We had extra gear to take this time, for the bike ride portion (heh, and also picnic wine glasses, etc...), so we added North Face duffels. I can't recommend North Face duffels highly enough. It is easy to take a size larger than you need (to make room for souvenirs), and they have two compression straps on each side to cinch down and minimize the size of the load after packing, also keeping the contents secure from moving around thus removing a potential source of damage.
After breakfast we took a leisurely stroll to the metro and hopped a tram to the station to catch our train back to Paris
The TGV moves like a bat out of hell. I loved traveling by train in France, and had the same experience in Spain. Frequent trains, easy ticketing, easy boarding, easy everything.
***
For lunch, we strolled the neighborhood near our guesthouse, and came across Les Petites Bouchees. It was a tapas restaurant!
It was cozy and laid back. We sat at that table in the back left. The music was "artist oriented oldies" (or, in our case, "music we grew up with"), with a five or six selections from a given artist playing before rolling to someone else.
It was a cool change of pace from the standard entree/main/dessert drill. We had gone on tapas crawls in Spain, and had a blast. What would the experience be like here? We chose six items. There was an eclectic mix of options available, with only a couple of overt nods to traditional Spanish tapas fare. However, there was sangria on the menu.
We indulged.
The food fit the tapas esthetic to a tee. A diverse collection of morsels with savory seasoning accents and/or an accompanying sauce.
Calamari with a dynamite aoli. Seared chorizo in a white wine sauce. Serrano ham and cheese quesadilla. Crunchy vegetable wraps with a delicate asian sauce. Kefta with a tsatsiki.
The sangria was spot on. When we paid our tab at the counter, we saw the cutting board still there with the citrus rinds from when our server had prepared our last carafe.
Savory, tender, sweet duck drumsticks, pictured here with Carafe #3. Total umami experience. Literally and figuratively, we sucked the bones clean. We sat back, immersed in sangria happiness, and marveled again about how good the French are with duck, while David Bowie's "Life On Mars" played in the background. Unexpectedly extra-groovy.
Carmel raspberry cheesecake to cap it off. The bottom crust was a bit burned, and lent that taste to the dessert. It kind of fit, actually, though it was a harsh accent. We didn't leave any of it behind. I'm still uncertain whether the slightly blackened bottom crust was intentional. Probably I'm just overly enchanted, and the idea that lightly burning a cheesecake crust could be an intentional cooking thing is patently ridiculous. But with food, the French are really crafty.
***
Up two blocks from our lodgings and turn left, and this is the view along the Rue Saint Antoine. We strolled along the street, peeking into shops, and it struck me just how many cool shops there were, one after the other. In the space of one and a half (short) blocks, we passed the following:
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| The smell coming off the roasting fowl on the spits was heavenly |
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| Things that have been grown to put in your mouth |
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| Things that have been grown to give to your sweetie |
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| Breads and pastries |
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| Ready to go Asian |
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| Ready to go sushi |
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| Cheese! If you've never smelled a real cheese shop... |
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| A shop devoted entirely to honey |
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| More fresh fruits and produce |
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| Things that have been grown to decorate your home |
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| Things that have been grown to put in your mouth, that are made out of meat |
***
We passed a very special building on our walk.
Jim Morrison died here (somewhere inside).
I couldn't feel his presence, though, and later that night I received no messages from Beyond. Almost makes one wonder if he's really gone...
***
Because of some kind of room-management mixup at our guesthouse, we got bumped up to a premium room at the location.
"Um... Okay. S'cool." pretty much summed up our reaction to the bed situation. I flopped down for a drowsy snoose before dinner. Worked just fine.
Part of the charm of the room, and it was in fact charming, was the interior decor combined with the odd geometry. This is the view from the bed.
***
We had reservations at l'Affable for dinner. We pulled the locale out of an article in Forbes about places to eat in Paris. It was described as relaxed, comfortable and friendly. Patrons were almost exclusively locals. The menu was described as simple, and changing with whatever was available. The author recommended gravitating toward whatever the specials might be.
We found the description to be spot on. The waitstaff was friendly, very attentive, and relaxed. The environment was close and intimate yet unoppressive. Glancing around the dining room, I was pretty sure we were the youngest people there. I am also certain beyond doubt that we were the least affluent.
Amuse bouche of tuna chunks with lardons (bacon nuggets to me).
We ordered from the menu of daily specials. For the entree, we shared mushroom fricassee, which was amazingly yummy mushrooms served with yummy bits of other stuff.
While we were noshing on the mushrooms and making oohing and ahhing noises, one of the servers came out with a ginormous piece of roast meat on a board and smiled. "This is your dinner", she said, and then whisked it and herself away before I could think to take a picture of it.
The next time we saw it, it had been divided up, and looked like this:
Veal roast, for two. With garlic, and juices that we unabashedly mopped up with bits of bread before we let them take the plates away.
To accompany, we had selected a light, silky 2010 Volnay - Premier Cru Champans.
We each received a side of mashed potatoes and gravy. Prior to this trip, I had never had mashed potatoes that I wanted to describe as tasting "fresh, bright and happy", but this made two for two.
Meat, potatoes, and outstanding wine. This elegantly simple combination left us able to do little else except to comment on the gustatory bliss we were experiencing. We did also talk about how evil veal was, and how we were bad, yes, very very bad for wanting it so much. And then we tasted more of it, and it was so good so tremendously powerfully incredibly good oh god oh god Oh GOD!! MMmmmnnnnnnnhhh... so good.
Hey. At the end of the day, we're the ones with the opposable thumbs.
For dessert, I got chocolate souffle. I've pictured it next to my fork, for scale. It came with a separate serving of softly whipped cream. I had never eaten chocolate souffle before, so I did not know what to expect. As it turns out, chocolate souffle has many dimensions, all of them fabulous.
The top part was essentially a crunchy chocolate brownie cookie. In the middle, it was runny and gooey, like a warm, rich chocolate pudding or mousse. On the bottom and up the sides of the dish, it was very like a moist chocolate cake. All aspects imparted a stout chocolate impact, devastating in combination with the cream, like Three Faces of Eve, except if it was Three Faces of Chocolate, and each of Chocolate's personalities was your Best. Friend. Ever.
Julia's dessert was roast figs and mascarpone, dusted with... dessert dustings. The flavors, seasonings, consistencies and mouthfeel combined and cris-crossed over multiple dimensions.
We ambled off into the night on a cloud of contentment.
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