What follows is unadulterated, unmitigated food porn. Bring Zocor.
It was a lazy Sunday spent first dozing off on the RER suburban rail line out to Versailles. Overwhelmed by the opulence, the overcrowding and the realization that we don't really like looking at overly ornate living quarters, we bid adieu to the palace and headed back to the city.
Bob was still jet-lagged so went off or a nap, I went for a walk along the Boulevard Saint-Germaine and stopped in for lunch at Le Grand Bar Cluny.
The weather was perfect, sunny, some clouds, low-70s. So I had a half-bottle of Muscadet with a salmon carpaccio salad and a half-dozen escargot.
The salmon had been prepared like a ceviche in lemon juice, than served with a tossed salad, with a garnish of chopped red peppers and basil. A balsamic vinegar and olive oil dressing was splashed on top.
The escargot were prepared simply, tender, in garlic, herb butter. It was a relaxing meal. A soft breeze moved down the boulevard, it was a quiet Sunday afternoon. Perfectly pleasant.
Common sense is telling me I shouldn't be eating like this; but since when has common sense got between me and a tasty dish? That's just silly.
We had a 7:30 reservation for dinner at another of Jon Bonne's suggestions, the classic Bouillon Racine, just around the corner from the Sorbonne, and only a five minute walk from our hotel.
Founded in 1906, it's a traditional French brasserie famous for both its traditional cooking and its amazing Art Nouveau interior.
The interior was just spectacular, the leaded glass, the flowing arcs and curves, the pale green hue of the walls and the warm wood of the table tops and the bar. Check out the website for the history.
Still, we were concerned the decor and history might detract from the food. Now here Bob and I are split. We ordered each a three-course set meal from the 1900 Menu. Bob started with the Verrine of fresh crab meat with avocado and grapefruit, which while not the prettiest of platings, tasted wonderful.
I opted for the homemade duck foie gras with cherry compote and toast. The compote has the perfect amount of tartness to balance the rich creaminess of the foie gras. It was spectacular.
Now, this is where Bob and I disagreed about the meal. Bouillon Racine offers up traditional, almost peasant-like meals, as well as more refined fare. In fact, the history on the front of the menu recalls how it grew out of a trend of "bouillon" fast food-like stalls and bistros which popped up at the turn of the 20th Century as more and more workers came to the fast-growing industrialized Paris.
The pork was tender, savory with a bread stuffing, full of un-brined olives, carrots, onions and some dried fruit, possibly apricots. I thought it was a great dish. Bob, however, was expecting something a little more rustic, with the skin crispy and the meat, just as tender, but flakier, like the kind of spit-roasted meats we had in Croatia.
For dessert, Bob ordered the special of the day and chocolate and candied cherry cake. The cake was a dark, not too sweet chocolate and the cherries were folded into a light cream. Not too sweet, but nothing to write home about. I, on the other hand, felt that the foie gras had not introduced enough fat into my diet, so I went with the cheese platter.
From left to right: Roussin au Marc de Bourgogne, a Chevrac du Perigord and a Saint Marcellin. The Roussin's rind is soaked in a brandy, yet the flavor is remarkably mild. The Chevrac was a stronger, creamy goat's cheese and the Saint Marcellin is an insanely creamy cow's milk cheese from the Rhone region that, once you broke the rind, just oozed tart, aromatic cheesy goodness all over the slate cheese board.
Bob finished with a coffee, then we walked back to the hotel in a food coma.
It was a lazy Sunday spent first dozing off on the RER suburban rail line out to Versailles. Overwhelmed by the opulence, the overcrowding and the realization that we don't really like looking at overly ornate living quarters, we bid adieu to the palace and headed back to the city.
Bob was still jet-lagged so went off or a nap, I went for a walk along the Boulevard Saint-Germaine and stopped in for lunch at Le Grand Bar Cluny.
The weather was perfect, sunny, some clouds, low-70s. So I had a half-bottle of Muscadet with a salmon carpaccio salad and a half-dozen escargot.
The salmon had been prepared like a ceviche in lemon juice, than served with a tossed salad, with a garnish of chopped red peppers and basil. A balsamic vinegar and olive oil dressing was splashed on top.
The escargot were prepared simply, tender, in garlic, herb butter. It was a relaxing meal. A soft breeze moved down the boulevard, it was a quiet Sunday afternoon. Perfectly pleasant.
Common sense is telling me I shouldn't be eating like this; but since when has common sense got between me and a tasty dish? That's just silly.
We had a 7:30 reservation for dinner at another of Jon Bonne's suggestions, the classic Bouillon Racine, just around the corner from the Sorbonne, and only a five minute walk from our hotel.
Founded in 1906, it's a traditional French brasserie famous for both its traditional cooking and its amazing Art Nouveau interior.
The interior was just spectacular, the leaded glass, the flowing arcs and curves, the pale green hue of the walls and the warm wood of the table tops and the bar. Check out the website for the history.
Still, we were concerned the decor and history might detract from the food. Now here Bob and I are split. We ordered each a three-course set meal from the 1900 Menu. Bob started with the Verrine of fresh crab meat with avocado and grapefruit, which while not the prettiest of platings, tasted wonderful.
I opted for the homemade duck foie gras with cherry compote and toast. The compote has the perfect amount of tartness to balance the rich creaminess of the foie gras. It was spectacular.
At the waiter's suggestion, we orded a bottle of the Chateau de la Chaize Brouilly, a 100% Gamay grape wine from Beaujolais, perfect for the main course, the stuffed and spit roasted suckling pig.
Now, this is where Bob and I disagreed about the meal. Bouillon Racine offers up traditional, almost peasant-like meals, as well as more refined fare. In fact, the history on the front of the menu recalls how it grew out of a trend of "bouillon" fast food-like stalls and bistros which popped up at the turn of the 20th Century as more and more workers came to the fast-growing industrialized Paris.
The pork was tender, savory with a bread stuffing, full of un-brined olives, carrots, onions and some dried fruit, possibly apricots. I thought it was a great dish. Bob, however, was expecting something a little more rustic, with the skin crispy and the meat, just as tender, but flakier, like the kind of spit-roasted meats we had in Croatia.
For dessert, Bob ordered the special of the day and chocolate and candied cherry cake. The cake was a dark, not too sweet chocolate and the cherries were folded into a light cream. Not too sweet, but nothing to write home about. I, on the other hand, felt that the foie gras had not introduced enough fat into my diet, so I went with the cheese platter.
From left to right: Roussin au Marc de Bourgogne, a Chevrac du Perigord and a Saint Marcellin. The Roussin's rind is soaked in a brandy, yet the flavor is remarkably mild. The Chevrac was a stronger, creamy goat's cheese and the Saint Marcellin is an insanely creamy cow's milk cheese from the Rhone region that, once you broke the rind, just oozed tart, aromatic cheesy goodness all over the slate cheese board.
Bob finished with a coffee, then we walked back to the hotel in a food coma.
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