Thinking about… Lille (Autumn 2017)

 

 

 

My friend mentioned a potential visit to Lille, sparking a reflection on my time there in September 2017. Lille is not just the northwestern Hauts-de-France Eurostar stop en route to Paris. Lille represents many things. This is is a place of cultural elasticity where French and Belgian tradition collide.

Vieux-Lille is a ten minute drive to Eurostar terminals, and best experienced on foot. L’Esplanade B&B (42b Façade de l’Esplanade) was our base. This beautiful structure is removed from the town center, quietly facing the green Esquermes area, featuring the Citadelle de Lille. The B&B’s facade is in classic Lille style, unlike what you’ll find in most French cities. Brick, Flemish-style structures are the norm here, replete with oversized windows and tall, narrow doors. Owned by a charming couple, our room was huge and modern, kitted out with quirky modern furnishings, a grand old fireplace, and of course, a Nespresso machine. Breakfast was a Continental dream, from chewy gaufres to fresh patisserie.

Shopping was my main draw, and we had just missed Lille’s crowning event – the annual Braderie de Lille, also known as Europe’s largest flea market. Along the shopping district, prominent French designers from Vuitton to Hermes represent, but the real magic is within various vintage stores brimming with French designers. The buzz is in the scavenger hunt within these unfussy shops. You’ll unlock random finds – from Dior to Chanel bags to YSL scarves with prices that put Paris to shame, served up by friendly shopkeepers [although knowing basic French comes in handy]. Many shops were restocking after the Braderie blitz, which made me wonder what gems I could have discovered two weeks earlier. My most stereotypical French shopping moment ever occurred when a local lady covertly tried selling me her deceased grandmother’s Chanel accessories, all in a whispered hush outside of a vintage store, so the shopkeeper/friend wouldn’t find out about her “side hustle.”

After a morning of commerce I wanted nothing more than to while away the afternoon at Méert (25-27 Rue Esquermoise, 59000). This patisserie, chocolate shop, tea room, and fine dining restaurant has operated as one big, sweet, French indulgence since the 18th century. Sitting in an elegant, slightly gaudy tea room is one of my favorite European delights, and a privilege. Enjoying a meticulously prepared chocolat chaud and haute patisserie, including Méert’s lauded gooey gaufres was time well spent. While on the sweet tooth tip, Lille is also home to the original Paul patisserie (that sprouted many a global Paul), and the stained glass facade makes for a pretty cool flagship.

The smell of Maroilles, a strong cow’s milk cheese, will infiltrate your nostrils as you wander around. The perfect venue to experience this cheesy goodness is at an estaminet. The estaminet is to Northern France what the brasserie is to Paris. These rustic taverns are outfitted with knick knacks like old utensils and rickety portraits hanging from musty dusty dark walls lit by candlelight. The bars are stocked aplenty with local beers and apertifs, and the menus are heavy on cheese, meat, and potatoes. Maroilles flavored soups, tarts and carbonnade flamande round out the richness, and ending dessert with la mousse speculoos was how every meal should conclude, at least in my perfect world. Rue de Gand is lined with estaminets that all appear similar, some better than the other. We enjoyed Estaminet Chez La Vieille (60 Rue de Gand, 59000) and Estaminet La Vieille France across the street. After walking off a rich dinner, we descended upon a French carnival in the Esquermes across from our B&B. An endless parade of sweet stands fulfilled my candy coated dreams, including a chocolate and pistachio swirl cone (flavors clearly catering to the heightened French palette). Even though we enjoyed visiting some lively bars thanks to the abundant student population, I much preferred walking around a whimsical carnival among the Lillois in this dreamy city.

Travel Capsule: Pittsburgh (Winter 2019)

 

 

When Tim revealed that he was planning a surprise February weekend away, Pittsburgh was looming in the back of my mind. For years I had mentioned my desire to visit The Andy Warhol Museum, and hearing mutterings about a city “rising from the [literal] ashes” seemed exciting. Then of course, Anthony Bourdain’s Parts Unknown visit solidified that Pittsburgh’s renaissance was well underway.

The arrival journey was filled with the usual holiday weekend rush hour fodder. We defied traffic, snaked our way through stressful security, and handled my fear of flying in small planes somewhat calmly. Leaving the uncomfortable trappings of domestic travel behind, we touched down in PGH to an empty airport that contrasted with LGA’s madness. “Where are all the people?” was my first thought.

Passing through 35 minutes of darkness, through never ending suburban roads and a tunnel, you’re met with a brightly lit cityscape, tangled in a smattering of bridges connecting pockets of grand, lit up skyscrapers – on the banks of the conjoining Three Rivers. Pittsburgh’s “spaghetti” motorways curtail in and out of the metro area, providing an even more interesting ride. Moving on from the somewhat exciting feel of Downtown, passing through various, dimly lit neighborhoods with non-functioning industrial builds grasped a feel for the Pittsburgh I was expecting.

Pittsburgh does not feel “cheerful”, but rather stoic and purposeful, as expected, considering the city’s past. Overcast, cloudy skies are the norm, complimenting the terrain’s sedated color scheme. There is a no-nonsense, driving work ethic that permeates through everything. Entrepreneurial young business owners seem intent on giving customers the best experience – whether you’re in a dive bar or high end restaurant. A “roll up the sleeves” dedication to quality and dependability is something that runs deep here.

The Ace Hotel was our base in the East Liberty neighborhood. As our driver noted, this area was untouchable only a few years ago, only to be redeveloped as a stereotypical “Brooklyn light”. Despite that, there is a melting pot of locals and new inhabitants, breathing creative life into an area so clearly deserving. A few minutes over in Shadyside, streets of massive turn of the 20th century homes were reminiscent of London, and relics of the city’s grand past. Thinking we could walk from East Liberty to Bloomfield in a few quick steps was wrong, and taxis became our best friend. The city’s sprawling layout isn’t akin to quick neighborhood jaunts, unless you’re spending a lot of time in the Downtown Strip and Cultural Districts.

Bloomfield & Lawrenceville

APTEKA (4606 Penn Ave, 15224) Friday night’s arrival called for a swift check in and immediate cocktails. While I was swayed to linger in The Ace’s lobby bar thanks to a cool anti-Valentine’s party playing 80s and 90s jams, I was intent on a late night snack at APTEKA. Pittsburgh’s dominant culture is Central and Eastern European, meaning starchy, hearty goodness does not disappoint. I do not love pierogies but can appreciate innovative adaptations. The atmosphere of this vegan, Central/Eastern European spot was romantic industrial chic – where Pittsburgh purpose meats dreamy. A successful trifecta of unique imported liqueurs, wildflowers draped everywhere, and a standout menu of the best vegan pierogies one could ask for rounded out the APTEKA experience. The pierogi should be Pittburgh’s mascot, so there is clearly a level of excellence that chefs must reach to impress discerning locals. There was nothing more appropriate than starting the night with an apertif and sampling of crispy pierogi dressed with bright red beets, cool green cucumbers, and creme fraiche. It was the fuel needed to move on to our next stop.

Nico’s Recovery Room (178 Pearl St, 15224) Amidst the row houses and alleyways is this wood paneling-clad corner tavern, with an atmosphere that hasn’t changed in 40 years. We plonked down at the bar and in true Pennsylvania dive bar tradition, were greeted with an ash tray followed by ice cold Iron City beers. I enjoyed Nico’s warmth so much that we returned the following night at their popular karaoke party, which is apparently the “best in Pittsburgh”. Despite wanting to sing a tune or two, the list was fully booked up – the highlight being a jolly older man who told the crowd that “the 70s ruled” then belted out Fleetwood Mac’s “Go Your Own Way”. Everybody in the bar sang. My corner tagline for this place would be “Nico’s Recovery Room is the remedy for Pittsburgh-style fun at its best.”

Arsenal Cider House & Wine Cellar (300 39th St, 15201) A husband and wife operation and the first cidery in Western PA, makes Arsenal both a brand and bar that has a lot going for it. Named after the Allegheny Arsenal across the street, the cidery sits in a typical row house, with a living room-turned-bar on the first floor, and the backyard serving as a premier daytime drinking destination. Again, the sensibly entrepreneurial spirit of the city is reflected everywhere, and Arsenal is a perfect example. Flavors range from dry to fruity and deliver the boozy kick that cider is known for. While I am normally suspect of brands that try to evoke an “old timey” 19th century pastiche, Arsenal does it right without laying on the kitsch.

Braddock

Superior Motors (1211 Braddock Ave, Braddock 15104) Nestled adjacent to the city’s lone functioning U.S. Steel plant that sits along the Monongahela River, Superior Motors is a fine dining spot in an old Chevy showroom. That is a mouthful, as is everything about this restaurant. Not just any modern farm-to-table space, Superior Motors has embedded itself into the Braddock community, a place that has clearly been through more downs than ups. Despite all that, the vibe was exciting and the gleaming lights of U.S. Steel added a magical yet surreal glow through the large windows. After a day of hefty old world European “peasant” food, the transition to modern American cuisine was welcomed. We quickly propped up at the bar and were seated next to the lauded sculptor whose artwork sits in front of the restaurant, and looking around you could sense that the “who’s who” of the Pittsburgh area frequent this place. Sitting down for dinner, our server was young and incredibly excited about the food; a cheerleader for everything on the menu. Everything we sampled: zingy ghost pepper beef tartar, brown buttery short rib, shoyu-laden sturgeon, smoked potatoes in a creamy whey vinaigrette, and more smokiness in a banana cake – were inventive and enjoyable. I also appreciated the vastness of their booze offerings – from high brow wine and spirits to cheap cans of Iron City lager. It was clear that the Superior Motors team want to ensure that their patrons preferences are seen to, sans judgement.

The Strip District

I wasn’t expecting much from this area full of converted warehouses and tatty sports gear stalls – but it turned out to be a highlight. The main drag is dotted with low-level food market stalls, Italian, Asian, and Polish delicacy shops, and an endless parade of restaurants and bars.

Kelly O’s (100 24th St, 15222) Thanks to an exuberant Uber driver, we were pointed in the direction of Kelly O’s. The standalone diner was a greasy spoon dream, outfitted with a giant banner notifying us that we were in “Steelers Country”. Living in NYC, our idea of a weekend breakfast generally involves a bagel, so sitting down to a dish of corned beef hash with poached eggs is quite the Saturday morning treat. Bonus points for perfectly toasted marble rye and quintessentially friendly diner service. The buzz of this place made it clear that this is a go-to for “Yinzers” (local dialect for people from the area).

La Prima Espresso Company (205 21st St, 15222) Pittsburgh’s sizable Italian population is apparent in Bloomfield, but more so in the Strip, where there are copious delicacy shops, along with this coffee bar and cafe. The coffee side was quite spartan and no frills, with a gaggle of old timers conversing in Italian, and the general buzz of people getting their morning caffeine. The cafe specializes in hot dishes and varieties of pizza- including a nearly perfect Margherita slice with a transcendent crust. I would return for the pizza and old school, no-nonsense aesthetics that felt more Italian than the hoards of trendy spots that vie for authenticity.

S&D Polish Deli (2204 Penn Ave, 15222) The Strip was interesting because it was a cultural melting pot, and Central/Eastern Europe’s influence is predominant across the city. Traditional Polish food of the “peasant” variety is not exactly “light” eating, but after walking all morning, the brisk weather called for hearty fare. One half of the deli sells Polish foodstuffs, while the back is a cafeteria-like affair, with an obscure counter that purveys heaving plates of the classics. We opted for the reliable- kielbasa on a delicious roll, boiled potato pierogies, and one of the best stuffed cabbages I had ever sampled. A notable addition was haluksi, fried egg noodles and cabbage, resulting in buttery goodness. The price to food ratio was all about the value – a running theme in this town.

Primanti Brothers (46 18th St, 15222) I am not a fan of french fries making their way into sandwiches, unless one or two unlucky stragglers attaches to my cheeseburger. This local chain specializes in monstrous sandwiches stuffed with fries and a heaping layer of coleslaw. I personally didn’t see what was so special about this local mainstay, somewhere you’d find on Man vs. Food or other shows about extreme eating. I was impressed that this location is a 24 hour joint, and that it felt like a sports bar meets diner as waitresses deliver your freezer-wrapped sandwich in hand, sans tray. Being married to someone who loves sandwiches like Dagwood made this a must visit. While Tim devoured his stack of pastrami, I opted for the chili which was exceptionally spicy and a good alternative. When in Pennsylvania, one must “Whiz” it out, and the cheese fries, in all of their glistening, neon yellow glory, were the perfect hangover helper. Would I rush to return here? Probably not. But, I would return for the theatrics of witnessing patrons like the Brits behind us whose conversation dwindled into silence as they greedily devoured their sandwiches – in the obvious awareness that experiences happen, and stay in Pittsburgh.

Klaven’s Ice Cream Parlor (2801 Penn Ave, 15222) I love old ice cream parlors because they are definitely a dying breed, and tend to be in bustling parts of town near antique shops and other cutesy businesses. Klaven’s is definitely an outlier, situated near nothing adorable, in an empty stretch of the Strip. Sounds like a destination, right? The area might look intimidating and somewhere you wouldn’t consider bringing the kids – but it’s just another part of town that is in transformation. It will soon be home to tech startups and high rise apartment buildings. I was excited to visit for a Saturday afternoon sweet treat, only to be met with a sign on the door noting a private party was happening. Did I think about crashing the party, perhaps buying a mini bike and pretending I was an out of town cousin? Yes. Did I walk away huffing, only to go to some “hipster” ice cream spot wishing I was enjoying an old fashioned sundae? Yes. We did return to an empty Klaven’s on Sunday, and it was definitely worth the trip. The place is stuck in time and the chocolate ice cream was devilishly rich – with a texture that was almost cake-like, and the chocolate whipped cream was best trimming  a sundae could ask for.

North Shore

The Andy Warhol Museum (117 Sandusky St, 15212) This is one of the world’s most comprehensive collections dedicated to a singular artist, and the museum’s experience was pretty mesmerizing. Eight floors symbolize Warhol’s career, and the experience allows you to experience his ascent as a pop culture icon – from his humble Pittsburgh beginnings on the top floor, with the levels below representing a different decade in his life/career. Maybe there is something symbolic about this layout, around starting at the top in your youth and reaching the bottom with older age. Warhol’s work ethic and development as a commercial artist was in sync with his origins and the success that befitted him. He was a visionary who wasn’t afraid to turn his art into a business while inserting himself into the most elite social circles as key player and “court artist” all at the same time. His modest beginnings were a testament to the first generation American work ethic that he never abandoned, and despite what some might think, he was a one of a kind ingenue who accomplished his mission of making the world a more visually vibrant place.

Travel Capsule: Barcelona (Late Autumn, 2018)

 

 

I returned from Barcelona with a sprained ankle and parched, pursed lips. I felt utterly broken after a week of feeling incredibly alive. I recently started a new job only to renege daily responsibilities for a life of siestas and vermouth; a transition that took dedication and effort, of course.

I hadn’t been to Barcelona since I was 17 and this was obviously going to be a different trip altogether. These days my traveling style is all about admiring the Gaudi-filled streets from afar, and focusing on la hora del vermut, savoring Catalan delicacies, and soaking in the visceral beauty of Spain.

After consecutive nights of vermut negre and cañas, savoury goodness was all I wanted to eat. For six days saltiness reigned supreme throughout every meal. Squid ink paellas that left an onyx-stained tongue, copious heaps of prune-colored pulpo, and all the pa amb tomaquet one could ask for characterized our meals.

We stayed in the stylish Eixample, a placid, posh neighborhood that was a breath of fresh air from the more chaotic parts of town. Our hotel was the Praktik Vinoteca, a boutique spot with charming street views and petite, whitewashed rooms. Book a quarter with a charming mini balcony – perfect for toasting passersby at 2am or admiring the neighborhood’s impressive street grid layout that flanks grandiose architecture. As long as you have minimal luggage and a tidy streak I would highly recommend the Vinoteca. A back terrace allowed for late night drinking and cheap bottles of wine on offer. We were continuously amused by the staff of chilled yet spicy Spaniards ready to make conversation or assist with restaurant reservations (this is a city where booking is regarded). Across from our hotel was the worst temptation a group of party people could ask for: an LGBTQ+ club called Believe that stated it is “open until dawn, daily.” Our Thanksgiving was spent at a raucous drag show paying homage to the greats – from Kylie to Cher.

Aside from ending our nights at Believe, the rest of our time was spent eating. Most meals were memorable and challenged my tastebuds. Dining in Spain (and Europe, in general) always teaches me that sometimes you have to just shut up and eat what’s given to you. Moments like this were most prevalent during our lunch at a local canteen slurping brothy mussel soup and pimientos del piquillo rellenos de bacalao, while my group ate sausages topped with cheese and mashed pork and vegetables. That “quirky” experience alone summed up the surprise that was in store throughout every meal. Experiences like this were culture shock and awe for my cousin who accompanied us, celebrating her 30th birthday. This was her first visit to Europe so the albatross I carried to show her the continent “my way” weighed heavy – and Spain was the perfect portal to explore the weird, wild, and wonderful.

La hora del vermut: a word: My perception of vermouth had always been the super
sweet Italian variety that serves more as a mixer in a cocktail vs. something to be drunk
on its own. While you can do that, it was never much of a lure. Spanish vermut negre [Catalan for red] is worth traveling the seven hours, sitting in a bar, drinking one, then returning to your vermut-less land. The macerated, spicy-nutty,-herby notes tasted like next-level glogg. Depending on the bodega/bar you visit, preparation varies. Hip, high end spots will go all out, large circular ice cube with garlicky olive and orange garnish. Apparently, if a spritz is involved, one blog noted that “declining a spritz isn’t a travesty.” Old school spots are no-nonsense pouring the room temperature goods in a small glass, no frills. Either way, the drink had been my go-to for every occasion, whether it was at the traditional 12-4pm time frame to accompany pinchos, or going against the grain and drinking it until the wee hours.

Sarrià

Restaurant Canet (Carrer de Canet, 38, 08017) A cozy neighborhood taverna on the city’s outskirts in Sarrià run by a friendly couple was how we spent our Thanksgiving. The familial vibes felt like we were in a locals dining room. We sat down to a crystallized stream of gin and tonic poured at our table, accompanied by an extra garlicky bowl of olives and mound of crispy bread for some DIY pa amb tomaquet. We trekked here for the fidua, a massive pan of a vermicell-noodle like paella dish bedecked with massive shrimp and a side of the region’s beloved garlic alioli [aioli]. My crew played it safe with steak as a main course, and I tried an almost gelatinous bacalao casserole that sneakily hid a few chili peppers adding in a major zing that I was not prepared for. Sitting down for 8:30pm proved early, as groups of locals paraded in, to which we then realized how pan amb tomaquet is supposed to be prepared. Olive oil, get frisky with your fork and mash up the garlic and tomato. Tim did enjoy his [very British] “tomato sandwich” version.

Bar Monterrey (Carrer Major de Sarrià, 68, 08017) High on our first Spanish night out, we departed Canet ending up in the buzzy village thoroughfare at a place that was one part diner, one part cafe, one part overall bar. Ice cold Estrella beers were poured into ceramic mugs which made the nectar even more sweet, as locals popped in all night being served up hot food sitting along the counter. Arriving back at our hotel around 1am wasn’t enough, and we continued Thanksgiving’s party at Believe, making it one of my most memorable holidays yet.


Vila de Gràcia

Staying far removed from Las Ramblas / most things old quarter was a consistent goal, and spending most of our time in Gràcia didn’t disappoint. Whether we wanted a quiet dinner, a rowdy drink, a wine bar to die for – or all of the above in one night, Gràcia

made it happen.

Bodega Marin (Carrer de Milà i Fontanals, 72, 08012) There are moments in life when one feels totally elated and at their happiest, and one of those feelings came to me in this tiny classic bodega surrounded by my crew. Being sandwiched between walls stocked with wine and spirits, some mustier than others and squashed in between locals, Euros, and Brits looking for good chat was like crashing the right kind of party. The host was a lovely proprietor and her protege (who adorably would ring a bell if you tipped them). If I lived here, Bodega Marin would most definitely be my mainstay.

Restaurant Envalira (Plaça del Sol, 13, 08012) I imagined families gathering for Sunday launch at long tables in this peachy-pink and brown restaurant where time has stood still since the 1970s. That is right up my alley, and learning that they serve a favorable squid ink paella behooved a visit. Our tongues were blackened, more gin was consumed, and despite the frosty service (it was late, we were loud, do the math), it was a pleasurable meal that fueled another six hours of partying thereafter.

Restaurant Cal Boter (Carrer de Tordera, 62, 08012) America’s peroxided “triple D” hero / Mayor of Flavortown, Guy Fieri, featured this place on his show, but that wasn’t what lured us here. I still found it hard to imagine Guy visiting in all of his American glory, but whatever. The lunch special was simple and good – soups, meats, and mountains of pa amb tomaquet were cheap, cheerful and full of locals supping their lunch away without feeling rushed in this traditional tavern.

Bar Bodega Quimet (Carrer de Vic, 23) Bodegas are what make the world go round, and Quimet erred on the romantic side vs the raucous, with food being the focus. Classic tapas varieties, from salty to saltier delivered, from seafood salad to jamón ibérico to all the chorizo varieties one could wish for.

Xurrerias abound: Xurreria Trebol (Carrer de Còrsega, 341, 08037) While there are many delicious churrerias [xurrerias] around the city, but we kept returning to Trebol. This tiny spot is a goldmine of fried, crystallized sugar coated goodies – a classed up version of what you’d find at an American carnival. Perched over the counter, people-watching as the sun went down, dunking crisp, fryer-fresh churros into ultra-thick hot chocolate that lacks a cloying sweetness [and could put City Bakery to shame]… does life get any better than this?

Gràcia bars

Marcelino 1968 (Plaça del Sol, 2, 08012)  Sometimes too much care in drink preparation can lead to a twenty-minute debate with the bartender about how to translate “kumquat” into Spanish. For the most decadent gin and tonic bedazzled with a delicate kumquat, look no further than Marcelino (which faces the vibrant Sol square).

Almodobar (36, Carrer d’en Grassot, 08025) Rather than dancing here with the youth of Gràcia, we opted for the next door bar whose name I cannot find, but serves as the rowdy warm up spot for clubgoers.

Eixample

Betlem – Miscelánea Gastronómica (Carrer de Girona, 70, 08009) While Sunday night in Barcelona is not as dead as most European cities, it was still a stretch to find a spot open late. Post- RCD Barcelona match, we made our way to this small, airy tapas bar. The menu was more inventive and modern, yet deliciously familiar. These were haute tapas you would expect in London or New York, and turned out to be one of our favorite meals.

Tandem Cocktail Bar (Carrer d’Aribau, 86, 08036) While Sunday entails some fun, Monday in this town isn’t the most happening of nights. But, how could you say no to stepping into a beautiful cocktail spot that looks like an exclusive 1980s steakhouse bar?Tandem was a welcomed slice of low key drinking, and my whisky-loving group were delighted.

Parking Pizza (Carrer de Londres, 98) When you’re tired of Spanish delicacies, pizza beckons, and having stellar Neapolitan pies in an old garage makes for a fun lunch.

Foc i Oli (Carrer d’Aribau, 91) The same goes for having one of the best burgers ever in a tiny counter spot, run by twin brothers who live for the bun, and play really good Britpop, and definitely cater to Anglo expats. This was our first and last meal in town, and it sweetened the sting of jet lag and an impending fear of flying .

El Xampanyet (Carrer de Montcada, 22, 08003) Claustrophobic and fun lunch rush hour tapas in the Gothic Quarter. If you’re looking for the quintessential tapas bar where locals and tourists collide, then this is the place to be.

Travel Capsule: Quebec – Montreal & Quebec City (Autumn 2018)

 

It so happened that Timbo’s parents had embarked on a month-long voyage across the Atlantic on the mighty Queen Mary 2. They were heading up the East Coast to Quebec City and it was the perfect opportunity for a regional amuse-bouche.

After a swift 45-minute flight, we had only eight hours in Montreal (four of them sleeping). Despite whizzing by in the dark, the city felt exceptionally French with North American architectural might. We spent the short evening wandering around Mile End’s residential plex-lined streets, taking in its culture – a mix of French, Jewish, Greek and more. Bagel duty called, and I arose with the sun to prep our St-Viateur bagels before boarding a bus to Quebec City. Three hours and lots of agriculture later, we arrived in one of North America’s oldest settlements resting on the St. Lawrence River.

The city is comprised of peaks and steep hills dotted with towering structures from Frontenac to the Plains of Abraham to Vieux-Quebec. Divided into the upper and lower towns, “Haute-Ville” and “Basse-Ville”, it’s easy to feel like you’re experiencing two different cities. Haute-Ville is comprised of the old town’s picturesque touristic sites, a sliver of colonial France towering over the river. But the true working class Quebecois heart beats in the lower town.

We stayed in the “trendy” Saint-Roch neighborhood. Rue Saint-Joseph Est leads into Rue Saint-Vallier O, a stretch of food and drink excellence. Sandwiched along this winding street are independent restaurant groups that appear to thrive on civic camaraderie and an obvious joie de vivre for Franco-North American drinking/dining. It seems like L’Affaire est Ketchup gaining publicity on Parts Unknown provided a lens into this little world.

Montreal
Nouveau Palais (281 Rue Bernard O) This was very much a 2018 restaurant-bar in the body of a 1970s Canadian diner. With only a few hours to experience Montreal nightlife, we ventured to Mile End wanting a late dinner and walked into wall-to-wall wood paneling, with extra Canuck points for taxidermy. It was everything I was looking for and more. Unlike a typical greasy spoon, the menu is a tasty mix of Canadian-American comfort executed with superior know-how: a popular burger, moules frites, fried chicken and poutine. After dinner we went to a few more spots around the area, but were lured back to the Palais for a nightcap to sit at the luncheonette counter-turned-bar to get in a few last drops of this exceptional spot.

St-Viateur Bagel (263 Rue Saint Viateur O) As a New Yorker who loves bagels I had been dying to try Montreal’s rendition for a long time. The beauty of exploring late-night Montreal included a stop at St-Viateur’s original shop that never closes. Expecting the usual NYC experience that overwhelms you with topping and schmear varieties, I was happy to choose good old sesame and a tub of Liberté cream cheese that was a little on the sour side, but somehow complemented the chewy, honey-hinted bagel. It was the best Montreal souvenir to take on the next morning’s regional bus ride.

Snack’n Blues (5260 St Laurent Blvd) A dimly lit bar whose axis revolves around the two old men owners constantly filling up bowls of bar snacks and making sure their patrons are happy was a delightful find. An impressive DJ booth overflowing with jazz/blues, and retro BBC nature programs on a projector was all very art-house. Mile End’s cool kids populate the space, playing pool and congregating at tables. It was nice watching generations come together appreciating a timeless bar.

Quebec City
Phil’s Smoked Meat (461 Rue Saint-Joseph Est, Québec) It was officially crisp Canadian autumn and after a morning of travel, hunger was mounting for smoked meat and poutine. Another Montreal staple, smoked meat is result of the Jewish diaspora and the abundance of places you can find quality eats shames NYC into 2nd place as a deli meat destination. The menu was solely smoked meat in traditional sandwich varieties or “quirkier” offerings smattered over spaghetti or poutine. The sandwich was tender and went against the grain topped with recommended dijon, while the poutine was the perfect gooey accompaniment. It was the best way to sample two regional dishes in a place that knows what it’s doing.

Pied Blu (179 Rue Saint-Vallier O) My quest to find Lyonnaise specialty quenelle de brochet led me to this homey spot, located in the epicenter of Saint-Roch’s stellar dining street. Specializing in offal and meat-centric dishes, one side of the space presents itself like a butcher shop, with the wood-clad dining room small enough to feel intimate but jovial. We sat in a tiny side room among lace curtained windows, the perfect set up for three courses of rustic fare. Kicking off with a hearty variety of pâtés and dried sausages, spread across fresh baguette. Sticking to the most mainstream dish on the menu, beef bourguignon was my family’s choice. Rustic hospitality and generous portion size seem to be core to any Quebecois spread, and a steaming large cauldron of bourguignon was presented, swimming in a rich red wine bobbing with carrots. My quenelles were the perfect balance of airy texture floating in a rich Nantua sauce, reminding me of where my obsession began with this dish at Moisonnier in Paris. It was an interesting contrast to the even lighter, foamier version at Aux Lyonnais. In true Gallic style, remixed with modern approaches to dining, a cool chef from the Alps slumped down, plonking a crate of digestifs and shot glasses. $5CAD a drink, tell them how many you had and you’re leaving with a smile on your face having experienced the perfect balance of high cooking in a cozy Quebecois homestead.

Kraken Cru (190 Rue Saint-Vallier O) After dinner at Pied Bleu the chefs recommended we visit fellow food voyageurs across the street for a nightcap. A tinier space than Pied, Kraken specializes in fruits de mer, and definitely can’t house more than 40 people. The tiny bar was packed and kind patrons who made room for two more. We pulled up a stool to view a minuscule kitchen with a stove dating back to the 70s, a tiny worktop and a narrow well-stocked bar. Like Parisians, it seems that the Quebecois know how to make use of every inch of space they’re dealt. Abundant platters of oysters and such were presented to super cool clientele, and despite wanting to enjoy another night with the Cru, they were of course hosting a party for a local cider brewery on Sunday.

Le Renard et la Chouette (125 Rue Saint-Vallier O) We planned on a traditional 1960s-esque French dinner at Le Continental in the old town, but the lure of spending one more night in Saint-Roch beckoned. Located a few doors down and also owned by the Pied Bleu team, Le Renard feels more casual and communal, still the same rustic space but whitewashed and brighter with an open kitchen. The changing menu leans towards small plates and family style dishes – from French classics to Middle Eastern standards thanks to the chef’s heritage – think cassoulet to doner kebab platters. It was the eve of regional elections and we chatted with the young team about Quebecois matters, like healthcare and their unique culture, over shots of Acerum (liquor made from fermented and distilled maple sap concentrate). Again, we left with a warm feeling thanks to the Acerum and our fortunate consistent exposure to genial locals.

Chez Tao! (104 Rue Saint-Vallier O) As mentioned, I am never seduced by the concept of a cocktail bar, but this place was truly impressive and most importantly unpretentious. Apparently this bar gets “loud” and passing by Saturday night was proof, but visiting on a quieter Sunday night was pleasant. 90s hip hop was the soundtrack and another friendly (+ very talented) bartender talked to us about his Quebec, while sharing a new drink he was trialing. I don’t even know what he did but a beautifully presented cocktail with elements of fruit spices went into a tiny “smoking box”, was topped with sesame seeds and christened with a large square ice cube branded with the bar’s logo. I had never been so impressed with a drink presentation before, and the amount of care that went into this creation surpassed that of any bar in NYC I’ve experienced. I didn’t want the night to end.

Deux22 (222 Rue Saint-Joseph Est) One of my favorite bars in NYC was called the Dressing Room and it was part clothing store, part bar. It was nice to relive the memories of drinking in a hybrid retail-bar. The drinks and plates are mainly Mexican and this was another quality bar to enjoy a few on this lively street.

Fou-Bar (525 Rue Saint-Jean) This was my favorite street within the Haute-Ville. Fou-Bar reminded me of a classic French auberge where you can drink whatever and stay however long, with locals and staff erupting into raucous conversation and laughter, allowing the ambience to speak for itself.

Travel Capsule: Paris (Summer 2018)

 

 

I’ve never been anywhere with such high-stakes dining as France. Maybe the pressure to eat well is all in my head, but I always feel the need to do a ridiculous amount of homework before setting foot in this country. Last year’s visit to Lille proved it was much easier to zoom in on the great spots when in a manageably sized city – and not a poor meal or snack was had. But, Paris has always been this bestial force of dining. I always feel like I run the risk of choosing a great or horrible restaurant – because to me, a mediocre meal defies all that France stands for.

On this recent summer trip, Timbo and I scored a reasonably priced Norwegian Air flight over Labor Day weekend. Five days and four nights was enough time to rekindle our affair with Paris. This time we decided to stay in the trendy 20th, with the wonderfully buzzy Mama Shelter as our base. Our visit was a perfect contrast of Paris’ old and new school of wonders. We discovered that pizza in Paris is something to seek out, and that a good time in Paris knows no ending.

Traditional Eats
Aux Lyonnais (32 Rue Saint-Marc 75002) 
I discovered my love of Lyonnaise cooking at the now shuttered Moissonnier. I still dream of their quenelle de brochet, a poached pike fish dumpling smothered in a Nantua sauce (essentially a crayfish bisque) served in a piping hot casserole dish. Since this beloved husband and wife outfit closed, I was forced to find the next best option. I knew Aux Lyonnais would be an experience – it’s an Alain Ducasse establishment, so how could we go wrong? The setting is a Belle Époque beauty, the prix fixe menu is a must and the service is impeccable. Three courses for lunch at 34 Euro and you can’t go wrong. The quenelle de brochet was delicious, as was the île flottante dessert that was devilishly sweet yet angelic in appearance. To say that this place is an indulgence is an understatement.

Le Vieux Belleville (12 Rue Envierges, 75020) I like having fun. Sometimes I like having too much fun. Our evening at this cozy bistro high up on Belleville’s peak was one of the best nights I’ve ever had. I guess you could say the main focus of this place is “dinner theater” but that sounds a little too Chorus Line. Let’s say this is French version of dinner theater which involves a room full of Parisians eating well, drinking copious amounts of wine and singing traditional chansons bursting with regional – and collective French pride. I don’t think I’ve ever wished to be French more than on this night. The chanteuse at the center of it all was Minelle, who rocks up with a bounty of accordion gear, dutifully handing out sheet music in between songs, and kindly served as our English translator. I thought this place would be brimming with tourists, but we were the only outsiders in this wonderfully inclusive environment. The food was simple and done well – a heaving shepherd’s board of cheese and charcuterie followed by perfectly skewered steak brochette and dauphinois, plus copious amounts of red wine that could sink a small ship.

Chantefable (93 Avenue Gambetta, 75020) In my fake Parisian life I would live around the corner from this neighborhood brasserie, frequenting every week, and then die slumped over in one of those big metal champagne buckets. Chantefeble appears to be an unassuming, average corner spot until you step inside…. The atmosphere checks all the boxes one wants out of a classic Parisian bistro. Oversized mercury glass mirrors and blood red banquettes line the space. The bar is replete with clanking glasses filled with aperfits/digestifs/bubbles. The genial staff are buzzing around and engaging in banter with the regulars. Pristine tartares, flavorful steak frites, buttery sole and ooey gooey profiteroles were guarantors of a happy evening.

Pizza 
Louie Louie (78 Rue de Charonne, 75011) I dare say that this is the best Neapolitan-style pizza I’ve ever had. Pillowy dough that had the right char, tangy sauce piled with plentiful toppings, glistened with olive oil. Washed down with a coolly packaged Italian cola or homemade soda syrup (still dreaming of the grape), and it doesn’t get any better than this. The 1960s Italianate interior is appropriate for a Michelin-starred space, rounding out this place to be a 10/10.

Il Posto (356 Rue des Pyrénées, 75020) Louie Louie was a magical pizza experience, and Il Posto was a level or two below, but still standout. Continuously packed all night, we ate al fresco fueled by plentifully cheap wines and spritzes. Il Posto served as a great starting point to a night of madness in cooler-than-thou Belleville.

Paris’ Nightlife Revolves Around Belleville/20th
Chez Cosette (41 Rue des Envierges, 75020) Life doesn’t get any better than sitting on a quiet residential Parisian side street, peering (non creepily!) into balconied Parisian apartments and wondering what life would be like if you were a denizen. 1950s Americana tunes wafted in the background and faded into the balmy air, ice cold local beers were on tap and in true Gallic style, you felt like you could hang out until dawn and nobody would care.

Culture Rapide (103 Rue Julien Lacroix, 75020) This kitschy bar’s decor felt like it was stuck in the 90s (in a good way), with a decently packed events program plus a spacious outdoor section that spills into the vibrant Rue de Belleville. We walked in for the last moments of their Thursday night English spoken word show. A very talented American gal belted The Cranberries’ “Zombie” on the ukulele in a room full of Francophiles and Anglophiles. If you’re an expat Brit or American looking to make friends/build a community, this is a great place to make it happen.

Aux Folies (8 Rue de Belleville, 75020) Down the hill and this spot is a must, even for one drink. I wouldn’t even question a place that has been a social mainstay since… the 18th century.  I love that Parisians embrace drinking outside into the wee hours, something we could only dream of in New York or London. The pink neon classic signage calls to you, and you’re sucked into the wonder of this sedate cafe by day and party bar by night.

La Bellevilloise (19-21 Rue Boyer, 75020) Northeastern Paris was, and is, a beating heart of Paris’ working class culture. It’s no surprise that as times change, this almost 151-year-old building was home to the city’s first workers cooperative and is now an events space. The airy courtyard was heaving with queues of punters and beefy bouncers who were surprisingly intimidating despite the indie club vibe. We popped in for the Do You 80s? dance party in the massive ballroom, just when the playlist turned to French/Euro 80s pop. It was a delight observing French partygoers getting nostalgic to the songs of their youth that didn’t involve usual suspects like Madonna or Duran Duran.

Café
Le Pure Cafe (14 Rue Jean-Macé, 75011) There isn’t anything cooler than watching dear Anthony Bourdain knock back some coffees during his No Reservations visit. Perched on an idyllic, peaceful side-street in the 11th, the bright cafe has a lovely bar with good coffee and an atmosphere so overwhelmingly Parisian I left feeling quite emotional thinking of Mr. Bourdain and his contributions.

Officine Universelle Buly 1803 (45 Rue de Saintonge, 75003) Stepping into Le Marais location of this 19th century fragrance atelier is surprisingly therapeutic. This Old World-apothecary is a treat to the senses – including a glacé and café bar leading to a cozy, dimly lit room featuring an artisan who specializes in dried flower wreaths.

Cuillier (19 Rue Yvonne le Tac, 75018) A Sunday morning walk up Montmartre was cathartic yet briskly timed before the onslaught of tourists. We headed down to nearby Abbesses, and there was Cuillier, a mini coffee chain. Pull up a stool in this bright, beautifully designed space and sip the morning away to the sound of good music among cool patrons.

Glacé
Berthillon (29-31 rue Saint-Louis en l’île 75004) If heaven had a taste it would be the cerise glacé from this Parisian ice cream institution. The original outpost is situated in the Île St-Louis, a sliver of land between Notre Dame and Rive Gauche. The queues are always long, but beyond worth the wait. The texture is unlike any frozen treat I’ve ever encountered, with meticulous quality control and first class flavor being the priority. Having a cherry and chocolate cornet overlooking the Seine, tasting ice cold, tart cherries bursting in my mouth was utter bliss.

 

 

Forlini’s (93 Baxter Street, Chinatown)

Baxter Street means a lot to me. It’s where my great-grandparents got married at the Most Precious Blood Church. It’s around the corner where their families started their American tale at the turn of the 20th Century, after immigrating from Southern Italy. Little Italy has dwindled down to no more than a few blocks, with neighboring Chinatown growing in its place. Walking around this area is more about a reflection on memory lane vs. thinking about eating or nightlife.

That all changed a few years ago when we were getting a taxi downtown, and a misunderstanding with the driver led us to Baxter Street, right in front of Forlini’s. Having been familiar with the [sadly disappointing] Little Italy dining “scene”, I was shocked to discover this 1940’s establishment, standing alone on the other side of Canal Street.

“Has this place appeared overnight? Is this a figment of my imagination?” Forlini’s is the Italian-American time capsule I had been searching for in Manhattan for quite some time. At that point I had been more familiar, and comfortable with the Brooklyn “red sauce” spots – as they deliver both Mid-Century ambiance and delicious food. Having that combination under my nose in Manhattan seemed surreal. Most downtown spots are no more than a page in a tourist’s guide with high prices and average food – from Monte’s to John’s of 12th Street to Gene’s.

Since that fateful night Forlini’s (along with Sevilla) have been my old-world go to spots. Nestling into a salmon pink booth, under endless walls of portraits in heavy baroque frames, I go there to enjoy special evenings. I take both local and out of towner friends who want to experience a morsel of old New York. I take my parents to enjoy eating the classics and maybe watch Angelo Ruggiero in the back room, singing the classics.

I was amazed, but not totally surprised, with the post NY Fashion Week-NYTimes write up talking about Forlini’s being a hit with (how I DESPISE this word) “influencers” and Insta-crowds. How am I not surprised though? Of course the fashion crowd seek out these places – from China Chalet to 88 Palace, every so often they unearth a deep, dark downtown gem and briefly make it their own, falling prey to some neon lighting, seafoam colored booths and wood paneling. I mean, Forlini’s is a photogenic delight, how could they not have found this place to take their choreographed photos.

While the food isn’t comparable to my die hard favorites, the garden of eden, L&B Spumoni Gardens or Joe’s of Avenue U, it is still solid “red sauce” at a perfect price point. The connected bar is also a great stop, a mainstay for the court folk (the antithesis of cool kids, or maybe so ironic they ARE cool)!

The food isn’t what brings me back to Forlini’s, it’s soaking in the environment, because it is a special place. Ridiculing the Insta people and their flash-in-the-pan hashtagging aside, I won’t say I am beyond being dazzled by an avocado, salmon or mustard colored interior of our past. I just hope that these Insta people become actual patrons of Forlini’s, bringing a steady flow of business, enabling it to remain one of Lower Manhattan’s last bastions of Italian American authenticity.

Eat Up: Mozzarella & Carozza, Clams Casino, Fried Calamari, homemade chicken-stuffed Anolini and pasta dishes are the way to roll. Order up when it comes to the wine, and start off with a classic cocktail.