From Paris

I just returned from a ten day stay in Paris. This is much less glamorous than it sounds. I mostly went to visit my family, most of which still lives in the Paris area. I spent many hours at my grandparents' retirement home outside of Paris, and others visiting cousins, old friends, and riding the Metro and RER. Though I didn't find much time (or money) to eat away at the food that often makes me wish I still lived there, I managed to fit a few delicious things in. I'm not going to get into too much detail about my entire visit: this is a food blog after all. However, I'll use this post to talk about how I think about eating in Paris, and then over the next few days I'll post a few reviews.

Going back to Paris is kind of strange for me. I certainly don't feel like a tourist; I grew up there and have spent more time there than anywhere else in the world. However, I haven't been able to go back that many times since I came to the US for college a little over seven years ago. Returning to Paris (or anywhere else, I assume) with the perspective of an 'adult' (I guess...) changes the way one looks at this city. With Paris, I've begun to see the romantic sides of the city, not just in the famous landmarks like Notre-Dame at night, but in the little everyday journeys that make it so special. Of course, there's more complexity to these thoughts, but I won't bore you with my emotional state and various identity crises.

In terms of food, this rediscovery and maturity plays heavily in my appreciation of things. Again, I am not a tourist in Paris. However, I often find myself reacting giddily to certain morsels of food consumed in Paris like an American tourist, having been deprived of the savoir-faire of everyday products for so long. I feel like an idiot for loving Acme baguettes so much after biting into even the most mediocre Parisian baguette. Even the random bistrot steak-frites can be a revelation, especially for the price. There are also the finer dining establishments, which I have a more recent affinity for. The appreciation of such things can only come later on in life, unless you grew up with incredible wealth.

Then again, I am a Parisian myself, and I don't just apply American standards for the food in Paris. I can be critical of my morning croissant, no matter how much better it is than anything I've had in America in recent memory. I also know Paris's limitations as a food city: though it is excellent for tourists, it pales in comparison to New York in its non-French food selections. There's good food from the former colonies (Vietnam, North Africa), and strangely, good Korean food too. However, almost everything else tends to be disastrous. The French don't like spicy food, so stay away from anything Indian or Mexican. In fact, a couple of years ago, I found myself eating in a "Mexican" restaurant in Paris. I don't know what was Mexican about what I ate, but I nearly threw it up in my mouth a little later. Gross. However, some things are changing, and the Asian communities in Belleville are strong enough in numbers now to provide quality Asian food if you're willing to go look for it. And then of course, there's the litany of bad bistrots. And while there are of course some excellent ones, Paris' domestic reputation for bad bistrots, which probably only exist because of the tourists (see below), is warranted.

Still, it is an incredible place to eat. From the bakeries to the hidden restaurants in the less popular arrondissements, there is more than enough to satisfy even the most curious of foodies for years. Even locals are continuing to discover and rediscover the countless hidden culinary joys of this city, and to debate which bakeries make the best croissants. Even when I was there, the restaurants I had previously researched were generally unknown to members of my family, and provided several happy surprises. And if the Parisian bistrot really does deserve its horrendous reputation in France, it is a testament to the quality of food in France in general. While we, in America, continue to look to a few major cities (and the odd regional specialties) to define our culinary landscape, the food France is quite splendid from Paris to the smallest of towns. The Michelin guide's criteria for two star and three star restaurants ("worth a detour" and "worth a special journey") speak volumes about the ubiquity of gastronomy in France.

Of course, I could write volumes about all of this, but there are already plenty of books written on the subject. I'm here to write about my trip. I guess that the eating portion of my trip could be divided neatly into three distinct sections and a few side dishes: bakeries, 'bistronomie', and luxury.

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Les boulangeries:

It's hard for me to go back to France without spending an inordinate amount of time in bakeries. I've always thought that if I hadn't gone the chef route, I would have loved to make bread. There's something so wondrous about the art of breadmaking, from the basic ingredients to the subtle but undeniable differences between good and great bread. If there's one thing that the French do better than anyone, it's bread and pastries. Walking into your average corner bakery in Paris will still yield something better than almost anything I can find in San Francisco.

There's also a childhood attachment to French bakeries that I can't shake off; I ate a baguette and a chausson aux pommes almost every day I was there. Though my family cooked very well when I was growing up, especially my grandmother, we rarely went out to eat. However, there was never a day when we didn't purchase at least a baguette from a bakery.

When I first get to Paris these days, I'll scarf down almost anything from a bakery, no matter how mediocre it is. After a couple of days, however, I start looking for the primo stuff. As you can imagine, there's a great debate over the best baguette/croissant/pain de campagne in Paris, or in France for that matter. (Jeffrey Steingarten, easily the best food writer in this country, has a great article on the annual bread-baking competition in Paris that tries to find the best specimen). (Of course, there's also a debate over whether or not baguettes are actually good bread. Just to settle that: baguettes are cheap white bread. They don't have the complexity of sourdoughs or other natural-rising breads. They are for the common people: the common baguette is actually the product of government regulation...but I won't get into that right now. Baguettes are delicious as an accompaniment to food, or as a vehicle for a sandwich. They're not the best or most refined bread in a French bakery, but they represent for me what makes France's such a superior food culture, as even the most pedestrian products are made with high standards. There are people on forums like egullet and Chowhound who have tried to say that since baguettes are so low on the totem pole of bread in France, it shouldn't matter who makes the best baguette. I think the baguette, as the symbol of culinary excellence in the lowest common denominator, is worthy of such reverence.) (Too many parenthetical sentences. Sorry). I began to ask around to find people's favorite artisanal baguettes, which I will use as a catch-all term for baguettes a l'ancienne, or sourdough baguettes...basically a natural-rising baguette.

After consuming too many carbs, I found a couple of legendary baguettes, one around the corner from where I was staying, in the fifteenth arrondissement. The Pichard boulangerie, on the rue Cambronne, makes an excellent baguette a l'ancienne. The crust is sturdier than the common baguette, but the dough retains the lightness of its more inbred cousin. Similarly, the baguettes at La Boulangerie Julien in the seventh arrondissement are stellar. These baguettes de tradition have much more flavor, the type of flavor that can only come with natural yeasts. This being France, these natural starters may have been around for over a hundred years, greatly adding to the complexity of the bread.

My favorite new discovery for this trip was somewhat serendipitous. I spent most days in Sceaux, just south of Paris, where my grandparents lived when I was growing up and where they are now in a retirement facility. On the way to their home, we passed the Franck Debieu bakery, L'Etoile du Berger, a new addition to the scene in Sceaux (ok, there's no scene at all, but there's plenty of good food). The line was out the door, and the awning proudly advertised artisanal products. One bite of his sourdough baguette, and I was hooked. Then I tried his other breads, and it was clear that I was in the hands of a master. Aside from the typical French country loaves and levain breads, there were several fruit breads, as well as more German breads with rye and pumpernickel flours, though they didn't feel as heavy as most German breads (yes, they let you sample). And of course, his pastries, notably the chausson aux pommes and croissants au beurre were out of this world. People in France have been talking about the new wave of bakers returning to artisanal ways, and it's clear that Mr. Debieu, who was behind the counter even on Christmas day, is a leader in his field. Before we left, we bought a galette des rois, traditionally served for the epiphany (in January), to have with our grandparents, as we had done as children. If you're not familiar with it, it's essentially a traditional butter pastry dough, filled with frangipane, in which the baker has hidden a small, usually religiously-themed porcelain figure. Whoever gets the figure becomes king (based on the three kings, of course), and can choose a queen. Vice versa if the winner is a queen. The winner receives a paper gold crown (see pics). Mr. Debieu's was, of course, one of the best I've ever had.




Of course, I didn't just eat baguettes. I chomped on plenty of croissants, chaussons aux pommes (my favorite), pains au chocolat, pains aux raisins, etc. The Julien Boulangerie also had an excellent doughnut soaked in brandy. In most cases, these pastries made me wish I didn't have to return to San Francisco. While we do make some good bread in the Bay Area, you really have to look for it, and then fork over too much hard-earned cash to pay for the fact that it's so rare. The croissants at Acme, for example, are only mediocre in comparison, and they cost $2.50.

Why do I care so much about bread? Because it says so much about a food culture that their most humble foods are treated with such reverence.

Boulangerie Julien
85 rue St-Dominique
Paris, 75007

Boulangerie Pichard
88 rue Cambronne
Paris, 75015

Franck Debieu (L'Etoile du Berger)
6, rue du Docteur Berger
Sceaux, 92330

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La bistronomie:

Oh, the French. They do some things so well. Then they go ahead and bestow on the world such atrocities as French pop music. Another crime against culture is their insistence on coining new, goofy terms for things that don't need naming (not that we don't do it either...I think specifically of the term "foodie").

If you're wondering what 'bistronomie' is, it's the name given to the trend (it's actually been going on for over fifteen years) of Parisian chefs who have trained in the top kitchens in France to open small restaurants, often in old bistrot spaces, serving affordable yet gastronomically outstanding food. This new-ish type of restaurant has given rise to Michelin alternative Le Fooding (another sad exercise in branding), an excellent guide to more affordable eating in Paris (though it's not a 'cheap eats' guide: more of a bargain dining guide. For example, L'Astrance's 70 euro lunch is in the guide).

At this point, I should clarify that when considering the value of things in France, particularly food, I considered a roughly equal exchange rate of dollar to euro. Of course, the euro was at around $1.40 when I was there, but I find it more valuable to analyze these eating experiences from the point of view of purchasing power. Assuming roughly equal salaries (with a 1:1 exchange rate), it tells me a lot more about what the average French person can afford. Since most of the places I went to are as much for locals as for tourists, it paints a better picture for comparative purposes to look at those prices in this way. Of course, if you're planning a trip to France sometime soon, you should feel free to convert.

Anyway, back to 'la bistronomie'. Since I am in no position to eat at Pierre Gagnaire or L'Arpege these days, I focused my reservation-getting on these types of restaurants. In any case, I would much rather travel to Michel Bras, Marc Veyrat or Pic than eat in Parisian 3-Michelin star restaurants. With price tags of over 300 euros, these restaurants are not in the price range of most French people. Anyway, many people now swear by these 'bistronomic' restaurants, promoting their experiences there above many 2 and 3 star restaurants. I now know why.

Though I will review each restaurant in separate posts, in keeping with the style of the blog, they were all revelatory meals, if only to see how these people have re-thought the way gastronomy can be packaged (more on this in later posts). The history of these places, like in much of the food world, is one of necessity. In the early nineties, the French economy was waning. Many of the sous-chefs of the great Parisian restaurants of lore like La Tour D'Argent found themselves wanting to break out on their own, but the economy wouldn't allow for another 3-Michelin star hopeful. In fact, I don't think any economy would allow for the number of hopefuls out there to each open their own gastronomic temple. In addition to the economic situation, many French diners were fed up with the pomp and circumstance of three-star dining. This is understandable: after working in restaurants, I've become rather disillusioned about high-end dining. While it can sometimes yield moments of revelation, it can be so disappointing that I've turned my attention to more casual, but technically excellent food. I often find that high-end dining is too often focused on presentation and other such frivolities that goal of fine cuisine falls by the wayside. The high end restaurants I do want to eat at (L'Arpege, Bras, L'Astrance, Le Bernardin) tend to be more focused on getting the most out of a few stellar ingredients rather than presenting a muddle of conflicting flavors to shock and awe easily-amused diners. And don't get me started on so-called molecular gastronomy.

The restaurants I ended up eating at really have nothing in common except for their size and price points. These 'bistronomic' restaurants don't connote a type of food, but a type of menu. Usually, they tend to have a three-course prix fixe menu with several options, for a price between 30 and 40 euros. Some even offer tasting menus. Many don't let you pick a la carte. As for the food, it can range from down-home French cooking to modern food worthy of the finest of dining rooms. At Le Comptoir, Yves Camdeborde's food was foie-gras centric in the appetizers and offal-centric in the main courses. I didn't get to try his tasting menu, a steal at 45 euros. At Chez Michel, which obviously kept the name from the restaurant's more plebian past, Thierry Breton makes 'terroir' cuisine of his Bretagne home. With French regional cuisine difficult to find in Paris, nevermind in the US (I did work briefly at a certain San Francisco restaurant supposedly specializing in Gascon cuisine, but I don't think that counts), it was fascinating to eat a different type of 'classic'. At Le Pre Verre, affordability took on a new name as I enjoyed a two course lunch with a glass of wine and coffee for 13.50 euros. Finally, the most modern of my 'bistronomic' meals came at Thierry Blanqui's Le Beurre Noisette, where the amateurish service did nothing to take away from the refined yet comforting modern French food. Reviews to come.

Though I will expound on these thoughts in the restaurant reviews to come, I was almost glad that I didn't gamble my money on a 300+ euro 3-Michelin star meal. Almost everything I ate was excellent, and my meal at Le Beurre Noisette ranks among my top meals of all time. I wonder if these kinds of restaurants could work, or even exist in the US. In a way, they do a much better job showing how far behind we still are when it comes to gastronomy. These places are packed every night, and their value comes from being to identify the savoir-faire behind the dishes. I think it would be hard to find that kind of demand from discerning diners here. However, the biggest obstacles to places of this caliber opening here is the difference in skill between French and American chefs. A chef like Thierry Breton of Chez Michel was around 30 when he went out on his own. Since most chefs in France start apprenticeships at age 14 or 15, that means he had 15 years of experience. I don't know of any US chefs who have been that patient, and it shows in the quality of the food. Of course, we do have the occasional wunderkind like Grant Achatz or Johnny Monis. However, it suddenly makes a lot of sense to me that my favorite Bay Area restaurant, Pizzaiolo, has a chef who trained for years before going out on his own. Another such restaurant is Prune, in New York City, where even brunch is a revelation.

Vive la bistronomie!

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Le luxe:

I love charcuterie. It is one of my greatest food passions, and so I spent a good deal of time in Paris trolling for good charcuterie. This being Christmas and New Year's season, many of these stores were packed with foie gras products.




I don't know why, but I am completely in love with the traditional luxury products of Western cuisine. Since I have no money, it's not a question of conspicuous consumption. I also wasn't raised to eat them on a regular basis; like most French families, we ate foie gras during the holidays. I also remember tasting truffle once, but not liking it.

However, although I generally love all food, I am totally smitten by foie gras, truffles and caviar. Maybe they are luxury products for this reason. Being in France over the holidays, and seeing the ubiquity of foie gras shops that sell other Gascon products, I couldn't help but think that this is another part of a great food culture. Of course, the average Frenchman, gastronome or not, can't afford to eat foie gras and truffles on a regular basis, but it's the fact that these things are appreciated and prized by all for special occasions that reveals a lot about the relationship that the French have with food.

And of course, when you walk down the street and see this:

We have yoga classes, they have foie gras classes. I know which one I want!

I spent a lot of time in these stores, mostly sampling different foie gras preparations, and shopping for luxury canned goods to bring home. Here is some of my yield:

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...et les autres:

Other things from the trip:

- The bad Parisian bistrot. The first night I was there, my brother and I found ourselves wandering around the rue Mouffetard, often remembered for that famous Henri Cartier-Bresson photograph. Rue Mouffetard is adorable, but it's also tourist central, and thus the food that comes along with it is pretty dreadful. Most of the menus offer the same 'traditional' French slog at seemingly affordable prices. We were too starving to do much thinking, and wandered in to the first warm space we found open. The meal was disastrous. I had a soupe a l'oignon that had no flavor whatsoever, followed by a dry boeuf bourguignon with the requisite three 'side vegetables.' I don't know which tourist first requested those random veggie sides, but there's nothing French about them. So weird. Mine had a pasta with a strange tomato product on them, green beans, and boiled potatoes. The dessert, an apple tart that tasted straight out of a factory, was the highlight of the meal. These places are sadly all over Paris.




- L'as du fallafel. I mentioned above that it's very difficult to find good 'ethnic' food in Paris. One exception to this is fallafel (that's how they spell it...). L'as du fallafel, on the rue des Rosiers in the Jewish quarter is probably the best falafel I've had outside of Israel. I've mentioned before that I am a falafel and shwarma snob, and these little fried balls satisfy all of my cravings. Adorned with just cabbage, tehini and hot sauce, as should be, they are a perfect expression of this sandwich.




- Public face. I grew up in the second arrondissement, and my local park was the Palais Royal, a beautiful park surrounded on all sides by galleries. It's a very French park, and thus not the best place for kids to play (not much green space, very manicured...give me the English parks of my later youth any day). However, as an adult, it's an architectural wonder. At one end of the park is a monument that consists mainly of black and white columns of varying height, created by Daniel Buren. It's a very public work of art, and I spent many hours roller skating there and jumping off of them as a child. The columns are currently being renovated, and so the entire area has been fenced in. However, to make sure that people can still see them, several 'windows' have been placed in the fence, which are framed by the same black and white stripes found on the columns. This is another area where Paris shines: placing the conservation of its many public works of art as a priority, no matter what obstacles may exist. They could have just fenced it in.

- Nursing home food sucks in France too. Check out this abominable fish with thick hollandaise and boiled potatoes.

- I'll also post about this in a separate entry, but Pierre Herme's macarons are works of art.

- Walking into a butcher shop or produce shop in Paris is such a pleasant experience. The meat is so good and the affordable. Chicken tastes like chicken. The produce is fresh, and tastes like it's supposed to.

- Another thing I miss is the color of egg yolks there. They are a deep orange, instead of the weird yellow we have here.

That's all.