HUNGRY GERALD

In France eggs are not relegated to the breakfast table; instead they are treated with the culinary seriousness they deserve appearing on both bistro and three star restaurant menus. Oeufs Mayo (hard boiled eggs toped with lots of freshly made mayonnaise) is a nice entree. So are Oeufs Meurette (poached eggs in red wine sauce). One bistro even serves BSK’s childhood favorite: Eggs and Soldiers. The dish consists of a soft boiled egg with buttered spears of a baguette. Naturally, omelettes are prominent. HG loves a bistro mushroom omelette, brown and crisp on the outside, soft on the inside. (The French descriptive word for this is baveuse which literally means “oozing.”) A baveuse omelette accompanied by pomme frites, red wine and good bread (perhaps a bit of salad) makes an ideal light, but hearty lunch. (The comic genius, Mel Brooks, discusses a baveuse onion and tomato omelette in this month’s Bon Appetit Magazine). HG also likes fried eggs and bacon tucked into a Norman galette, a crisp edged buckwheat crepe. Back home in the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave, HG likes a summer egg salad (heavy on the mayo) sandwich on whole wheat toast with a glass of cold lemonade.

When Paris chefs try to create simple American dishes they fail miserably. Paris is in the midst of a hamburger craze and, according to HG’s informants, the Paris hamburger is laughable. It is devoid of that certain tang that is only achieved at the great American burger emporiums like Bobcat Bite in Santa Fe or Burger Joint in New York (strangely located behind a curtain in the lobby of the super-posh Parker Meridien Hotel). There is some disagreement, but HG believes great steak and fries can only be obtained at the renowned New York steak joints like Spark’s and Peter Luger’s. (Severo, a darling of Parisian critics, serves a pallid version in HG’s opinion). In the latest challenge to American supremacy, The Lobster Roll Bar has opened in a fashionable section of Paris. And, how good is their seaside treat? Fuhgeddabout it !!! Discerning American experts have described the roll as too sweet and the binding mixture as insipid. (And the price for their lobster roll is about $32). If you want to know how to prepare a great lobster roll at home check out HG’s post of Sept. 9, 2012 entitled: Attention Must Be Paid. HG’s advice to the French: Stick to what you do best — escargots and silly philosophising about amour.

Advice from HG if a “Springtime In Paris” is contemplated. Bring a good raincoat and walking shoes. Paris is a great walking city and nice surprises lurk around every corner. Rent an apartment. Cheaper than a hotel and you can feast in your own kitchen on all the great cheese, bread, charcuterie and wine that is easily available. Wine is much cheaper in Paris than in the United States, so indulge without guilt. A restaurant lunch is a much better value than dinner, so make that your meal of the day. Always nice to have some oysters (and bulots) in a brasserie in the early evening and then purchase a good roast chicken for dinner in your apartment (The places that sell roast chickens usually have tasty little roast potatoes as an accompaniment). Paris has the world’s best chocolates. Buy some and have them with red wine for dessert. A fresh baguette with French salted butter and cafe au lait should be your daily breakfast. Paris is a movie town and scores of American films are usually on view. Just check to see if the movie is “v.o.”–In English with French subtitles. Be disciplined about museums. Yes, the Louvre, Gare d’Orsay, Pompidou. Musee Picasso, Musee Rodin are great. But, be selective about what you want to see. HG and BSk rarely spend more than two hours at a museum or special exhibit. Beyond that eyes get glazed, feet get heavy and artistic insights diminish. Though New York is really a better and more cosmopolitan food town, the ambiance, sparkle — and affordability — of Paris restaurants remain unique. Your best online dining guides are: Alexander Lobrano’s “Hungry For Paris”; John Talbott’s Paris and the blog Paris Update. If you log into Paris Update you will not only get the latest on dining, shopping, etc., but you can access David Jaggard’s “C’est Ironique,” a witty and perceptive chronicle of life in Paris. Jaggard is a journalist, translator and composer. He’s lived in Paris since the 80’s and is one of the funniest writers around. Don’t miss him. Bon appetit!!

Maille, the French Dijon style mustard, which has been produced for 266 years, has an essential place in HG and BSK’s pantry. Although it is far better than the Made-in-the-USA Grey Poupon, the Maille mustard available in the better American groceries is not as pungent and flavorful as the Maille HG buys in Paris. It has been toned down for American tastes. To be walloped by the real Maille taste you have to go the Boutique Maille in Paris (it’s very close to the Madeleine church on the Right Bank, the church that resembles a Greek temple). At the Boutique you can buy mustard the way Paris foodies do — straight from a tap and consumed before time can steal any mustard power away. You can taste some interesting mustard flavors like chablis, honey and grape juice; white wine, apricot, blue cheese, walnut and rose. The obliging clerks provide little pretzels for tasting purposes. The basic Maille mustards (not all are exported): Dijon Originale (the smooth mustard one usually associates with Dijon); Whole Grain Old Style (great with cold cuts); Honey Dijon (nice with liver sausages); Mustard with Horseradish (try it with a choucroute); Rich Country With Cinnamon and Ginger (HG likes it with grilled Tandoori-style chicken). Americans usually think of mustard as a condiment to be squeezed or spread onto hot dogs or ham-and-cheese sandwiches. The French, however, use mustard in scores of sauces and dishes — including desserts. None of the Maille products works with Chinese food. For Chinese purposes, HG mixes Keen’s English Mustard Powder (been around since 1742) with vinegar or water. And, when HG is in the USA and powerful French Maille isn’t available, HG uses Russian or Polish mustard. These say “Hot and Spicy” or “Extra Hot” on the labels, It’s truth in advertising. These mustards stand up to the most garlic and pepper laden sausages.

Lots of turmoil in Europe about adding horse meat to hamburger (and not telling consumers about it until they whinny, of course). HG presumes the French are amused. They have been eating horse meat for years and there are loads of horse butchers in Paris. Horseflesh fanciers claim the meat is healthier (less fatty) than beef and has a pleasant flavor. HG has had horse meat carpaccio (lean raw slices with a bit of olive oil and shavings of Parmesan) in Italy and found it very tasty. HG has never said neigh to seconds of this delicacy. HG has also had donkey stew in Italy (long simmered in wine and served with polenta). HG does not share the American anxiety and antipathy concerning the consumption of horse, donkey, rabbit, frog, snail, animal (and bird) innards and heads. HG has had opossum and squirrel in some southern stews (burgoo and brunswick). Gamy and good. There is a line that HG will not cross — HG will not eat anything that barks or purrs. So there will be no noshing on the dogs and cats that are considered delicacies in some parts of China. And while we are at it…No to rats and snakes. HG is just too much of a wuss.

Montmartre, that steep hill in Paris, has always attracted tourists in droves. They are drawn to the storied artistic and literary traditions of the neighborhood and the film Amelie, (set in Montmartre) only fueled that tourist fire. At the highest point of Montmartre sits La Basilica du Sacre Coeur, the big wedding cake of a cathedral with fabulous views of the Paris panorama. A few blocks away from La Basilica is Place du Tertre, the low point of international tourism. Souvenir junk. Lousy restaurants. And, scores of “artists,” all busy at their easels turning out vapid crap. With all of this in mind, HG has some reluctance about telling you of his favorite Montmartre hangout — La Cave des Abbesses (relatively untouched by tourism — at least for now). It’s just up the hill from Place des Abbesses, the busy, colorful square often enlivened by a carousel and street musicians. The Cave is a wine shop with hundreds of tasty, modestly priced wines. Unadvertised by any signs is a back room cafe with old tables, battered chairs, nondescript posters and a bar. Slightly dingy. Poorly lit. Dusty. In a word, perfect. It has been HG’s custom to sit there drinking white wine and slurping oysters (usually the very good oysters are priced at one Euro an oyster). There are very pleasant platters of cheese and charcuterie. Good bread (there’s a prize winning baguette baker across the street). The atmosphere is welcoming. All pretense is left at the door. Time passes in a wine drenched haze. When HG first discovered The Cave, he and BSK were lodged in a rented Montmartre apartment. HG dropped into La Cave to pick up some wine before crossing the street to buy smoked salmon, pate, ham, cheese, a baguette (and, possibly, a roast chicken) for an evening meal with BSK. What harm could a glass of wine do before the errands? Well, that “one glass of wine” proved fictional. For a day or so, multiple glasses of wine were drunk, errands were forgotten, oysters were eaten and roast chickens remained shop-bound, turning slowly under the rotisserie as HG fell deeply in love with The Cave. This did not make a famished BSK happy as she waited for meals that never came. Finally, BSK solved this bibulous problem by taking the intelligent “if you can’t beat em, join em” step and accompanied HG on the evening shopping (and drinking). Sometimes the errands were postponed. After all, what’s wrong with a meal of oysters, sausages, grilled vegetables and cheese? (With wine, bien sur.).

Yes, when HG is in Paris for a two week stay there are moments when HG becomes tired of French food (admittedly, it takes a lot of French food to make HG tired). Diving into other cuisines in Paris isn’t so simple. Obviously, Algerian, Tunisian and other Middle-Eastern food is commonplace and delicious. Reasonably priced Italian restaurants are awful: Pasta is overcooked. Risotto is gummy. The really good Italian places are astronomically expensive and, of course, totally lack the jolly, noisy ambiance of good Rome and New York Italian restaurants. Pizza? Fuhgeddabout it. One taste of Paris pizza and you know you’re not in New Jersey. Chinese food? There are some snob joints that are pricey and very ordinary. Good, simple Chinese eateries are in obscure neighborhoods and one has to shlep endlessly for a good meal. Vietnamese is another story however; cheap eateries can be found in abundance in Belleville, the 13th and in the outskirts and are lifesavers for students, backpackers, taxi and truck drivers. But, they don’t compare to the top flight Vietnamese restaurants in New York, California and — surprisingly — Denver. Paris is now in the midst of a hamburger craze. Better than Burger King but costly and just passable. Parisians tout Severo as a great steak house. It’s not. Not in the same class as Palm, Spark’s and other top New York steakeries (Must admit, however, the Severo’s steak tartare is world class and tops any in New York). HG’s Paris sources tout two unusual ethnic restaurants that will please foie-jaded palates. One is a very quirky, tiny Izakaya restaurant, a Japanese specialist in sake and tapas (plus a tasty sukiyaki). Run by a gentleman named Takamoto, it is Cave 27 located on Rue Lamarcq, Montmartre. Takamoto is a very versatile guy. Expert equestrian. A flamenco guitarist and singer. Flamenco artists often come in and perform. The other ethnic place is El Nopal, a few blocks from Canal St. Martin. Mexican, Tiny (two stools). Americans who have tried it say the tacos, burritos, quesadillas, salsas are the real deal. HG will pass on this one when in Paree. It seems ludicrous for a New Mexico guy to be eating a taco in the City of Light.

The year was 1966, HG and BSK were off on their first European trip. Five days in Paris. Five days in London. They were accompanied by two-year-old Lesley, their remarkably precocious, articulate (and, needless to say) beautiful daughter. The dollar was strong. Stayed at the Hotel Pont-Royal on Rue du Bac in Saint Germain des Pres. The hotel was arty, picturesque, nicely shabby (and cheap). Now it is super posh following numerous expensive makeovers (there’s a Jöel Robuchon restaurant on the premises). Steeped in intellectual nostalgia for the Existentialists HG and BSK’s first stop was at Cafe Flore. During the German occupation, intellectuals gathered at the well heated Flore rather than their pre-war cafe-of-choice Deux Magots, the other great St. Germain cafe, because Deux Magots was favored by German officers. (Little did HG and BSK know at the time that they needn’t have traveled far for their nod to intellectual greatness as the basement bar of the Pont-Royal was the hangout of the most advanced intellectuals, political engages, writers and philosophers. It was where Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir held forth when they were not pontificating at the Cafe Flore.) Little Lesley had her first Croque Monsieur. Loved it and subsisted on those sandwiches for the entire Paris visit. HG and BSK were enthralled by the style and elegance of the Parisians. It was April in Paris. The costume for young women was a vivid, clingy sheath and a short leather jacket. (These items — plus a tweedy topcoat — were immediately purchased by BSK and, of course, BSK was the height of casual chic.) In order to fit into the Paris scene, HG visited a Boulevard Saint Germain shop for some stylish suits and a blazer. The welcome to HG was cool. Then HG had an insight. HG spoke to the store manager in Yiddish. Everything changed. HG was treated like a long lost son. Received a discount. Clothes were instantly altered and delivered within a few hours. Stylishly clad in their new duds, the duo dined at the famed Laperouse, a restaurant renowned for high cuisine and discreet private rooms for amorous gourmands. HG and BSK ordered badly. Heavy, heavy cream and butter sauces. BSK became ill and was laid up for a day. HG and little Lesley explored the lovely streets and squares of the district, pausing before many enticing shop windows. Naturally, there were many stops for Vin Rouge for HG and un chocolat chaud for Lesley. Once BSK’s health and appetite returned, the trio was off to museums; Luxembourg Gardens (Lesley was delighted by the puppet show); a stroll through the Tuileries to the Louvre; a visit to a toy store an the Champs Elysee, etc. On the last night in Paris a baby sitter took Lesley to a carousel (and a dinner of a Croque Monsieur and hot chocolate, naturally). HG and BSK dined at a Left Bank bistro. A bottle of very good, young Beaujolais. The waiter brought a platter of thick, white steamed asparagus (first of the Spring) wrapped in a linen napkin. A big bowl of Sauce Mousseline (better than Hollandaise). Heaven. This was followed by gigot, rosy slices of young, roasted lamb. An abundance of perfect pomme frites. Next course was a small green salad with a wedge of ripe camembert. Dessert was bowls of wild strawberries with creme fraiche. Then, strong demi tasse and (for HG) a snifter of cognac. It was the perfect meal.

London was not an anti-climax. HG and BSK had smoked salmon and Dover sole at Wheeler’s. Traditional roast beef and Yorkshire Pudding at Simpson’s in the Strand. Afternoon tea at Brown’s. A visit to the National Museum. Strolls in the beautiful parks. An amplitude of fish and chips. For Anglophiles like HG and BSK it was the culmination of many childhood dreams. This was the time of Mod London and so a visit to Carnaby Street, the center of Mod fashion, was obligatory. Here, the proud parents kitted Lesley out in striped bell bottom trousers and a vivid safari jacket. There was universal agreement that she was the hippest, cutest little girl in Britain.

Since HG and BSK have visited Paris very often, the duo are often asked for advice from first time visitors. HG AND BSK speak almost no French so their expertise is limited. However, here are some pointers. Rent an apartment. Cheaper and more spacious than a hotel. Breakfast at home. Go out in the morning and pick up a baguette, brioche, croissants (and a copy of the Herald-Tribune and Pariscope — the latter will give you info on everything happening in Paris including movies, music ,dance, galleries, theater, etc.). Visit museums in the morning (less crowded) Make a 1:30 lunch reservation at a bistro (cheaper and more Parisian at lunch). Stroll, shop, wander after lunch. When you lunch out have dinner at home. Cheese, charcuterie, fruit, etc. are unsurpassed in Paris. Best of all, good wine is cheap. If you have dinner at a restaurant, reserve no earlier than 8:30. If you reserve too early you will find yourself in an enclave of American tourists. Always reserve. Paris restaurateurs honor reservations so if you have to cancel be sure to call. The food departments at Bon Marche and Galeries Lafayette department stores are spectacular — and fun. A must for gourmands. The best guide to dining in Paris is Alexander Lobrano’s Hungry For Paris. Indispensable. Also check out John Talbott’s blog. Paris dining is not just about food (HG thinks New York is vastly superior in terms of raw ingredients and the encyclopedic choice of ethnic foods). But, Parisian restaurants have an ambience that is magical. Some other pointers: Avoid the Champs Elysee. Big chain store heaven. Avoid “tasting menus.” Too much food. It all becomes a jumble. Indulge in oysters and crepes (Breizh is a good place).Go to the movies. Paris is a town for cinema lovers There are theaters that function as repertories, showing numerous films from the past every day. Few things are more fun than a movie followed by an oyster feast at a late night brasserie like Le Vaudeville or Wepler’s. M’sieu, another bottle of Muscadet, si vous plais.

The answer to this question is: Yes and No. If you are talking about food and the price/quality ratio, New York tops Paris. Also, Paris is, for the the most part, a one trick pony. True, many of Paris’ most edgy restaurants and 3 Star Shrines have increased the use of Asian spices and cooking techniques to touch on a type of fusion cuisine; but overall, what you get in the majority of Paris Restaurants is French food. With the exception of Moroccan, other ethnic cuisines are dumbed down to suit conservative Parisian tastes. Compare that to New York which has three distinct Chinatowns each with an enormous amount of eating spots. There are whole neighborhoods in Queens (and in other boroughs) devoted to ethnic dining: Korean, Vietnamese, Indian, Greek, Italian, Mexican, Argentine and Colombian, Russian, Jamaican — and much more. And those are just the outer boroughs. Within Manhattan itself, you are able to go on a veritable world cuisine tour in just a 4 block radius. And, yes, great Jewish pastrami still lives in, alas, fewer and fewer places. Makes Paris seem very provincial. Small town. In addition, New York has steak houses like Peter Luger’s and Spark’s that are true carnivore heavens.

But, Paris still has that indefinable something, Call it charm. Call it elan. Call it sparkle. Whatever. HG is thinking about late night meals at the art deco brasserie Le Vaudeville which seemingly hums with joy and the promise of good times. Brass. Aged, cigarette-smoke stained marble. Perfect lighting. Or, dinner at the brasserie Le Stella on posh Rue Victor Hugo. Low voices. Women who know how to tie scarves. Men in well cut tweeds or blazers. Soaring towers of fruits de mer. Or, the died-and-gone-to-heaven grilled sole drenched in the best butter at Le Dome. Or, the intimacy, warmth and sheer sexiness of many small bistros serving unassuming food. There was a left bank place called Balzar where the clientele and atmosphere were so diverting that the so-so food was forgiven. (Taken over by a chain some years ago, HG does not know if the place still pleases). Other Paris pluses: Steak tartare (always bad in New York); Belon oysters; blood sausage (boudin noir); tete de veau and offal. (An exception: Paris tripe doesn’t compare to New Mexico menudo as served by places like El Parasol near Santa Fe).

Probably, the most beguiling quality about Paris restaurants is their sheer professionalism. No surprise. The restaurant, as we know it, was invented in Paris. But, if your interest is in variety and getting a dining bang for your buck, New York is incomparable. Yes, “What street compares to Mott Street in July, sweet pushcarts gently gliding by?”. But, an after dinner walk in Paris with the Eiffel Tower sparkling in the distance is nothing to sneer at.