Last Lunch in Paris

In the middle of our marathon last day in Paris, we practiced the skill we most appreciated acquiring over our nine months in France: dropping everything to enjoy a leisurely lunch.

One last time, we visited Le Baratin, the celebrated gastro-pub conveniently located a block-and-a-half from our apartment. I'd been for lunch with my mom and Cathy; Maggie and I had been to dinner there once (Mo and Héloise's treat!); but Maggie and I had somehow failed to hit up Le Baratin for their super-economical lunchtime menu.

The whole restaurant is tiny, but we sat in the tiniest section, up a few stairs from the bar and next to a food-and-art library that we could have spent the next nine months working through.

To eat, a few staples of Le Baratin, starting with whitefish and a simple green salad.

Maggie's first course was artichoke au jus. I had some delicious braised oxtail over chickpea-carrot stew. For dessert, we shared the by-now-familiar strawberry soup and a slice of strong cheese.

When asked what we miss most about Paris, we tend to talk a lot about the food culture. It's not too hard to see why. That Le Baratin takes such care in arranging wine bottles above a bookshelf full of reference works that reinforce the professionalism of even the tiniest of out-of-the-way, hole-in-the-wall restaurants - well, that says it all.

Hidden Kitchen

After a restaurant has been gushed over in the New York Times, on various foodie blogs, and by a random friend-of-a-friend who happens to be in Paris and comes over for dinner, it's perfectly reasonable to want to go to there with every fiber of your being. This was the case with Hidden Kitchen, which isn't really a restaurant at all - it's a private supper club run by two twenty-something Americans in Paris. Thanks to all the buzz, its existence isn't so hidden anymore. But the address has been kept a careful secret, and it's so hard to get reservations that Hidden Kitchen has remained mysterious and tantalizing. Somehow we managed to score three spots for Saturday, May 22 (one extra for Dimi), and the 10-course tasting menu did not disappoint.

That front door grille is all we can show you of the exterior of the apartment building in which you'd find Hidden Kitchen. Isn't it pretty? What we can tell you is that the supper club is located in the 1st arrondissement, and that we were stunned to learn that such a centrally-located apartment could fit such a long dining table in its salon.

Upon arrival, Laura (one half of the HK team) handed us champagne flutes, each with a single, submerged lychee infusing the apéritif with the flavor of fresh fruit. We chatted with the other diners - 16 in all, most American, a few Italian, a few French. Then, it was time to sit down for our amuse-bouche.

Braden, the chef, came out to introduce each course, and luckily I took notes as this one wasn't on the printed menu (which you'll see below). We started with this black pepper cracker topped with green apple and watercress, served beside chilled watercress and nutmeg soup. This resembled one of our amuse-bouches at Le Cinq back in February, and portended great things for the rest of the meal.

Next, spring vegetables, poached quail egg and Green Goddess dressing, presented niftily in a rye butter cookie over a spicy fava bean base. We were also served our first wine pairing, a 2008 Domaine de Villargeau, Coteaux du Giennois. If you notice the picture quality degrading gradually through the end of the post, it's because of rapidly fading exterior light, and rapidly increasing intoxication on my part. I'm such a lightweight. Professional pictures of all these dishes can be found here.

This homemade semoulina linguini with radish leaf pesto, pickled white asparagus, and ricotta salata unleashed a fiery debate on the best way to make your own pasta. The Italians had a few things to say about that. But no one debated the excellent taste and presentation of this dish. We were impressed that - in what turned out to be a tiny kitchen, and with only one server helping - they were able to prepare and plate a dish like this such that it arrived hot. Wine pairing: 2007 Domaine de la Pépière, Muscadet Sèvre et Maine.

Behold the beauty of this salmon with hibiscus bay leaf sauce and fingerling potatoes. Too bad the low light prevents us from appreciating the rich color of the sauce, and the way it complemented the salmon's pink hues. Wine pairing: 2010 Château de Roquefort, Côtes de Provence.

For a palate cleanser between the "entrées" and the "plats," we were offered lime sorbet over bourbon jello (!!) with a sprig of mint. They call this the "Mint Julep Cleanser,"and you can find the recipe on Hidden Kitchen's blog.

Braised artichokes with chicken liver mousse ravioli, fennel sautéed in a white wine sauce, and preserved lemon coulis - how many elements can you incorporate in one dish? We love our raviolis, though, so we certainly weren't complaining. Wine pairing: 2009 Domaine Chaume-Arnaud, Marselan.

Meat-time: Cumin encrusted flank steak with skillet polenta and smoked eggplant. Another interesting plating, the meat was perfectly cooked (read: on the rare side of medium-rare), and who doesn't like smoked eggplant? (Actually, I would be shocked if anyone has even heard of smoked eggplant.) That garnish on top is deep-fried eggplant skin - very clever, not to mention striking. Wine pairing: 2008 Clos de l'Anhel, Corbières.

If this were a regular meal and not a tasting menu, the white bean, dill, and beet salad seen here would be a side to the flank steak, but we're glad we got to appreciate it on its own. Braden used bucca soison, a distant cousin of Lima beans, and roasted them in garlic and thyme.

Finally, we made it to dessert. This strawberry shiso sorbet with a puff pastry and rhubarb was the perfect, super sweet complement to a remarkably light meal (considering the number of courses). Wine pairing: 2008 Château Pierre-Bise, Carbenet d'Anjou.

And of course no French meal would be complete without coffee - which in this case arrived with a distinctly American twist: glazed doughnuts.

Towards the end of the meal, Braden and Laura let loose their French bulldog, Tati (named for the discount clothing store), whose presence only underscored the curious nature of the evening - we were served dinner in someone's home, at a big table with a bunch of brand new friends...


. . . which isn't to say there weren't a few formal notes to the evening. At the beginning, we were provided with simple but elegant menus as a souvenir of the evening. And at the end, along with coffee and doughnuts came a request for a "donation" to cover the cost of the meal. Hey, whatever it takes to keep this thing going.


Over the course of the evening, we figured out the reason why the only thing Hidden Kitchen has been able to keep secret is its address: there's no hiding the satisfaction and enthusiasm of people who have just eaten one of the best meals of their lives.

L'Arnacoeur

Here's a piece of vocabulary we learned the hard way: un arnaqueur is a swindler, a con man, a scam artist. L'Arnacoeur, the title of a recent French film, plays on this meaning to coin a term for a professional heartbreaker, someone who is paid to cause relationships to fall apart.

Maggie and I only made it to the movies four times in nine months, and this was our first fully-in-French foray (Inglourious Basterds doesn't count, even though the significant French-language portions of the film weren't subtitled.) Apparently our French comprehension was up to snuff because we thoroughly enjoyed it, and can't wait to get the few jokes we missed when it comes out on Netflix in the states. As l'arnacoeur, Romain Duris more than compensates for the film's predictable rom-com plot line with his dead-pan delivery and unbearably cute scruffiness. And the antics of François Damiens were knee-slappingly hilarious.

Here's the teaser plot, courtesy of allocine.fr, a great resource for finding what's playing in a French movie theater near you: "Is your daughter going out with a creep? Is your sister stuck in a dramatic and destructive relationship? Today's there's a radical solution to these problems, and his name is Alex. His role: professional break-up artist. His method: seduction. His mission: transform any boy- or girlfriend into an ex. Alex has one rule: he only breaks up couples in which the woman is unhappy. So why would he agree to break up an ecstatic couple of thirty-somethings who are set to marry in a week?"

Why, indeed. If you're in Paris, go see it, and if not, look for it out on DVD after August 24. L'Arnacoeur is seriously funny.

Last Fish Dish

It's a quandary we deal with every time we go out to eat: try something new, or go back to a restaurant we know and love? In our last few weeks in Paris, we favored the familiar, making a point to revisit three of our most beloved restaurants. We returned to Fish la Boissonnerie one last time with several initiates in tow: Dimi, Ilona, and Leslie.

Fish la Boissonnerie, a wine bar in the St.-Germain-des-Prés area of the 6th arrondissement, is a restaurant we've mentioned a few times before. The owners, an American and a Kiwi, also own a sandwich place across the street (Cosi) and a cave (wine store) around the corner. As you can see above and directly below, the distinctive Art Nouveau façade inspires a funky and comfortable interior décor. This isn't a restaurant for an intimate tête-à-tête; it's more of a warm, boisterous place to enjoy excellent food and wine at reasonable prices.


Our most recent Fish experience took place around lunch (three courses at 25 euros; dinner runs three courses for 35 euros, which is also mind-bogglingly reasonable, especially given how chic and touristy the surrounding neighborhood is). Unfortunately we didn't remember to take a picture of the menu, so we can't provide the names of any of our dishes, but we can at least point out some highlights. Know that everything you see below tasted just as good as it looks.


Left: spring onion over a ham-and-risotto salad. Middle: Prosciutto on toast. Right: Awesome purple grass-looking material over fish over risotto.


Left: That's a poached egg on a fish filet! Right: AWESOME duck breast with potato purée, and most impressive of all, the plate with that streak of jus acting as a landing strip for the duck. Brilliant.


Dessert: Chocolate tart with homemade ice cream and crème brûlée (Maggie's favorite).

We'd be remiss if we didn't bow down before the all-you-can-eat baskets of incredible, brick-oven flatbread, which comes from Cosi right across the street. Also, how clever is that little fish design on the wine glass? Pretty clever.

During future trips to Paris, when presented with that old restaurant quandary, Fish la Boissonnerie might be the one place we always choose over trying something new. It's that good.

Fish la Boissonnerie

69, rue de Seine

75006 Paris

01 43 54 34 69

Kiwizine: The Final Reckoning

To celebrate the end of our time here, we'd like to ask a favor of our readers: take a minute to read back through your favorite posts, and send your "top 3" list to panda.a.paris [at] gmail.com. We'll be collecting your submissions throughout the week, and next week (our last in Paris!) we'll post the results. Thanks in advance, and happy browsing!

As many times as we've gushed over Kiwizine, one of our favorite restaurants, we've never actually shown you a characteristic meal. A quick refresher on how it works: they're only open Friday and Saturday nights, serving drinks from 4-8 pm and dinner from 8-12. Each weekend at Kiwizine means a completely new menu, which is the only option both Friday and Saturday nights. The menu is composed of three courses (entrée, plat, dessert) which cost 17.50 euros, total. This makes Kiwizine the best deal in town even before we consider the quality of the food. Here's what we ate two weekends ago, when Becky was in town:

Entrée: Salade d'encornets avec croutons

Squid salad with croutons (which you often don't get on French salads)

A beautiful dish (as you can tell) with various textures for your mouth to enjoy. Even though we knew that these tiny squid were coming, they still surprised us with every bite. We can't remember what the dressing was like, but if we had to guess, we'd say it was a zesty vinaigrette.

Plat: Filet du jour accompagné de tapenade, de poivrons grillés et des pâtes aux épinards

Fish filet of the day topped with tagliatelle, grilled peppers, spinach, and tapenade

It's too bad that the tapenade looks less appetizing in our photograph than it did in real life, because this was an amazing - brilliant, even - combination of tastes. One of the things we love about the French cuisine we've eaten is that everything tastes best when you get a little piece of each element in every bite. Here we had bitter (the tapenade and spinach), sweet (the pepper), and a touch of salty (the fish) on the pasta base. Regarding the presentation of this dish, we recognized the personal plating style of the chef, Jono. He loves stacking layers of different colors and textures and tastes, as we've seen before: a lamb shank on a bed of puréed sweet potatoes, or another fish filet over grilled zucchini, or tomato-and-basil gambas over toast.

Dessert: Carrot cake

We know what you're thinking: carrot cake? So what? Just remember that this basically doesn't exist in France. In fact, for the most part, the only soft cakes to be had are chocolate (which makes banana cake an even bigger hit here than in the States). So a soft - but not melty - sweet cake with even sweeter icing turns out to be kind of a big deal. And as the lemon garnish might suggest, this carrot cake was a refreshing end to one of the lightest three-course dinners we've had in Paris.

Kiwizine (92, rue Rébeval, 75019 Paris, 06 50 41 61 07), you win.

Pink Flamingo Pizza

We've been noticing a fair amount of fowl-centric street art recently.


It doesn't look like any of these birds are by the same artist - or like any of them are even supposed to be the same species. Guess it's just a coincidence.

And now for something completely different. After eight months of going without pizza (not including home-made, which isn't the same), we finally made good on our landlord's recommendation to try out a pizza place close by called the Pink Flamingo.

With an inventive menu, a hipster-friendly design sensibility (in a hipster-friendly neighborhood), lots of seating and an awesome mascot, the Pink Flamingo has it made. We got the "Che," a cheese pizza topped with slow-cooked pork (marinated in garlic, lime, "new" onions, and coriander) and fried plantains. It was a little pricey and a lot small for two people to share, but it sure hit the spot.

The Pink Flamingo currently has one outpost in the Marais and one in Berlin along with the original place in the 10th arrondissement, where we went. They're planning on expanding soon, opening up other franchises around the city, but there's a reason you should hit up the original location: it's right around the corner from the Canal St. Martin.

You can actually get your pizza delivered to you (by bike!) at your picnic-spot along the canal, free of charge. We didn't take advantage of this sweet deal on the evening we joined thousands of others enjoying the delightfully warm temperatures and increasingly late sunset, but we certainly will next time. We'll also make sure to bring a full bottle of wine.

In case you're wondering about other pizza places, we also recently visited Positano, in the 6th arrondissement (another landlord recommendation), which was also good, also a little pricey, but not as creative as Pink Flamingo. We've heard good things about Maria Louisa (just around the corner from Pink Flamingo - taste test, anyone?) and Al Taglio, just off Rue Oberkampf. If you've been around the Parisian pizza block, let us know about your favorite place!

Mon Oncle le Vigneron

You know what they say: don't judge a restaurant by its façade. I say that, anyway. And Mon Oncle le Vigneron, where we dined last Friday night, proves the validity of my invented saying.

We first wandered into Mon Oncle le Vigneron (which translates to "My uncle, the vintner") while on a search for quality duck rillettes, which we ended up buying there. They also clearly served food, and we were intrigued by the set-up of the place: You can actually watch the owners/cooks at work in the kitchen, which is cordoned off by a glass partition but otherwise shares the same space as the dining/store area.

Not quite a restaurant, not quite a store, Mon Oncle le Vigneron is what you'd call a cave à vin or a table d'hôte. It only has seating for about 20, and on any given night, it serves the exact same thing to everyone. No choice. So it'd better be good. And it was. Especially since a lot of what they serve is what they sell - artisan-produced "produits de terroir" from the southwest regions of France.

A funny thing about serving the exact same thing to everyone: no matter how good the food is, you also have to like it/want to eat it. When booking our reservation, I made the mistake of saying "no" when Madame asked if there were any dietary restrictions she needed to know about. I didn't really consider the possibility (make that probability, given that we're in France) that two out of the three courses we'd be served would derive from pork. Luckily we stopped in a few hours before dinner to check out what was on the menu, I realized my error, and upset Madame by informing her that at least two out of the four of us couldn't quite stomach pork sausage and pork tenderloin. (She was upset because they had already bought all the ingredients based on the number of reservations they had taken.) Ever the gracious hostess, she suggested they whip together vegetarian alternatives. Crisis averted.

And so it was that our first appetizer came to be goat cheese topped with red pepper, olive oil, and spices. True to the original menu, the second appetizer was a plank topped with Basque charcuterie, with some goose rillettes on the side. Food doesn't get a whole lot simpler than this, and it doesn't get a whole lot better, either.

For the main dish, Maggie and I enjoyed a tasty cochon aux pruneaux (literally pig with prunes, it reminded us of tajine, which would never be made with pork) while Becky and Gladis received a "Basque omelette." We're not exactly sure what made it Basque (maybe the fact that it wasn't cooked to dryness like most omelettes?) but whatever it was, it was delicious.


In this next shot - of the palatte-cleansing, classic simple salad we enjoyed between the main dish and dessert - you can just make out the the shelves full of honeys, rillettes, olive oils, wines, and other products sold at Mon Oncle le Vigneron. We cannot stress enough how excellent it all is. If you can, go buy something off those shelves, now.

Finally, the dessert. There was a plate of brébis (sheep) cheese served without bread, our instructions being to spread out-of-control black cherry jam on each slice; a caramel flan; a chestnut "cream" with a dollop of crême fraîche; and the only bitter taste of the evening, a "no pets allowed" curtain (!) inconveniently placed right next to our table. (This is offered in place of Gladis's un-photographed dessert, which was yoghurt covered with honey that actually tasted like the field of flowers the bees had raided before producing the golden stuff).

All of this almost proved too much to handle, except we couldn't help but finish everything, because how could we waste such delightful food? And that, of course, is a philosophy that gets you in trouble, especially on number four of five consecutive gastronomically-rich evening meals at Parisian restaurants. Oh well, we all have to make sacrifices here and there.