Dreams Turn to Nighmeres

 

Typical Marais Street

Checking Out the Local Market

Champagne at our hotel

We finally made it!

Slabs of Foie Gras

Potatoes with Duck Fat

Chicken

We started the day quite late, but we are on vacation, so who cares? The Pope’s big events were today, and Paris was pretty locked down—streets blocked, Métro stations closed, and police everywhere.

Cathy thinks Paris sometimes feels like a movie set, and she is right. It is almost too perfect: beautiful architecture, sidewalk cafés, people walking and bicycling everywhere, and seemingly everyone looking as though they belong in Paris. The Marais, where we are staying, is especially congested, but in a good way. It feels alive.

We took a long walk and bought some gifts for friends back in the States, then returned to the hotel to prepare for dinner.

But first there was the matter of the bottle of Champagne the hotel had given us. We obviously weren’t going to take it home, and wasting Champagne would be irresponsible, so we brought it down to the courtyard and drank it. Problem solved.

Then it was time to head off to my dream restaurant: L’Ami Louis.

Cathy claims I have been talking about eating there for only 20 years. I think it has been much longer. Either way, she has had to listen to me talk about it for far too long, and tonight the quest was finally going to end.

L’Ami Louis is tiny and wood-paneled, and it reminded both of us of an old-fashioned train dining car. It was recently bought by Bernard Arnault, the chairman of LVMH and one of the richest men in the world. His empire includes Louis Vuitton, Dior and a large portion of the things people buy when they have considerably more money than they need. He is also behind the Fondation Louis Vuitton, the spectacular Frank Gehry-designed museum that, unfortunately for us, is closed while they install a new exhibition.

And now he owns L’Ami Louis.

Cathy chose a great wine, a Volnay Premier Cru Clos. Spoiler alert: the wine was the best part of dinner.

I ordered exactly what L’Ami Louis is famous for: foie gras, potatoes and, of course, the chicken. I knew dinner was going to be expensive. I just assumed it was also going to be great.

The foie gras arrived in several enormous slabs. It was rich and good, but there was far more than any two normal human beings could possibly eat. There was one very nice touch: halfway through they replaced our bread, explaining that the new bread was hot and therefore better with the foie gras. They were right.

Rather than critique every course, I’ll get to the point.

We have had better chicken at Zuni Café in San Francisco and at numerous restaurants in Los Angeles like Republique or Henryetta.

For years I had read that people fell into two camps about L’Ami Louis. Half thought it was one of the greatest meals of their lives. The other half thought it was wildly overrated.

Put us firmly in the second camp.

The meal wasn’t bad. It was ok. But after 20—or possibly 30—years of anticipation, “ok” was not exactly what I had in mind.

Still, I am happy I finally went. The quest is over. I can cross L’Ami Louis off the list and look back fondly on a very good bottle of Volnay.

We had plenty of leftovers, and my original plan was to take the chicken back to the hotel and ask the chef to make chicken sandwiches for us for lunch the next day. We left the restaurant carrying a large bag containing chicken and a considerable amount of foie gras.

By the time we reached the hotel, however, neither of us wanted to eat any of it again. Why spend tomorrow’s lunch being reminded of tonight’s dinner?

Then Cathy remembered that in an alley adjoining our hotel there were two tents where homeless people were sleeping.

So I took our large bag of L’Ami Louis chicken and foie gras over and left it between the two tents.

Hopefully, tomorrow morning someone will wake up, unzip their tent and discover that breakfast has been catered by one of the most famous restaurants in Paris.

The world is going to hell, so on any realistic scale an overpriced, disappointing chicken dinner ranks pretty low among life’s tragedies.

But I am still left with one question.

What were all those people who raved about L’Ami Louis thinking?

Maybe it is the history. Maybe it is the exclusivity. Maybe it is the status of being able to say you ate there.

Or maybe they had more Volnay than we did.

Rising to the Ocaccsion

Verjus

Place de Voges, where we are staying

Casey Casey, a favorite of ours

Living room of our suite

Avocado Toast or is it Salmon with Avocado?

 

Beans with Verjus Sauce and Raisins 

This was a very slow-starting day. I stayed up late and woke up early. Jet lag is a bitch. I think it gets harder as you age. Of course, last night’s excessive dinner and all the wine we drank might have been contributing factors. I wasn’t exactly looking forward to tonight’s dinner.

Spoiler alert: I rose to the challenge.

We finally managed to crawl out of bed and head downstairs to eat. In honor of Lynn, whose mission in life is apparently to try every avocado toast on earth, I had to order it. It arrived buried under smoked salmon. I began to wonder if, in France, salmon is cheaper than avocado. No matter. It was good.

I had done some research and wanted to buy Cathy a custom cane. Because of her back, a cane is a godsend for long walks. She doesn’t need one around the house, shopping, or going out to restaurants in Los Angeles, but for an extended walk it is a must.

Naturally, I researched canes. There probably aren’t many people who come to Paris with “find the ultimate cane store” on their itinerary, but I found it: Galerie Fayet.

I wish I had taken some pictures inside, but either due to my slow recovery from last night or the excitement of finding myself in the Louvre of walking sticks, your faithful photographer missed the moment.

The store was filled with hundreds of canes, made from different woods and with every imaginable kind of handle—leather-covered, silver, bone, and who knows what else. I expected Cathy would choose a cane, they would custom-make it for her, and several months later a French walking stick would arrive in Los Angeles.

Wrong.

Cathy picked a beautiful red cane with a two-tone handle. The saleswoman measured her, took out a saw, and cut the cane to exactly the right height.

That was it.

Who knew? There is an advantage to buying a wooden stick. No software update. No app. No waiting for FedEx. Just a saw.

From the cane store we went to Casey Casey. Cathy and I both like Casey Casey clothing, and their Paris store is their only retail outlet. We looked around, Cathy found something perfect to buy and then we returned to the hotel, where I was exhausted from jet lag, lack of sleep, and the previous night’s overindulgence.

A nap was in order.

Later we went back out shopping and eventually returned to the hotel for a drink. Apparently I was recovering, because I was now faced with another tasting menu, this time at Verjus.

I really wondered: Could I do this again?

It turns out I could.

We eventually found the restaurant, our Uber driver had to ask for assistance her navigation was failing her. In retrospect I forgive her and Google, the restaurant had no sign we were actually there. Our driver lowered her window and called out to a woman sitting on a flight of stairs: "Where is Verjus"? The woman pointed up toward the stairs, we hiked up and there it was. The restaurant was a delight. The tasting menu was only four courses, with four different pared wines. After some of the marathon tasting menus we’ve had, four courses almost seemed like diet food.

The food was great. This is a restaurant I’m very happy to recommend.

More importantly, there was a bean dish we loved, so we asked about it. They actually told us how it was made. The secret was a verjus sauce with raisins marinated in it, giving the sauce a wonderful combination of sweet and vinegary flavors that was perfect with the beans.

Now, of course, we have to try to reproduce it at home. This is should lead to some fun cooking experiments.

Tomorrow night will be the culmination of all my Parisian food desires. There is one restaurant I have dreamed of going to for over 40 years, ever since I first read Patricia Wells writing about it: L’Ami Louis.

Forty years is a long time to build up expectations for a roast chicken. We finally have our chance to decide for ourselves.

Tomorrow we find out if the chicken can transform itself into an ultimate dining experience.

Would Picasso Approve

 

Garden behind Dove Street Market

Picasso Museum

Cliff Back

Tom's new favorite Bean Dish with Caviar

All the wines we drank tonight

Our friend Lynn from San Francisco contacted us to tell us she was in Paris. She keeps following us around, the last time we saw we were in Tokyo when she popped up saying she was also there. Now Paris, we expect to see her on our next overseas jaunt. We immediately made arrangements to meet for breakfast and spend the day together. Still suffering from jet lag, we told her to come to our hotel at 10:00. Ten o’clock now qualifies as an early start.

Lynn joined us for breakfast and then we headed out shopping. Our first goal was to walk to Dover Street Market, the fashion-forward store with branches we have visited in London, Tokyo and Los Angeles.
The store is a maze—and amazing. It is less like shopping and more like visiting a museum devoted to clothes you would never actually wear. You wander around looking at things and asking yourself, “Who wears this?” Apparently somebody does, because Dover Street Market continues to thrive. We may simply not know the right people.

From there we went to a Japanese pop-up clothing store near the Picasso Museum. I successfully resisted buying anything, an accomplishment that apparently did not interest Cathy or Lynn. They had a very good time.

Behind the store was a beautiful garden, and we stopped for a while just to sit and take it all in. One of the pleasures of Paris is that you can go shopping and suddenly find yourself sitting in a beautiful hidden garden. In Los Angeles, you are more likely to find a parking structure.

We then went to the Picasso Museum. It is housed in a gorgeous old mansion, and Cathy and I had visited it years ago. Since then it has been extensively renovated. We were disappointed.

We don’t want to sound like hometown chauvinists, but after seeing the new Geffen Galleries at LACMA, with their beautiful concrete walls, the stark white galleries at the renovated Picasso Museum seemed sterile. Of course, we realize we are Americans visiting Paris and complaining that one of their museums isn’t as attractive as ours. This may be grounds for deportation.And we certainly aren’t criticizing Picasso. Just his newly remodeled home. Picasso remains blameless.

After all this culture and shopping, we returned to the hotel to rest. We needed to prepare ourselves for the serious business of dinner. Dinner was at Septime.

We arrived at 8:00 and ate and drank until 11:30. Three and a half hours. This is not dinner. It is a commitment. Septime serves only a seven-course tasting menu with an optional wine accompaniment. “Optional” seemed like an odd word to us, so naturally we had the wines. You can see in the picture just how many. By the end of the evening, we had received quite an education.

The highlight for both of us was a bean dish topped with caviar, layered over an ajo blanco sauce. It was terrific. (Are you reading this, Tom? We know about you and your bean fetish.) Apparently even beans can become haute cuisine if you put enough caviar on top of them.

There was also a wonderfully complex mushroom dish with pickled grapes. Pickled grapes? Who wakes up one morning and thinks, “I know what these mushrooms need—pickled grapes”? Whoever it was, they were right. They were delicious.
The service was wonderful, with detailed explanations of every dish and every wine. There were quite a few explanations. By wine number whatever, we were still listening attentively—or at least trying to look as though we were.

Septime is a must for any food lover. Excellent food, interesting wines, terrific service and enough surprises to keep you entertained for three and a half hours.
Tomorrow may present a different kind of entertainment.The Pope is in town. Roads will be closed, security is intense, and getting around Paris may be a challenge. We survived seven courses and all those wines. Surely we can handle the Pope.

Is it Sea Bream or Dorada

Dorada, Sea Bream, Monkfish?

Biggest Wine List Ever

Our Paris Home Pavillon De La Reina

Sleeping Pods on AirFrance

We made it to Paris. It is amazing to realize that the first time Cathy and I visited Paris was 42 years ago. Almost half a century. That certainly makes you stop and think.

We were lucky enough to fly on a brand-new Air France 777. The seats were enclosed in individual pods with sliding doors for privacy. We had ordered a wheelchair for Cathy, which turned out to be a very smart decision. Both LAX and Charles de Gaulle seem to require enormous walks to get anywhere. Thank God for wheelchair pushers.

The weather in Paris today was perfect—blue skies and mild temperatures. It seemed as if all of Paris was outdoors enjoying it. I am always amazed by how the sidewalks here are filled with people of every age, from mothers pushing young babies to the elderly walking to wherever they are going. It certainly isn’t the car culture of Los Angeles.

We arrived at the Pavillon de la Reine around noon. Our room wasn’t ready, so we spent some time sitting in the courtyard, reading and relaxing. Not a bad way to wait for a hotel room.

The Pavillon de la Reine is named after Anne of Austria, Queen of France, who lived in a pavilion here in the 17th century. The hotel is in the Marais on the Place des Vosges, the oldest planned square in Paris.

As I attempted to plug in my multitude of devices, I began to wonder if they had updated the electrical outlets since Her Highness lived here. Then I remembered they didn’t have electricity back then, so I really can’t blame that particular royal. The staff arrived with a multitude of adapters, and soon all my many batteries were happy.

For dinner we went to Le Bon Georges, a wonderful restaurant known for its extensive wine collection. The wine list was bigger than a telephone directory. Note to self: no one under 30 will have any idea what a telephone directory was. I am showing my age again.

We also quickly noticed a little French chauvinism—or perhaps simply very efficient restaurant management. Everyone seated in our room seemed to be speaking English, while the French-speaking diners were seated in another area. It didn’t bother us, but I thought it was interesting. It may simply have been a way of separating the restaurant’s regulars from the tourists.

No matter. The food and service were excellent.

When we planned this trip, one of the things we particularly wanted to eat was porcini mushrooms, which appear on menus here in the fall. Just like clockwork, the very first restaurant we went to had porcini as a special. They were excellent, especially when we used real crusty French bread to soak up all the garlic and olive oil left on the plate. I also ordered French fries. In France. The real deal—and they were great.

I learned something else at dinner: dorade and sea bream are essentially the same fish, at least when you are looking at a European menu. “Dorade” is the French name commonly used for sea bream. Just don’t confuse it with “dorado” in the Americas, where the name often refers to mahi-mahi, an entirely different fish.

At any rate, we had sea bream and monkfish for dinner, and both were excellent.

Not a bad first day in Paris.

Heading to Paris