HUNGRY GERALD

Paris brasseries have entered a sad period. Once delightful places like La Coupole, Vaudeville, Bofinger, Balzar, Flo have been purchased by giant restaurant chain-conglomerates and now roll out industrialized food. Glittering decor and fresh oysters can still be relied upon. But, that’s it. The old time hip, lively and happy atmosphere has disappeared. Only Le Stella in the 16th keeps the old traditions. Its carte is a virtual parade of traditional dishes: Tete de veau; steak tartare; sole meuniere; choucroute; Iceland herring; steak frites; ile flottante, etc. The affluent residents of the 16th have impeccable manners but restraint is cast off when they confront Stella’s vast plateau de fruits de mer. In Reims, the Brasserie du Boulingrin maintains the old brasserie spirit. Art deco interior. Smoked glass and mirrors. Red leatherette banquettes. Young, smiling waitpersons. Dinner conversations are animated but the noise level is kept at a civilized pitch (This seems characteristic of French restaurants in contrast to their noisy American counterparts). On a second visit, HG sipped a cold, dry Muscadet, while devouring a dozen big, briny oysters. This was followed by very generous servings of sole meuniere. Two large fish were deboned deftly by the young woman serving HG/BSk. The filets were gilded by spoonfuls of buttery lemon cooking juices. Served with bowls of buttered boiled potatoes dusted with parsley. Dessert was, in keeping with Boulingrin’s generosity, dinner plate-sized creme brûlées. HG sipped an after dinner glass of cold Mirabelle and reflected upon the good fortune of having a splendid wife, a loving family and an appetite geared to the delights of old fashioned brasserie dining. HG interrupted this happy contemplation with a bout of severe envy as he watched a choucroute garnie presented to a young man at an adjoining table. The platter of kraut, sausages and pork was kept warm under a glass dome. This single portion seemed large enough to feed a platoon of Prussian Hussars. HG vowed to sample it if HG ever makes it back to Reims and Boulingrin.

HG has noted previously that BSK has cultivated a lush crop of sorrel. BSK makes very good sorrel soup in the French manner. Thickened and enriched with a touch of sweet cream, it is the perfect sauce for grilled or poached salmon. Vaudeville, the art deco Paris brasserie, served a very good version (before the brasserie went downhill under chain management). However, HG’s favorite use of sorrel is in “schav”, the ice cold, refreshingly sour sorrel soup as it was prepared by HG’s Mom and served in New York Jewish “dairy” restaurants (and Catskills resorts) in years gone by. Topped with some sour cream, this soup conquers summer heat. Accompanied by a boiled potato, this was often HG’s boyhood summer lunch in The Bronx and Rockaway. Weather has been hot and humid on PEI. HG”s palate cried out for schav. So, consulting the Jew and Carrot food blog, HG made a jar of schav. Very good. But, it lacked something, A bite of sourness. What was Mom’s secret? Memory was racked. The answer: Rokeach Sour Salt. Essentially citric acid, this is what Mom added to her schav, exemplary beet borscht, robust cabbage borscht and savory ground meat stuffed cabbage in sweet and sour sauce. Yes, Rokeach still provides sour salt and HG is waiting for a supply from Amazon.

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.

Pompidou Centre today. Picasso, Giacometti, Arp, Brancusi, Leger, Braque, Matisse, Balthus, Bonnard, Gris, Chagall, Dufy, Dubuffet and all the other French greats and semi-greats (okay, many were born in Spain, Russia, etc.). Also, a new Rothko acquisition. Some thoughts: French art ran out of steam after Picasso and the Americans took over. Pompidou is wonderful. Beautifully lit and displayed and organized. But, compared to MOMA it is provincial. Balthus’s “Alice” remains shockingly pornographic. Laurens and Duchamp-Villon (not displayed very much in USA) give HG great pleasure.

Annoying dinner mishap. Arrived at Cave Beauvau, much touted wine bar, and found out they were not serving dinner. A mixup. Off to Le Vaudeville for briny oysters, Muscadet, a huge slice of cod with truffled potatoes. The best herring in Paris with warm potato salad. Favorite dessert (you’ll never guess): Ile Flottante. So, HG and BSK demolished hunger pangs in style.