elle's Trip Report : Paris est pas mal!
 

Perhaps the most accurate title for this report would be, "Five nights, two hotels, and four blows to the head." But more on those topics later.

This trip was a last-minute, low-budget trip, purchased on a whim when Air France had an irresistible fare ($276 RT, departing late March, returning early April). We visit Paris fairly frequently and had none of the must-sees--e.g., Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame, Sacre Couer, Louvre, Musee D?Orsay--on our list. In fact, we tried not to have A List at all. We were just going to hang out and do whatever Paris (and its weather) wanted us to do.


DAY ONE--Maigret and the Hungry Tourists

Our Air France flight from Philadelphia had a weather delay, so we didn't arrive at our hotel in the Marais until close to noon. Took the Air France bus from CDG to Gare de Lyon (11e each), then a taxi to Hotel du Septieme Art on rue St. Paul, just off rue St. Antoine.

This hotel is cheap (75 euros for double room w/shower) and quite adequate if you're the type of person who pretty much stays out all day and only sleeps at the hotel. We loved the location--on a small street, but just off a major shopping street. The guys who worked at the desk were friendly, helpful. Room was tiny and lacked charm, but it was clean and the bed was comfortable. Bathroom was one of the smallest I've seen in Paris--and I've been in a lot of small bathrooms. Black-and-white tiles that carried the cinema theme of this hotel added the sole touch of charm.

We leave our bags and head out in search of a lunch that has become a sentimental Paris favorite for me--a cheese omelette and a glass of Sylvaner. Within two blocks of our hotel, we run into some friends from work. We knew they were in the Marais and had plans to have dinner with them the following night, but still it was odd to run into them on the street (we had already run into someone my husband knows through work on the plane).

The weather was quite nice, so I really wanted to sit outside at the Place des Vosges. Unfortunately, none of the restaurants there served Sylvaner. C'est la vie. I washed down my omelette fromage with a rose from Provence instead. The restaraunt is called Nectarine and the omelette is not fabulous, but we're in Paris! At the Place des Vosges! Woo-hoo!

As we sit on the east side of the Place des Vosges, I point to a window on the west and tell my husband, "I think that's where Chief Inspector Maigret lived." (Between trips to Paris, I get my fix for the city by reading Georges Simenon's "Maigret" mysteries.) On a previous trip, I have dragged my husband to the places where Maigret worked (the Prefecture de Police and the Palais de Justice) and frequented (the Place Dauphine, where the fictional Brasserie Dauphine was located; Ma Bourgogne on the PDV, which was the fictional tabac). In most of the books, the Maigrets lived on Boulevard Richard Lenoir in the 11eme, but for a brief period they moved to an apartment overlooking the PDV.

After lunch, we walk around the Marais and I realize what a dangerous neighborhood this will be for me. Between the PDV and our hotel, there must be 30 boutiques of various types all calling my name.

We didn't get any sleep on the plane, so eventually we head back to the hotel for a nap before dinner. At the corner of rues St. Paul and St. Antoine, we notice that we are standing in front of a wine bar that has sentimental meaning for us. The Bouquet St. Paul was one of the first places we ate at in Paris during our first trip together after we were married.

After naps and showers, we head for an aperitif to La Tartine, 24 rue de Rivoli, supposedly the oldest wine bar in Paris. We sit on the terrasse and sip--Sancerre for me, Madiran for DH--but when we peak inside at the gorgeous interior, we vow to come back for lunch the next day.

We have dinner at L'Impasse (or, as my husband calls it, "Limp Ass"), located on a narrow alley off the Place des Voges. It's charming and rustic, with stone walls and heavy wooden beams. As we are sipping our second round of aperos (Monbazaillac; they had no Muscat), my husband points behind me and says something about Maigret. Directly behind my seat is a plaque that reads "Ici vous etes assis a la table du comissiare Maigret" (Here you are seated at the table of Chief Inspector Maigret). I had no idea that there was a Maigret connection at this restaurant! How cool is that?!!

The food is quite good--I have a salad with warm goat cheese, DH has escargots, we both have scallops, and we share a bottle of Quincy. Bread is homemade and yummy. Service is smiling and attentive. My chocolate fondant was just so-so, but DH liked his desert of apples, caramel sauce, and Calvados.

We head back to the hotel and watch a little French TV before falling asleep. Somehow, it seems perfectly natural for the Smurfs to speak French.

TO BE CONTINUED. . .

I think your alternate title would be a good French movie-:)
Looking forward to the next installment~
and btw-I thought it was weird to watch Bonanza with Hoss speaking French but you are right, Smurfs must speak French!

More, more! Great read, elle.

My son was just quipping this morning as we were commenting on a recent post about small bathrooms, "Yeah, but after all it (the bathroom) wasn't as small as the elevator." Don't know why, it just struck my funny bone.

Weirdest actor image/sound on French TV: Yummy Tom Sellec in a high pitched voice.

Looking forward to next chapter.

Elle - am enjoying your report and looking forward to the next installment.

It's good to see there are other Maigret fans on the Paris prowl. If you haven't read it - you probably already have, there is a chapter on Maigret's Cafés in Christine Graf's book, "The Cafés of Paris." It covers the area from République to Bastille, a bit more of the Marais, and the Ile-de-la-Cité.

Sounds like y'all had a great time! Please, tell us more!

Limp ass! Love it! :-d

DAY TWO--COFFEE, CHOCOLATE, AND CUBISM

We prefer to have breakfast at a cafe rather than a hotel, and after we see a crew of street sweepers duck into the Bouquet Saint Paul, we figure it?s good enough for us. Yummmm. The cafe noir is soooo excellent.

Another lovely day, weather-wise. We walk down to the Bastille. FNAC is just opening, so we stop in and pick up three discs in their ?Jazz in Paris? series--Miles Davis, Donald Byrd, and Stephane Grappelli. At 7e each and with packaging that features moody scenes of Paris, they make great gifts.

We have a quick espresso, then head for the Musee Picasso. On the way, we come across the market on Boulevard Richard Lenoir--Maigret?s street! We stop to chat with a man who runs a coffee roaster in Montmartre--everything he sells is fairly traded. We buy a bar of dark choclate with cinnamon and eat it on the way to the Musee Picasso.

There?s a temporary exhibition that explores the influence of Ingres on Picasso. It?s interesting to see the evolution from Picasso?s literal interpretations of Ingres? work to the more abstract. I can?t help contrasting the two artists? nudes--Ingres? are sensual in an academic way, Picasso?s are anarchic and joyous. The permanent collection is extensive, and while it doesn?t feature too many Picasso icons, it offers depth in terms of paintings and drawings and breadth in terms of scultpure and ceramics.

We return to La Tartine for lunch. It is really gorgeous inside--all Belle Epoch flowers and curves. DH has charcuterie and cheeses from the Auvergne; I try another omelette. He tries two cru Beaujolais--Chiroubles and Julienas, while I drink a rose from Tourraine. We finish with two espressos. Instead of the usual almond, La Tartine gives you a dark chocolate covered walnut. Yum.

Although this trip is supposed to be all pleasure and no business, DH, who is in the wine biz, cannot resist stopping at a wine store called Caves du Marais for a little research. We spend some time chatting with the owner before purchasing a bottle from a Burgundy family of winemakers that recently expanded operations into Languedoc.

On our way back to the hotel with the bottle, we browse around the shops in Village St. Paul. DH tries to convince me to buy two Danish modern armchairs, but they?re out of our price range even without shipping costs (plus, I think they?re ugly. . . ) Bought a poster that I really liked--it was for a sculpture exposition in a gallery on the Place des Vosges. Also had to take care of a little business back home, so I ducked into an Internet Cafe on rue Charlemagne and bought a little peace of mind for just 1euro 50.

Now it?s time for dessert, which means a trip to the Ile St. Louis for some Berthillon. For me, a double scoop of blood orange and bitter chocolate (when you combine them, it tastes like those chocolate ?oranges? we used to get around Christmas). For DH, cassis.

As we stroll the island, I get the urge to do some shopping. DH opts to wait things out at a cafe. I really didn?t buy much (unfortunately)--just a very cool necklace.

When I rejoin DH at the cafe, I find him involved in a conversation with the two women at a neighboring table--a German woman and an Indian. Apparently, the conversation started out innocently enough, but inevitably led to the question we are tired of answering: "So what do you think of this George Bush and his war?"

We are no great fans of the current administration, but we are getting so tired of answering this question. Maybe we should just do what we saw several (presumably) Americans doing--wear "John Kerry for President" buttons.

For dinner, we met up with our friends and went to Chez Janou. Really, really liked this place. Food and service were good, but what caught me was the lively, convivial atmosphere. The place became very packed, very quickly. They were featuring a special kir of the month--white wine with sweet chestnut liqueur. Between the four of us, we had an excellent seafood risotto, a lamb dish, salt cod, and steak with wonderfully cheesey potatoes. Choosing a wine for all four was not easy (our friends did not want to get two half bottles), but we were all happy with our St. Joseph. Excellent desserts--DH and I shared a creme brulee; our friends shared a pear poached in red wine.

After dinner, we all walked down to the Seine (one of the few glimpses we?d have of the Eiffel Tower on this trip) and then wound up at La Tartine (again!) for a night cap and coffee.

yippee! More fun places to go in the Marais! It's my favorite part of Paris, I think. We'll have to go to La Tartine next trip. Can't wait for your next installment!

Hi elle,

Lovely report.

According to http://forum.europeanservers.net/cgi-bin/v.eur?4021144

It was at

L'impasse (4,impasse Guéménée, IV)ou Maigret se régale de la blanquette à l'ancienne de maman Collard.

Thanks for the tip.

Very enjoyable. Please keep it coming. We have only two more wake-ups before we leave for Paris. Can't wait. Reading posts about it helps the time go quicker.

DAY THREE--IN WHICH OUR HEROINE TAKES TWO BLOWS TO THE HEAD

As we were getting ready for yet another beautiful, 59-degree (F) day in Paris, I somehow or other managed to bang the bathroom door off the back of my head. L'Ouch!

This time we tried another cafe for breakfast--Le Petit St. Paul. Small, dark, full of locals. Does not really offer a set meal called "Petit Dejeuner", but when we ask the owner for some croissants, he runs across the street to the very good boulangerie called Miss Manon (there are often lines out the front door) and gets us some.

We learned from our friends last night that the local church--St. Paul-St. Louis on rue St. Antoine--has a Delacroix painting, "Christ in the Garden". I don't like Delacroix, but still, it seems a waste not to see it. The church is preparing for Holy Week. I can't quite figure out what the plants are that they will use for their equivalent of Palm Sunday--they're certainly not palms. They look more like boxwood or maybe laurel? Once again, we run into our friends, who were also checking out the Delacroix.

On our way to the Musee Carnavelet, we explore the old Jewish quarter around the rue de Rosiers and rue Pavee (Paris?s first paved street). There's an Art Nouveau synagogue designed by Hector Guimard (the man who designed the fabulous green Metro entrances) on rue Pavee. We didn?t go in, just took some pictures.

Some of the wares in the Judaica stores on the rue de Rosiers are fascinating. Never knew that yamulkes were available with hand-painted images of the Incredible Hulk and Harry Potter. DH gets a craving for pastrami and insists that we come back here for lunch.

Just outside of the Carnavalet, an exasperated-looking French schoolteacher, map in hand, class in tow, approaches me and asks for directions to the Musee Carnavelet (for those who are unfamiliar with the Carnavalet, it?s the history museum of the city of Paris and therefore de rigeur for many French schoolchildren). I tell him that it's right across the street and he and his troops turn on their heels and enter the museum immediately before us. I have no interest in sharing gallery spaces with a bunch of noisy schoolchildren, so we ended up visiting this fascinating place in a somewhat random way, not in the chronological order that probably provides the best context.

Pas de problem--I love this place! The first gallery we went through featured a display of tradesmen?s signs and advertisements. Very cool. When we went upstairs we landed in the midst of Versailles-era splendor. One of my favorite things was a late 17th-century "niche-de-chien"--basically, a very fancy dog bed, draped with silk curtains. From the Louis XIV era, we somehow travelled forward to the time of Louis XVI and the Revolution, then back to Henri IV (My favorite French king--I have Huguenot blood), then to some medieval rooms before winding up somehow (we may have taken some stairs) among artifacts of the Napoleonic era.

Then came my favorite parts--the Second Empire (rule of Napoleon III) through to the early 20th century. Don?t look for any great works by celebrated painters here--they?re all at other museums. Instead, the paintings collection features mosty genre scenes of domestic interiors, fashion, and social activities. It may not be great art, but I loved it!

There are also some period interior installations of note--Proust's bedroom, a more humble room from a policeman?s home, and the piece-de-resistance--the fabulous exterior and interior of the Art Nouveau-style Fouquet jewelry store. Oh la la la la. We were enthralled, and if my husband?s stomach hadn't been murmuring "pastrami pastrami" I could have stayed here longer.

I did check out the gift shop--which was just about to close for lunch--and saw a gorgeous firefly bracelet based on one of Fouquet?s designs. I promised I'd come back and buy it, but never did. One of my great regrets of the trip.

MORE DAY THREE

Back to the rue de Rosiers. Sobering reminders of the plight of Jews in Paris (and the world. . .) There?s a plaque outside a school that reads: "165 Jewish children from this school, deported to Germany during World War II, were exterminated in Nazi camps." DH balks at the idea of having his pastrami at Jo Goldenberg--where PLO gunmen killed six customers in 1982--so instead we go to a place called--believe it or not--Hollywood Bagel.

I have no interest in having deli food in Paris, so afterwards we head to a cafe called L'Escurial on the rue de Turenne for crepes. We sit outside, near the door. As we enjoy our crepes and Beaujolais, an elderly woman with a cane approaches. She is trying to go inside, but has difficulty negotiating the small step. As she tries to get her balance, her cane flies up into the air and--whap!--into the back of my head. I see etoiles.

After I regain consciousness (just kidding), we head across town. Our ultimate destination is the (relatively) new Lavinia wine store on boulevard Madeline in the 8eme. The walk takes us across the 1er and 2eme. On the rue St. Honore, near the Louve and Palais-Royal, we spy Cafe Verlet, a brulerie (coffee roaster) that has been in business since 1880. Dark and cozy, Cafe Verlet has an awesome selection of varietal beans as well as blends. We each drink a tasse there (the dark, smoky Melange Romaine for me, and Ethiopian Sidamo for DH) and then purchase some beans of their seasonal blend in attractive Cafe Verlet tins as gifts.

After all that coffee, we needed to cleanse our palates. So we went to Collette (kind of a cross between Barneys and Urban Outfitters) to check out the Water Bar in the basement.) First, we try an excellent, clean-tasting still water from Rockhead Spring in Great Britain called--fittingly and with more than a touch of irony--H2O. Then we had a Welsh water called Tau (made by the Tynant people) that I really didn't like. It was far too heavy on the minerals, with a major mettalic aftertaste.

Collette has intelligently placed its restrooms just off the Water Bar. But instead of the standard "Toilettes" or even "W.C." signage, the signs say (in English and probably intentionally bad): "Where is pipi?" and "For pipi, it is here". We find this hysterically funny and it becomes one of the buzz phrases of our trip. In fact, my husband wants to put a "For pipi, it is here" sign over our toilet at home.

DAY THREE, CONCLUDED

During the next leg of the walk, as we headed toward the Place Vendome, we observed a rare species: the stereotypically chic Parisienne. Bone thin, wearing a fitted boucle suit that screamed Chanel, with bubble-gum pink opaque stockings (a fashion risk that paid off), stilleto heels, carrying not a poodle but a chiuhuahua. I dunno. Something about her said "courtesan" to me.

Lavinia is a veritable supermarche of wine. Huge, but with a selection that is not as deep as it is broad. There are some inexpensive wines, but many things seem over-priced, especially the eaux-de-vies. DH buys a wine from Palette that he has been looking for--Chateau Simone. Then we go upstairs to the wine bar where I have a glass of Champagne and he has a foie gras snack washed down with a Coteaux de Provence. The bathrooms at Lavinia are gorgeous--they look out over a courtyard. Definitely no "For pipi, it is here" vibe.

For dinner that night, I?m jonesin' for my favorite dish--a roast chicken. My oh-so-sophisticated husband usually scoffs at me for this, but we have found that the roast chicken can be a good indicator of the quality of a restaurant. Those who take care with this simple dish seem to apply equal care to the rest of the menu. I remember enjoying the chicken at Bouquet St. Paul several years ago, so we head there. I am not disappointed. Neither is DH, who enjoys very garlicky escargots and a good steak. We share a 2000 Mercurey. BTW, this simple place also has a lovely interior. I don't think we realized it the last time we had dinner there (it does get crowded and noisy), but when we had breakfast, we could really see just how charming it was.

The young French couple at the next table strikes up a conversation with us. They live in the neighborhood and told us that they had originally hoped to dine at L'Enoteca, the excellent Italian wine bar near our hotel, but they did not reserve, so they were unable to get in. We were hoping to have dinner there one night, so I make a mental note: must reserve.

Before heading back, we do stop in L'Enoteca. The bartender is French but his Italian is terrific (he?s also really, really cute). I have a glass of moscato from Sicily, DH has a Barbaresco. They give us little packs of grissini to accompany our wines, but then the manager sees that I?m drinking a sweet wine and quickly fetches some biscotti for me. Tired and a bit tipsy, we leave WITHOUT MAKING A RESERVATION FOR THE NEXT NIGHT.

Maison Metz--I do have that book! One of the first things I did when we got home was to look and see if it mentioned L'Impasse (it didn't).

ira--thanks for that link. I hope it directs me to the Maigret book that features Maman and L'Impasse.

elle, I only counted two blows to the head??? But I am sure they were no fault of your own. I just went to Paris with a coworker, who is a bit of a bimbo....one day we were walking down the street and I heard a loud CLANG!...I turned and saw her holding her head. She had walked into a stoplight!!

Anyway, elle, please do drop me a line at [email protected] and I will send you a link to my marathon photos.

Thanks for an enjoyable read!

Tour de France Route -
If there are any Fodorites heading for France in July to see the most exciting race in the world, especially this year, please can you tell me, how do you get to know which roads will be used? I'ts easy enough finding out the towns, but looking at a map of France there are several choices of roads. Seeing we will be there in June with a car it would be nice to travel some of the route beforehand. Can anyone help?

elle, wonderful trip report; one I can relate
to. There was a shop called Les Eclaireurs
that I loved last fall; it is quite unique.
I'm printing out some of your recommendations for our next Paris trip, we only discovered les Marais on our last trip and spent only a few hours there.

Wonderful, elle.

Glad you had such a nice trip.

Dear Elle,
Your trip report made my day!! Brought back so many memories of our trip last Sept.
Cheers
Diane P

Had to take a breather, here (good heavens, I can be long-winded).

Don't worry--there are two more days (and two more blows to someone's head--not necessarily mine. Can you stand the suspense.

MelissaHI, as soon as I scan those marathon photos, I'll e-mail them to you. You weren't the person in the chariot, were you? :)

Hi Elle. Loving your report and your style!

Speaking of that "madamoiselle's" pink hose... did you also notice the funky colored, print hosiery (opaque but colorful, like a Monet impressionist painting) on some women? I have not seen that in the states yet. We saw one woman wearing hose and, before we took our really close look, we swore she had lepracy!

Actually, I ran most of the way (till the 1/2 way point) with Minnie Mouse. The rest of the time I was kind of a lonely blob!

CHEERS! For a wonderful, lively report.

More! More! This is a great trip report. No breather...keep typing!

DAY FOUR--FUMER TUE, MAIS CHOCOLAT RANIME

When we were at L'Impasse, my husband became interested in the Byrrh posters that covered the walls and wanted to go to a flea market to see if he could find any. I find St. Ouen disorderly and overwhelming, so after breakfast we set off for the Marche aux Puces de Vanves.

I wasn't quite sure where to find it once we left the Metro, but here's a good tip: If you see a man walking toward you carrying a frilly lampshade, there's a good chance that he knows where the flea market is.

I liked this market. Unlike St. Ouen, it's all outdoors. I also like its linear layout. It doesn't seem to have as much of a high end as St. Ouen does. There were some fun things that I considered--an Art Nouveau picture frame, a carafe, a suitcase full of plastic monkey heads--but I didn?t buy anything. The Byrrh things we saw were in bad shape. My husband bought an old corkscrew for his collection, along with a couple of promotional ashtrays. (Apparently, to a smoker, Paris is some sort of shrine. He was rather distressed when he saw that packs of cigarettes now carry a dire "Fumer tue" warning, in bold black letters. "This is the beginning of the end of French civilization," he said.)

It started to rain around lunchtime (first time all week!), so we ducked into a nearby brasserie, Le Porte Didot. The place itself is unremarkable--a 1970s take on Belle Epoch (think plywood and orange vinyl). But our waiter was very funny--he waved a dish of "cassoulet de maison" under my husband?s nose to tempt him into ordering. It worked (in truth, DH can never say no to cassoulet).

For dessert, we headed back to the Marais, to Josephine Vannier, creator of chocolat artisanal at 4 rue du Pas de la Mule. What a wonderful shop! With Easter being just a week away, Mme. Vannier offered all sorts of chocolate bunnies, bells, and eggs. My favorite were the ganache eggs in real egg shells. They came in chocolate egg cups and you eat them with a spoon, like soft-boiled eggs. We bought a whole bunch of things, some as gifts, some as. . . um, not gifts. Only after we left the store did it sink in that we had just spent 45 euros on chocolate. Oh well. Is that so bad?

Next stop was a wine shop on rue de Turenne, Nectar des Bourbons. It's a small neighborhood shop, with a lot of locals stopping in to pick up things for that evening's meal, and the young guy who was working there was really sweet. He let us taste a few things, then turned us on to a really good, really cheap (6 euros 90) Chenin Blanc/Chardonnay blend from the Vendee. We also bought a Coteaux de Tricastin and a Vin de Pays de Herault.

More shopping on the way back to the hotel. I bought some scarves. There was also this fabulous shop (Alberto Valese-Ebru on rue Saint-Paul) that sold gorgeous paper hand-printed with scenes of the Place de Vosges. I bought a sheet of the paper and a triptych picture frame covered in it. We sat for a while at a cafe in the Place du Marche Sainte Catherine--a really sweet little square--then headed back to get ready for dinner.

We were looking forward to L'Enoteca. But of course, we forgot to reserve. And at nine o?clock on a Saturday night, there was no room at the enoteca for these hungry, weary travelers. Knowing that it would probably be impossible to get in anywhere decent, we headed over to the Bastille (the Colonne de Juillet is even more gorgeous at night) and ended up at Leon's.

What a wonderful report of a wonderful trip!

Can't wait for more...

Byrd

Elle,

Funny, Bouquet Saint Paul is our favorite cafe for petit de jeuner every morning when we are in Paris. We even have a photo of my husband with our favorite waiter outside the cafe. I am really enjoying your report.

be carefull, SiobhanP may come and tell you that making pictures of HD with the waitress amoral.

elle:

Thank you, I am LOVING this :) More please!

45 € on chocolate? I commend you on your restraint...:)

Lots of fun reading, elle, thank you.

DAY FIVE--IN WHICH OUR HERO TAKES TWO BLOWS TO THE HEAD

A lovely Sunday morning. On our way to breakfast, we caught a bit of the Paris Marathon (maybe even MelissaHI!) as the runners headed down rue St. Antoine to the Bastille. It was a really fun race to watch--we saw runners dressed like clowns, convicts, SuperMario, Minnie Mouse, even a guy as a horse pulling a chariot! Felt a little guilty sitting there eating my croissant as all these fit people ran by.

Afterwards, we went back to the Hotel du Septieme Art to check out, for I had won a night at Hotel le Saint-Beuve in a silent auction. I've posted all about this lovely hotel on another thread, so I'll just link to it rather than repeat:

http://www.fodors.com/forums/threadselect.jsp?fid=2

As we were packing up to leave, my husband banged his head--hard--against a shelf in the closet. It started to swell and, of course, we had no ice. When we arrived at the Sainte-Beuve, he bent down to take something out of his suitcase and --ouch--hit it again on something that was jutting out of the wall. (I swear, we really are not this klutzy at home). Still no ice, but this room did have a mini-bar. He found a small bottle of Bourgougne Aligote, nicely chilled, and held it to his head until the swelling went down a bit. Then we went out for a walk.

We walked up Boulevard Raspail, where the marche biologique was still taking place. We stopped for some chocolat chaud a l'ancienne and Moroccan mint tea. Little girls who were members of the French equivalent of the Brownies were there in their uniforms, collecting donations for something or other.

We headed in the general direction of St. Germain-de-Pres, thinking we'd stop at Deux Magots or somewhere for lunch. We wandered on a bit toward Odeon and made reservations at Le Procope for dinner (this warrants a separate post, see below). As we double-backed toward St. Germain, we found yet another street market, this time on the rue de Seine. There were several small wine producers here, and DH ended up buying more wine (!) before we headed to La Dernier Goutte, where we bought some interesting wines--a Cabardes, a Marsannay rose, a bottle of Champagne, a Cabernet d'Anjou, and some others--packed in a box with a handle so that we could carry it on the plane.

The terrasses of Deux Magots, Cafe Flore, Lipp, were totally packed, so we ended up at le Bonaparte, which is perpendicular to Deux Magots. Same show, different part of the theatre. As we were having lunch, one of those goofy street performers showed up and started mugging with the crowd. He was corny, but fun. By the time we left, afternoon had already changed into evening.

DAY FIVE DINNER--L?ANCIENNE COMEDIE

Dinner at Le Procope was my husband?s idea. We had been warned that it was super-touristy with mediocre food and service, but he wanted to dine at the cafe credited with introducing coffee to Paris. There?s more history to the place than this claim to fame, however. Racine, Moliere, Voltaire, Danton were once regulars, and Ben Franklin supposedly wrote part of the U.S. Constitution here.

We were seated upstairs, in a room with a lot of other tourists of all nationalities. There was a table of Italians, a Spanish family, a table of Germans. When we arrived, there were three American women at the table next to us, but they left soon afterwards and were replaced by a Japanese family. Our waiter--a thin, older gent--seemed to speak one or two words of each of these languages.

We had a hunch that Le Procope is to Paris as Bookbinder?s was to Philadelphia--historic but otherwise mediocre. ?Look,? said my husband, ?They even have Ben Franklin?s favorite lobster dish on the menu.? With that, the windows behind us flew open. Le fantome de Franklin perhaps?

The waiter came to take our order. First, my husband ordered the saucisson pistache. No, sorry, the waiter said. We have no saucisson for it is Sunday and the market was closed. Okay, said DH. How about the pate de foie gras en croute. Desolee, monsieur. We have no pate en croute, for it is Sunday and the market is closed. May I suggest the Parma ham?

As DH awaited his Parma ham, we had some amuse bouches--a cheese straw-type thing (quite good) and a savory madeleine. We also had the house aperitif--Prosecco with Muscat de Beaumes de Venise. It was excellent. The bread arrived. It was like a rock, practically inedible. ?Well, you know, ? my husband said, ?It?s Sunday and the market was closed.? ?But the boulangeries were not!? I said.

The ham arrived, along with the bottle of Saint Emilion that we had ordered. The waiter opened the bottle, then proceeded to splash it all over the white tablecloth. ?Desolee, monsieur.? He came back with another white tablecloth, and draped it over my husband?s side of the table. He put the bottle down again and once again, he sloshed red wine over the white linen. He giggled. ?Voulez-vous voir mon gris-gris?? he asked as he reached into his pants and pulled out a furry grey mouse on a chain. Apparently this was his voodoo charm. He held it out, expectantly. ?Very nice,? we said. ?That?s a good gris-gris.?

During the 40 minutes that passed between the end of the first course and the arrival of the second, we sat there drinking what was left of our wine, trying not to break a tooth on the bread, observing our fellow diners. I was seated directly behind one of the Spanish girls, who was wearing jeans so low-cut, that not only could I see London and France, but I also had quite a view of the Continental Divide.

Much to my husband?s chagrin, the waiter brought a serving of pate en croute to the Japanese family?s table. ?But I thought they were out of it because it was market day!? he said. ?Maybe you need your own gris-gris,? I said.

Finally, our main courses arrived--salmon and caviar for DH, boeuf en brochette for me. The main courses were actually pretty good. As we were eating, the waiter delivered the Japanese family?s main courses. There was a bit of a to-do. Apparently, the mother had ordered the beef brochette, but had received a steak instead. The waiter apologized and informed her that, because it was Sunday, the market was closed. ?Mais Madame,? he said. ?C?est la meme viande.? (It?s the same meat. Which is true. But the steak was also 12e more expensive than the brochette.) After much discussion in French, Japanese, and English, he took their plates back to the kitchen. When he returned, he still had the steak. He placed it in front of the Japanese woman, who pointed to my brochette. ?Mais, c?est la meme viande,? he said again. ?Perhaps some sauce Bernaise?? The woman shook her head no and so the waiter picked up the plates and disappeared again. When he returned again, the plate he put down in front of Madame still contained a steak, not the brochettes. By this point, the woman looked exhausted and resigned. She ate the steak with no further objection.

A woman at the table of Italians--Ursula--was celebrating her birthday, and our waiter came out with a small cake and candle, singing ?Happy Beau-Frere Dear Ursula,? then he disappeared and we didn?t see him again for the rest of the night.

A younger waiter came and asked us if we wanted dessert. He gave us menus, then disappeared for another 20 minutes. When he came back to take our order, I told him that I had a question about one of the desserts. ?NO!? my husband said. ?Don?t ask about anything! Just order! We?ve been here for three hours already.? But it was too late, I had already asked the waiter what flavors of ice cream came on the artist?s palette. He looked stunned, as if no one had ever asked this question before. He told me that he would have to ask and took off. Ten minutes later, he returned and told me that the flavors were chocolate, vanilla, caramel, and coffee. My husband had really started to lose patience at this point, so he did something he never does in France: he asked the waiter to bring coffee WITH dessert. The waiter was unfazed by this request and said that he would.

Another twenty minutes passed. When the artist?s palette arrived, there was no ice cream, just five scoops of mango sorbet. ?What happened to chocolate, vanilla, caramel, and coffee?? asked my husband. ?I guess he got confused. What he meant to say was, ?Mango, mango, mango, mango, and mango.?

Half an hour later, my husband got his coffee.

elle
, you have won my heart for the most lively report. I can tell you have my zest for life.

DAY SIX--AU REVOIR, PARIS

After a very filling breakfast at Hotel le Sainte Beuve, we waited for Golden Air Shuttle to take us to CDG. They were supposed to pick us up at 10:30; they arrived at 11:10. Our flight was at 1:20, so we really needed to be at the airport by 12:20.

The Queen was in Paris that day and traffic was even more horrendous than usual. From the Left Bank, we crept across the city. The driver picked up three more passengers on the Grands Boulevards, then drove through the 10eme and 18eme to the Periphique. We arrived at the airport with no more than 10 minutes to spare (which meant no Duty Free for me, boo hoo).

My husband was carrying on the six bottles of wine from La Derniere Goutte; I had six other bottles in my carry-on. Unfortunately, this put my carry-on at 14 kilos, which is two kilos over the limit. So we had to do some hasty re-arranging of bottles until my bag made weight (four bottles).

We rushed to our gate, where we ran into one of the friends we had dinner with at Chez Janou. I asked her if they had been to any other good restaurants. "Oh yes," she said, and handed me a card. "We had a fabulous meal last night at this place."

The card read "Le Procope."

Elle-Thanks for a great report. Enjoyed it immensely.

elle, you are too funny. we passed le procope a couple of times, and i kept saying to myself and husband - don't go there, don't go there. sounds like we were right!

Merci beaucoup for the laughs, Elle! Very funny trip report.

Talk about the trials and tribulations of tourists, y'all had the patience of saints dining at Procope! So much for the much maligned stereotype of "Ugly Americans".

Thanks a lot for sharing, I've thoroughly enjoyed every installment of your saga.

Thanks so much, elle. This was such a fun report to read -- & I love the last post on Le Procope. It reminds me of a similar meal I had with my mother years ago at Tavern on the Green. We knew it was touristy, but it just looked so pretty in June we couldn't resist. Ugh!

We brought home 6 bottles from La Derniere Goutte, including one fabulous bottle of Domaine Boingnères armagnac. They were so helpful there. My husband enjoys going to their restaurant, Fish, occasionally when he is in town. The owner, Juan Sanchez, seems to be very well regarded by the french winemakers despite the fact that he is American, or Cuban, or Cuban-American -- whatever he considers himself. Whatever the case, we have enjoyed the wine from his shop.

Lovely report, ellle.

Lovely report with so much humour. Hope the bumps on the head are no longer causing pain?
Thanks for sharing.