Paris food and to the provinces
 

Saturday was shopping day. The Rue Cler, all
that stuff. We found a nice silk shop on the
Avenue Bosquet near the Rue du Champ de Mars
where Coucou spent a gazillion dollars and I
had fun speaking my American French at the
proprietress who spoke in a charming Chinese-
scented version. I even bought a scarf for my
mother, which will surprise her as I haven't
bought anything for her in decades.

It was also a particularly calorific day,
because not only did we poke around and
sample things in shops, but we had two
sitdown meals of some quality and size.

Poked through cheese shops and whatever shops
- I was in a daze except when we passed a
wine store (Ets Nicolas, unfortunately, seems
to have a corner on the market in this
neighborhood, so there are no bargains to be
had - some decent buys, it is true - and
little variation in stock).

Lunched at La Fontaine de Mars, a bistro by
the fountain of that name, specializing in
Cahors and its food. Oddly unappealing
appearance, but we ate as well here as
anywhere in France. C had a cassoulet that
was just to die for, if you like andouillette,
of which there was a piece in along with the
other sausages and the confit de canard. I
had the special of the day, a roulade of hare
stuffed generously, I thought, with trompettes
(black trumpet of death mushrooms, which are
sort of like chanterelles but black and not
quite so fine). The house Cahors is an honest
young fruity wine of no distinction but no
great faults either: a far cry from the black
Cahors they used to make and which I have not
seen for decades. The bread here is the best
we encountered in Paris: it's all-natural and
organic and all that stuff from Poujaran.

Then it was, let's see, to buy French Pokemon
cards for various children, then a nice stroll
down George V to see the great fashion houses
and the great Maison du Chocolat, where we
stopped for hot chocolate. C had the sweet
and comforting Guyaquil and I the more corse
bittersweet Caracas: this chocolate is hugely
satisfying - almost lumpy with chocolate of
great intensity (the girl at the counter
raised an eyebrow when I asked for mine to be
served without whipped cream even on the side)
- quite different from what you'd expect. It
was also something like seven bucks a cup. Not
too much, as probably a whole bar of chocolate
goes into each. We had a tasting plate, dark
chocolates with, let's see, green tea (good but
not so good as ), bittersweet ganache, and so
on. All were good, and the chocolate itself
was of supreme quality, but I liked Puyricard's
best - less sweet, richer, the only real
competition in town to Teuscher. I bought a
couple bars of bittersweet and 100%, though.

- - -

Miscalculation. We'd reservations at La Bastide
d'Odeon. And we kept them. What might have been
under other circumstances a criminally yummy meal
turned into the fulfillment of an obligation. I
tried to convince C to walk again, so as to build
up an appetite, but she refused.

It's an attractive restaurant, not touristy
(today's were the two where the diners weren't
predominantly American visitors), reminiscent of
medium-luxe-aux-provinces. The specialty here
is the food of the French Mediterranean (a bowl
of olives greets you).

Started with vin cuit (Jean Salen), a Provencal
oddity of wine made from boiled grape juice, so
it's really sweet and has a certain Mogen Davidish
quality (but the grapes are vinifera) - somewhere
between appetizing and amusing with aspects of
each. The unctuousness of the wine would make one
expect shriveled or botrytized qualities, but of
course nothing of the sort happens.

C had cheese ravioli in a tomato broth, which
takes macaroni and cheese to a high, almost
ambrosial, level. Great flakes of Parmesan-
style cheese adorned this big bowl. I had saumon
cru, thin sheets of raw, uncured salmon on a
bed of boiled potatoes dressed in anchovy-
scented olive oil. For balance I added a touch
of the good extra-virgin regular stuff that
sits on the table. That was enough for dinner,
even if we hadn't overeaten all day. However.
Then came roast chicken with garlic, nice but
overdone, and a delicious lamb shankette in a
Moroccan-influenced preparation with carrots
and preserved lemon and sweet spices. With this
all we had a gutsy red, the Domaine de Deffends
1997 of the Coteaux Varois, one of the better
Provencal appellations. No room for dessert.

We just had to walk afterwards, so we saw the
collection of world photographs by Y. Arthus
Quelquechose-or-another (sorry, I forgot the
name) hanging on the outside of the Jardins
de Luxembourg - stunning, from the volcanic
islands of the North Atlantic to the markets
of central Africa, even to the geometric
patterns caused by mine tailings and the
B-52 cemetery in Arizona.

Then through the university district and
to the gloriously lit Notre-Dame, and then
the subway back to Ecole Militaire and home.

Saw a couple of cheeeap Asian places and
brasseries I might want to try if I came
back to town on a tight budget and without
anyone to need to try to impress.

Our contact had recommended the train over my
initial suggestion of flying. This saves
$101.50 per person at a cost of about 3
hours each way. As there is no question
of Star miles on Air Liberte, I sighed and
was content that several of us riding together
might be fun on a fairly comfy train through
pretty country, so I had him get tickets for
us - about $74 round trip with couchette in 2nd
class, quite a nice price, as when I'd taken a
one way before it had been $50 or more without
couchette. But we got decouverte a deux fares
(20% off, traveling in bleu [off-peak], two
persons riding together), and the franc hasn't
done well these last couple years.

Coucou and I left the hotel and took the
subway from Champ-de-Mars to Austerlitz
with a connection at someplace or another: her
bigger bag was unconscionably heavy (I think
I'd told her to pack light), but I was being
stubborn and maybe the wee bit punitive (I
ended up schlepping the thing - 30 kg by itself
- much of the way, so this too served me right)
and there was only one connection to make. We
were on the platform waiting for the 10 train
when I noticed a mauvais type circling the
station, eyes wandering, followed at a discreet
interval by another with steely hard eyes. I
told C to watch the guys. The train pulled in
and we got our stuff in. Suddenly, smash crash
screech from the far end of the platform: a
man's voice raised in anger and anguish, and a
lady's scream. Then the second mauvais type
hurrying down the stairs with an overcoat
draped over his arm: C saw that he had a
briefcase or something beneath. There wasn't
much to be done. I felt sort of sorry for
whoever lost their whatever, but it does pay
to be vigilant.

No other mishaps; we pulled into the terminal
at noon and went to look for the waiting area.
A tip for travelers. Leaving the subway, you
want to follow SNCF arrivals, NOT departures
signs. Departures takes you to track 1 by a
longish route; arrivals takes you right into
the main ticketing area at the middle of the
station, easy access to the cafe-restaurant,
compostage machines, and all tracks. Don't
ask me, it must be a French thing.

Waited for a few mins and rendezvoused with
our friends M and B, who'd arrived on time
from John Wayne and Dulles respectively. M had
had a tough time (traveling on AA and coming
in to some arcane satellite terminal), before
finding the Air France bus to Gare de Lyon and
a city bus to Austerlitz (which didn't stop
long enough to let him off at the right place)
and was thus somewhat steamed. B, my usual
traveling companion, who is never encumbered
by heavy luggage, took the 350 bus to the
Metro: total cost, about $3; aggravation,
apparently nil.

We had an hour and some to spend chatting and
chose to do it in the cafe section, where M
tried the scallop terrine (pretty good), C the
croque-monsieur (hot ham and cheese sandwich -
actually excellent for what it was), and I a
pression, Kronenbourg. B, who can stand to
lose a couple kilos, also had nothing; the
waiter (who didn't appear to notice that) made
a big thing of that I wasn't eating; he kept
making little cutting-and-eating motions, as
if to make me understand that I hadn't ordered
food, and even after I told him I was having
beer seulement he continued for a while, as if
to make me understand that nobody should go on
a journey without having a good lunch inside
of himself. Very French, I think. The price
was reasonable, the food was good, and the
waiter caring if a little idiosyncratic and
slow. Gave him ten francs on the way out.
If we'd had more time I'd like to have
eaten at the real restaurant upstairs.

Train was ready to board right on time, and
we found our seats: 21, 22, 23, and 28. It
is interesting that 21 and 23 are window
and aisle together, and 22 and 28 likewise.
Also very French, I think.

It's a pretty 300-350 km down: during the
4 hours you go from the attractive but
flattish Paris region into a gradually more
rural and then wild setting. B and I have
seen it a few times and snoozed much of the
way. We were a bit late pulling in - not
seriously, though, and then it was
rendezvousing with our host and hostess,
strongarming our bags into the cars, and
to the Correzian countryside we went,
visions of truffled sugarplums dancing
in our heads.

Anxiously awaiting next installment.

Thanks

timely...I'll be in Paris in two weeks and appreciate the restaurant recommendations.

third tourist day

An early day: heavily planned with timings to the
minute. Sarlat, the great Perigord city known for
its truffled potato dish (okay, classically, it's
made with cepes, and the truffles are a tourist
addition, I know that), was our first stop. We
couldn't find places for all three cars until we
were way (at least 500 feet, but enough for some
of us to complain) north of the city; parked there
and all split up and went in various directions. I
started off with M and B. Then it was M and C;
these good folk walked too slowly for me, both
taking tons of pictures and generally moseying, so
when we ran into my sis and b-i-l I took off with
them: they had the Michelin guide and we took the
city tour. Truth to tell, there were things in the
guide that I would not have noticed. The things I
noticed last time: a round tower with no door and
no stair (commonly called the Tower of the Dead);
the big cathedral (closed for renos); the little
church right by it (gutted and presumably also
being renovated). Things I saw this time but not
last time: Goose Square, where the ancient goose
market was; a strange little grotto; a speaker's
corner; lots of gargoyles. Things I was alerted
to by Michelin: a street of charming half-timbered
houses; the archway next to La Gueule et Le Gosier
(a restaurant we'd noticed last time but which this
time was closed for renos); a hexagonal tower next
to the little church. I'm sure C's photos could
tell far more than I - http://perso.wanadoo.fr/souvigne/picnic

We all met up again at 12 so as to be at lunch at
12:30. It was off to the Hotel de la Borderie in a
little village called Tamnies: highly recommended
by Michelin and others.

Everyone except our guide had the assiette
Perigourdine, the special appetizer plate of
local specialties including duck confit, gesiers
confits, and salads of local vegetables (carrots
and celeriac among them, the only difference here
was that they were topped with a tablespoon of
meat-enhanced vinaigrette and a sprinkling of
walnuts. Our host sprang for the $5 surcharge
and had an excellent slab of foie gras.
With this we had a localish white wine that I
forget, as I was concentrating on the
anticipation of the main event: Chateau Pavie
1985, a lovely wine just coming into its prime.
Heady with jammy fruit, as they say, and pepper,
as they say, and cedar, as I say; the deep color
just beginning to go a touch brown on the edge.
A neverending finish. Cost us FF340 I think it
was, a true bargain.

The accompaniment to this: entrecote forestiere,
which was nice, but I had some question about the
stock used for the sauce. Others had salmon,
turbot, or what is said to be the best veal
sweetbreads in the region (I had a taste: really
quite good, and the serving was huge). Also, a
little ratatouille would have been a nice
accompaniment but for the wine; I solved that
problem by eating it all up and then cleaning
my palate with bread and steak before tasting
the wine.

For dessert I had the usual sorbet, while others
had souffle glace aux noix, creme brulee, etc.

A worthwhile meal. Then back into the cars - we
didn't even have time to reflect on the "If it's
Tuesday this must be Belgium" aspect of the trip,
which was of course much softened by our having
a respected and intelligent guide. Planned for
this trip (and gotten to, also!) were three of
the big attractions of the Perigord.

The Grottes de Rouffignac is one of the few
places where you can still actually go and see
the cave paintings, which are remarkable (lots
of species, but dominated by woolly mammoths).
You go through a door that provides a sort of
airlock, and then you take an electric train
through the caverns, where the guide stops by
the most interesting and spectacular sights.
The tour takes close to an hour, but time
really seems to stand still as you're taken
to see the works of our Cro-Magnon ancestors.

Then we hot-footed it to the Chateau de Losse,
home of the tutor of Henri IV, and one of the
loveliest old chateaux still extant. We were
given the tour of the buildings by a charming
young woman but of the grounds by a little
terrier dog, who however was not encouraged
to enter the main house! The setting, right
there on the Vezere, was gorgeous, and the
buildings, kept up nicely, are furnished with
some spectacular period pieces. There's a
Rubens on the wall of the master bedroom.

Finally, back up the Vezere to Lascaux II.
Lascaux is probably the most famous name in
prehistoric art; it was here that the first
polychrome cave paintings were discovered
(most of the others are done with one pigment,
as at Rouffignac, where the artists used
MnO2 exclusively), and it is these that are
reproduced in the art history, archeology,
and anthropology texts. Unfortunately, after
their discovery in the 1940s, an open approach
to tourism - allowing as many as 15000 visitors
in a day - led to degradation of the art - not
by vandalism but rather by the introduction of
water and carbon dioxide, whose carbonic acid
damages the rock substrate, and of fungi that
began to eat away the pictures themselves. So
the decision was made to close Lascaux and to
build a faithful reproduction of the caverns
and their paintings: this was done at a site
nearby (but not too nearby) the originals.
Even the reproductions are awe-inspiring; that
is about all I can say.

Wonderful trip report, violist. I'm enjoying it immensely. The pictures are good, too.