Paris
“Arrived Paris Thursday 3 October, 7:20 a.m.–Left Paris Thursday, 8:40 a.m.”
—Phileas Fogg’s notebook
PHILEAS KNEW THAT HE HAD ONLY the briefest of time after arriving at the railway station in Paris to transfer to the train that would take him and his dedicated sidekick Passepartout on to Italy. Clearly no time for a fragrant café au lait, no time for a buttery brioche topped with jam, no time to read Le Figaro at a sidewalk café. Phileas even ignored endless opportunities for un petit déjeuner “to go” as he hurried along. But for me, leaving Paris without a nibble of croissant, a bite of quiche or a quick drink at the Ritz would be unthinkable. This is a city to be savored slowly.
Whether it sizzles or drizzles, whether it’s springtime or fall, Paris is an original. Even more original than any of its haute couture or haute cuisine creations, or the radical concepts and ideas of its philosophers, Paris stands by itself as the keeper of the flame of excellence present in almost every aspect of French life. It’s no wonder that the French think of Paris as the most perfect city. Some might say that, if anything, this is an understatement.
Most people who come to Paris come a to have an affair—the affair is with the city itself. It can be seductive and irritating, captivating and rude, exciting and confounding. Much of the time, exasperating! Paris has all of the qualities necessary for a really successful affaire du coeur. Perhaps, most maddening of all, the city makes you work really hard to receive a few crumbs from its endless banquet of delights.
As I found out somewhat painfully on my first visit, your average Parisian can be as prickly as a porcupine, as sharp as a jalapeño and as rigid as my mother-in-law. Speak with the locals and it’s always the best of times and the worst of times all sautéed into one. But then, as if by magic as you sit at a sidewalk café sipping an apéritif, that same porcupine morphs into Maurice Chevalier. C’est la vie en Paris.
Perhaps the raison d’etre for all of this has something to do with that little dustup better known as the French Revolution. You remember: the one that led to the use of severed heads to decorate the Place de la Concorde. Even today the motto, Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité, signifies to the French their complete rejection of anything that encroaches on their independence, and that includes the pesky hordes of tourists who think that once they’ve bought their plane ticket, they own the place. Parisians’ way of dealing with this constant invasion of their city is to operate blithely in their own sphere of awareness and entitlement. To the rest of the world they may seem cold and even arrogant at times but in reality they just need to set themselves apart in order to preserve the very way of life that makes them Parisians.
Paris continues to be on the best of terms, not only with its glorious past but also with its vibrant present. Daring 20th -century structures such as the Pompidou Center and I. M. Pei’s glass pyramids at the Louvre sprout up among the Beaux-Arts beauties that once dominated the Paris skyline.
As for other past treasures, the royal relics and monuments to all those guys named Louis have been spruced and regilded, old parks remain pruned to perfection and even the Eiffel Tower which was always illuminated has been made to twinkle after dark, somewhat like a Christmas Tree. (I’m not completely thrilled about that.) Although it hardly seems possible, Paris has never looked more beautiful.
The last time I saw Paris (sorry, I just couldn’t resist) the ever present obsession with food and the perfection of the dining experience was second only to sex in making a Parisian’s heart beat faster. In fact, I’m not really sure that food was second. Politics, ambition, fashion and even the economy all take a back seat to dinner at a three-star Michelin marvel. You can almost hear the La Marseillaise in the background every time Michelin hands down one of its sparklers.
Today, fabulous restaurants throughout the world have begun to dim the exclusive pilot light of French haute cuisine. Still, the French take little notice of culinary achievements outside their borders and continue to revel in their gastronomic heritage. For the Parisian, a “remembrance of things past” would have more to do with the details at a great meal than anything Proust wrote about, including his beloved madeleines.
Nowadays, a great meal in Paris doesn’t necessarily mean revisiting the scene of the shrine. But in the past, first time travelers to Paris usually spoke of La Tour d’Argent or Tallievent or Maxim’s in reverent tones, as if they were to be visited like museums or landmarks. In truth they are, like the Three Musketeers, immortal. Far be it for me to suggest that Tallievent ever be taken with a grain of sel, since it is to this day revered as one of the hautest of the haute. In the words of Arthur Miller, “attention must be paid.” As for Tour d’Argent, I could spend a whole afternoon there with only an espresso and a window table (though almost impossible to obtain) from which to worship the view of Notre Dame.
Maxim’s, on the other hand, has to be approached with a bit more caution. The beauty of its decor tends to blur the fact that Americans are sometimes treated with even less respect than the Germans were during the Occupation. There is rumored to be an infamous section set aside in the front of the restaurant, where French is almost never spoken. It’s known by the staff as “the American Zoo.” However, should you be successful in breaking through the barricades and escaping into the main room, you will be rewarded with one of the more seductive restaurants in all of Paris.
MAXIM’S – #10
There is just no way to overlook this temple to Art Nouveau opulence as you pass by. That famous sign, with its mischievous, topsy turvy lettering seems to alert the world that entering will lead to nothing but pleasure. Who of a certain age can forget Maurice Chevalier’s naughty smile as he sang, “I’m Going to Maxim’s?” Both the song and the place stood for the kind of turn-of-the-18th century gaiety that made Paris so exciting and provocative. Through the years, Maxim’s has become a monument to the Belle Époque period; an extraordinary example of Art Nouveau style at its most sensuous.
All mahogany swirls and curves, gilded flourishes and floral extravaganzas etched into its multicolored stained glass, Maxim’s décor evokes an iconic pre-World World I Paris in all its heady flamboyance. Today, everyone still seems to be going to Maxim’s but unlike Chevalier and his endless search for wine, women and song, they come for the souvenirs, postcards and the prix fixe menu. If the gods should smile upon them, then perhaps a table in the main room will be grudgingly awarded under that impossibly gorgeous, stained-glass ceiling.
Who was Maxim, anyway? For starters, Maxim’s was opened by Maxime (with an ‘e’) Gaillard who had worked as a scruffy waiter in a scruffy bar in the late 1800s. Fed up with watching the scruffy clientele nod off over their absinthes, he decided to expand into the world of haute société. In 1893, with the help of friends, he opened a slightly risqué café dedicated to the white-tie-and-tails set. It was a place where messieurs could come without their femmes. Instead, they brought an ever changing cast of dazzling mademoiselles to waltz the nights away. All well and good for Maxime, but sadly, hanky panky doesn’t always keep the champagne flowing. He was finally forced to put his little bistro on the market. Maxime was rescued by Eugene Cornuché, who had money and the vision to make Maxim’s into a Belle Époque showstopper. More than a century later, Maxim’s permitted Gigi to be filmed there as an homage to its gloriously checkered past.
Photo by Javier Lastras
Today, Maxim’s is more a state of mind, a fantasy from the past rather than a gourmet’s dream come true. That’s not to say that it’s impossible to have a good meal, but instead of seeing Michelin stars you’re more likely to see a plate of passable bistro cuisine dressed up by its surroundings and wearing a haute couture price tag. Long gone are the days when foie gras and oysters graced every table. And the only time that you may come upon a real, live Parisian is on a Friday evening. It’s still a bit of a tradition on Friday for the regulars, that is those who are left, to take to the dance floor during dinner. Poignantly, the orchestra that played the waltzes Chevalier made famous, has been replaced by one lonely pianist . . . enough said!
While it’s true that you’re more likely to be seated next to a computer programmer than a Greek shipping magnate, to overlook Maxim’s is to overlook a fabulous chapter in the history of Paris.
MAXIM’S/ 3 RUE ROYAL/ TEL: 01-42-65-27-94
Very Expensive
MAXIM’S MILIEU
You don’t have to go very far to find the perfect place to visit after dinner at Maxim’s; you just have to climb the flight of stairs next to the coat room. When you reach the second floor, you’ll find an even more stunning Art Nouveau refuge. As rare as Parisians are downstairs at Maxim’s, they crowd the upstairs Imperial Bar for pre-theater drinks and post-theater sustenance. Chanel, St. Laurent and Lagerfeld are the flags most saluted here. All in all, the upstairs crowd is one of the most soignée in the city. Ivan and I stumbled on this hidden gem of a room when celebrating an anniversary. We ordered a bottle of champagne with dinner and the waiter, sensing the occasion, asked if we wanted to finish it upstairs, to Maximize (pun definitely intended here) our romantic interlude.
When you finally emerge from Maxim’s, the Rue Royale is literally at your feet. It runs from the Place de la Concorde to La Madeleine. Needless to say that the street is dotted with some of the most elegant shops in tout-Paris. Christofle, Villeroy & Boch, as well as the toothsome Fauchon are all ready to lighten your Euro load.
To go from un grand luxe of a landmark on the Right Bank to a fabled Left Bank hangout that has attracted some of the more important minds of the last century, one has only to walk across a small bridge, Le Pont Neuf. But no matter what its size, it’s a bridge to the intellectual heart and soul of Paris.
Les Deux Magots is unmistakable. A huge sidewalk café, with wicker bistro chairs overflowing onto much of the sidewalk, it sits at the corner of the Boulevard St. Germain and the Rue de Rennes. Waiters rush from table to table with small carafes of vin ordinaire or glasses of Pernod, trying desperately to navigate their cramped terrain. Rain or shine, day or night, the chairs are always occupied at Les Deux Magots.
In the ‘20s, they were filled with novelists and painters, obsessed with living la vie de bohème. Hemingway and Fitzgerald were two renowned faces in that crowd. Much later in the ‘40s and ‘50s, when Paris was free of its German jailers and it was safe to speak one’s mind again, those same bistro chairs again held the intellectual crème de la crème of Paris. Sartre, Camus, Genet and Simon de Beauvoir all did much of their philosophizing over their cafés filtres at Les Deux Magots. Existentialism was as much a part of the menu as eggs en cocotte. There they sat, hour after hour, filling ashtrays by the dozen as they debated their radical positions on love, life, death and where to buy the best brioche.
The rivalry between Les Deux Magots and the nearby Café de Flore is long lasting. Regulars alternated between the two but Deux Magots always seemed to have the edge. It surely did with Hemingway. In The Sun Also Rises, Jake Barnes meets Lady Brett at Les Deux Magots. When you think about it, where better could they have met? Everyone else met there.
Deux Magots is named for the statues of two old Chinese men, which have been carved into a wooden pillar inside the café (the term magot, roughly translated means Chinese commercial agent). The statues act as inscrutable overseers to the never ending action below. Seated atop pedestals meant to represent money boxes, their perches seem completely appropriate since Les Deux Magots is an absolute goldmine.
The same sun that Hemingway found so compelling continues to rise over Deux Magots but perhaps without quite as much brilliance as in the past. Nowadays, le déluge des touristes have managed to dislodge the literati. If you drop by, as I do whenever I’m in Paris, you’ll no longer find the intellects of the century. The only heated discussions to be heard might have more to do with who gets the next table then who might be the next Camus.
Courtesy of Les Deux Magots
An ideal time to sit outside at Les Deux Magots, or in fact anywhere in Paris, is on a chilly fall day to watch the world stroll by. Add to the near perfect scenery a cup of its superb chocolate accompanied by a pencil thin, buttery jambon en baguette and, without a doubt, you’ll have one of the better meals in town.
Courtesy of Les Deux Magots
LES DEUX MAGOTS/ 6 PL. ST. GERMAIN/ TEL:
45-48-55-25
Inexpensive
LES DEUX MAGOTS MILIEU
The ancient streets that wind around Boulevard St. Germain are among the more fascinating in Paris. They are choc-a-bloc with tiny bookstores, food shops and cafés. It will surely make you crazy if you try to visit them all, no matter how seductive they are. A much better plan is to visit Bon Marché on the rue de Sèvres. Bon Marché opened for business in 1852, and has the distinction of being the oldest department store in the city. Unfortunately, today its prices are definitely 21st century.
Bon Marché’s charmingly maintains the feeling of an exotic bazaar where you might come upon any number of treasures, especially in its crowded basement. A special bonus comes from simply following your nose. It will lead you to Bon Marché’s food hall, La Grande Épicerie, right across the street. It’s an epicurean paradise, filled, floor to ceiling and counter to counter, with tempting goodies for takeout. Whoever said that bringing a snack back to the hotel would compromise your standing in The Gastronaut’s Guild?
AU BON MARCHÉ/ LA GRANDE EPICERIE/ 24 RUE DE SÈVRES
Nestled in the lush foliage of the Bois de Boulogne, Le Pré Catelan is an exquisite opportunity to celebrate the first day of the rest of your life. No one seems to be immune to its sumptuous Belle Époque backdrop. Think New York’s former Tavern on the Green as done by Renoir. It’s the perfect place to start an affair and the perfect place to end one. It’s also the perfect place to drink a toast to the future, sitting amid the gilded symbols of the past.
Le Pré Catelan has a lot more going for it then its lush interior. In summer or autumn, the terrace spills out onto its flower and herb filled Shakespeare Garden, the kind of setting that might have appealed to very tragic Camille if only cough drops had been invented in time. Shade is provided by a massive beech tree, said to be one of the oldest in Paris.
If the weather or the season is uncooperative, then the magnificent dining room makes up for the loss of its garden setting. Period murals, lush velvet draperies and sparkling crystal chandeliers complete the picture. At least, that’s what Pré Catelan looked like the last time I was there. Since it’s considered to be a Parisian treasure, I’m sure that any significant changes would require a vote in the National Assembly.
Le Pré Catelan has a very special meaning for me, aside from just a glorious place in which to open my oysters. The first time I set eyes on the lavish dining room it had been thrown into the kind of chaos that only a film crew could cause. The whole room, usually aglow with polished silver and cut glass, was lit by blindingly bright klieg lights and crisscrossed with cables.
Perhaps this was not the ideal day to drop in for lunch, but it was a very singular day for my husband Ivan and me. Just a few years earlier we had written Someone is Killing the Great Chefs of Europe, a novel of food, murder and sex. Our thought being that it might resonate not only with normal readers but with foodies, serial killers and sex addicts, as well. Much to our amazement, we turned out to be absolutely right.
We were at Pré Catelan that first time to watch the filming of our book. Now, I know that authors are usually outraged by the horrendously idiotic choices that the trillion people involved with bringing a book to the screen, including the director’s cleaning lady, are apt to make. Of course, the narcotic used to dull the author’s pain is usually a check with many zeros. Miraculously, in our case, the choices that were made resulted in a film that both Ivan and I were proud of.
It was at Pré Catelan amid all the disorder and general upheaval that we saw the characters from our book come to life. Ivan and I were two sappy kids from New York who saw what we created become better than real: it became magic.
It might appear that affection as well as nostalgia for Pré Catelan has clouded my palate. Not so. I’ve returned many times since Great Chefs was filmed there, and the restaurant’s menu is as impressive as ever.
Some time ago, Pré Catelan was bought by Gaston Lenôtre and his wife Colette. Gaston was known as the Mozart of French pastry and frozen confections. Sadly, he has passed away but Colette is keeper of the Lenôtre flame. She has determined that Pré Catelan not be considered just another pretty face. Colette has buffed, polished and refined the menu by bringing in Frederic Anton, a protégé of Joel Robuchon and Alain Ducasse. He’s still there accumulating even more Michelin stars for Le Pré Catelan’s collection.
Photos courtesy of Le Pré Catelan
Frederic Anton
LE PRÉ CATELAN’S MILIEU
This time it’s as easy as a walk in the park. Since you find yourself in the middle of the Bois de Boulogne why not do a little bucolic exploration? However, if you’re really intent on exploring the Bois, it might constitute more than your average after dinner walk. The Bois de Boulogne stretches out for over 22,000 acres. It has lakes, hiking paths, exotic flower gardens and even a racetrack. Napoleon III used to hunt wild boar and wolves there. When he grew tired of using it as his personal playground, he donated it to the people of Paris. Today, the wildest thing you’ll find in the Bois is a lost tourist.
LE PRÉ CATELAN/ RUE DU BOIS DE BOULOGNE/
TEL: 01-44-14-41-00
Expensive
Where else in Paris can you sit on a velvet banquette under a plaque marking the spot of Josephine and Napoleon’s first date? It may have been a favorite hotspot but when it had opened a decade earlier, Le Grand Véfour was a small café, abuzz with rumors of big trouble coming. If the Louis du jour didn’t watch his éclairs, la guillotine was likely to become a reality.
Le Grand Véfour attracted some of the brilliant minds as well as some of the dangerous radicals of the revolutionary day. Danton and his buddies plotted and planned as they split an order of tête de veau. Much later, Victor Hugo hatched Les Miserables there while reaching for a crust of bread. Much, much later, Colette entertained her gentlemen friends at Véfour; she frequented the establishment when she was well into her eighties. Now that was really dangerous.
Down through the years there have been legions of artists, writers and politicians with only slightly lower profiles, who have clinked champagne flutes in Grand Véfour’s elegant Directoire interior. When I have dinner there, I always ask to sit at Colette’s favorite table, hoping against hope that some of her glamour will seep into my psyche. Alas, the only thing that seeps into my psyche is guilt over that last spoonful of coeur à la crème.
LE GRAND VÉFOUR’S MILIEU
Right across the street, the splendid Tuileries Garden stretches all the way to the Place de la Concorde. The garden would be the perfect place to take your evening promenade.
If, however, the mystique of Le Grand Véfour has left you with a serious case of history overload, what better way to clear a cluttered mind than a visit to a shopping mall? In this case, the mall is part of the Louvre so no one can accuse you of frittering away your precious time in Paris. Le Carrousel du Louvre has its own entrance, apart from the museum under a discreet canopy. If you decide to explore the Louvre’s mall, disregard the unfortunate invasion by McDonald’s which, to be fair, does serve French fries, and instead browse the bookshops and the boutiques. Of course, there’s little chance that you’ll come upon the Mona Lisa who resides in the museum wing of the building, and is definitely not for sale.
Over the last century or two the menu may have changed, but Véfour’s immense historical significance remains. In fact, those in charge of bestowing the coveted “listed” designations in Paris, finally elevated Le Grand Véfour to that well-deserved status.
Today, the ever-changing Parisian restaurant scene is all about movie stars, fashion stars and rock stars but not necessarily the ones from that chubby tire guy. Mon Dieu, the man from Michelin in 2008 downgraded the wonders that chef Guy Martin stirs up in the kitchen of Grand Véfour, demoting it to two stars from three.
LE GRAND VÉFOUR/ 17 RUE BEAUJOLAISE/
LOUVRE/ TUILERIES/ TEL: 42-96-56-27
Expensive
LE TRAIN BLEU – #14
Think crowded train station. Threads of smoke billow from the trains as they arrive and depart, lovers are saying goodbye, some for the last time. People are arriving to start new lives. Drama, drama, drama! And there you are, observing it all from one of the huge windows of Le Train Bleu. Could you die?!
The Paris–Lyons rail line modeled this glorious buffet on the legendary train that took many of the Parisian elite to Lyons, and then on to the Riviera for a bit of R & R. Le Train Bleu is no ordinary rest stop designed to serve hurried hungry travelers. Although originated by a railway, it’s one of the more gorgeous restaurants in Paris. People with no travel plans at all come to dine at Le Train Bleu just because of its magnificent Belle Epoque ambience.
Courtesy of Le Train Bleu
The food is strictly Brasserie 101 but, as I recall, the onion soup was comforting and a salade Niçoise was fresh and appealing. For dessert the oeufs á la neige were nursery perfect. Going much further into the menu might prove a disappointment.
Since it opened in 1901, almost nothing has changed. Aside from the usual art nouveau accoutrements, Le Train Bleu is covered, wall to ceiling, with painted landscapes (41 in all) of locales that the actual train passed through. The scenes are separated by massive gilt frames that enhance their heroic size. Surrounded by all this magnificence, what comes out from the kitchen is really of little importance. It’s almost impossible to take your eyes from the setting long enough to care. I went to Le Train Bleu for the first time because I was actually going somewhere, and by train. I’ve returned many times since, just to make sure that what I remembered wasn’t some kind of dyspeptic mirage. In 1972, André Malraux awarded the designation of Historical Monument to Le Train Bleu. He couldn’t have made a more perfect choice. It’s a showstopper and a half.
LE TRAIN BLEU/ IER ETAGE GARE DE LYON/
PLACE LOUIS ARMAND/ TEL: 43-43-97-96
MODERATE
LE TRAIN BLEU’S MILIEU
The Gare de Lyon is a wonderfully European train station, so unlike those we have in the States. It’s almost a city in itself. Aside from the trains pulling in and out, within its vast space there are bookstores, shops of every description, cafes and all manner of intriguing places to explore.
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• 2 (one-pound) lobes of foie gras*
• 4 cups of clarified duck fat
• 1 tablespoon of [preferably] Guérande salt [see NOTE]
• 2 teaspoons of brandy
• 8 slices of whole-grain bread
• Ground pepper to taste
*In this country, raw foie gras comes packed in vacuum-sealed plastic bags. Keep very cold until ready to remove for use; handle foie gras minimally. Rinse, and use the point of a sharp knife to remove carefully the large veins that run through the center of each lobe, and any green.
NOTE: Guérande salt is a gray, organic salt from the shores of Brittany, available in gourmet markets. However, another organic (non-iodized) sea salt might be used.
SERVES 4
Season the foie gras with the salt and ground pepper. Add the brandy and refrigerate overnight.
Heat the clarified duck fat to 212°F, allow it to drop to 158°F, and maintain this heat throughout the cooking process. Plunge the lobes of foie gras into this fat and turn them over from time to time, cook for 20 minutes. Remove the lobes and allow them to drain on a rack. Wrap the foie gras in new plastic wrap and give them a cylindrical shape; allow to harden in the refrigerator; remove the wrap from the foie gras.
Place the foie gras in a bowl and cover completely with the clarified fat. Keep in the refrigerator for up to ten days.
Remove the fat around the foie gras and cut it into thick (½-inch) slices, add a little fine Guérande salt and coarse-ground pepper. Serve the toasted whole-grain bread separately.
A chocoholic’s dream or nightmare, depending on what your scale tells you, Angelina has been serving hot chocolate to Parisians since 1906, and that’s an awful lot of cocoa. They must know how to make a pretty good cup by now. But Angelina has never settled for just good—its gloriously wicked concoction called Chocolat l’African that is fabled. Richer than Donald Trump, l’African is a thick, dark blend (the recipe is a closely-guarded secret), topped with a cloud of whipped cream. Through the years, the young mademoiselles who have crowded in to have une tasse de chocolat have morphed into the elegant grandmothers who are now introducing their grandchildren to this scrumptious ritual. Even Coco Chanel was a regular. Of course, that may have had a lot to do with her name.
Photo by Summer Park
The very gilded and mirrored Angelina has dedicated itself, from the time it opened, to the care and feeding of the ginormous sweet-tooth that has always existed in Paris. There’s a pastry shop on almost every block, for heaven’s sake.
ANGELINA/ 226 RUE DE RIVOLI/
TEL: 01-42-60-82
Expensive
ANGELINA’S MILIEU
The Rue de Rivoli leads up to Place de la Concorde or down to the Louvre. Both are, of course, incomparable. Take your pick.
BAR HEMINGWAY / RITZ HOTEL – #16
The atmosphere in the Bar Hemingway is heavy with reminders of its illustrious past. The writer it was named for conjures up a vision of hard drinking and even harder living. He found that “a moveable feast” is best washed down with a couple of single malt scotches. You might say that one of the reasons the lost generation got lost was all the time it spent in the Ritz bar. Aside from Hemingway who, rumor has it, shot off a gun after downing a few (the bullet hole is still in the wall), James Joyce and Graham Greene as well as Sartre were Ritz bar devotees.
The Bar Hemingway with its dark wood, comfortable leather chairs and photographs pays homage to its namesake with more than his name. Its menu features Spanish wines and tapas to celebrate Hemingway’s bullfighting days. Colin Field, the barman or, as we say today, with some self-consciousness, “mixologist,” was voted the best in the world in 2001. His alcoholic contributions include a Picasso Martini made with a splash of Dubonnet. One can’t help but think that Pablo would be abstractly proud.
Photo by Pablo Sanchez
BAR HEMINGWAY/ RITZ
HOTEL/ I5 PLACE
VENDÔME/ TEL: 43-16-30-30
Expensive
BAR HEMINGWAY’S MILIEU
Milieu, schmilieu, you’re at the Ritz, what more is there to say? If you must, a quick turn around the Place de la Concorde and then back to the Ritz for more billionaire watching.
BERTHILLON – #17
You scream, I scream, we all scream for ice cream, but Berthillon’s patrons are really serious about this beloved confection. Just to prove it, the line sometimes stretches almost all the way to London. That may be a tiny exaggeration but there really is a long line, whenever this ice cream icon opens its doors. It’s lick-as-you-go—don’t expect a table or any of those luxe amenities, such as a place to sit down. However, I guarantee that you’ll walk back down the block, cone in hand, with a great big smile on your face. No doubt about it, Berthillon will make you forget that you’ve ever heard of Ben or Jerry or that other guy with the funny name, Häagen-something.
A cold and sweet mixed blessing
The reason that Berthillon, a family owned business, has seen its ice creams rise to the top is that the only ingredients they use are sugar, eggs, heavy cream and fresh fruit. Sounds simple, but then you have to put them all together to achieve their double rich, silky phantasma. Unfortunately, Berthillon has no plans for U.S. distribution in the near future. Sob.
Photo by David Monniaux
BERTHILLON/ 31 RUE SAINT-LOUIS-EN L’ÎLE TEL: 43-54-31-61
Inexpensive
BERTHILLON’S
MILIEU
The Île Saint Louis is an idyllic place to walk or shop or do anything. Since it’s right in the middle of the Seine, the best views of the rest of Paris are all around you. Enjoy them.
Courtesy of Le Jules Verne
LE JULES VERNE – #18
Even though I have searched my conscience, there is no way to avoid using a meal that I had at Le Jules Verne as one of my top eighty. Left to my own devices I would not have embraced Le Jules Verne as memorable enough in my personal lexicon of epicurean experiences. But, mon Dieu, how can one not include the restaurant named after the literary father of Phileas Fogg, not to mention the raison d’etre for my culinary memoir?
In all fairness, I must admit that since I last visited, Le JV has gone through a massive renovation as well as a change of management. Alain Ducasse has taken control, shined up the décor and enhanced this restaurant with its astounding views from atop the Eiffel Tower. Gone are the days when the restaurant relied on its incomparable vistas to make up for its rather pedestrian food. Ducasse excels in making his menus reflect the sensibilities of his restaurants, as well as the people who dine there. Still, even today, one of the best reasons to visit is to gaze out over the City of Light, from atop the most famous landmark in Paris. It gets no better than that.
As for the décor, you would think that any restaurant called Le Jules Verne would have a certain Victorian clubbiness. Not this one. When I was last there it was black, chrome, leather and most of all, nouvelle boring. My spies tell me that it’s been redone by M. Ducasse in warmer browns beiges and ambers but still continues to be sleek and spare in style. Perhaps its modern attitude is recognition of the fact that Jules Verne was always ahead of his time.
Le JV may have been regarded as a tourist destination rather than an epicure’s dream come true, but by now, my guess is Alain Ducasse has all his bases covered.
Le Jules Verne is reached by a private elevator located inside the southern pillar of the Tower. It whisks you up, more than 400 feet into the clouds, and once the doors open, on a clear day you can see forever.
LE JULES VERNE/ SOUTH PILLAR/ EIFFEL
TOWER/ AVENUE GUSTAVE EIFFEL/
TEL: 45-55-61-44
Moderate/Expensive
LE JULES VERNE’S MILIEU
There are, of course, any number of things to do around the Eiffel Tower but they all pale by comparison to the tower. Let’s face it; it’s been a sight to behold ever since Gustave Eiffel constructed this tinker toy in 1889.
After dinner, don’t bother with dessert. Take the elevator that belongs to the tower itself up to the observation deck at the very top, and be prepared to be even more dazzled then you were in the restaurant. The height, measured from the ground to top, is 1,063 feet or the equivalent of 81 stories. Now what dessert could possibly compete with that view of tout-Paris?
L’ASTRANCE
Located on the rue Beethoven, L’Astrance is a symphony of new menu perceptions. Michelin took note of this when it gave it one twinkler soon after L’Astrance opened its doors. Chef Pascal Barbot continues to amaze his ever growing cult of groupies as well as the rest of his reservations list.
L’ASTRANCE/ 4 RUE BEETHOVEN/
TEL: 40-50-84-40
CHARDENOUX
A perfect recreation of a Belle Époque bistro with a chef/owner who spent years trying to find the ideal place to unpack his soufflé dishes. Now that Cyril Lignac has finally found it, he’s whipping up a storm. All the usual suspects are on the menu so tuck into a slice of his paté, and enjoy the scene.
CHARDENOUX/ 1 RUE JULES-VALLÈS/
TEL: 43-71-49-52
