As my attitude about Paris changed from ambivalence to obsession, I have been finding it really fun to convert the perceptions of fellow travelers. This time Lucy was my convert, and travelling with Tim and her is a nonstop party of booze, indulgence, and brilliance. The best thing that happened to my time living in London, Lucy is now a fixture in all of our trips and the best travel partner one could ask for. Her appreciation for shopping, drinking, eating, and her overall joie de vivre is what makes our adventures one better than the next. I knew that Paris would be no exception.
Retourner à Belleville
After our last trip staying in the 20eme was a success, Mama Shelter (109 Rue de Bagnolet, 75020) beckoned again. Most of our destinations were repeats from the last trip. Just like before, we kicked off Café Le Papillon (144 Rue de Bagnolet, 75020). Nothing wiles away the afternoon – and memories of air travel – than sitting with friends sipping a crème de cassis kir and enjoying the simple goodness of steak frites to reclaim one’s energy. I am usually skeptical of rooftop bars and avoid them at all cost, but Mama Shelter’s rooftop was an ideal way to toast a weekend of Parisian parties. Back to the repetition, we headed up to Belleville and enjoyed some pre-dinner drinks along the lively Rue des Cascades at Bistrot Littéraire Les Cascades (82 Rue des Cascades, 75020).
For our last evening together, we enticed Lucy with the idea of French singing, and she was confused, but when we arrived at Vieux Belleville (12 Rue Envierges, 75020) she knew the evening would go from zero to ten instantly. Minelle, her accordion, and yellowed song sheets graced our presence, and we had come full circle. We sang for hours, ate, laughed, and like before, drank enough red wine to again, sink a small ship. The night culminated with Minelle making Tim and me dance some sort of waltz in matching hats. None of it made sense, but when in France and you’re not a native, what does? We embraced everything about that evening, met new people, and then ended up deep in the weeds of Belleville, only to face the cold, harsh lighting of a McDonalds’s at 4am, sang English football songs down the Rue des Pyrénées, concluding with a blurry, post-McDo dance party in Lucy’s room before retiring.
Dépôt vente luxe interlude in the 16eme
Saturday morning’s destination was heading west to the 16eme, in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower. I had dazzled Lucy with the promise of plentiful designer consignment “dépôt vente luxe” shops around the Rue de la Pompe. Réciproque is the grandaddy of all the shops, stocked with a dizzying array of Louis, Gucci, Chanel, Hermes, and every other major name you can fantasize about. The shop excels in finding the Chanel jacket you’ve always dreamed of, or in my and Lucy’s case, her dream Louise Vuitton bag and my dream Chanel necklace. I love the variety of new and vintage – and that you can walk away with a Hermes neckerchief for €60, or really do some damage to your bank account. Walking around this tony area is a pleasure, and while Lucy and I drooled over designers, Tim did what Tim does best: sat in a cafe, people watched, and read his periodicals. We joined him at the next door Bar et Café Le Montespan (87 Rue de la Pompe, 75116) for a coffee. The interior seems to have stayed put since the late 1960s-early 1970s, transcending time and looking effortlessly stylish. It was temping to pitch up at the bar and enjoy a few apertifs with the locals, but we had more shops to visit along Rue de la Tour, namely the dépôt vente luxe on 14 Rue de la Tour, 75016. Service is brisk and to the point, but for a smaller store their stock is plentiful and Chanel bags/accessories abound. After seeing a stylish older woman sporting a 1980s gold Chanel necklace, I walked in only to find something similar. They clearly are a reliable go-to for the locals looking to purge their closets. Also along the street, generally opening later, is 3 Rue de la Tour, showcasing vintage goods. Aim to arrive in this area around 11am to make sure you can make the most of it, break for lunch (since most of these shops close for an hour or two), and go for another round of shopping at the depots that open later. Lucy and I were on a capitalist high, and knowing we were in the shadows of the Eiffel Tower needed to catch a glimpse – mainly to remember that we were in Paris and not some third dimension. Head to the nearby Rue le Tasse. This dead end street will provide the best Eiffel Tower photo op, with a perfect view. No tourists, no traffic, but maybe an influencer or two (so you’ll know it’s a good photo op spot). This street is so idyllic you’ll be hearing Ella Fitzgerald singing “I Love Paris” faintly in the distance.
Eternally in love with Saint-Germain-des-Prés
We headed for the 6 and 7eme for lunch, to the newly opened Le Colvert (54 Rue Saint-André des Arts, 75006). Run by a group of young yet experienced restaurateurs, this corner spot had all the trappings of a cool modern restaurant- great tiling, velvet booths, lush wallpaper, and an impressively short but powerful menu, including a burger that was exceptional. Beet-marinated salmon tartare, cream of celery soup, steak, and juicy duck warranted both a lunchtime and a few days later, a dinner visit. It was nice to be somewhere that felt both Parisian and global, that has staying power in a generally fickle part of town where launching a new business must be cut throat. I introduced Lucy to Le Bon Marché (24 Rue de Sèvres, 75007), where even after a morning of being smothered in designers, witnessing the ultimate French department store brought a sparkle to her eye.
A rainy Sunday in the 7eme called for a post-party self-pitying lunch at none other than La Petite Périgourdine (39 Rue des Écoles, 75005), one of our mainstays during the first phase of Parisian jaunts during 2013-2016. The aligot comes to me in my dreams and it was time to meet again. This corner brasserie does the classics very well, with bonus points for having Berthillon ice cream on their menu. (This visit didn’t allow for time to make it to the Berthillon flagship, but were able to enjoy scoops both here and at The Smiths Bakery (12 Rue de Buci, 75006)). Sitting down at the Perigourdine on a gray Sunday afternoon was the perfect venue for a long lunch of French 101 including onion soup, followed by a thick filet of beef accompanied by the not-so-basic aligot– a fondue-like side dish popular in Auvergne. Presented in a pot and poured into your dish to form satin-like layers of potato and cheese, aligot will either entice or nauseate. For dessert, Berthillon’s dark chocolate and rum raisin scoops hit the spot. The rum raisin was buzz-giving-booziness to a tee. We then roamed around the rainy St. Germain, including the dreamy, postcard perfect Jardin du Luxembourg, then to the Église Saint-Sulpice (2 Rue Palatine, 75006). We ended the afternoon sipping coffee in the idyllic Au Sauvignon (80 Rue des Saints-Pères, 75007). This truly democratic wine bar has zero pretense and makes you feel like you’re in the epicenter of Parisian life- an ultimate stopping point for the local, tourist, or anyone who wants to absorb the electric energy of Saint-Germain-des-Prés. On our last day in town it was the fete du muguet, better known as May Day. Worried that the city would shut down and we would be wandering the streets bored and sharing a baguette, it turned out to be the opposite. Cafes were mostly open, people gathered with friends, and the most charming highlight was street corners flanked with sellers of Lilies of the Valley, meant to be gifted to those you want to wish luck- whether it’s your boulanger or mother. Fete du muguet was another French touch I wasn’t expecting, and we departed Paris charmed, yet again.
Lyon
We had an early night and I awoke with the sunrise to prepare for part two of the trip- a night in Lyon. I had always been intrigued when told that Lyon is the gastronomic capital of France, and I always understood what that meant, yet knew it was something I had to experience firsthand. I am an adventurous eater to a limit- I will not eat offal, and most meats do not entice me. But techniques, textures/flavors, and the overall heightened dining experience are what I deem gourmet- and was excited to experience this firsthand.
TGV high-speed rail service will get you to Lyon Part Deux station in two hours. Considering the drive can near five hours, the train is worth every penny. Gliding through the verdant Rhône Valley, we arrived into the city, and like with most French train stations, you need to taxi it over to the heart of town. We were staying at the new-ish Okko Hotel (14 Bis Quai du Général Sarrail, 69006), the ideal millennial hotel replete with all-day free snacks, stylish work-socialize spaces, and minimally modern bedrooms. Feeling like a kid in a gourmet candy store, I could not give a toss about exploring the city much. Wandering around Vieux Lyon and its quaint cobblestone streets did not appeal to me, when normally that is my ideal Euro experience. Rather, my goal was to spend our hours in divine restaurants enjoying both high and low brow cuisine, eating our way to the heart of what it means to be Lyonnaise. Little did I know that my gourmand dreams would soon come crashing down thanks to modern technology.
Les Halles de Lyon – Paul Bocuse (102 Cours Lafayette, 69003)
Upon arriving, we dropped our bags at the hotel and dashed over to the epicenter of all things food, Les Halles de Lyon. This food hall is the heart and soul of what it means to be French. Les Halles takes your “foodie” nonsense, spits it out, and laughs at you. I hate the word “foodie”, it’s just stupid. I love all types of food, but what I love more is people who are passionate about it sans pretense, and that is what Les Halles is all about. You can be as much as a food snob as you want, but until you come here, your bark is bigger than your bite.
To fully know and understand what it is to be an Epicurean, one must venture here. That is the sheer urgency I felt when visiting Les Halles. I had to take a moment to reflect, to understand that this is so above me and I am nothing but a mere voyeur, peeking around, smelling and tasting. In my lifetime, I don’t think I can fully ever grasp everything this building purveys and means to those in the culinary world. Observing the traiteurs opening their stalls, preparing their fish, positioning the candied fruits… it was watching pure passion in action, and I simply felt lucky to be there.
Paul Bocuse, one of French cooking’s lauded innovators, recently passed away, hence his nomination. I always think of the scene with him and Anthony Bourdain in Parts Unknown when Bourdain stated, his voice breaking, (which seemed rare for someone of his character) that this was “the meal of his life.” That always stuck with me, because you can see that eating in Lyon, at many of these establishments, is what people aspire to do throughout their whole life. Visiting Lyon is something one should not take lightly, and I made sure to savor every smell and taste.
Lost in Lyon
Les Halles sentiment aside, after perusing the aisles, we stopped for a lunchtime beer only to remember that we had to dash for our reservation at family-owned A Ma Vigne (23 Rue Jean Larrivé, 69003). Lunchtime in Lyon is not anytime- if you’re dining at a restaurant, remember that lunch is from 12-2pm. No ifs. Ands. Or. Buts. Well, Tim did not realize that the data on his phone wasn’t functioning, and somehow we lost sight of where we were from the hotel. We wandered around for an hour- perhaps it was the lack of sleep from partying in Paris, or the intensity of being in Lyon, but we ended up on the Pont de Lattre de Tassigny over the Rhône where I embarrassingly broke down in tears. We had missed our lunch reservation and after hours of not eating in the land of lauded food, I so desperately wanted to just eat. We wandered in a haze attempting to find somewhere that would serve us (and surprisingly, did not come into contact with anyone knowing a lick of English), only to end up on the doorstep of La Mère Brazier (12 Rue Royale, 69001) who is only the queen of the French kitchen. I figured it was a sign… a sign that we were rebuffed, as “lunchtime was over.” Feeling like an American street urchin, I turned to Tim re-stating that lunchtime was over, only to sob a little more. Our walk through town was a greatest hits of the missed meals- like Brasserie le Nord (18 Rue Neuve, 69002) where I sadly observed a man eating the dessert waffle I had craved, drooling through the stained glass window, once again, like an American street urchin. Giving up on the notion of a sit down lunch, we enjoyed a rainbow of delicious glace from Glacier Terre Adélice (1 Place de la Baleine, 69005) and wandered the charming (and very steep) cobblestone streets of Vieux Lyon, as I had planned not to do. Sob story aside, we returned to Les Halles, righted our wrongs, and took an arsenal of cheese and bread back to the hotel for a late afternoon feast.
Café Comptoir Abel (25 Rue Guynemer, 69002)
Aside from needing to be in the heart of French gastronomy, I needed to be in the heart of where my favorite dish originates. Quenelle de brochet (pike dumplings served in a “Nantua”- a shellfish sauce) was my introduction to the wonders of Lyonnaise cooking at the dearly departed, family-owned Moissonier in Paris. I like to think that the Moissonier family gave up the Paris rat race and returned to their native Rhône region, safe in the knowledge that they ran one of the best, most welcoming restaurants Paris was lucky to have.
Knowing that Lyon’s bouchons would be like a million overwhelming Moissoniers, it was clear that stakes were high in recreating the quenelle de brochet brilliance. Following in Mr. Bourdain’s steps again, our first meal was at the classic bouchon Café Comptoir Abel. Bouchons initially served as small inns for passing-through silk workers in the 17th and 18th centuries. Unfussy, family owned establishments that are both convivial and cozy, I am certain that this is a haven for the most unique, superb food that France has to offer, and the proud Lyonnaise would probably agree. Classic dishes like quenelle de brochet, the pork and lentil-laden salad Lyonnaise, and lots of meaty/offal dishes round out what you’ll find in a true bouchon.
Comptoir Abel is a dark, woody storied house that immediately transports you into an eerie French fairytale, where the wallpaper talks to you in riddles and the candlesticks break into song and dance, nearly lighting you on fire. Walking in, you can imagine silk workers devouring their hearty meals, now replaced by casual family and business meals. Served by bustling staff who don’t have time to indulge your foodie fantasies, we sat down ready to enjoy one of the best meals of (my) life. Wine had no place in this meal, and enjoying locals beers was the perfect crisp accompaniment that would contribute to the would guaranteed post-dinner fatigue.
One of the tastiest dishes I have ever tried, the salade d’écrevisses (crayfish salad) was gently tossed with haricots vert and olive oil, combining everything I love about food in a dish. I think about this salad at least once a week. Tim enjoyed the silky and sultry saucisson chaud, lentilles tièdes (hot sausage, warm lentils). Finally, the quenelles arrived- piping hot out of the oven, swimming in a house gratin, and truly divine. I was proud of Tim for not making a b-line for the steak, but rather, went for the chicken with morels and cream. A known mushroom/funghi hater since the moment I met him, he strayed away from the morels that I happily pecked on. We had to enjoy the Lyonnaise version of macaroni and cheese, a side dish that appears in most meals here. It’s richer, slightly blander, but better than the neon yellow variety you tend to find elsewhere. Despite the fatigue setting in and the room feeling darker and smaller as each minute passed, we couldn’t deny a sweet ending with sorbet au marron et chocolat chaud – the most delicious chestnut sorbet accompanied by a pot of chocolate sauce for DIY pouring. With the highs and lows of the day washed away, I went to sleep feeling like I fully understood the unfussy yet immaculately skilled magic of Lyonnaise cooking, and like Mr. Bourdain, I had visited Lyon to experience one of the best meals of my life, and I was grateful for every minute.
Daniel et Denise Créqui (156 Rue de Créqui, 69003)
A Michelin-approved restaurant that is reaching the ranks of legendary, I knew we would be in for a different experience than the laid back Comptoir Abel, and visiting here would be best experienced at lunch time. As soon as you walk into the bright, cozy environs, you know you’re in a place where young chefs aspire to work, walking around with a speed and energy that makes you pity the battered kitchen door. Sauces are poured above your head, massive trays of pastry are presented for your picking, and waiters talk about your lunch in the most intricate, loving detail. Everything seems to be happening over your head here, photos hang on the walls of storied chefs, pots of sauces are drizzled by waiters above you, trays are heaving with some of the finest cookware you’ll ever encounter – and would not want falling on you. Spend your time looking up at Daniel et Denise, and you’ll witness nothing but splendorous synchronicity.
Going with the menu saison, Tim went for the crème de petit pois, oeuf poché et pickels de légumes – a frothy pea soup, delicately poured and garnished with a poached egg. I couldn’t leave town without sampling the salade Lyonnaise, Daniel et Denise style, featuring lentils from Croix-Rousse, smoked herring, and potato amandine. For our main courses I couldn’t not fawn over the quenelle de brochet, a petit version from the night before’s heaping portion, in a slightly frothy Nantua sauce. Tim’s chicken fricassé was perfectly succulent swimming in an onion gravy. The macaroni gratin was of course present, along with carrots in clarified butter (our first vegetable in two days), and Lyonnaise potatoes. Reminder: this was lunch. The couple next to us steamed through their meal and were presented with a comically sized tray of dark chocolate eclairs, to which they each enjoyed, and I observed their hearty appetite in envy. I knew we could muster sharing a poached pear, swimming in a rich chocolate sauce, of course carefully poured over our heads from a searing pan. As tempted as I was to enjoy the l’Ile flottante aux pralines de Saint Genix (a “floating island” of meringue on crème anglaise dotted with rose pralines), I was happy to see its pretty pinkness devoured in the distance.
Unfortunately we had a train to catch and I underestimated the fact that lunch would be only two hours, met by befuddled waiter when I asked for the check midway through our pear. Typical rushing Anglo folk, he must have thought. This is the opposite of the lunch rush. As I learned the day before, lunch might be from 12-2pm, but once you’re in, you’re in. Perhaps this is the French version of a pub “lock-in”, you’re not leaving until you have eaten, imbibed, and digested, when you’re then released back into the streets of France, counting down the days until you can muster another delicious dalliance with Lyon.
elbows on the table 