying to his companions "I used to come here almost every day when I was living here during school".  A good omen.  Plus, it just looked like a great place...

I ordered a bottle of Bordeaux and scanned the menu.  This was a very reasonably priced bottle which was outstanding...

As you can tell, the menu is classic and diverse.  I began with an onion tart which was quite good.  Then, I thought I would branch out a bit.  I asked the waiter what "Jarret de porc" was.  He leaned over and made a cutting motion with his hand over his lower calf.  Hm.  Shin?  Then it dawned on me. Where I live, they call it a "ham hock".  I had to have it, in Paris.  But first a little Welsh Rarebit...

Marvelous tangy cheese fondue poured over crusty baguette.  Just perfect with the Chateau Greysac and a shield against the cold, rainy night.  Then the Jarret arrived.  Broiled with house made apple sauce.  This simple Alsatian dish was a triumph.  The pork was tender and flavorful with a wood-fire cooked taste that went perfectly with the slightly tart apples.  The Medoc rose to new heights as a companion to this hearty fare...

I do not know why I fail to take so many photos of dishes I love until I have consumed them!  Probably because the great food distracts me.  This was just a marvelous meal.  I thought for some minutes of dessert but they were out of Baba Au Rhum [one of my list of Paris "must haves"] and I was still basking in the glow of my sweets from Angelina so I paid my [very modest] tab and slipped out into the near frigid night.  Off to see my new friends at the Pledge Bar for a Calvados or two before bed.  The barman at The Pledge saw me enter, waved, and reached for the Calvados bottle. The close of another perfect day of adventure.

Bon Voyage

Mr. Robert Treboux, grand gentleman and owner of my favorite restaurant in the world, Le Veau D'Or in New York, died yesterday at 87. 

One afternoon, some years ago, I was sitting at a corner table having a long lunch when a very nice lady behind me complained to her companion that she had been mountain climbing, had been hang gliding, had ridden bicycles everywhere and yet was not very happy.  Mr. Treboux saw me grimace and, pointing at me, said "what do you think of that comment?".  About two-thirds through a great bottle of Margeaux, I turned to the lady (who was blond, from Connecticut, and about my age) and said as gently as I could "I think you need to do less and live more."  She stared at me and then smiled and raised her glass.

He laughed out loud and said "are you sure you aren't French?".

I may never have a ribbon to hang on my dinner jacket, but that was more than enough of a decoration for me.

Photo from the New York Times.

Paris: River and Boulevard 1

The morning after my adventure to the Ritz dawned drizzly.  Or rather would have dawned drizzly had I awakened before nine. In any case, I thought a drizzly, overcast Tuesday would be just the time to take my first excursion on Batobus, depicted above. 

Someone had tipped me to getting a Batobus multi-day pass before I started on my trip, and it was one of the best pieces of advice I received.  Batobus is a group of river boats which cruise on the Seine in a continuous circuit from the Jardin des Plantes to the Tour Eiffel and back again.  You can see the full listing for this easy and wonderful service here.  The great thing about a Batobus pass is that you can get on and off the boat as many times as you like for the life of the pass.  Just like a personal water taxi.  And the seats are enclosed so any stormy weather you encounter is kept safely away.

Tuesday morning, I ambled from the Isl Saint Louis behind Notre Dame and over to the Left Bank feeling like I actually knew where I was going.  A fine feeling.  The spots where Batobus stops are marked with flags so you can easily tell where on a quai to go.  As luck would have it, the boat had just arrived when I walked down onto the Quai de Montebello.  I flashed my weekly pass and strolled onto the boat as easy as you please.  Honestly, I cannot imagine a better way to spend part of a rainy Paris day than to ride Batobus up and down the Seine.  It is just fascinating...

...for example, the view of Notre Dame from the river.  Other views...

 

The famous "prow" of the Isl de Cite.  There were lovers there...um...loving...how marvellously bohemian!!  I gave the photo another try.....missed them again.  Just as well...

The Pont Des Artes...

The Pont Notre Dame....

...sometimes going under a bridge impresses you with its amazing construction and solidity much more than walking over it.  The Pont Neuf...

The Academie de France...

I don't imagine that my humble efforts here will get me elected to the Academie but I would sure like to have one of these grand outfits they give you as a member, here shown on one of my favorite authors Jean Dutourd...

and of some other grand gents...

any club where they give out swords and sashes is OK by me.
The weather was pretty decent while I was on my Batobus excursion.  I tried to spend all my time on the open aft deck enjoying the breeze...

The Musee' d'Orsay...

Then, you come just far enough up river.  You are peering through your phone to get a shot of the French Senate or some such thing...and you see a shadow from a dream of your entire life...

Then, you hear a young lady on the aft deck near you give a soft gasp.  Then, you see it...




Then, you gasp too. 

Even after a couple of days.  After Air France.  After customs.  After Chez Benoit.  After the Louvre.  After the first of more than a few great meals and bottles of wine.  You, my friend, are in PARIS.

The view above is from the quai after leaving Batobus at the Port de la Bourdonnais.  What impressed me was not so much its height but how wide it is.  There was a lovely carousel and a little Spring fair set up in the plaza at the top of the quai across the street from the Tour.

                                                  

This really cute sweater was for sale at one of the booths of the fair, showing our family's two Papillion dogs and what appear to be a couple of aliens or perhaps Aztec sun symbols?  In any event, I didn't know anyone small enough to wear this size sweater so I passed on to another booth where I was looking at some wallets and purses when I noticed a distinct change in the air temperature.  The weather was taking a turn for the ugly.  I looked around and, having already made a close-up inspection of the Eiffel Tower [no going up for me, I do NOT do exposed heights...at least sober]...I found myself squarely on the horns of a dilemma.  Whether to abandon my original plan of walking from the Eiffel Tower, across the Pont d'Ilena, past the Trocadero and up to the Arc de Triomphe then down the Champs Elysee, through The Tuileries and home, or to get my still relatively dry self back onto Batobus and cruise sanguinely down the Seine back to Notre Dame for a leisurely lunch in some nice little place in the Latin Quarter.  The reader should know that this Epic will stick to a plan.  Particularly when it involves walking all over a new city.  I buttoned up my L.L. Bean weatherproof jacket, wished desperately for a flask of Calvados [in just a few minutes the weather had turned very cold and windy] and turned toward the Trocadero.

A serious storm was brewing.  I made it across the Pont d'lena before the really large raindrops began hitting me in the face...

                                                      

From Paris To.....Charlotte?

Nothing delights the road-weary Epic more than discovery of a really great restaurant.  Especially an unexpected one.

Since I returned from Paris, I have been traveling a lot but I have not had a really fine meal until last night.  At a little French bistro.  In Charlotte, North Carolina. 

You simply must try Cafe Monte if you find yourself in the Queen City.  The exterior looks like a coffee shop, but the interior decor is very sophisticated and welcoming.  They bake pastries there, including buttery, flaky croissants.  The bar is great.  When I happened by for an after dinner drink two nights ago, I realized I had to try Cafe Monte for dinner my last night in town.  I am very glad I did.

A bottle of the fine Rhone Valley rose, Tavel.  One of my hero Leibling's favorites.  Not your typical "why drink this?" rose but a true Rhone wine with a dark jewel tone color and the chops to stand up to good hearty summer fare. 

Like the house-made pate, peppery and right, with cornichons, spicy mustard and little toasts.  Trout amandine which was the finest dish of the sort I have ever had.  Fresh Carolina brook trout, simply sauteed in a little butter with capers and almonds.  Served over haricots verts and fingerling potatoes.  A simple but towering dish.  Whoever invented trout amandine would have sobbed with delight eating this. After the trout, a bit of cheese was called for and the cheese plate was marvelous with four types of cheese ranging from mild to strong fresh grapes and chopped candied walnuts.  As is proper.  The Tavel was running low at this point, so I finished it with the cheese.  I concluded this outstanding meal with a Calvados, strong black coffee and a plate of three of the house-baked Parisian style Macaroons [coffee flavored, pistachio and lemon] which were perfect and every bit as nice as the ones I ate with a friend in France.  They were perfect with the last bites of the cheese plate...the lemon one was my favorite.

I left Cafe Monte a very happy man and when I return to Charlotte I will return there as well, for restoration.  And for a bit of Paris.

Fuzzy Photos From Great Bars

Cafe Monte, Charlotte, North Carolina. Tonight.  They have Calvados.  They have Tavel......the greatest rose in the world. 

Over the door, a quote from Grimod de la Reyniere...

Life is so brief that we should not glance either too far backwards or forwards...therefore study how to fix our happiness in our glass and in our plate.