We ate on the Rive Gauche last night. Lan tells me
that the French don't refer to the embankments on either side of the Seine as geographic
descriptors. "Left Bank"
and "Right Bank" are terms apparently more American than French. They consider locations by arrondissements. After
the mouse encounter at Fauchon, Jules and I headed off towards Les
Bouquinistes, located in the Sixth (St-Germain-des-Prés), overlooking the Seine.
It’s a lovely walk – past the Louvre and along the
Seine, traversed by several ponts
including the Pont Neuf, which we
crossed to get to the restaurant. Les
Bouquinistes is named for the booksellers
who line the street on the left side of the Seine with stalls of second hand and antique books. Being a bibliowhore myself, I’m a
little unnerved by displays of hand blocked prints which are obviously torn pages
from books. Writing in books is
one thing. Tearing books apart to
sell the pictures piecemeal is an unnatural act.
Twilight in Paris is a dusty blue; the river turns black and
lights from the street glitter on the water’s surface. Brightly lit tourist barges
occasionally destroy the serenity but they sail by quickly and the dusky colors
settle on the Seine again. Along
the river, couples are kissing, lost to the moment and to each other. It’s Robert Doisneau’s photo of the
kiss at the hôtel de ville in situ. We think they’re French because we can’t
imagine Americans being this openly passionate. Then again, we are in Paris. A dear dear dear friend once said with feeling, “It’s ironic
to be in the city of love with a broken heart.” I think it’s the best time to be there: nowhere else is there such a clear
affirmation of romance.
Les Bouquinistes is one
of five Guy Savoy restaurants in Paris.
It’s high end, upscale, minimalist interior chic. There are restaurants similar to it in most
of the major cities in the world. Not necessarily tourist friendly but
foreigner accessible. In fact, we
heard a lot of English on either side of us.
Having already distended ourselves with our chocolate luxury
two hours earlier, we weren’t too hungry.
The menu featured seafood with one or two poultry dishes. Jules ordered the Thon "cru-
cuit" en trois préparations, riz Basmati et sauvage aux herbes (Tuna Raw & Cooked, Three Styles with Basmati Rice
and Wild Herbs) and I was torn between the Risotto crémeux au
tourteau et langoustines rôties, bouillon de crustacés (Risotto with Roasted Prawns and Crab in a Seafood
Broth) and the Sauces D’Asperges au langoustines rôties (Roasted Prawns in Asparagus Sauce). Ultimately, my
deep affection for risotto won out (I just can’t say no to a carbohydrate).
I wanted a glass of wine, but I don’t know how to read
French wine menus; unlike American wines, which are classified by varietals,
French wine menus appear to be arranged by terroir and region.
I asked our waiter to select a wine for me.
“Red or white?” he asked.
“Your choice,” I answered.
He nodded confidently and brought me a glass of 2002 Faiveley
Mercurey Clos Rochette (a white Burgundy). Mercurey is an appellation in Burgundy and the Clos Rochette
is a chardonnay varietal. The very first white burgundy I ever
drank was in 1992 – an Olivier LeFlaive St. Aubin. That St. Aubin still ranks as one of the
best white wines I’ve ever had (and I don’t generally like white wines; Hubby
says I love wines so tannic they’ll strip enamel off your teeth). The Mercurey reminded me about
everything I’d love about that LeFlaive:
round, crisp, with a soft floral note and pear finish.
Perfect with any seafood dish, our waiter told me. If you
think it’s funny that I wrote down the names of our dinner dishes, consider
that I blinded half the people on our side of the restaurant with the camera’s flash
when I took this picture of my dish (I was too chicken to repeat and take a
picture of Jules’ plate).
I’ve eaten at countless restaurants like this. They do lovely, elegant dishes that are
often quite good, but usually lack depth or finish – seldom does flavor linger
on the palate or in the memory. What
came to our table was one of the most exquisite flavors I’ve ever tasted.
The rice itself was a little softer than I like my risottos
to be and the prawns were about 2 minutes from being mushy – but the
broth was breathtaking: aromatic, savory,
intense, with a chardonnay base and tasting of the sea. The spices were incredibly subtle;
nothing pushed forward aggressively, but together formed a luscious mouthful. No offense to Jules, but paired with my
wine, I really didn’t want to talk; I just wanted to roll that remarkable
flavor on my tongue over and over again.
I should have asked for the broth to go.
Jules loved her dish – a tuna ceviche, a seared tuna
belly, and two deep fried tuna spring rolls. Not being a fan of tuna, I ate one bite and politely
acknowledged its serviceable preparation. I was too convinced of my risotto’s
inherent superiority. Before she
ate any part of her dish, I gave her a spoonful of my risotto. She made noises that drew second
glances from men on either side of us.
We had the best service we’ve had since we came to
Paris. And no wonder, as service
n’est pas compris at the restaurant. In France, a 15% tip and tax are generally
included in the bill. Lan tells me
that most servers are on salary and can’t really be fired so many of them don’t
really try because they’re already getting their tip. Compared to eighteen years ago, “service” in the France has definitely
improved…I remember eating with Tata Michelle in 1987 at Maître
Kanter near Grenoble and having our waiter
tell her he wasn’t interested in explaining what specials were available that
day. In any case, Alexandre, our waiter,
was attentive without being annoying and very helpful – important since
his tip depended not on the “compris”
or “tip included” ‘system, but on service. I can’t believe I’m so blasé about mediocre service now that
I was enthralled with being treated like a customer. But I’ll take indifferent service for superb cuisine any day
of the week. Except from Soto in
Atlanta. That’s a different
gripe.
…This is why I come to Paris. To be happy.
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